LEGMEAT AND KNEEBACKS BURNED AND TASTED VIA TORTURE

Ah...burned through Muslim torture!

     I was traveling through the Middle East with a fellow male model one year when we were both taken hostage by a group of young Muslims. They gagged and hooded us, taking us to a warehouse far from the city with the sole purpose of torturing both of us...or maybe just one of us for the reason of what that person was wearing.

     Jonny was dressed in a tee shirt, white athletic socks with three blue stripes and white sneakers. But he wasn't wearing long pants like I was. You see, due to the climate of the vicinity, Jonny was wearing mid-thigh denim shorts, displaying his legs to our captors. As I sat there, my hands tied behind my back and my feet tied to the two front legs of the chair, the Muslims stood Jonny up and led him outside...where a throng of other young Muslim males stood prepared to either torture or kill poor Jonny. How they would carry out their devious plan only God knew.

     Once outside, our captors gagged Jonny, stood him erect and, lowering a hook from a crane, raised Jonny to a height that put his kneebacks at mouth level. Since he had no knowledge of the tongue, Jonny could only hang there and fear what the Muslims were going to do to him. He was all too soon to find out rather painfully...as painfully as any Muslim could inflict upon a handsome young American male model.

     A young man, roughly 17 or 18, approached Jonny's suspended and hooded body. He stared at the tempting, naked legmeat which was dangling before his eyes. Suddenly, opening a mouth to display the whitest teeth I had ever seen on a dark-skinned Muslim, the youth tilted his head and clamped his teeth on Jonny's right knee, his tongue licking the handsome kneeback which completely filled his mouth. The youth bit down, his teeth piercing both the inside and outside of Jonny's knee, his eyes closing rapturously as red blood squirted into his mouth. The pain from the bite caused Jonny to squirm vigorously while his knee was still in the Muslim youth's mouth, causing the teeth to cut more of the meat on either side of the handsome kneeback.

     When the youth retracted his teeth, the leader of the group approached and, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, licked the complete back of Jonny's left leg, starting from the bottom of his calf, over his kneeback and running all over the meaty thigh. Jonny hung there, helpless, unable to do anything in his predicament. All he could do was whimper as pain ran through his right leg from the bitten and bloodied knee. When the leader had finished licking Jonny's leg, he signaled the rest of the youths to approach and malign Jonny's legmeat, which they did with great pleasure. They licked and bit both of Jonny's legs for almost an hour before standing back at a distance of ten feet.

     The leader lowered Jonny's maligned body to a chair. He unbound Jonny's wrists and rebound them behind his back while another youth fashioned a noose and anchored it onto the hook. The leader then placed the noose around Jonny's neck, resting the loops against Jonny's shoulder. He then raised Jonny to a height that put his feet four feet above the ground. As Jonny gagged and struggled for breath, the leader ripped his shirt and pulled it down to his waist, exposing his broad back. The other youths laughed as they watch Jonny flopping about like a dying fish, his life being choke out of his body. After fifteen minutes, Jonny's head dangled lifeless onto his shoulder. The leader touched the vein at Jonny's left kneeback for a pulse. He smiled and nodded to the others. Jonny was dead.  The leader watched as Jonny's body was raised higher to offer the entire populace a better view of a handsome young American male model who died dressed in shorts and baring his legmeat.

     The leader then turned and approached the building in which I was still sitting, bound, blindfolded and gagged. He opened the door and entered the room, approaching me. He removed the gag, allowing me to breath...and talk.

     "Where is my friend?" I asked in Arabic.

     "You speak our language," he replied. "Are you a Muslim?"

     What could I do? How would I answer? I didn't want to be tortured...or killed.

     "Yes!"

     "What were you doing, traveling with an American?"

     "I didn't expect to be hijacked, leading him through the Middle East."

     The leader went behind my chair and cut my bonds before raising the hood from my head. Once my hands were free, I bent down and untied my feet.

     "Now...where is my friend?" I asked.

     "He's outside. He's dead", he answered. "We tortured and hanged him."

     "Why?"

     "If you weren't wearing pants, we would have done the same to you!"

     "What!"

     "In this country, the wearing of shorts is forbidden...and punishable by immediate death by hanging."

     "Can I have his body? To take home for burial."

     The leader walked over to the window and looked outside. The other youths had already lowered Jonny's body, laid him out prone, poured gasoline on his dead body and started to cremate him.

     "My friends are already burning him."

     I ran over to the window and looked outside. Sure enough, Jonny lay face down in the street, still hooded and bound hand and foot, feeding a vigorously fueled fire.

     "We burn the bodies of our enemies...face down if they are wearing shorts."

     I turned away from the window. The leader placed his hands on my shoulders.

     "If you were wearing shorts, you would have been hanged and burned face down beside him."

     The leader gave me my belongings.

     "Leave now...and forget you were here. And forget your friend ever existed."

     I nodded and walked out the door. Before I left, I looked back and watched as Jonny's prone body was still being burned as the youths doused it more and more with gasoline. Turning away, I hailed down a cab and, taking the leader's advice, left the city...and my friend's cremating body.

     

AH, TO DIE FACE DOWN...IN SHORTS!

It would be pure bliss to die face down at attention...
dressed like this with kneebacks to the sky!

     I have often dreamed about dying face down at attention while wearing meat-bearing shorts, a long-sleeved shirt, below-the-calf socks and dress shoes...with a sports jacket to finish off the handsome ensemble.

     In my most favorite dream, I am laying face down, anxiously awaiting somebody to inject me with a drug which would render me completely unconscious so that my death would be easier for me to tolerate...and for the all-male crowd to thoroughly enjoy without any bodily movements which would indicate that I am not as unconscious as my executioner would believe.

     As soon as it is verified that I am completely unconscious, my executioner pours gasoline all over my prone body...from my head to my feet. As the all-male audience glances at my wet body, they notice how my thighs, calves and kneebacks glisten brightly in the noon sun. When the nearby clock tower chimes the noon hour, my executioner ignites a wooden matchstick and drops it near my left thigh.

     Immediately, my body becomes engulfed in flames. Since I am thoroughly unconscious, the flames do their work without any interruption. As I quickly burn to death, smoke from my burning legmeat reaches the noses of my all-male audience, who close their eyes and exalt in the smell of roasting meat...a smell more akin to that of roasting almonds. As the audience continues to watch the conflagration, my clothes begin to burn away, revealing more of my body which they were hiding and are now exposed to the fire.

     Within an hour, my once-living and handsomely meaty body was reduced to white ash. The executioner allowed the fire to self-extinguish. Nothing remained that once told people that the ash was all that was left of a handsome 47-year-old man who, while he was alive, thoroughly loved to wear shorts and left it up to the imagination of other men and boys how his muscular legmeat looked while he walked among us.

MY BRAND NEW FLORIDA LOVE

I just love showing these lovely meats all over the Sunshine State!

     I am very proud to be not only a 23-year citizen of Malibu, California...but also a former resident, and constant visitor, of the state of Florida. I'm also proud to show off my beautiful legs all over the state to millions of residents and visitors of the Sunshine State...especially the back of my legs on rarely cold days and nights.

     When my cousin Arthur lost his house and his brother lost most of his money to a husband and wife pair of con artists named Ken Knoepfle and Margarita Mirzoyan, he and his brother were forced to take up residence in an rental community in North Lauderdale. At the funeral of his father in 1995, Arthur spoke to his paternal second cousin, Michael Broome...who was also the executor of his father's estate...and asked when he could think about selling the house. All through the following year, Arthur entertained realtors from Dade and Broward counties about how much the entire house and property were worth. He was surprised when they all said that the property was worth between $325,000 and $400,000 as is. The crooks realized that, unless Arthur and his brother were able to sell the house after the settlement was completed by February 1997, the brothers would be in the green for the rest of their lives. That they could not allow!!!

     Ken and Margarita came into their lives in March 1996. Arthur originally wanted Ken's nephew, Scott, to share in the house upon hearing that he was getting a divorce. Instead, Scott recommended a friend of his...a worthless piece of drunken shit named William Escobar. He was worthless because he never paid the rent on time because he was always drunk or spaced out on drugs. To make matters worse, he moved his ex-girlfriend and their daughter in...along with her handicapped daughter and troublemaking son. Everything was going well in the house, with the ex-girlfriend cooking and cleaning in exchange for room and board, until the son brought in his dog...an Akita named Tasha...who ended up paralyzing Arthur's prize-winning Yorkshire terrier named Kira. Donna (ex-girlfriend) took the dog up to New Jersey to live with her sister. Sorry to say, Kira passed away that November near Thanksgiving. Happy to say Arthur was avenged three months later when Tasha was killed trying to run after another dog across the New Jersey Turnpike.

     In February 2005, Ken got Arthur and his brother involved with another con man...a lawyer friend of his. He got this lawyer to draw up a contract and a check for $140,000 for Arthur and his brother. The only problem my cousins later found out...they saw neither the check or a copy of the contract. Had they been permitted to read a copy of the contract, they would have found that unless they were able to repair and sell the house by January 2010, they would forfeit the house. Ken took control of the check...and ended up purchasing a fully-equipped non-emergency ambulance for exactly $125,000. The rest Ken and his bitch used to purchase two 60-inch color televisions and a Bernese Mountain dog from Slovenia. The breeder ended up stealing the dog to resell it as well a Ken's passport, leaving the country for Switzerland. Ken and his whore ended leaving my cousins in the dark and cold, with no electricity or heat.

     Arthur and his brother ended up moving into a rental facility in North Lauderdale. One day, after I had appeared on stage in Orlando, I chanced to go to North Lauderdale to visit Arthur. He took me to a spot where an overpass crossed the turnpike between Oakland Park and Sunrise Boulevards. Of course, he could not park on the turnpike without being towed away. So he parked on a street which ran alongside the turnpike on the west side at NW 19th Street. I had climbed up onto the overpass and turned to look at Arthur, noticing that he had taken off his trousers. He climbed up the ramp onto the overpass, attired in a black long-sleeved sweatshirt, black mid-thigh shorts, black woolen below-the-calf socks and black sneakers. As he looked northward (we were on the overpass above the southbound lanes), he saw no cars at first. Then came his chance. About fifteen cars were speeding southward towards the overpass when Arthur turned his back to the chain-link wall, put his hands to his sides and stiffened the back of his legs. As I looked at his face, Arthur smiled with satisfaction that he was exposing his naked thighs, calves and kneebacks to those in the cars below. After the cars sped by, Arthur dropped to his knees, eased himself forward and lay face down at attention, still exalting in what he had just done, remaining like this for ten minutes before rising to his feet.

     As we drove back to his apartment, I asked him what sort of gratification did he receive by doing what he did. He asked me whether or not I receive gratification from displaying the back of my legs at a time and place I should not. He then invited me to join him the next time he was going to do this...which, luckily for me, was going to be the next evening, when the temperature was promising to be in the low to mid-40s.

     While we were on our way to the place which I shall now refer to as "Arthur's Kneebacks Place", my cousin related to me a story of what happened a couple of years ago on a night when the lowest temperature was in the upper 20s. He was employed at the time by a security firm called SOS Security and placed at a storage company in Fort Lauderdale very close to the Everglades. Because the storage facility utilized closed-circuit cameras throughout the properties (there was the main one in front and a second one two blocks off), my cousin was only able to strip off his slacks after doing his hourly run. On one of his earlier runs, he found an empty cart which was angled just perfectly and out of sight. Stripping off his slacks and attired in mid-thigh shorts and black below-the-calf socks to compliment his uniform shirt, he mounted the cart, threw himself face down with his arms at his sides and exulted in the cold air tasting his thighs, calves and kneebacks. He had previously set his cell phone's alarm to ring to let him know that it was time to do his next hourly run. When he had checked out to leave for his apartment, he stripped off his slacks, placing them in a duffel bag, so that he was dressed in his shorts. Before leaving the facility, he reached down for his socks (which turned out to actually be knee socks) and pulled them up to his knees. He started his car and left the facility for home, making only one last stop at a gas station to fill up his car...and show off his thighs and kneebacks to whoever was at the station.

     When we arrived at the parking area at NW 19th Street and NW 52nd Avenue, which had a clear way to the crossover entry near the turnpike, Arthur got out and handed me a pair of handcuffs and manacles. As we walked onto the ramp closest to the southbound lanes, he told me to cuff his hands behind his back and, after he got face down on the cold cement ramp, manacle his feet at the ankles. I was then to inject him with a drug which would render him completely unconscious. I was then to sit guard over him as car after car drove by and the drivers saw his naked thighs, calves and kneebacks facing the cold dark sky. Only a few drivers...those fortunate enough to have a GPS system... calculated where Arthur and I were and managed to find us after exiting the turnpike at Sunrise Boulevard. They made the right turn onto Sunrise and the right turn at the next light, making the final right at NW 19th Street. They and their male passengers got out of their cars and approached us, looking down at the delicious-looking legmeat which was exposed to the cold night air. They asked me if it was okay to bite Arthur's thighs and calves and lick his kneebacks. Of course, I couldn't speak for Arthur...but I knew in my heart that he wouldn't mind seeing teethmarks on his legmeat when he next looked in the mirror after we arrived back at his apartment. I smiled as I saw them biting my cousin's exposed meat and licking his still kneebacks, hoping that strangers would do the same to me the next time...when I would take the chance at laying face down with my legmeat naked in the cold air.

     After everybody who wished to taste my cousin's legmeat had done so and left for their cars, I chanced to look towards the east, where I saw the pink tinges of dawn. Since Arthur was still sleeping, I picked him up, put him over my brawny shoulder and, placing my hands tightly upon his delicious kneebacks, carried him back to his car. Placing him face down upon the hood, I searched his pockets until I found the keys to his car. Unlocking all four of his doors, I opened the left rear door and placed him face down upon the seat before getting in behind the wheel and leaving "Arthur's Kneeback Place", returning back at his apartment, just beating the sun as it fully rose over the eastern horizon. Taking him out of the car, I gripped his kneebacks as I carried him up the steps to his front door, unlocked it and disappeared inside with my unconscious burden. Once inside, I placed my cousin face down upon the livingroom carpet. I then stripped down to my own mid-thigh shorts, dropped to my knees and fell forward so that my mouth was directly over Arthur's kneebacks. I then lovingly licked each delicious kneeback until my cousin awoke from his drugged stupor. When I heard him waking up, I immediately removed my tongue from his kneebacks. Smiling drunkenly, he told me not to stop...that feeling my tongue licking his kneebacks felt great. We walked into his bedroom, where he examined the back of his legs and counted twenty red teeth marks on each thigh and ten on each calf. He smiled as we redressed in our slacks before I started packing to return to Orlando, where I would meet my brother-in-law Mark and board his Learjet for my return to Malibu. But, before I left I asked Arthur if he would do the same to me when I return to South Florida.

     "In a heartbeat, coz", he replied.

     "Why?" I asked.

     "Five reasons. One...you are like me. You like to wear shorts any day of the year. Two...you like to lie face down at attention while dressed in shorts. Three...you like to have men and boys bite your thighs and calves and lick and kiss your kneebacks while you lie face down at attention, dressed in shorts. Four...you smile when your thighs, calves and kneebacks are maligned in any way. And five...you have the most handsome legmeat that invites males to malign them".

     I smiled openly...because I knew Arthur was right. I love having everything done to the back of my meats whenever I dress in shorts.

     I smiled again, embracing my cousin before I left to return to Orlando...and meeting my brother-in-law for the flight home to Malibu.

     See you next time I'm in South Florida, coz!

HAVE YOU EVER...?

YUMMY!!!

     Have you ever dreamed of a time when you would dress in knee-length shorts, knee socks and sneakers, lie face down at attention and have your kneebacks licked? How about if you wore mid-thigh shorts, below-the-calf socks and had your meaty thighs and calves bitten deeply by the same person who was licking your kneebacks?

     You haven't???

     Well, then...you don't know what you are missing!!!

     I mean...to feel another man's tongue licking your kneebacks and his teeth biting your legmeat is one of the biggest thrills a consummate leg lover could ever hope to experience. Just to feel and hear those teeth crunching your thigh and calf meat and that frothy saliva drenching your kneebacks is something that must be experienced to thoroughly relish.

MALIGNING MY KNEEBACKS

They are totally deliciously de-loverly!

     As much as I love looking at the kneebacks of handsome young men and teenage boys as they pass by me while wearing shorts, it cannot countervail the joy I feel when other men and boys come to visit me after I advertise that I shall be displaying myself laying face down in a pair of mid-thigh shorts and below-the-calf socks, displaying my meaty thighs and calves for their teeth to bite and my handsome kneebacks for their lips to kiss and their tongues to lick. I just love feeling those teeth biting deeply into my fleshy legmeat and those tongues licking longingly on my kneebacks. Whether it's the teeth and tongues of friends or strangers, boys to mature men, either gay or straight...I love it!!!

     This fixation with having other males make love with the back of my legs started with, if you can believe it, the help of my maternal grandfather. When my mother and I lived with him, he burned all my long pants, below-the-calf socks and sneakers and made it so I went to school every day dressed in knee-length shorts, dress knee socks and dress shoes...even in the cold, wintry months! And, let me tell you this...it got very cold in Brooklyn during the winter. Even going as low as -20 degrees when I had to walk to the school two miles away because my grandfather would not stand for me to take the bus, which would have been a whole lot easier on my feet and warmer on my naked knees.

KNEEBACKS!!!

     KNEEBACKS!!!

Sixteen adolescent kneebacks face skyward as a teacher looks on!

     They're the one part of a man's (and boy's) legs that really attract the attention of another male who hungers to look at them with the anticipation of putting his tongue to them. Since I've come to Los Angeles, and eventually to Malibu, I've met over ten thousand men and boys who tell me that I've got delicious-looking kneebacks...and half of them ask me if I would lay face down so they can lick them. Since I love showing off my legs (especially my kneebacks), what else could I do but give them what they want. I've been wearing shorts and showing off my meats since I was fourteen and permitting men and boys, friends and strangers, to bite my thighs and calves and lick my kneebacks. When I was attending the University of Central Florida in Orlando, I even allowed my kneebacks to be cummed if I was the reason my soccer team lost an important game. I would lay face down on a bench while every other player on my team exposed their penises and ejaculated their cum onto my handsome kneebacks. What bliss it was to feel that smooth white cream wet and dry upon my kneebacks!

     Since I came to Los Angeles twenty-three years ago, I've shown my kneebacks eight thousand times, got three-quarters that amount of compliments on what beautiful kneebacks I have, had over five thousand requests from men and boys who wished to lick my kneebacks (and bite my thighs and calves in the process)...and the one weird request to permit a teenager to set my meats on fire and eat them while I am still alive!

     I have collected some pictures of other actors and models with beautiful kneebacks and put them together with tales of fancy. Let me tell you their stories:

SASHA KASDAN

Don't my kneebacks look tempting?

     Where is the best place to begin when I'm talking about kneebacks? Why, the best place to start is with my own! After all, I've been showing them off since I was living with the two elderly people I hated the most when I was a kid...my maternal grandparents.

     When I was six, my mother and I were forced to move in with her parents in New York City because my mother was being hounded by a woman from the Department of Childrens's Affairs, threatening to take me away and placing me under foster care. My grandfather, who hated my father, searched through my clothes and burned my trousers, athletic socks and sneakers and forced me to wear shorts, saying that a boy wearing shorts would learn better and show more respect for his elders. When school started, I went to class attired in a long-sleeved shirt, black dress shorts, black dress knee socks and black dress shoes...even in below zero temperatures. When I came home, I was forced to do my homework on my stomach on the carpet. And heaven help me if that old bastard didn't look down and see my kneebacks!

     And being in school was even worse! There was one boy who hated me and constantly got me into trouble. So much so that when the teacher turned at the slightest interruption, it was me she caught in the act and not the other boy. The teacher told me to stand in the corner for one hour while the lesson continued. The other boy noticed that I was looking at the class. Gleefully, he told the teacher that I was not adhering to the rules of punishment. The teacher looked at me and twirled her finger, motioning me to turn and face the corner...thereby exposing my kneebacks to the class. I complied, crying while I did so. After school, the teacher had me stay behind while she composed a note to my grandfather, telling me to bring the note back the next day...with my grandfather's signature upon it!!!

     When I was twelve, my father, finding out all about me, won total custody of me in court in absentia. When I finally moved to Florida, I discovered that I could wear shorts and show off my kneebacks once again without impropriety. I had made a lot of friends in Florida. When my father purchased a movie prop...a hanging harness used in 1982 in a movie called "Eddie Macon's Run"...I decided to use it without my father's permission. I went into the garage...attired in a brown short-sleeved shirt, denim mid-thigh cutoff shorts, white athletic knee socks and sneakers...put the harness on under my shirt, put the noose about my neck and eased myself off a stool into a hanging position with my feet two feet off the cement floor. But, I did not pay very close attention to how my father used it on me when he first got the harness. The noose started tightening about my neck and, within minutes, my arms fell to my sides and I blacked out. Fortunately, my father came home and found me near death. With the help of some of my friends, he cut me down and resuscitated me. I learned my lesson after that...never to use my father's things without prior permission.

     When I had turned fourteen, my father enrolled me in the prestigious American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York City. On-campus, I learned acting, singing and dancing. Off-campus, I excelled in sports such as tennis, baseball and, especially, soccer...which became my lifelong passion, as I follow Manchester United, Emirates and all other teams and watch them on television when traveling to the games became an impossibility. I also started my modeling career in earnest, receiving a call one day to report to my handling agency within an hour. I was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and knee-length shorts. Not liking what I saw in the mirror, I rolled the sleeves up to just below my elbows and the legs of the shorts up several inches until I did like what I saw in the mirror. The photographer, however, did not like what he saw and told me to lower the sleeves and legs to where they belonged. The way he ordered me around was rewarded by a slap across the head by the designer, who told me to put the sleeves and legs back to the way I had them before he placed me in front of a young woman in an advanced state of pregnancy. The designer turned out to be Gianni Versace and the young woman was none other than Vicki Hogan, who would later become immortalized as Anna Nicole Smith. I continued print modeling while I finished at the Academy. When I graduated with honors in 1989 and varisty letters (for soccer, tennis, baseball, diving and gymnastics) and gold and silver medals (for gymnastics), I returned to South Florida and readied myself for the next four years of my education...at the University of Central Florida in Orlando.

The seal of the school where I was to earn Associate and Bachelor degrees!

     My four years at the University of Central Florida was just as fruitful as was my time at the Academy of Dramatic Arts, both academically as well as physically. My girlfriend, Jen (who I would later marry in 1999), accompanied me to Central Florida. She took several physical education classes at the University because of her martial artist rank of fourth-degree black belt. While I took classes in advanced dramatics, I also engaged in sports. Because of my self-love of my legs, the sports which I joined in were any that permitted me to wear shorts, such as tennis, gymnastics, lacrosse, basketball, volleyball and soccer...my favorite. I told the coach about the kind of punishment I received while at the Academy if we lost a game due to an error which I made. Although the coach did not like the idea, my teammates thought differently. So, whenever my team lost the game, into the locker room and face down at attention upon the bench I went, out came the penises and the cum from within the scrotums of each teammate that drenched my kneebacks and ran down the sides onto the bench, ultimately wetting the fronts of my knees. Out from my mouth came the long sigh of satisfaction upon feeling their smooth white cream as it coated my kneebacks. Thus was how it went between the years of 1989 to my graduation in 1993. I received not only an Associates degree in Drama in 1991and a Bachelors degree in both Drama and Journalism in 1993, I was voted most athletic, most handsome young man on campus, most perfect body and most handsome artist's nude model all during my four years in college as well as collegiate letters (for soccer, tennis, baseball, diving and gymnastics), gold and silver medals (for gymnastics and 10-meter platform diving) and gold and bronze medals (for 3-meter springboard diving). A year prior to graduation, my athletic ability earned me a place on both the Olympic gymnastic and diving teams...but I chose education over Olympian notoriety. After all, a career in sports would only last as long as my body did not break. An acting career, however, can last me until the day I die.

     Between the date of my graduation until April of 1995, I remained in Southern Osceola County in Central Florida, first working at Universal Studios Orlando and then, because of an incident with a leaking battery pack, a position as travel journalist-photographer with the Orlando Sentinel. Then, a fateful day while visiting my former haunt at the Studios brought me together with television producer Aaron Spelling (thanks to his daughter Tori). He gave me his card and told me to see him in Los Angeles about a job on a series called Models, Inc. However, upon my arrival in Los Angeles on April 15, 1995, I was informed that the series was cancelled earlier that day. So, there I way...no job, a place to stay at the local YMCA and only $100 in my pocket. Then, another fateful day occurred. While eating a lunch on the steps of a church on the famous Sunset Boulevard, I was spotted by the actor Brian Patrick Clark, who gave me his modeling agent's card after signing his name on the back. I returned to my room at the YMCA, showered and dressed in my suit (with a red and blue striped swimsuit underneath) and made my way to the office of Nina Blanchard. Upon meeting with me, Ms.Blanchard had the photographer take me down to the studio, where he took four or five rolls of pictures of me dressed in my suit and then in my swimsuit.

This was Ms. Blanchard's favorite picture of me in a swimsuit!

     Upon seeing my portfolio, Ms. Blanchard started "selling me to the highest bidders". One of the first who "took the bait" was Donatella Versace, the sister of the designer who officiated over the photography at my first photo shoot when I was attending the Academy. Her brother, which I later discovered, was murdered in cold blood by a maniac named Andrew Cunanan. She told me she wanted to take me to Italy and Greece for a three-month photo shoot. However, I did not wish to leave my girlfriend for so long a time. After all, she had just moved from Florida to join me in Malibu, where we stayed in the mansion which I would ultimately purchase in 1999 from Ms. Blanchard. Ms. Versace allowed me to bring Jen with me on the trip. On a day off in Greece, I traveled to Athens and, upon visiting a jewelry store, purchased an engagement ring. When we went to a spot in southeastern Greece on the Aegean, Ms. Versace had me attired in a Trojan-style toga and asked Jen to put on a dress for some pictures which were going to be in a collection called "Trojan Lovers". Since we were at a place where there was a blood red heart-shaped stone called the "Hellenic Love Stone", upon which any person who proposed would marry within twenty-four months, I got down on my knee, opened the jewel box and asked Jen to marry me. With tears in her eyes, Jen accepted. I stood up and put the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Overcome with emotion, Ms. Versace said that she would make Jen's wedding dress...her gift for the wedding, which took place in South Florida on June 25, 1999.

     In the nearly nineteen years since then...and, ultimately, six children (three of each)...my love for other men and boys delighting in biting my thighs and calves and licking my kneebacks has never waned. I continue to love feeling those teeth biting my meats and tongues licking my kneebacks will never diminish until the day I die and my body is consigned to the crematorium's flames.

AMBROSE OLSEN

He's dead, but his handsome kneebacks still invite admiration!

     On April 22, 2010, I was supposed to meet with fellow model Ambrose Olsen for an early breakfast before going for a photo shoot. When he hadn't shown up by 9 a.m., I went over to his apartment. He once told me where I could find a spare key to his apartment. I opened the door...and was shocked to see him hanging by his neck, dressed only in his black silk underwear and facing away from me. I went to the phone to call the police, who informed me not to touch the body, before returning to the body and placing my finger against the dead kneebacks to check as to whether he was warm or cold. His kneebacks were ice cold...meaning that Ambrose had to have been hanging there for more than a couple of hours. Long before the police and the coroner arrived, a strange temptation came over me. I bent down, stuck out my tongue and licked the cold dead kneebacks. The other pieces of meat, however, I could not bite due to the fact that the coroner would make casts of the bite marks, they would match my teeth...and I would probably be arrested for murdering him. Remembering about my saliva probably remaining on any part of his legs, I got a wet paper towel and wiped Ambrose's kneebacks dry. I took my cell phone, snapped some pictures of Ambrose's legs, kneebacks and face...and walked into the hallway to await the arrival of the police and the coroner. I waited and answered questions while the coroner spent another six hours examining the body as it entered the stage of rigor mortis and awaiting the arrival of the county "meat wagon".

     As soon as the meat wagon arrived, the attendants brought the gurney into the apartment. When the coroner had finished his report (another two hours), the body was released and taken down, placed face down upon the gurney, covered from the waist up and removed from the apartment to be taken to the coroner's lab to be prepared for an autopsy. I approached the coroner.

     "Why do you have to perform an autopsy?" I asked. "It's evident he committed suicide!"

     "Yes...but I have to check the internal organs to determine when he committed suicide, how long he had been hanging before you found him...whether he hanged himself before midnight or after. For the "date of death" box on the death certificate".

     "Oh". I checked my watch and looked at the C.S.I. police officer. "Do you need me anymore?"

     "Not at the present moment", he said. "But, give me your name and telephone number so I may reach you if there is any more information I need".

     I gave the officer one of my business cards and left. Luckily, no further information was needed. As for Ambrose's body? After the autopsy, he was dressed in one of his best suits, placed in the finest coffin money could buy, flown back to his hometown of Homer, Alaska and buried.

     In time, only the worms and maggots would get to taste what I could not. But...I still have my pictures of Ambrose Olsen hanging in his underwear to enjoy.

CHRISTOPHER WINSTON

These handsome lovelies belong to a California Baywatch lifeguard!

     I met Chris when I was working on the set of Baywatch in 1995. Since the producers of the show used beach locations, it seemed only reasonable to use many of the Los Angeles County lifeguards as extras. Chris noticed how easily I took to following the same rules as the real lifeguards. When we filmed an episode where I was one of the candidates, Chris was the timekeeper. When I returned to the beach after swimming out to a buoy, Chris showed David Hasselhoff and Alexandra Paul my time, which was forty-five seconds faster than the next fastest swimmer...so naturally, I was one of the five candidates who were chosen. And since I was the fastest, I had my choice of which beach I wanted to remain at. I chose Baywatch...the same post where Chris was stationed. I especially wanted to be posted here because this was the one where Michael Berk, Douglas Schwartz and Gregory J. Bonann chose to film the series with David Hasselhoff from 1989 to 2001.

     I went across the street from where I lived with other young male models and actors at the time...the same mansion where I live today with my wife and kids. I was always on time to report for work. The producers noticed this. They approached me and asked if I had any acting experience.

     Did I have any acting experience??? Why did they think I came out to California in the first place? After all, if it wasn't for Aaron Spelling, I would never have made the move from Orlando. The day I arrived in Los Angeles, his latest television venture, Models, Inc., was cancelled. If it wasn't for the fact that I was a model, Mr. Spelling would not have given me his business card. But, then  again...if it hadn't been for a chance meeting with actor Brian Patrick Clark, I would never have met Nina Blanchard and she would never have given me a portfolio to show the producers of Baywatch. They were all impressed with my pictures and experience, got me a pair of the red Baywatch shorts and put me to work right away.

     After working on the series for almost two years, I attended a beach party. Being a professional photographer, I brought my camera along...taking pictures of Hasselhoff, Alexandra Paul, David Charvet and many other stars of the show. I was especially attracted to Chris, who attended the party dressed in his red Baywatch shorts, Baywatch tee shirt, white athletic socks and sneakers. Being a consummate leg lover, I noticed Chris's well-proportioned kneebacks. I also noticed that his legs had virtually no hair! That meant getting a mouthful of tender, meaty thighs and calves without getting any hair stuck between my teeth. And those kneebacks!!! So tan and firm. Fine, delicious licking material for any male's tongue!

     But, first...I had to get Chris alone...someplace where we wouldn't be in the public eye. I went into the Headquarters building and down to the locker room. After fifteen minutes of not being among the participants at the party, Chris came into the Headquarters looking for me. Calling out my name and getting no reply, Chris came downstairs and entered the locker room. He looked around in the light that was able to enter the darkened room from the hallway. Chris reached for the switch to turn on the light, only to be met with darkness...thanks to my removing the bulb.

     "Sasha, are you in here?" he asked.

     "I'm over here", I replied softly, as though I had fallen and was barely conscious.

     Chris walked deeper into the locker room, distancing himself from the door beyond which was the only light that filtered into the room. The deeper he walked into the room, the darker the room became. His eyes tried in vain to accustom themselves to the darkness. But try as he could, Chris could not see anything in the ethereal darkness.

     Then, suddenly...

     The strike which forced him to fall prone on the floor came from nowhere. The new light which filled the darkened locker room came from a battery-operated overhead lamp. The switch that turned it on was in my hand. I walked over to the opened fuse box and screwed the fuse into the place...the fuse which would brighten the rest of the locker room. I closed the box and turned my attention back to the prone figure of Chris on the locker room floor, his tanned kneebacks facing the ceiling.

     I knelt down beside the unconscious form, my outstretched hands feeling the smooth meat. Then, I stretched myself out prone, my own kneebacks facing the ceiling, stuck out my tongue and, gingerly, licked the thighs, calves and kneebacks of my unconscious friend. Before I rose to my feet, I puckered my lips and kissed the handsome kneebacks.

     I then rose to my feet and left the locker room, turning back to look once more at the prone, unconscious form of Chris Winston. Smiling, I walked out of the Headquarters and returned to the party on the beach, turning to look every once in a while to watch for Chris coming out of the building and returning to the party himself. He saw me standing there, drinking an ice cold bottle of water. He came over to me and asked me where I had been. I told him that I went to the mens room and then returned to the party. Believing me, Chris went back to enjoying the party himself, never realizing that I was the one who knocked him out so that I could partake in licking his delicious thighs, calves and kneebacks.

BOBBY SHERMAN

My cousin told me how he wished he could have partaken in this!

     My cousin in South Florida once told me that he had always admired Bobby Sherman's legs when he had seen pictures of him wearing a swim suit. He said that he searched all over to find one of the then-28-year-old actor and singer laying on his stomach near a pool. He was totally excited when that picture showed the back of his right leg. He then waited for over twenty years until that same picture was published on the internet with the ability to enlarge it as big as he wanted so as to beautifully accentuate handsome kneeback  and delicious-looking meaty thigh and calf.

     He sent this picture to me, knowing full well that I would enjoy looking at this picture of meat, even though it was forty-six years old and in unappetizing black and white...and he was right!

     Today, the owner of the leg in the picture above is a 75-year-old father of two sons and a grandfather of six. He is also a police lieutenant but still finds time to indulge in his original love...singing onstage.

JON HERRMANN

A little thin...but still well-built and delicious-looking!

     This photo of Jon Herrmann's legs appeared as part of a full-body picture on the cover of a L.A. magazine called Male Model Scene in March, 2015. When I saw it, I knew I just had to enlarge it and add it to my online picture collection. I just loved looking at this young piece of meat. But what really attracted me was the handsomeness of what I saw between the shorts and athletic socks.

A pair just waiting to be slurped!

     But, as much as I loved looking at the thighs and calves, what I really loved and enlarged were the beautiful kneebacks. It turned out Jon was the one model who loved showing the back of his legs to the camera.

     

HOW A MAN CAN DIE...TWICE!

I will prove to you how a handsome man dressed in
shorts could die twice!

     Yes, it is true! A handsome man who prays that he would die while wearing shorts and showing off his delicious-looking thighs, calves and kneebacks can indeed die twice. I had seen it happen several times in my forty-seven years...and wish that it would happen to me, especially if I am dressed in the outfit I am wearing in the picture above. My beautifully tanned legmeat would tempt the teeth and tongues of men and boys before, during and after my second death...if and when it should happen. Let me tell you about one occurrence which I had been happily fortunate to witness.

     It was Tuesday, July 4, 2000. The Knee Lovers of America, a special group for men and teenage boys of which I had been a prize member of since 1990, was holding an Independence Day picnic at its private facility at Wekiva Springs State Park in Apopka, Florida. The climax of one of these special picnics was that one special person between the age of 18 to 30 would be chosen in a lottery as a "sacrifice". The day was nice...blue skies with clouds at a minimum and a high temperature of 93 degrees. All the attendees were comfortably attired in athletic tee shirts, short-sleeved tee or schimmel shirts, mid-thigh cargo shorts or cutoff jeans, below-the-calf or anklet socks and sneakers. For hygenic reasons, no one was permitted to wear sandals without socks. So no sandals were worn by any of the attendees. As I looked around me, I was astounded at all the hairless masculine legmeat which was available. All those handsomely muscular arms and modelesque legs with all those visible thighs, calves and kneebacks to tempt the teeth and tongues of the attendees who would be lucky enough not to be chosen for the "sacrifice".

I was the exception at that special Fourth of July picnic
back in 2000. I wore long sleeves and short shorts!!!

     As every one of us entered the park for the day's event, each car's driver was given the amount of tickets to match the amount of men and boys in the car. Upon each ticket was a consecutive number which would be read after the lunch. As I got out of my car, the dark quality of my tanned legmeat attracted everybody's attention. Little did I realize at the time that, when I turned my back to them, all eyes were riveted upon my kneebacks and the muscular meat above and below. I could only imagine that all the men and boys who I passed on my way to my picnic table must have been licking their lips in anticipation, hoping that I would be the one chosen for the "sacrifice".

     As I was eating my lunch, I was able to feel adoring eyes glancing at my naked thighs and calves. I kept on looking at the number at the top of my ticket. I closed my hazel eyes, secretly praying that the host would not choose my number, thereby saving my legmeat (and kneebacks) from further humiliation.

     After lunch, we all watched as the host of the picnic fashioned a hangman's noose and threw it over a strong branch of the nearest sturdy oak tree. As soon as was had finished, he turned to all of us.

     "And now, my friends...if you would just remove your tickets, fall flat on your stomachs and permit your hams, calves and kneebacks to bake in this beautiful hot sunshine while we pick the...ahem...unfortunate winner of our annual "sacrifice".

     We all removed our tickets from whatever pocket of our shorts in which we placed them, fell flat on our stomachs and exulted in the hot rays tasting my meats. True, since I wore short shorts and a long-sleeved linen shirt, I had the most meat displayed of anybody else in the group. I chanced to glance at my ticket. Was it the winning ticket? Would I be the unfortunate winner of the annual "sacrifice"? And, if so...what form of sacrifice would it be? I gazed at my number...KL7501293468MT.

     "All right, my friends. I have the winning number in my hand. Would the bearer of ticket number KL7501293468MQ please rise and approach me?"

     I released the pent-up breath which was in my lungs as I smiled, still looking at my number. I missed being chosen as the "sacrifice" not by a number but by one letter. As I glanced about me at the other prone and handsome young men about me, I noticed the unfortunate rise to his feet and, with his head down, approach the host.

     "You have my condolences, my friend". The host looked at all of us as we remained prone, the bright sun still beating down on our thighs, calves and kneebacks. "You may now rise and see who fate has chosen this year".

     We rose from our prone positions, the back of our meats stinging slightly from the hot rays of the Florida sun, and looked at the unfortunate one as he was turned to face us.

The unfortunate one chosen for the "sacrifice"!

     The unfortunate one was handsome and young...probably not more than twenty-three, twenty-five at the most...stood at six-foot-two, with dark blond hair and green eyes. He was clean-shaven and had no hair upon his handsome, slightly muscular meats. He was attired in a bright pair of white dress short shorts, white dress below-the-calf socks and white dress shoes. He also wore a white sports jacket, under which was a white silk short-sleeved dress shirt and bow tie. He looked as though he was fashionably ready to be chosen. The host brought forward a pair of handcuffs and a pair of ankle manacles.

     "What is your name, my friend?"

     "Hugo", came the answer.

     "Please put your hands behind your back".

     Doing as he was requested to, Hugo put his hands behind his back, permitting the host to place the handcuffs upon his wrists. Then, positioning the "sacrifice" beneath the awaiting noose, the host then knelt down and placed the manacles upon Hugo's ankles. The host reached up for the noose and lowered it into position about Hugo's neck, placing the knot under the young man's chin. When all was ready, the host had his assistant pull Hugo up off the ground until his feet were between twelve and fifteen inches from ultimate salvation. After Hugo had been hanging five minutes, I noticed that there were no death throes running through his legmeat.

     The host turned to the rest of us.

     "Everybody to the ball field!" he shouted.

     As everybody else hurried from the sacrificial site, I approached the host with a puzzled look on my face.

     "But he isn't dead!" I told him.

     "Nor will he be for at least four hours, my friend", he replied. "You see, this "sacrifice" is a special case. Hugo was hanged like this because death can not only be attained with the rope against the larynx and epiglottis, cutting off the windpipe and breaking the neck. There are nerves and muscles at the back of the neck which control other nerves and muscles of the face. As the major muscle weakens, the nerve which controls the face are afflicted. When this happens, the eyes open wide and rarely blink. The sardonic muscles are also effected. These muscles controls those which cause us to smile. As the area is further effected, the spinal disc become enflamed and rupture; the fluid leaking from them weaken the spinal bones, which crack and, soon, cut the spinal cord, finally killing the "sacrifice". When we return after five hours of fun, I will place my thumbs against Hugo's kneebacks and feel for a pulse. When I don't find one, we will then examine Hugo's face. His eyes will be glazed but still staring at the sky and there will be an eternal smile upon his face, giving him the appearance that he was happy to be hanged to death at the picnic. His dead body will then be taken down, decapitated, disrobed and butchered for our barbecue dinner".

     "You mean we're going to eat him?"

     "Of course! After all, a dead human body, when thoroughly and properly cooked, would taste just like beef or any other meat which we slaughter for our consumption".

     "Have you ever eaten a dead body before?"

     "Once. When I was fifteen, my neighbor's house burned to the ground in the early morning. The man was a widower and lived in the house with only his nineteen-year-old son. I used to watch his son play basketball with his friends and noticed that he had beautifully muscular legs and licked my lips in wonder".

What the host had seen before the fatal fire!

      "You dreamed about eating him?"

     "Well, you should have seen him when he was alive! He may have been five-foot-ten and about one hundred and ninety pounds...but he was solid and firmly packed. Anyway, the night of the fire, the son...his name was David...had a fight with his father. The man had been drinking heavily and was probably in a drunken stupor and chain smoking when he fell asleep and started the fire. By the time David woke up, the whole house was already a blazing inferno. I was the only one home at the time because my father was on his honeymoon with his recent trophy-wife. I watched as the house burned and heard David screaming for help".

     "Well, surely other people would have called the fire and police departments!"

     The host shook his head.

     "Our houses were the only ones on that block. The nearest neighbor was about three-quarters to a mile away. I had the pleasure of watching that house burn to the ground all to myself. Anyway, when I rummaged through the remains of the house after it had sufficiently cooled, I found the skeletal remains of David's father among the burned frame of his chair. I walked into what used to be David's room and found him laying prone on the floor, burned beyond recognition, with smoke still rising from his once-beautiful body. The smoke reached my nose...and I got the whiff of roasted almonds. I realized that this was what a dead body smelled like after it was totally cooked. I figured...why should I let this beautiful body go to waste now that it was dead? I went back home, got dressed in my tee shirt and shorts, retrieved a blanket, went back to the remains of David's house, rolled his body onto the blanket and pulled it deep into the woods that our street ended in. I knelt down and touched David's thigh, which, to my amazement, broke open under my touch. I reached further in and found that David's body had been cooked all the way to the bones. I ripped away a chunk of David's thigh, put it in my mouth, chewed and swallowed it".

     "How did it taste?"

     "Not bad. It was a bit stringy and tough...but still very chewy and delicious. A lot like roast beef. I liked it so much that I tore the entire leg loose from the hip...which wasn't too hard to do...and ate it down to the bones. Then, I returned to the other leg and did the same. I finished both legs before sunset that day and went home. When I went back into the woods the next morning, the rest of his body was gone. No doubt stolen by wild animals".

     "Do you ever think about him?"

The rest of his burnt body was never found!

 

 

     "Every time we hold these Knee Lovers picnics". 

 

     The host looked down at my legs.

 

     "I noticed that you looked relieved when the number was chosen. Why?" he asked.

     "Every letter and number were the same...except the last letter. My number ended with a T".

     "Whereas Hugo's ended with a Q. You are lucky, my friend. Otherwise, you would have been hanging while Hugo played with the rest of us".

     "Yeah...and my body would have been barbecued for dinner tonight!"

     The host glanced down at my tanned, well-muscled meat, looking them over and licking his lips.

     "Yeah!" He patted my shoulder and smiled. "Well, let's leave Hugo to hang in peace and contemplate what is going to become of his body...especially his legmeat...and join the others!"

Well, we played sports for the next five hours and returned to find Hugo right
where he was hanging, his glazed blue eyes facing the cloudless blue
sky and an eternal smile on his still-handsome face. Like the boy
the host ate when he was fifteen, Hugo also tasted great. I was
lucky again. I got a whole thigh and a kneeback!
HOW SWEET IT WAS!

     If you should wish to either join or form your own Knee Lovers branch, I can tell you how. Email me at:

sashak1971@aol.com.

     Remember...the main rule is that all members must wear shorts and socks but not block thighs, calves and kneebacks.