FACE DOWN ON A DINNER TABLE

Can you imagine looking down at these beauties?

     Can you picture yourself looking down at deliciosities such as those in the picture above?

     Can you imagine that the deliciosities you are looking at are my beautiful legs...with me laying face down on a dinner table?

     Now, imagine, if you will...I am dressed in a black long-sleeved sweatshirt, black mid-thigh cargo shorts, black below-the-calf socks and black sneakers and my beautiful thighs, calves and kneebacks are just begging to feel a mouthful of teeth biting the muscular thigh and calf meat and a wet tongue licking the kneebacks. Or imagine your lips gingerly kissing the back of my legs from shorts to socks.

     Sounds deliciously blissful, doesn't it?

This 20-year-old was one lucky guy!

     Well, Douglas Beahm was the one guy who, out of all the male college students throughout the United States, was the winner who was chosen in a contest for me to visit his college where he would first kiss my meat, then bite my thighs and calves and lick my kneebacks and end the night by licking my meats from the shorts to the socks. He was also the one who was unlucky enough to be taken into the locker room, dressed in his gym uniform and hanged six feet off the floor, receiving six arrows in his chest and back...a Cicero-style death as in Gladiator.

MY SABBATH HANGING

Looking handsome in a Sabbath hanging suit!

     It was Saturday, December 25, 2010.

     Christmas Day.

     A perfect day to hang in a shorts suit.

     I woke up at 4 in the morning and looked out the window of my five-star hotel room in Mumbai, India. It was nice and dark...and silent. I looked left and right and found not a solitary sole lurking about. Then, I turned and looked at the thermostat on the wall near the the window. The temperature was a balmy 80 degrees. And, according to the local news station, it slated to be a hot day, with a high of 90 degrees.

     Smiling, I turned and walked into the bathroom. I turned on the shower, stripped myself down to my birthday suit, opened the glass door and walked in. I then proceeded to thoroughly clean myself for my day's event. Once I was absolutely certain that my whole body was 100% clean and dried, I returned to the bedroom and dressed myself in a pair of clean white boxer shorts. I then walked over to the closet and took out my clothing of the day...a white long-sleeved shirt and black mid-thigh dress shorts. Perfect!

     I put the shirt and shorts on and went over to my bureau and extracted the best socks that would go well with the clothing...black knee-length dress socks. I sat down upon the bed and pulled the socks onto my legs all the way up to my knees. Then, I put on the jacket which best suited this ensemble, finishing with my shiny black dress shoes. Standing before the mirror, I admired my reflection and looked especially at my naked lower thighs and knees...and smiled once again.

     Then, I approached the desk, sat down and proceeded to write a note on the door hanger for the housekeeper...in Hindi. When I had finished, I rose, walked to the door, opened it and put the hanger on the outside knob, locking the door from the inside. The note read:

     "I will be out of town until next Wednesday. The suite has already been cleaned. Do not enter until Thursday morning. Thank you".

     Once I was satisfied with all the preparations for the day's event, I opened my suitcase and took out the final ingredient...a hangman's noose, complete with the traditional thirteen loops. I looked up at the ceiling and smiled again. There was the main reason why I requested a top-floor suite...a rafter of solid oak. I threw the noose over the rafter, then took the remainder of the rope and, opening the closet door, anchored the rope to the cement pole within. Making certain the rope was tight, I situated a stool beneath the noose. Then, before I would proceed with the day's event, I sat down at the desk once again and wrote a second note. This one was addressed to the hotel's manager. I propped it up against the desk's mirror before standing up.

     I climbed the stool, stood on tiptoes and put the noose around my neck. When I lowered myself, the noose was tightened perfectly. I reached into the pocket of my shorts and removed a pair of handcuffs. I put one on my right wrist, placed my hands behind my back and placed the other cuff on my left wrist. I then smiled a smile of finality before tipping the stool over.

     When the housekeeper saw the note on the door-hanger, she proceeded to do every other suite on the floor, unaware of the sight she would have been greeted with when she opened the door next.

     And what greeted her on Thursday morning?

     The housekeeper opened the door and was greeted with the sight of my naked thighs and kneebacks as they were being attacked by maggots which always covered rotting meat. She frantically called the manager on her cellphone.

     The manager and the hotel's security team came up to my suite, followed by Mumbai's finest and the prefect's medical examiner. While my body still hung in the center of the suite, the M.E. snapped pictures of my five-day old corpse, mostly of the maggots eating away at my thighs and kneebacks and my face, with a sardonic grin upon it...a grin of the decomposing. As he was doing this, the manager saw the note I had left for his eyes only. It read:

     "I leave it to your auspices to dispose of my remains in the fashion of your country".

     After several hours, the police lowered my body and, with my hands still cuffed behind my back, placed it face down upon a gurney, covering it from just below the knees to the head...undoubtedly to keep the other guests from seeing my rotting thighs and kneebacks and possibly retching their heads off...and removed it to the prefect's morgue, where, according to my wishes, it was placed in the furnace and cremated.

     One thing still puzzled me as I roamed in heaven, attired in an all-white version of my death clothes: if I hanged myself facing the suite's door, why was it my thighs and kneebacks which greeted the eyes of the housekeeper, manager, security, police and the M.E.? I could only think that, somehow, the action of my hanging forced my body to turn and face the window.

"Adieu to my handsome meat!"

LEGMEAT FLAMBE!

Picture these babies alone making a beautiful blaze!

     When I was attending the University of Central Florida in Orlando, I chanced to take a trip up to Wekiva Springs State Park near Apopka. The trip was a short one...only fifteen miles away from the campus. Brian McKendrick, the college's top tennis player, and a couple of other friends, Sean O'Riley and Danny Wilson, went along with me. It was a very warm late spring day with the temperature hovering around ninety degrees. We all went to the park wearing shorts. I wore coral blue mid-thigh cargo shorts. Brian was attired in a complete tennis outfit, displaying his deliciously handsome, meaty and hairless legs. Sean wore mid-thigh cargo shorts. Danny wore knee-length denim shorts. With the exception of Danny, who wore white athletic knee socks which accentuated his handsome kneebacks, we all wore white atheltic below-the-calf socks, exposing seventy-five to one hundred percent of our tanned, handsome legs.
.
     While we were eating our lunch, from off in the distance came the sound of what we perceived to be gunshots...six of them. At first, we were scared, thinking that whoever was firing the gunshots might venture into us and, after forcing us to lie prone at attention, shoot us in the back and depart, leaving our kneebacks facing the clear blue sky and our exposed meats for the birds, crabs and insects to devour. Luckily for us, though, whoever fired the shots came nowhere near our encampment. We were safe and went on to finished our lunch, after which, we decided, we would venture forth to seek out the possible victim of the gunshots...if any.

     When we had finished eating, we rose to our feet and decided to go off in four different directions in search of the reason of the gunshots and their victim. Each one of us had a cellphone and promised that if, and when, we came upon the reason of the gunfire, we would inform the other three.

     Lucky me!

     I had come across the freshly-murdered body of a young man...no older than sixteen...stretched out face down, hands tied behind his back and his feet tightly bound at the ankles. He was white...handsome...well-built...attired in mid-thigh shorts, below-the-calf socks and sneakers. Four fresh bullet holes were clearly visible in the direct center of his back. Two more bullet holes were found behind each ear...undoubtedly the fatal shot or shots. The body was still a little warm, indicating that the youth was killed within the past half-hour.

     I called Brian, Sean and Danny. Within five minutes, my friends joined me and, together, we looked down at the dead meat between the shorts and socks. We asked ourselves what we were going to do. It was Danny who came up with the best idea any of us ever had. We would get the gas can from my car, douse the leg meat and set them afire, lay face down at attention around the dead youth and murmur how we would wish we could be incinerated likewise if we are found dead in shorts.

     I had the honor of pouring the gas upon the dead youth's meat. Brian lit a book of matches and tossed it upon the glistening meat, setting it ablaze. We fell face down upon the ground, slapping our palms against our thighs and snapped our own meats together...four live pairs of kneebacks facing the sky. I chanced to take a deep breath, getting a whiff of the smell of roasting almonds as the youth's meat burned down to the bone. It was an invigorating odor...really sweet.

     We rose from the dead body with the legs still burning and returned to my car, taking the empty gas can with us. That night, we watched the early evening news, listening for any word about the dead youth being found...without legs.

HEAVEN, BLESS THESE MEATS!

     Every time I wear short shorts...I mean really short shorts that expose the entire meaty package...and below-the-calf socks, I love to wear them with a matching long-sleeved shirt and look at myself in a full-length mirror before throwing myself face down either on my bed or a plush, grassy part of my back yard. But before I put my face in the pillow or grass and place my hands at my sides, I look up towards heaven and say this prayer:

     "Lord, may You and all the angels in heaven look down upon my handsome legs which You in Your infinite wisdom saw fit to grant me with since I was a child. May those of my sex who I invite onto my property take advantage of my legs, bite deeply of my thighs and calves and lick my kneebacks. May they enjoy the taste of my skin and the muscles beneath. May their tongues stay long upon my kneebacks which I have longingly loved to expose to the public on stage and screen and wherever I walk. May I enjoy the pain which I would feel as they bite my meats and the wetness as they lick my kneebacks. Bless these meats while I live upon this earth and grant me the will to expose them after my death to the flames of the furnace of my neighborhood crematorium. Amen".

     Then, I put my face deep within my pillow or the grass of my yard and my hands at my sides while all men and boys enter and, opening their mouths, place their pearly white teeth and tongues upon my meats. As they bite my thighs and calves, I raise my head and release a prolonged "ahhhhhhhhh" of deep satisfaction. As they lick my kneebacks, I smile and lower my face back into the position of repose.

     When they have finished biting my meats and licking my kneebacks, they take the dart pistols which I had previously placed on a nearby table and shoot the thin darts into my thighs, calves and kneebacks, pulling the darts out and permitting my iron-rich red blood to exit each hole. Putting the pistols back upon the table, they would then prepare to leave, while rivulets of blood run down the sides of my thighs, calves and kneebacks.

     After I had been laying face down at attention for a aforementioned amount of time, my eldest son would use an ammonia capsule to awaken me while his brothers would take advantage and lick the blood off my meats. They would then leave me in my prone state to admire the pain which had been inflicted upon my meats. Resting my head on the side either upon the pillow or grass, I would smile and recite the following prayer:

     "Thank you, Lord and all the angels in heaven, for permitting my brothers to enjoy partaking of my meats. Amen".

     I would then stay upon my stomach, waiting until sunset to rise to my feet to dress in cleaner shorts and go to partake in my evening meal.

I hope you all enjoyed reading this delicious story of tasty male pulchritude!

SWEET KNEEBACKS SONG

YUMMY!!!

     Kneebacks!

     They look so great when they're owned by a handsome and well-built young man without a bit of hair on his legs. That description fits me to a T.

     I am handsome...or so I'm told by every woman I have ever worked with. Whether it's onscreen, onstage or before the photographer's camera on a modeling assignment.

     I am well-built. Well, after all...I was a model ever since I was fifteen. I have been working out constantly since then, building myself up to be a model of physical perfection. That meant improving not only my mind but my body as well. Every inch of it. And every actor I have worked with said that they would give their eyeteeth to have the type of body I have got. The last film I worked on, which was made in France, had so many women watching from the sidelines that, whenever the director called for a break, I was bombarded by so many of them that I couldn't breathe. And when I appeared onstage in Orlando as Atahuallpa in THE ROYAL HUNT OF THE SUN, my lack of clothing drew the eyes of everybody not only in the audience but onstage as well as backstage.

     I may not be young anymore. I am well past forty...forty-six at my last birthday...but I still have the face and figure that belie that fact.

See what I mean?

     Whenever I dress in a swimsuit, women whistle all around whatever pool I am about to dive into. And I mean women of all ages. The youngest woman was a mere ten years old. The oldest one who approached me in France was well into her eighties!

     But, the most wonderful thing which I thoroughly enjoy is when I wear mid-thigh shorts and below-the-calf socks, lie face down at attention and have men and boys, friends and strangers alike, stick out their tongues and lick my handsome kneebacks. Every time that is performed on me, I get a euphoric look on my face and give my trademarked "AHHH!" Sometimes I love it so much, I ejaculate smooth white cum in my briefs.

     But in what ways do I enjoy having my kneebacks licked?

     Many ways! One of my favorite ways is when my kneebacks are smeared with a layer of sweet honey. So sweet that many of the tongues which lick my kneebacks linger on them just to enjoy their taste. Sometimes my "confectioner" (a friend who takes charge of the event) spreads the honey upon my meaty thighs and calves so that many of those who lick my kneebacks can bare their teeth and bite those firm pieces of meat. And when they do, I close my eyes and grit my teeth while enjoying every delicious, mouthwatering bite! Do those who perform this act upon my meats do the same? I sure hope they do!

     Another way that I love having my kneebacks licked, kissed and tasted...is when my three sons place freshly-cooked Manwich on my meats and lick it (and the ground beef cooked with it) off for lunch. Sometimes, they even invite their friends over for lunch. Their friends are certainly surprised to find that my delicious legs are the bases for the lunch. I especially love it when they unintentionally bite my thighs, calves and kneebacks to get as much Manwich in their mouths. When they all finish, I take a shower and find that it takes me almost an hour to get the Manwich tint and smell off my meats. But I love it all the same.