Hey sex fans,
We’re back with my guest, that bad boy of kink photography, Kenny Lee, a.k.a. KinkedKenny. Kenny is also an ardent practitioner of the lifestyle he so skillfully captures in his photography.
This is Part 2 our chat in this podcast series called Sex EDGE-U-cation. As you know, this series is all about the world of fetish sex, kink and alternative sexual lifestyles.
If you somehow missed Part 1 of conversation, look for last week’s podcast, #108 on Dr Dick’s PODCAST PAGE. Or simply use the search function. Type in podcast #108; don’t forget to include the # sign.
For more of Kinked Kenny, be sure to visit his site HERE!
Kenny and I discuss:
- The intersection between his personal and professional life.
- BDSM as both recreation and catharsis.
- Melding graphics and photography to create new art.
- Digitally capturing real men playing out their fantasies.
- His future plans.
- His sexual heroes.
Today’s Podcast is bought to you by: FetishMovies.com.
Hey sex fans,
Today I have the distinct pleasure of welcoming a true original in the world of erotic photography, Kenny Lee, a.k.a. KinkedKenny. He is also an ardent practitioner of the lifestyle he so skillfully captures in his art.
Kenny is my third guest in this new series of podcast interviews I’m doing called Sex EDGE-U-cation. We’re taking a look at the world of fetish sex, kink and alternative sexual lifestyles. But Kenny is also my first 2-fer guest, because he comfortably straddles both The Erotic Mind podcast series, that I do on Mondays, and this series I’m doing on Wednesdays. So we will be picking his brain on both topics.
Kenny is first and foremost a photographer, but he is also a storyteller. He shoots fashion as well as kink, but whatever he shoots you can be sure that it will push the envelope. His photography can be both exquisitely beautiful and stunningly disturbing. And often his images are both of these things at the same time.
Besides being a brilliant photographer, he is in his very own element when exploring the world of kink. Like his photos, Kenny is “Raw, Dark, Twisted and Real”.
Kenny and I discuss:
- The transition from fashion photographer to kink photographer — InkedKenny to KinkedKenny.
- Working with real people in the lifestyle and capturing the chemistry between the players.
- His agenda: to shake his audience out of their complacently by engaging us in his work.
Be sure to visit KinkedKenny at his website HERE!
Today’s podcast is bought to you by: Dr Dick’s Stockroom.
“Though I’d been learning to embrace my life in a wheelchair—a result of cerebral palsy—going without touch, or even access to my own body, was taking a toll.”
By Andrew Gurza
I’d never considered the price of intimacy until I hired a sex worker. Though I’d been learning to embrace my life in a wheelchair—a result of cerebral palsy—going without touch, or even access to my own body, was taking a toll. Even so, I didn’t come to my decision lightly. I was worried about shame, stigma, and fear, and concerned I’d pay for time and still not get what I needed. I spent weeks quieting the voices in my head telling me that using the services of a sex worker was not a good idea. Would this be the only way I could find intimacy? Would someone even want to do this with me, or would he only view it as a charitable opportunity to help a cripple? Despite all these questions, I sat in my apartment reflecting on my nearly year-long celibacy. It was time to take care of myself.
After scouring site after site with rows and rows of horny men holding their hard-ons, I found David. His smile was warm, inviting, and intriguingly devious all at once. He was older than me, in his mid-40s, and his photos showed off a powerful body, a strong charisma, and an undeniable charm. I’d often felt physically invisible within the mainstream LGBT community, but David possessed everything I longed for.
I sent David a cursory email, telling him that I was interested in using his services, but that I had never done this before, that I was nervous. I also casually explained as best I could that I lived with a disability and used a chair. He emailed back some hours later, letting me know that he had experience working with clients with disabilities. David wrote bluntly: “If I’m unsure of something, I’ll just ask.” It was a refreshing change from all the guys who tripped and tumbled over their discomfort.
We ironed out the logistics—a time, a location, a fee. Knowing that my sexuality would be broken down into a succinct session was daunting, and it took away from the fantasy and spontaneity I had dreamed of. But this, perhaps, was the cost of getting what I wanted, what I needed. David gently reminded me that I was paying for his time, and whatever happened happened. On our very last exchange, just a day before we’d meet, he called and asked me a simple question, though one I have never been asked before: “What do you want?”
Shyly and nervously I outlined my likes and dislikes as well as my abilities. I wanted kissing. I craved body contact. I couldn’t bottom for him because of my spasticity and tight muscles. I’d need help undressing and being put in bed. I paused, smiled. My needs were at the forefront.
On a rainy, blustery Saturday afternoon, my iPhone blinked with the message that David was in my lobby. I looked at myself in the mirror: a long-sleeve shirt, cozy winter sweats, a baseball cap. I headed downstairs in the elevator. When the door opened, I recognized him immediately. “Hey there! How are you?” he said, giving me a big hug as if we were long-lost friends. I kept watching him, in part because I still couldn’t believe this was happening, and because he looked really good in those tight blue jeans and that leather jacket.
A sexy man was in my house. We made small talk, waiting for someone to strike. He led himself into my bedroom and asked me about the transfer device I use to get into bed. I told him he would have to lift my legs while I held on to two gymnastic rings fastened to a hydraulic lift in my ceiling. I continued babbling, watching him get closer to me, taking off his coat, revealing a tank top and thick, muscled arms. He then straddled my chair, bent down, and kissed me. As I reached and pawed at him—my limbs flailing, not wanting to miss an inch—he stopped me. He looked into my eyes, past the rejection and pain caused by other lovers, and spoke with a firm honesty. “It’s OK.”
David drank in my disability and I dared not stop him. He lifted me out of my chair and held me in his arms. He grabbed me, cradled me, and kissed me. I curled up into him so he could feel the scars, curves, rods, and contractures that inform my disability. I felt sexy. He took off my shirt, and together we revealed my skin. As he moved down my body, and took off my pants and shoes, I worried what he would do when he saw my leg bag and my toes, which curled into each other. But David made this act of care exciting and real for me. When I was finally naked with him on the bed—my body going into spastic fits as a result of CP—I started to tense even more as I neared climax. In a piercing moment of release, I felt my two identities collide: queer and crippled came together in a surge of pure, uncomplicated pleasure.
The afterglow was setting in as David lay beside me. He held me tight and kissed my forehead. He told me that I was handsome, and as I looked at his arms wrapped around my spindly legs, I felt he meant it. Moments passed and he placed me in my chair, planting one last soft kiss on my lips before ending our session and saying goodbye. As I sat alone, my adrenaline became diluted by a calming bliss. I could not shame this experience because it marked a passage greater than a fleeting carnal exchange. It was the start of my own physical assertion. I would not settle for an affectionless existence, and I had to strive to honor what I wanted as a seated, but sexually alive, man. I finally had someone see me, and regardless of the cost, I finally showed myself to someone else.
Complete Article HERE!