"she sang sea-water songs"

Kofi Fosu Forson

She made me lick salt off her nipple. It reminded her of sea-water salt. Her mother used to cook with it back when they went shopping at the farmer's market. On most Sunday evenings they welcomed a share of friends to their Long Island mansion. Her father would have brought home buckets of clams, crabs and lobster. What usually followed was time spent drinking wine and dining. If Lara felt like it she got behind the piano and sang songs she one day hoped to sing on Broadway.

I've been Lara's musical director for a year. We met at a going-away party for a mutual friend. It was one of those parties where things got out of hand from the bathroom to the bedroom. Dancing alone to rock and roll was more or less masturbation.

I was indeed dancing alone when Lara walked into the room. It was clear she had been engaging in something kinky or otherwise freakish. She was at once shy yet seductive barely making eye-contact. I kept dancing. She watched me all the while making small talk. We sat down, only two people left in the living room.

A great urge overcame me when our conversation all of a sudden quieted. She rested on my shoulder, shaking loose to feel comfortable. Her arms reached and unzipped me, removing my cock, shaking her face free of hair, placing the hard cock in her mouth. Slowly she sucked stopping to rub and feel the erection. She then knelt in front sucking harder. I grabbed at the length of hair and felt her head bopping up and down.

With my dick dangling in the air, she positioned her palms on my thighs and without any traction she sucked me looking up, our eyes meeting. I encouraged her to keep sucking until I helped remove her panties.

Her back facing, she slid my cock into her pussy. She rode me, my hands helping, feeling her ass bouncing off the cock. I rummaged through her pubic hair until I felt her clit, wet and moist, stimulating as I kept up the pressure. Her body was bouncing off me. Squealing, she would grab one breast, the other hand on my thigh, as she gyrated and humped the dick, lifting herself up enough for me to see the dick going in and out of her.

I guided her onto her knees, entering, proceeding to bang and cock, hard and hot, grabbing her breasts as I cocked hard, feeling the joy and pleasure coming out of her. I came. Looking over at the side I noticed we were being watched. We scrambled to the sofa, listening as they cheered and clapped.

We took the same taxi home that night. The following morning we met for coffee. She had planned a one-woman show and needed a director. I was more than willing. It seemed wonderful, a woman that beautiful. It wasn't clear how talented she was but the whistle in her voice, the sex in her body could only mean my gratitude and fortune.

Wasn't clear to me at first but she shared an open relationship with a boyfriend. She frequently stayed at his apartment. Sitting in the very room where she and her lover made love I felt discomfort. Surprisingly we were both honest about the intimate details concerning our professional partnership and moments when she would barge into me with her knees, exposing her breasts. I often obliged, filling them within my fingers. I would look her dead in the eye rotating the breasts until I brought a rise out of her.

I had been working on songs I wanted Lara to sing. They were songs in the blues vain. I sat there with my keyboard and played, listening to Lara belt it out. She was a consummate performer, the way she stood, city-mermaid, perfectly poised, her voice soft and childlike. When she sang I tried not to look at her, keeping my focus on the keys. What I heard was a voice so moving filling the room as sounds from the keyboard bounced off the walls. At times she would move closer to me. These were moments when I felt my songs hitting home as if she was meant to sing them.

We were both entertained by our rehearsals, usually relaxing to a cup of coffee. I'd wait while she made coffee, joining me with her legs placed over my thighs. Drinking the coffee she would reminisce about her childhood. She talked distinctly about her uncle. They spent time alone when he would seduce her into singing. It seemed as if they were a couple and in love. Lara becomes enlightened when she talks about him. Asking if it was rape, she denies it, expressing her love for him.

I then would rub her feet, creasing my fingers into the depths of skin and bone. It was a moment of arousal, looking at her melt. I complimented her, all the while rubbing her feet. She would breathe out loud, intermittently touching my hand gently, tossing her face to the left and then to the right, all the while smoothing her hand over mine.

She would pull my pants open and with spit rub my cock. I then placed her on the sofa, sliding my cock up and down between her breasts, noticing as she squeezed them together. Quietly the two of us continued, my dick moving up and down along her cleavage. I tapped my dick on each breast practically fucking them. I'd cum with a purpose all over her breasts.

There was a garden in the backyard. Lara and I sat there rehearsing. Flights above, several men would position themselves, watching and listening. The look in their eyes was that of hunger. They wanted this tall sensuous woman, standing, singing...seemingly so innocent.

To fuck her would complete their lonely and miserable lives.

Thick as the fog in June

Kofi Fosu Forson

Two Brooklyn dykes and I waited to cross the street. Short-haired tease in a white tee-shirt wondered if I had a late night. Long-haired, olive-skinned girl tossed her head around fucking with her dark hair.

It always occurred to me that I looked hot when standing, slightly bent, strecthing my arms forward, if not to catch my breath from walking at least a polite gesture from two lesbians on a hunting spree.

I told them all was good the night before but I didn't do shit. Indeed I'd been walking all day. I was tired. She had a thing about her knee, played tennis in college. Not too long before I brought up my days as a soccer star in high-school.

Dykes were all right with me. I'd known some, even got off on a couple of bases with one. Sucking tits on a girl you know is into girls is more like an offer, a favour, a one off.

Somehow they found me attractive. It wasn't clear what they wanted to do but they thought it nice to come along.

We ended up at a bar on the L.E.S. I loved their body language. Short-haired girl offered her body open-faced. The other stood in a slant, observing, not saying much. Her mug of beer rested on the bar. Not like her partner who stood facing me, sip after sip, taking me in.

I knew then what they wanted to do. We found a cheap hotel, walked up and into a room. I posed at one end with the bed seperating us. They remained next to each other not talking. One girl smiling at me, the other looking away...

Short-haired girl was first to grope me, rubbing over my crotch. She wouldn't let me kiss her on the mouth. We did however embrace, massaging my lips over the whitest of skin on the neck and face, softly as she gently resisted. Not wanting to stop, I grabbed her in my palms, meeting open-mouth to mouth but not touching.

Other girl came over undid her partner's bra. With tongue sliding across the back, she wrapped her arms around to squeeze the breasts that formed full-figured, cupping them, pressing them against the chest, turning her around to suck them. I couldn't see but heard the slipperiness of moisture as she sucked and released the breasts from her mouth.

The two women made out, hugging and grabbing each other, deep-tongue, rushing their fingers within each other's hair. They kept eye-contact stopping to rest their lips on each other, half-circle to half circle, resuming their kiss, passionately with intensity. It was aggressive yet romantic as if they were in love.

I exposed my dick, rotating my fingers up and down. It felt hard, stiff and ready for a fuck.

Undressing and falling on the bed, long-haired girl proceeded to tongue her partner's pussy, licking, motion after motion. Soon thereafter, short-haired girl began to moan. Stuck in this position, the moaning and gyrating increased.

I crept up to the bed, stuck my dick out at short-haired girl. She jerked it back and forth, cradling my balls. The closer I got to her mouth she turned her head the other way, lifting herself onto her knees. Long-haired girl got on all fours, hurting as her partner banged from behind with curls of hair on the pussy, slapping her ass, grabbing onto hips, banging.

On the edge of the bed I did everything to maintain my hard-on watching as the short-haired girl held her partner by the shoulders and banged away, slapping her ass as she did.

I walked out of the room, up and down the hall, kicking at myself. I could hear them huffing. Angled against the door, the noise settled, not knowing whether to walk away or ask for explanation.

I barged into the room. The two women were dressed. Short-haired girl brushed by me, exiting the room, closing the door behind.

For the first time long-haired girl looked at me and smiled.

A Love Poem for Deviants Like Us

Because I sleep with the dog between my legs
Doesn't mean I'm in love
Sometimes we walk down Park Avenue at night
My dog, Pepe, likes women in fur
It reminds him of Cassy---
The cat he couldn't fondle
Our home is a dungeon
On the loveseat are my whips and handcuffs
Anyone is invited from virgins to vandals
When we make love
I'll be wearing my black leather boots
You can wear my fake moustache
But keep your hands tied behind your back
I don't know you, you don't know me
If you want me to,
I'll get on my knees and bark
Your flesh is white
My mouth is black
We can be so dangerous together

Kofi Fosu Forson February 14, 2000

Kofi Forson in Conversation with John Lurie:

John Lurie, musician, actor, composer, painter exploded onto the New York music scene with his band The Lounge Lizards. He experienced fame with his portrayal of Willie in the film Stranger Than Paradise, a movie he scored. He has since scored many other films including Down by Law and Get Shorty, which he received a Grammy nomination. His television show Fishing with John was the first of its kind.

Please click on the following link:http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/articles/in-conversation-with-john-lurie/1948

Sexual Picasso
Power of Sexual Conscience

Kofi Fosu Forson

Sexual conscience is one reason why Picasso was Picasso.

Conscience normally merges two distinct intellectual points.

Modern technology has allowed for activities present in social networks. But surreptitiously far removed from daily blogging and status updates is a notion of telepathy and psycho-sexuality which impacts the sexual-conscience.

Within that vacuous space found in the world wide internet once two points take on the notion of intellect and sex, forms of energy are transported from one point to the next. These are shaped as phantasms which manifest intellectually or sexually.

Without the notion of these energy sources made probable as human, given a profile or photograph, communication renders itself in fantasies if not e-mailing, exchange of texts and what one would assume to be the closest to normalcy in a phone call.

When communication becomes nothing more than signifiers as in a social network not much is left for articulating emotions and profound discussions. Much of this becomes brief interactions expressed through adoration where one responds positively to a posting. Intellectually nothing is ever gained just a want and need to be accepted and acknowledged as safe.

Somehow within the realm of accepted behavior there are those who live off these profile pictures as fantasy. Orgiastic exchange of words, thought and photographs result in an emotional and intellectual escape. How they manifest is probably likened to a dreamscape.

However in a semiotic understanding what shapes thought is not the physical word not if abused in totality. The case for chatter as abuse is obvious. Taken as an example of intimacy one responds to another in a natural and intellectual sense.

What is attractive is the idea of thought and resonance, honesty and brilliance.

It prepares for enlightenment throughout the emotional and intellectual physical and virtual space. Much of this surrender awakens the sexual conscience.

Language is then transmitted between both virtual sources. This seemingly is recognized not so much as relationship but events occurring moments at a time through telepathy and the psycho-sexual.

The sexual conscience therefore can and does redeem the individual from normalcy, the idea of copulation versus livelihood. In essence copulation is livelihood, philosophically or Freudian.

Once the physical copious act balances philosophy with psychology, the gratuitous need to copulate isn’t recognized commercially. It’s rendered in a circular and cyclical form balancing the creative, psychological and sexual foundations found in each human.

That sexual conscience is one reason why Picasso was Picasso explains how if one balances dimension of sexuality ingrained in our conscience into a perfect circle a lot emanates from this vacuous and virtual space.

I recently had an in-person conversation with Jenny Shimizu which was published in Whitehot Magazine. Jenny Shimizu is a Japanese American model, actress and television personality. She was discovered by Calvin Klein and can recently be seen on BRAVO television's Make Me a Supermodel.

Please click on the following link: http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/articles/in-conversation-with-jenny-shimizu/1925

The following is Part 2 of a Five Part interview with Laura Conde, Mexican Artist.

Kofi Fosu Forson: Given the virtual promotion of pornography where do you draw the line between making art and fueling a cause for sexuality and art? Does your work promote pornography and if not what are the philosophical and artistic reasoning behind images of rape? Can you equate the themes of torture with mathematics and philosophy, if so how?

Laura Conde: I am interested in the social limits of art, as well as to enhance systems of thought different from the formalized rational systems.Constantly I doubt about the language, I doubt about science. I believe that there is a hidden malignity behind this desire of objectifying everything, naming and defining everything.

The media mass spreading of pornography is a cultural phenomenon and I am not interested in promoting it or to participate in it because to end of accounts it is the pornographic glance the one that more labels and reduces desire and sexual experience to very poor classifications, the sexuality is not this, this would come to be a very distorted projection of the libido in the real world of million people that live in the Web like a being of his own life, is like an image that has been traced a million times and in the end it finishes being a monstrosity. It is hyper-explicit and overloaded, almost baroque because it thusly must be able to adjust to so many and so varied profiles, but is not real nevertheless it is in the limits that could be a denominated culture.

There will always be doubts about it if these manifestations are an important part or not about what we are as societies. Because no matter how hard it is reprobate, it does not stop calling the attention of millions of people who visit pornographic Web sites, for example. In my work I retake images of pornographic origin sometimes but always as a critic or a parody. For me every practice that leaves the common sense and resists to take part of the collective is interesting, the pornography consumption is an anonymous, intimate activity and generally that the consumer realizes in secret form. I am interested more in this quality of the activity that in the explicit or sexual content on it.

My work does not have to do with the pornography but with the desire and the politics of genre. I am interested in the playful sense that can reside in the sexual activity. And it is in this sense that sometimes I stare at masochistic images or self inflicted tortures. I do not approve rape or that a human being is damaged or that something is done against his will. What I do find very valuable however and they do not have anything to do with rape, the sense of humor and parody in means of sexuality.

It is in this way that the feminine masochism according to how I see it, is not more than a critic to the dominant structure socially,activity in which indirectly, via parody, it exaggerates the category of femininity established by this structure through the recognition and taking illicit pleasure of this relation of apparent disadvantage.

What my work speaks about is of the authority, not only the authority in society but in art, that during centuries has guaranteed representations of women where they only appeared as an object of desire, in images done by men, for other men, they never show them as subjects capable of having their own desires. The images that I have been working with the last years are directed both to men as to women. And talk about female desire, women conceptions and beliefs I grew reading and listening and what I do is to make this conceptions of my own and interpret them according to what I live as a woman, as a mother and as an artist.

I see fashion magazines that portray feminine models so thin that almost disappear make me wonder if the masochism or the sadism is really something so far from our daily experience. I do not think so.I believe today that divisions of genre had stopped making sense.There is so much anxiety to define you as a hyper-man or a hyper-woman,more masculine than masculinity, more feminine than the femininity. And if the definition that history keeps from women is one of submission and vulnerability, the woman of nowadays seems more submissive and vulnerable than ever.

Extreme diets, rigorous exercises to have a perfect figure, excessive sexual disposition and an urge to please the other… Let’s not forget the importance in questioning sexual power and the physical that is sex.