A breakfast by Joy

I wake up slowly, usually like to sleep in but int he last days my natural waking up pattern has been disrupted by something wonderful. namely Joy - the cute as a button, naked ripped THai bodybuilder who comes in in all his glory and lays upon me kisses and says, its time to wake up, breakfast is ready. Now by breakfast he means the plate of scrambled eggs with neatly chopped tomatoes he's holding in the other hand. I am not sure if should eat him first or the breakfast. AS I seat he plays with my hair, smiles like a mother smiles to a child and looks at me with the eyes completely devout of anxiety. I feel peace, and as I am greedily bolting the scrambles ,y stomach feels no usual morning starvation - in other words visually and culinarily I am fully satisfied and I'm waiting for the moment of pure bliss when I'm still lying down with ny raging hard morning and he sits shirtless across my hips and says: would you like some Thai tea now? Who could say no to that. He feeds me the tea mouth to mouth while I feel my cock is going to explode from my underwear, partially that this 90kg stud sits exactly on my bladder. But view for his muscular chest with just the right tattoos is too blissful to be interrupted so I drink the tea, kissing my matins vision time after time.
And its been like this each morning my main boyfriend Davide goes to sleep to another bedroom not to be bothered. Except this morning after the tea kissing routing I just had to bend him over, throw him on all his fours stick a couple of fingers to loosen that tight Thai military ass and raw fuck him until I lost all the wind. He of coursed loved the violence but responded with the most gentle fisting of my ass which I completely didn't plan for this morning but what can I do - when a cute faced pile of rippling tattooed muscles asks - can I fist you now? I dont want to pretend that even for a s[split second I consider saying now. So in the manner owed to all monks who do each simplest tasks with care and solemnity, Joy has managed to put it in a few times and make me cum, to which ho was proud like a kid who would his first mushroom on a high school forrest trip.
Now its 5.28 am. Joy starts his ritual at 8, two and a half hours from now. I dont know if I can even sleep.

Coming back to Europe

So like all the good things three month long winter in Brazil ends on this airplane back to Venice. Somehow Prokofiev's second concerto tastes good again. It became one of the pieces I was listening to hundreds of times falling in love with venice this past summer. When I left for Brazil I was not able to listen to it again with much pleasure. Somehow the beach in Rio didnt fit and the Amazon forrest called of all the things for Schostakovitch. Strange, but the half way back through the atlantic my synapsis are firing again to the Prokivievs tune and I feel drunk on it again. Lucky me.

Yesterday in Rio I wined and dined Marco Aurelio after recording his interview, yet even the straight line descendant of a Roman cesar cant make the models wake up in the morning and in effect this morning we didn't shoot the last scene. While eight o'clock quietly drifted by no hookers rang our door.

Ok so now I have to reveal who Marco Aurelio really is. Its funny; as I am typing this secret revealing sentence, the third movement of the Prok. concerto is just beginning laying down oddly perfect dramaturgy of growing anticipation in expectation for some grand resolution, which in case of this score opening comes indeed in form of tour de force cascading octaves landing always on the powerful bottom chord which in context sounds like its made of steel and could very well announce not only an entry of our hero but a whole army of Xerxes. By the way Evegeny Kissin in this recording under Ashkenazy does his usual magic and you are left wondering if Prokofiev really imagined how overwhelmigly beautiful and forceful at the same time this concerto really was. You can draw a charging elephant on the paper an it can be impressive but when one is actually coming down on you, all the fibers in your body...well you can imagine. Although if some of you after reading this pick up this CD and listen to this concerto, do yourself a favor and consider the thrid part as the last part. This way this concerto creates a better whole as the last movement just makes things worse. Here it is - I said it - I'd leave it out Mr. Prokofiev - sometimes less is more. The first three movements seem written with a single pen stroke and form a whole, although one that ends abruptly. But I don't perceive that as a problem. In contrast the factual last (4th) movement feels for the first half of it forced, as if it was written because it would be well seen if somehting else was there but the thematic material doesnt have anything to do witht he first three parts and seems oddly detached. All that till the heartfelt cadenza happening midway to the end but then the out of place music returns, ending the movement in the rondo form but still with nothing in common with three earlier parts. I say in this case castration is the way to go.

Oh and last but not least this concerto, especially the third movement, is a fantastic sex music - that of course if you can take the intensity which will blow your senses to the orbit. This reminds me of so many guys who privately had sex with me and remember it with details after years. I of course dont remember them but when they come and tell me what a feat this was but they forget that sex was good, maybe even mindblowing for them but a lot of that manipulation was created by classical music blasting on the speakers on my playroom in just the right moments. Drugs for sex can be good but classical music can is the most potent amplifier of all. 

The best is that for me music, particular fragments of it can be on occasion the cue-cards for my brain to unlock the old registries of memory. So I listen to the particular assage and like a keycode it unlocks the smell and color of early morning fish market in venice. For an instant you're transported to the place and can hear the burgundy courtains flaping in the wind, smell the fish water mixed with sparkly white crushed ice standine geverywhere in alloy basins. And for a second you're there for real more then you are here. This is one of the magical aspects of music and those miraculous journeys in time and place dont only apply to fishmarkets - imagine what other memory in a mind of a pornstar could be triggered.

Stuck in the sexiest city with a sexiest man (and an ash cloud)

Some may think that it is almost comical - a man who wants to move away from sex driven life, gets stuck with the hottest guy, in sex capital of the world in an SM apartment due to volcano eruption. Most would say it sounds like a lot of bs. That man is me and the city is Berlin - the most sexually free city on the planet, and clearly the one with most grounded flights. At least I was sent home from the airport three times, today being my most recent. Thanks god there is this hottest guy in this story, who can make driving back and forth to the airport all that much more bearable. Still what am I doing with a Thai boy who's name is Joy in an SM apartment, I dont know. I guess as I've been trapped in Berlin since last week, I've thought of using the time to film a new fisting flick so the apartment came handy, but sleeping in a playroom with a super hot guy who is just discovering his fisting top talents is not exactly a way to avoid excessive sex. Below is the pic of mr perfect. The funny thing is - he has sex like a pornstar, he looks like a pornstar and he photographs lie a pornstar but he doesn't want to do porn. I respect that, even in the moments when he checks out his muscles in the mirror every time he passes. I myself drool over his tattooed biceps with big veins every time he's diving his arm inside my butt, but who woudn't; the view is priceless.

Lid in the sandbox - Its so cool to have my own blog

Its kind of cool to have your own blog and share your thoughts with whoever is there listening in the outer space. And even cooler is that the form doent call for a lot of planning like a book would. You just write what you always wanted to say about somehting, a thought that has been bouncing in your head for a while or years even, and bumm! - its there - neatly expressed on the paper and emptied from my brain and I dont have to repeat it again. But as you keep on reading it will seem that despite the suggestive title of Matthias von Fistenberg's adventures, Matthias lives a lot inside his head and you'll read a lot more on his thoughts and musings on the world than on his actual actio adventures. I somehow find the essence of the world to be in the analisis of the facts then in facts themselves thus writing about my perspective seems far more entertaining than describing the facts in an action novel like fashion. This is not to day that I didnt read the lastest Dan Brown novel and dont enjoy well written action suspense, but its not waht I want my blog to be. Rather than followin fistional charachters I prefer to record hear real people I've met and give you my analisis of their actions. Of course me being the central character I'll tell you most of what I do but salt of these pages will be in my observations and digressions.