Category Archives: Men

Venice Beach: Portrait of the Day


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A.H. Scott: The Wick


The Wick by A.H. Scott


Photography by Tony Ward, Copyright 2017


Poetry by A. H. Scott, Copyright  2017




She knew the wick would always bring her joy
He knew the wick should never be treated as a toy
The room was dark when she arrived
He closed the door behind her and she stepped inside
Ivory candles burned in the silver candle holder on the marble mantle
Above the bookcase filled with first edition masterpieces, she gazed
As he prepared the dining room table for their supper together, a whistle came
Tea kettle of brass suddenly sounded, almost as if it were time for high tea
She walked into the kitchen and removed it from the stove
He called her into the dining room, “The table is set, dear one”
Dressed in blue satin robe, she looked at the surprise he set for her
On the polished dining room table of dark wood, a white, silk sheet lay
“Oooh, for me, my kind sir?” ,her lips formed a coy smile
Patting his hand on the center of that table, both knew suppertime had arrived
Her soft form climbed onto that oak structure and laid still
This lady of charm knew this man’s common drill
“Lay still, my dear one” ,he said calmly and walked across the room
She closed her eyes and waited for the desired surprise
From the mantle, his left hand held a silver candle holder and approached her
“Do you trust me?” ,slyly snickering a question to her
Placing her hands onto pubic area, she knew the right answer, “Beyond my wildest heart”
Drops of candle wax dripped onto her shoulders, she winced a bit
“More?” ,he asked
“Yes” ,she replied
Next came those plush breasts, as even nipples were coated with melted ivory candle
Then came a few tidbits against those soft hands that covered her pubic area
She gasped and he placed the silver candle holder down onto the edge of the table
“Shall I continue, my dear one?” ,he asked
“Yes” ,she sighed
She knew what would come next with the word of affirmation to him
He picked the candle out of the silver candle holder and she removed her hands from pubic area
“Are you ready, lady of mine?” ,he wanted an answer
Whispering a reply, she swallowed her pride, “Anything for you, kind sir”
Both of them knew the pleasure of the wick and the glimmer of pain that came with it
Dark brown pubic area received a trickle of ivory upon those velvety hairs
Her entire body began to quiver a bit with the heated liquid upon it
Blowing a little stream of cooling air in that area, he wished her discomfort to be temporary
“Oooh, that feels nice, kind sir” ,she was relieved
The partially melted candle was placed upside down in the area of her moist mound
She looked as if she were the wick from the other end to him
The sight of her with a candle extruding from that sliver of softness was a delight
Yet, now it was his turn to be the wick that would fill her into the long night
Tenderly, he flicked off every flake of dried candle wax from her flesh
She giggled as it was removed from her nipples, for those were ever so sensitive to the touch
Tiny dots of wax remained affixed to her pubic hairs
No problem, for when they finished she would take a warm shower
His wick was never waning
Sturdy and strong, he could last mighty long
Her body moved with his on top of her
That table had a supper of succulence for the both of them
Pair of bodies sighed and heaved in joys of comfort
Yet, when it was over, the greatest treat was receiving a showering from him upstairs
Upstairs they stood in the bathroom
He whispered, “Are you ready to be cleaned, my dear one?” 
“Yes, kind sir” ,stepping into the shower 
Warm water drizzled over her body
As she stood with front facing him, silver brush in his hand cleaned wax away
He began to brush her pubic hair lightly 
She sighed slightly, as he did this 
Working brush up her stomach, she whispered, “Clean me, kind sir” 
Hesitation was never his friend, as bristles rounded her breasts
Nipples that had been coated with wax, were irritated by those bristles
Gazing in her eyes, he was proud she didn’t scream
This was a woman whose pride of self control began to beam
Placing brush onto porcelain counter, he helped her out of the shower
She dressed back into the mink that given her to wear to his home
Pampered pet of a wealthy man’s desire was always well taken care of
As she kissed him farewell for the night, her present from him was that knowing grin
She was ever so glad her friend introduced them a few years before
If not meeting this kind sir, this lady’s life would have truly been a bore…..
About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by A. H. Scott, go here:
Also posted in Art, Blog, Erotica, Models, Obsessions, Photography, Poetry, Portraits, Women

A.H. Scott: What Happened to Trump’s Brain?


What Happened to Trump’s Brain?


Poetry by A.H. Scott, Copyright 2017


Photography by Tony Ward, Copyright 1977




He paces with anxiety and mutters to himself alone

Taste for strawberries isn’t on his mind, as two scoops of ice cream or an appetite for meatloaf may give a bit of solace to him in this historic home

Watched in silence are those who dwelled here before he did

Milhous whispers, “Your reputation is on the fast track of outdoing me, kid”

Andrew chuckles, “You don’t even know I was dead before the war began”

Johnson chimes in, “I came up with sounder visions when I was sitting on the can”

JFK dismissively whistles, “Your level of tact can only fill a thimble”

Ronald wisely quips, “Bonzo had more sense than you. And, my personality was ever more nimble”

Clinton says in his Southern drawl, “Call me what you will, but my hands ain’t small”

W. sighs, “So, you wanted to toss dirt on my days in office. Well, my, my, my”

Man who mutters and paces places hands over ears

He makes it clear that these voices isn’t what he wants to hear

Rush of wind blows through the Oval Office doors, as he looks over and sees the man who lived there a few months before

He rubs his eyes and screams, “No, it can’t be you!”

Man from Illinois via Hawaii isn’t standing there in the flesh

Yet, his spirit of brotherhood filled this place of lost happiness

Mutterer grumbles this man’s name like a curse every time it is spoken from his bitter lip, “Oh, so now it’s you. So, what’s your smart-ass quip?”

A voice filled the air and said ever so soberly, “This job ain’t no joke. This is the White House and not some luncheonette casually selling Pepsi or Coke”

Yet, the resident who is now President decided to be a carbonation of resentment

Orange Crush isn’t refreshment

Orange Crush is a man without sanity or attachment

Unlinked from the truth that stares him in the face

Scaffolding of his psyche has vanished without a trace

Signposts of the past can be seen as history to some

Yet, history is alive in the marrow of democracy of today and all the tomorrows to come


About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by A. H. Scott, go here


Also posted in Art, Blog, Politics

Diary: The After Effects of Obsessions




Photography and Text by Tony Ward, Copyright 2017




During the course of publishing Obsessions, my first book of erotic photography, I occasionally heard stories from women that were the subjects of my work  that their boyfriends, husbands or significant others became incensed by their cooperation in modeling nude as one of my subjects. Initially, or at least before the sitting took place their significant others often felt complimented in knowing that their lover was selected to be featured in an international photography publication. However, the reality in some cases was an emotional disaster for some men once their girlfriends pictures were seen in print.  Here is an excerpt from a letter that I received from a jealous boyfriend who went to great lengths to explain his feelings about such a discomforting experience.   


To Tony,

Despite my age or experience, the following feelings which will be described as genuine, from deep inside of me.  


I am in love with a beautiful woman who you have come to know.  I haven’t been in love for four years, which I find to be a long time despite my young age (24). This woman that I worship is an admirer of your work and was familiar with your photography long before I met her.  I only met her three months ago, but she’s next to the virgin Mary in my heart as far as I’m concerned. 

She had a dream to capture her sensuality and eroticism through your eye’s and she’s seen your work long before I met her, so who am I to ignore her dream?  I feel for her because of who she is, wants and does to make her happy.  I love her.  My primary response – which I tried to hide – to your arrival in our fairytale was anger and jealousy.  I recognized the feeling and it was much heavier that I could anticipate.  I became mental over it.

The shoot happened as planned.  I got over it with quite an emotional hangover.  Life went on.  Now, even though time has passed, I see your book again and your inscription and realized she was going to be in your next book as well.  We talked things over and I looked at your book again and its hard to explain what I felt when I looked at your pictures again.  My anger and jealousy reappeared.  My head hurts. 

Every picture showed some sort of excitement: weird, hard, play, darkness.  Imagining that she was going to be in one of your new series of pictures admittedly excited me in ways I never felt.  I am sure you have met a lot of jealous boy/girl friends in your line of work.  I know I wanted to confront you when I met you, now I don’t. It takes time to remove the filtered image one can have when you’re in love.  When she told me about the shoot and described all of the aspects, I could only here words that made me think of her having sex with another person, even though emotionally she wasn’t.  I am slowly understanding her and you and I would like to thank you for giving her this experience.  I also want to thank you for opening a chamber inside of my head which enables me to understand her better and even thinking of being in a series of erotic pictures with my lover.  I hope you will take care of this letter.  I will tell her myself that I wrote you.  I hope you had a nice meal with her and your colleagues at Pasta e Basta, Amsterdam.


John Doe


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