X Rated Prints. Not for the faint hearted
Not safe for work. Not made for the timid. These are the pieces that bare it all—desire, obsession, heat, hunger. They moan in type, ache in negative space, and leave nothing to the imagination. Graphic in every sense of the word. Hang them loud. Hang them proud. Or keep them somewhere private—if you must.
Anal Club
Open. Wide. Thick. And just keeps widening. in and out. broad. expanding. what
started as a thin whimper is now a feeling that increases and enlarges, that fills,
that extends. You're being pulled, you're being pushed. your mind feels like it's
about to combust, but there's no one but you that you're able to perceive it.
This piece explores the way typography and a representative graphic elements can
play together to create a certain visual construction that's almost jarring
when imagined. The typography is thick, blunt, gaping and almost obscene. The
way the first line leads into the second creates a kinetic development that
provides the graphic element with context when observed. You know what it is
and you know what it's doing. You know where it's going.
Squirt
It starts slow. A build. A flicker. A tightening in the gut and a loosening in the throat. You think you can hold it—control it—but it’s already past the point of permission. It rushes out, sharp and shameless, leaving you breathless and soaked in something you didn’t think you’d say out loud. It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s real. And once it happens, you want it again.
This typographic piece captures the instant just before release and the chaos that follows. Letterforms stretch and shatter, propelled outward in a burst of liquid motion. The composition is wet, wild, and uncontainable—just like its name.
Orgy Club
Limbs, mouths, words—everywhere, all at once. No clear beginning, no definite end. Just a tangle of heat, rhythm, and impulse. It's not about one body. It's about all of them. Overlapping, dripping, moaning into each other. A mess of yes. A blur of breath. It’s indulgent, excessive, and completely unbothered by restraint. You lose track of who started what—but you don’t want it to stop.
This piece uses dense typographic layering and spatial entanglement to simulate the overwhelming intimacy of many bodies in motion. Letters stack, twist, and dissolve into each other—no hierarchy, no order—just a collective crescendo of form and friction.