Which was the first dead boy that you liked?

Meatpie said:

Chopped up and beheaded Brazil boy was also frequently reposted at the time.

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Meatpie said:

Good thread and really enjoyable read.

Wonderful trip down memory lane.

Before starting work with real dead guys in morgue and before launching CDG I collected and stored photos in CDs that I managed to download from internet cafes.

19-year-old soldier Igor was among my first true models in those early CD collections - a seriously gorgeous dead soldier that to this day I still find outstanding.

Drove me nuts and I really had a crazy crush on him and jacked off to his morgue photos for a long time. Years later we were able to dig his alive photos and story.

These Venezuela morgue thugs were favourites too for many years and they were hugely popular for those of you who remember and were on ogrish when I first joined there in 2002.

Chopped up and beheaded Brazil boy was also frequently reposted at the time.

I have jacked off to motorcycle boy from GoreGallery countless times not sure there are even people here who remember that site?



Who remembers this Serbia morgue dude?

Also this mangled Palestinian was among the first corpses I ever saw.



I remember when now classic stabbed autopsy guy first appeared he was too instant wood, instant favourite and quickly managed to attract many fans. Autopsy photos of young men were truly rare at the time and all were small and poor quality.



I believe at least some of you remember this autopsy lad also posted around that time.



Train suicide boy Alex was also among the very first pics I collected and I still have him in my folders.

Who else has this one?

And finally car wreck lads. Gone but not forgotten.

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JonCamp said:

The first dead guy that I liked — no, loved — was one that I stumbled upon during the early days of my Internet adventures.

We had what we called an Internet cafe or a computer shop in our neighborhood. You pay a set amount to access the web for 1 hour, and pay to extend your time. I would spend a minimum of 2 hours every session just scouring the Internet for interesting content. I frequented scary sites and read articles that tickled my fancy.

It was during one of those days that I found him.

Motorcycle Accident

Photographs show a motorcyclist cut in half by a collision with a roadside pole.

www.snopes.com

He was lying on his back in the middle of the road, wearing his dark blue T-shirt and what looks like a backpack on him. He had a nice face with very manly features, obscured only by a white patch on his eyes. On his hands, his motorcycle gloves remain.

I imagine he went out for a ride, a quick one, because it looks like all he had waist down were a pair of shorts. They were pulled up a little bit higher, accentuating his massive bulge. I remember staring at his bulge intently, wondering how big his dick was for that to happen.
He was wearing long black socks that covered up his ankles. I have always wondered what his feet looked like — the shape of his heels, the arches, and his toes underneath looked incredible. He had boots at one point, but they were now removed from his feet and placed a distance from him. Besides those lower items of clothing, his smooth thighs and lanky legs are clearly visible.

Oh, and his intestines were beside his right foot.

This man was the unfortunate victim of a motorcycle accident in Budapest, Hungary. He collided with a telephone pole and got cut in half. His upper half laid next to his lower half, in full view and in all his gorgeous glory.

I vividly remember visiting the site just for him, and frequenting the computer shop for the same reason. I would always sit at the very last cubicle where my right side was concealed from view. Then, I open his pictures in multiple windows as I place my hand into my pants, my bag hiding me even more.

And then I masturbate to him... gently, passionately, lovingly. I stare at his lips and imagine them kissing mine while our noses touch and we savor each other's breaths. I imagine running my fingers through his buzz-cut hair, feeling their soft bristliness on my skin. He does the same to me, pulling on my hair as our kisses get more torrid. All of these thoughts collide as I jack off faster.

I then make my way down to his feet. I remove his black socks slowly with my mouth to first reveal his ankles, then his heels, then his soles and tops, and finally his toes. I imagine keeping his socks as souvenirs to savor their essence later. I have my way with his feet, being creative with my mouth in exploring every inch of them.

My breathing becomes faster, heavier. I suppress it as much as I can to avoid arousing suspicion.
I then visualize myself tracing his legs upwards with my tongue, working back up to his ankles, then his legs, and his knees, before ending up on his thighs where I pause. I pull his shorts down and expose his dick, his trouser monster ready to lunge forward and attack my mouth. So I let it, and I blow him hard. I slide my mouth around his dick and go to town. I can feel his body shaking along with mine. He moans, he whimpers, he tries to hold it all in... until he can't anymore.
And his cum explodes. And my cum follows suit. Our concurrent climax shakes me back to reality, where my pants are dripping as he laid on the screen lifeless.

But unlike any post-nut clarity, where one might disgusted after having finished, I smile in gratitude. I thank him silently for all he is and what he provides me, and I wipe myself clean in total secrecy. I then close all windows and proceed with my web-surfing ways, and none are the wiser for me having done it.

I used to do it multiple times a week when the shop was still open, then I took all of it to a new shop that opened nearby. And when both closed and I can afford our own Internet, I took him home. Each climax is as strong as the last, if not better and harder.

He was the first dead guy I have ever felt a strong attraction, and to this day I still do.

Click to expand...

JonCamp said:

The first dead guy that I liked — no, loved — was one that I stumbled upon during the early days of my Internet adventures.

We had what we called an Internet cafe or a computer shop in our neighborhood. You pay a set amount to access the web for 1 hour, and pay to extend your time. I would spend a minimum of 2 hours every session just scouring the Internet for interesting content. I frequented scary sites and read articles that tickled my fancy.

It was during one of those days that I found him.

Motorcycle Accident

Photographs show a motorcyclist cut in half by a collision with a roadside pole.

www.snopes.com

He was lying on his back in the middle of the road, wearing his dark blue T-shirt and what looks like a backpack on him. He had a nice face with very manly features, obscured only by a white patch on his eyes. On his hands, his motorcycle gloves remain.

I imagine he went out for a ride, a quick one, because it looks like all he had waist down were a pair of shorts. They were pulled up a little bit higher, accentuating his massive bulge. I remember staring at his bulge intently, wondering how big his dick was for that to happen.
He was wearing long black socks that covered up his ankles. I have always wondered what his feet looked like — the shape of his heels, the arches, and his toes underneath looked incredible. He had boots at one point, but they were now removed from his feet and placed a distance from him. Besides those lower items of clothing, his smooth thighs and lanky legs are clearly visible.

Oh, and his intestines were beside his right foot.

This man was the unfortunate victim of a motorcycle accident in Budapest, Hungary. He collided with a telephone pole and got cut in half. His upper half laid next to his lower half, in full view and in all his gorgeous glory.

I vividly remember visiting the site just for him, and frequenting the computer shop for the same reason. I would always sit at the very last cubicle where my right side was concealed from view. Then, I open his pictures in multiple windows as I place my hand into my pants, my bag hiding me even more.

And then I masturbate to him... gently, passionately, lovingly. I stare at his lips and imagine them kissing mine while our noses touch and we savor each other's breaths. I imagine running my fingers through his buzz-cut hair, feeling their soft bristliness on my skin. He does the same to me, pulling on my hair as our kisses get more torrid. All of these thoughts collide as I jack off faster.

I then make my way down to his feet. I remove his black socks slowly with my mouth to first reveal his ankles, then his heels, then his soles and tops, and finally his toes. I imagine keeping his socks as souvenirs to savor their essence later. I have my way with his feet, being creative with my mouth in exploring every inch of them.

My breathing becomes faster, heavier. I suppress it as much as I can to avoid arousing suspicion.
I then visualize myself tracing his legs upwards with my tongue, working back up to his ankles, then his legs, and his knees, before ending up on his thighs where I pause. I pull his shorts down and expose his dick, his trouser monster ready to lunge forward and attack my mouth. So I let it, and I blow him hard. I slide my mouth around his dick and go to town. I can feel his body shaking along with mine. He moans, he whimpers, he tries to hold it all in... until he can't anymore.
And his cum explodes. And my cum follows suit. Our concurrent climax shakes me back to reality, where my pants are dripping as he laid on the screen lifeless.

But unlike any post-nut clarity, where one might disgusted after having finished, I smile in gratitude. I thank him silently for all he is and what he provides me, and I wipe myself clean in total secrecy. I then close all windows and proceed with my web-surfing ways, and none are the wiser for me having done it.

I used to do it multiple times a week when the shop was still open, then I took all of it to a new shop that opened nearby. And when both closed and I can afford our own Internet, I took him home. Each climax is as strong as the last, if not better and harder.

He was the first dead guy I have ever felt a strong attraction, and to this day I still do.

Click to expand...

JonCamp said:

The first dead guy that I liked — no, loved — was one that I stumbled upon during the early days of my Internet adventures.

We had what we called an Internet cafe or a computer shop in our neighborhood. You pay a set amount to access the web for 1 hour, and pay to extend your time. I would spend a minimum of 2 hours every session just scouring the Internet for interesting content. I frequented scary sites and read articles that tickled my fancy.

It was during one of those days that I found him.

Motorcycle Accident

Photographs show a motorcyclist cut in half by a collision with a roadside pole.

www.snopes.com

He was lying on his back in the middle of the road, wearing his dark blue T-shirt and what looks like a backpack on him. He had a nice face with very manly features, obscured only by a white patch on his eyes. On his hands, his motorcycle gloves remain.

I imagine he went out for a ride, a quick one, because it looks like all he had waist down were a pair of shorts. They were pulled up a little bit higher, accentuating his massive bulge. I remember staring at his bulge intently, wondering how big his dick was for that to happen.
He was wearing long black socks that covered up his ankles. I have always wondered what his feet looked like — the shape of his heels, the arches, and his toes underneath looked incredible. He had boots at one point, but they were now removed from his feet and placed a distance from him. Besides those lower items of clothing, his smooth thighs and lanky legs are clearly visible.

Oh, and his intestines were beside his right foot.

This man was the unfortunate victim of a motorcycle accident in Budapest, Hungary. He collided with a telephone pole and got cut in half. His upper half laid next to his lower half, in full view and in all his gorgeous glory.

I vividly remember visiting the site just for him, and frequenting the computer shop for the same reason. I would always sit at the very last cubicle where my right side was concealed from view. Then, I open his pictures in multiple windows as I place my hand into my pants, my bag hiding me even more.

And then I masturbate to him... gently, passionately, lovingly. I stare at his lips and imagine them kissing mine while our noses touch and we savor each other's breaths. I imagine running my fingers through his buzz-cut hair, feeling their soft bristliness on my skin. He does the same to me, pulling on my hair as our kisses get more torrid. All of these thoughts collide as I jack off faster.

I then make my way down to his feet. I remove his black socks slowly with my mouth to first reveal his ankles, then his heels, then his soles and tops, and finally his toes. I imagine keeping his socks as souvenirs to savor their essence later. I have my way with his feet, being creative with my mouth in exploring every inch of them.

My breathing becomes faster, heavier. I suppress it as much as I can to avoid arousing suspicion.
I then visualize myself tracing his legs upwards with my tongue, working back up to his ankles, then his legs, and his knees, before ending up on his thighs where I pause. I pull his shorts down and expose his dick, his trouser monster ready to lunge forward and attack my mouth. So I let it, and I blow him hard. I slide my mouth around his dick and go to town. I can feel his body shaking along with mine. He moans, he whimpers, he tries to hold it all in... until he can't anymore.
And his cum explodes. And my cum follows suit. Our concurrent climax shakes me back to reality, where my pants are dripping as he laid on the screen lifeless.

But unlike any post-nut clarity, where one might disgusted after having finished, I smile in gratitude. I thank him silently for all he is and what he provides me, and I wipe myself clean in total secrecy. I then close all windows and proceed with my web-surfing ways, and none are the wiser for me having done it.

I used to do it multiple times a week when the shop was still open, then I took all of it to a new shop that opened nearby. And when both closed and I can afford our own Internet, I took him home. Each climax is as strong as the last, if not better and harder.

He was the first dead guy I have ever felt a strong attraction, and to this day I still do.

Click to expand...

redoktobar said:

May as well add my own first experience into the mix, which was as a young teen finding in a book the now fairly famous picture of the body of an almost naked dead American soldier being dragged down the streets of Mogadishu. Even all these years later I still enjoy aspects of this photo, especially his bare feet, and wishing I new more about who he was and how he died (was he on one of the helicopters, was he in one of the convoys, etc?)

Click to expand...

JonCamp said:

The first dead guy that I liked — no, loved — was one that I stumbled upon during the early days of my Internet adventures.

We had what we called an Internet cafe or a computer shop in our neighborhood. You pay a set amount to access the web for 1 hour, and pay to extend your time. I would spend a minimum of 2 hours every session just scouring the Internet for interesting content. I frequented scary sites and read articles that tickled my fancy.

It was during one of those days that I found him.

Motorcycle Accident

Photographs show a motorcyclist cut in half by a collision with a roadside pole.

www.snopes.com

He was lying on his back in the middle of the road, wearing his dark blue T-shirt and what looks like a backpack on him. He had a nice face with very manly features, obscured only by a white patch on his eyes. On his hands, his motorcycle gloves remain.

I imagine he went out for a ride, a quick one, because it looks like all he had waist down were a pair of shorts. They were pulled up a little bit higher, accentuating his massive bulge. I remember staring at his bulge intently, wondering how big his dick was for that to happen.
He was wearing long black socks that covered up his ankles. I have always wondered what his feet looked like — the shape of his heels, the arches, and his toes underneath looked incredible. He had boots at one point, but they were now removed from his feet and placed a distance from him. Besides those lower items of clothing, his smooth thighs and lanky legs are clearly visible.

Oh, and his intestines were beside his right foot.

This man was the unfortunate victim of a motorcycle accident in Budapest, Hungary. He collided with a telephone pole and got cut in half. His upper half laid next to his lower half, in full view and in all his gorgeous glory.

I vividly remember visiting the site just for him, and frequenting the computer shop for the same reason. I would always sit at the very last cubicle where my right side was concealed from view. Then, I open his pictures in multiple windows as I place my hand into my pants, my bag hiding me even more.

And then I masturbate to him... gently, passionately, lovingly. I stare at his lips and imagine them kissing mine while our noses touch and we savor each other's breaths. I imagine running my fingers through his buzz-cut hair, feeling their soft bristliness on my skin. He does the same to me, pulling on my hair as our kisses get more torrid. All of these thoughts collide as I jack off faster.

I then make my way down to his feet. I remove his black socks slowly with my mouth to first reveal his ankles, then his heels, then his soles and tops, and finally his toes. I imagine keeping his socks as souvenirs to savor their essence later. I have my way with his feet, being creative with my mouth in exploring every inch of them.

My breathing becomes faster, heavier. I suppress it as much as I can to avoid arousing suspicion.
I then visualize myself tracing his legs upwards with my tongue, working back up to his ankles, then his legs, and his knees, before ending up on his thighs where I pause. I pull his shorts down and expose his dick, his trouser monster ready to lunge forward and attack my mouth. So I let it, and I blow him hard. I slide my mouth around his dick and go to town. I can feel his body shaking along with mine. He moans, he whimpers, he tries to hold it all in... until he can't anymore.
And his cum explodes. And my cum follows suit. Our concurrent climax shakes me back to reality, where my pants are dripping as he laid on the screen lifeless.

But unlike any post-nut clarity, where one might disgusted after having finished, I smile in gratitude. I thank him silently for all he is and what he provides me, and I wipe myself clean in total secrecy. I then close all windows and proceed with my web-surfing ways, and none are the wiser for me having done it.

I used to do it multiple times a week when the shop was still open, then I took all of it to a new shop that opened nearby. And when both closed and I can afford our own Internet, I took him home. Each climax is as strong as the last, if not better and harder.

He was the first dead guy I have ever felt a strong attraction, and to this day I still do.

Click to expand...