This is the first drawing in the A Guy From Berlin series—a reflection on sex pics as more than just digital currency, but as monuments to achievement, intimacy, and the choreography of queer connection.

Two men share no physical contact beyond a single fist, yet they are locked together in something deeper than touch. One opens, the other enters. One records, the other receives. There’s no eye contact, no embrace—just the rhythm of ritual and the quiet stillness of endurance. And still, it is intimate.

The moment is already happening, but it doesn’t exist until it’s captured. So the fister reaches—almost casually—for his phone, his other hand buried deep inside a man he might never kiss. The fist is wet, the screen is clean. The documentation isn’t vanity; it’s proof. A timestamp for all that is good.