The Power of Music

First, a shout-out to a certain local "well-wisher". Thanks for the encouragement.

Second, I don't know if I told you this before, but I have music constantly running through my head. It's like the sound-track of my life, and about half of it is music/songs I've heard before, and the other half is stuff my brain has either made up or possibly extracted from bits of music/sounds I've heard before. So, music is a big part of my existence. I have several playlists on my computer I listen to for different moments; while I'm workingl, while I'm relaxing, while I'm writing and of course, while I'm boning (this consists mostly of soul, R&B, Old-School and a bit of house thrown in). And here's something weird; since I was raised in the era of casettes (yes, I've dated myself yet again) I played those poor tapes to the point that they not only broke from the stress, but were actually surgically taped back together where they had ripped-- the music was that important to me. Point is, I listened to the taped music so long and so often that the music itself became often distorted, slowed, and even different sounding than it had. Then, lo' and behold along comes youtube and the advent of the internet when you can find essentially every song that was ever in existence, and the first thing I did was search for those long-forgotten songs that were unavailble anywhere else. And after listening to it, I was often surprised at how different the songs sounded, since my ears had grown accustomed to the distorted version. Aaaaaaanyway, what does this diatribe have to do with anything? Well....

There's a friend of mine I've spoken of several times on this blog (not naming him...yet). I'd always looked fondly at and had a soft-spot for him, in that I wish him every success and happiness. And we truly were good friends and clicked. But the other day, I found out a side of him that was very unsettling. Let me explain it this way that you, my readers can hopefully understand; let's say you are openly a stamp-collector, you like stamps, you are open about that fact, and really REALLY like everything about being a stamp-collector ; the lifestyle, the taste of the glue, the tradeshows etc. And say you had a very good friend of yours who you had known for a long time and who while he is absolutely NOT a stamp-collector never says a negative thing about it and always acts very comfortable, accepting and even encouraging about it. And say after years of this familiarity and bond between the two, you find out that this friend of yours is absolutely, rabidly and openly anti-stamps at his core-- he hates stamps. While he has never said this to you in person, nor even so much as hinted as much, you find this out somewhere that he has no idea you have access, nor would expect to know about. I know this is cryptic, but I'm kind of trying to think this one through because I'm having real problems here. Suffice it to say, seeing this person's true feelings about a very sensitive part of my life that is close to my heart and being was like a song I'd loved and played for years until one day I hear the "real" version and turned out to be hideous.

On the boning front, I got to fuck some very quality ass this week. Monday, I met with a guy who looks like Ryan Philipe circa 1996 (complete with the blond curly hair) so...gonna call him Ryan. He wanted me to come to his place but say he only had until 6:30pm as he had to go to dinner.

His ass was so fuckable, I couldn't help myself and after some very light foreplay at his place, I just needed to dive into his hairless hole so I could begin fucking it. He had a long dick, almost as big as mine, but I could tell he really wanted to suck me. I let him, and it was all I could do to pull him off it (did I mention, he had the most incredible ass). We finally got around to fucking, and I took that boy around the world and finally pounded a load out missionary (he jacked off and came a LOT, hitting the wall in back of him). After we were done, I went to the bathroom to wash up and when I came back started searching for my clothes as he was telling me how good it was, then in mid-sentence asked, "You're not going now, are you?" I don't know why, but when I have sex with really hot guys, I just assume they have other things to do afterwards and that they want me out. So, when he said that, I turned and smiled, saying, "I don't really have anywhere to go. Just thought you needed to get ready." We ended up fucking in round 2, and I really hope to add this boy to my harem.

Got to fuck one of the many flight attendants who live in the area (I've blogged and taken pics of him before, but here are the ones from the other night so you can compare and contrast if you are so interested).

Lastly, to mix it up a little, I fucked another buffed Asian boy (BAB) who could have been Shorty's older brother.

Since this post is getting a bit long (don't pretend your not enjoying the pics) I'll wrap here, leaving with you with one of the lovely tunes from my childhood that I played on one of the many poor cassette tapes I wore out.