In Which We Walk in the Park

Our dear friend Diane von Austinburg blew into town Sunday and we had a most charming time together. Diane always longs for the chilly, foggy embrace of San Francisco’s normal weather, perversely, the weather almost always turns sunny and warm the day she gets here and doesn’t break into the gloomy norm until she leaves. One of the things I like about her visits is that she brings such beautiful weather with her, even if she doesn’t like it.

This time though, the rain came down in buckets most of the time she was here. The one notable lovely day was Thursday when we took advantage of the sunny skies to go visit the botanical garden in Golden Gate Park. I usually make a point of going this time of year just to go see the wildflowers there; I haven’t felt much like doing it of late, but this year my new pain medicine is so much less sedative that I was able to get up and head out. Yay.

There’s been tons of news stories about the super bloom of California’s wildflowers this year so I had high hopes. Hopes which were crushed when we got there and not a single wildflower was an evidence. How many? Zee row. It didn’t really matter, the park is gorgeous anyway and it had been so long since I was out there I had a wonderful time just walking around. Photographic proof follows:

The bamboo collection is always worth a look-see.

Stylish succulents.

Ceanothus is one of my favorite California native plants.

Gazania is a great flower, I think originally from South Africa, which does really well here.

Camellias love San Francisco too.

There used to be a wonderful collection of Asian magnolias in one corner of the botanical garden. This is pretty much all that’s left of them, I was griping about their disappearance to Diane when I realized I was remembering them from visits 30 years ago. Time marches on.

One recent improvement; in the 1930s, William Hearst bought a medieval castle in Spain, took it apart and shipped it here where he stored it in a barn until he could get around to reassembling it, but the barn and the plans for the castle burned and they couldn’t put it back together. Hearst then “donated” the stones to the park (in reality, he just dumped them because he couldn’t use them) and they sat in a pile in a little used corner. Recently though, the park has started using them as hardscape in various gardens.

Like this.

A beautiful day in the park.

Naked guys:

Red in the bed.

Ooh, arty.

Poolside.

Tall, skinny white boy with big dick. Sounds familiar.

I love the way your turquoise boudoir goes with your Fleshlight collection.

I’m thinking Photoshop.

I love those porny sunglasses.

How romantic.

In Which We Decorate Then Undecorate

In less than 2 weeks I will have lived in this apartment 5 years. In that time, the furniture in my living room has sat in the exact same place I put it the day I moved in. I’m one of those homosexuals who regard decorating as a participatory sport and so of course this sorry state of affairs could be tolerated no longer.

The problem is that I am just one old man, and a feeble old man at that so hauling a couch and a sizable credenza around by myself was a laughable idea. Hahaha. I laughed and then I hired a couple of movers to come in and help me move stuff. They were a nice couple of guys, amenable even if they seemed baffled by my idea of just shuffling the pieces around.

Let me introduce the players here, a large curved couch, a sleek credenza, and a stylish pair of low chairs. The room is in the point of the flat iron building I live in, which makes for an interesting but difficult triangular room to work with. Plus the great big windows help hide the fact that it’s a tiny space.

There is a large dead space between the couch and the chairs and I thought if I could just rotate the pieces so that the dead space fell in the entrance, the whole room would work better. I don’t know why that idea didn’t work out, probably something to do with geometry or physics or another one of those stupid subjects I never paid attention to.

Anyway, the boys and I wrestled all the furniture around and around and none of it was successful. One of the drawbacks was the lead mover overcame his initial skepticism to join in enthusiastically with suggestions. They were all idiotic, but they were suggestions. He seemed particularly struck by the apex of the triangle and kept struggling to shove something up in there.

Eventually I just threw in the towel and had them put all the furniture right back where it started and then paid them $200 for having helped me, as the b-52s put it, “dance this mess around.”

boys I wish I had had move me:

Look, he comes with his own scrim.

The luscious Marbys Negretti

Our old friend Mikey! https://chaturbate.com/playwithme55/

I only recently discovered this is the large and in charge blonde beauty, David Cihacek

Beefy redhead Ryan Hayward from Colt Studios.

All that and he can read, too.

What a sweet looking guy.

You know getting sloppy wet at the car wash is a long time smut classic.

His dick almost leaks out of the frame.

Fancy don’t let me down./

Get your feet off the ceiling./

What’s with the ceiling lately?

In Which We Are Medicated

Lalala, another day, another medical crisis. I mentioned a while ago that I had started a daily regimen of a pain medicine called Opana. That was about 5 years ago and things have gone along just fine since then. Of course this is America and pain management, especially with an opioid, is tricky business. The government has forced doctors to treat pain control like a luxury that you have to prove you are worthy of.

anyway. This month my pharmacy broke the bad news to me that they had stopped making Opana. Oops. I scrambled back to my doctor in a panic because running out of pain medicine is not a good idea. The doctor said “oh. okay. Here try this new stuff. It sounds pretty okay.” I’m paraphrasing but that’s pretty close to the sense of the conversation.

The new drug instead of a pill is a film you stick on the inside of your cheek and it dissolves. I am thrilled with it, it has whipped my fucked up back into submission and it seems much less sedating than the old stuff. Yay. Since it was only one film every 12 hours, it’s also convenient.

The problem initially was that one every 12 hours fell a little short and meant that I actually was starting to go into withdrawal towards the end of the dose. I called the doctor back after a very uncomfortable night and he said “oh just double the dose. What the hell?” Again paraphrasing.

So now I’m back to dosed up, pain-free and sassy. It’s a wonderful life if you don’t weaken.

naked men I’d like to hang with.

Just a giy. Just a guy with a great big whacker. Whack it baby.

I know his ass isn’t particularly shapely, but he seems so darn cheery.

A friend used to call these guys “thug lite.”

Crimes of Photoshop.

Our old friend Gian Luigi Volti. Now available for rent at reasonable rates. Apply within.

Barrett Long (I love that stupid name) who has been around since long before photoshop and has always had that generous amount of man sausage so, happily, we can rest assured that it is real.

Isn’t it romantical?

Truth in advertising. Not much butt action this week, sorry.

In Which We Swear

When I was hired by the federal government, many many years ago, after the personnel lady had finished walking me through the mountain of paperwork involved in processing me in, she announced I needed to swear my oath. I thought she was joking, but no, all federal employees have to take an oath in order to work for the government. In fact it is the same oath the president takes when he is inaugurated.

And so I had to stand up, face the flag, put my hand over my heart (“it’s on your left side,” she corrected me) and faithfully promise the following

I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter: So help me God.

Over the years, I frequently quoted the bit about “…help me god….” Apparently my receptionist duties would include answering the phone, handling visitors, and taking to the trenches if the commie bastards ever got this far. I have no idea how most of my colleagues would fare if, say, Canada got tired of putting up with our bullshit and invaded, but some of them I’m sure would have gone full-on Rambo on those maple syrup swilling bitches. I suppose I’m just glad it never came to that.

guys I’d like to share a foxhole with:

Again, when face with hot porn action, mrpeenee focuses on the nice tile work.

But not even the finest tile could distract me from that manmeat.

Cowboy butt.

Red hair, perky nipples, fat cock, and clean sheets. Sign me up.

Ooh. Shapely.

It’s cold and rainy here today, a sunny patio accented with a massive willy seems like such a good idea.

As does lounging poolside in the company of a beautifully round rump.

He looks concerned. What’s wrong sweetie, tell daddy all about it.

And lastly, this guy. I recognize the angel wing tattoo as well as those meaty buttchops, I just wish I knew his name.

In Which the Supply Chain Breaks

I have become very fond of a marijuana infused gummy that I eat a little before bedtime to help me sleep. In the world of edible pot, these gummies are pretty weak players, feeble in fact, which is perfectly fine with me. I don’t particularly want to be fucked up, I just want some help falling asleep.

I’ve bought them from the fancy pot shop a couple of times and so I was feeling pretty pleased with myself as I pulled up to the counter and ordered my Valhalla blueberry acai gummies just like I knew what I was doing. How crushing then to find out they were all out, and were also out of lots of their other stock. Apparently that’s just the world in 2023.

Being an absolute amateur around this brave new world of marijuana edibles, I had no backup plan. I had no idea what might be an acceptable alternative; I had my one little memorized order and that was it.

I mentioned (https://mrpeenee.wordpress.com/2022/07/22/in-which-we-become-comfortably-numb/) before how the sales people there are absolute weed sommeliers. They actually seem to enjoy spending time discussing the various aspects of their wares. When I was a pothead in college, shortly after dinosaurs went extinct, I would go dope shopping and the insight into the product consisted of “yeah it’s pot.” These guys though are committed to making sure you get as loaded as you want to be, to that end they throw around terms like THC and CBD and compare one strain’s ability to help create to another’s relaxation index. I finally went with one because a) it’s blackberry flavored and that sounded tasty and b) it’s all they had.

I got home and was reading the label and discovered the THC level (which is what gets you loaded ) in these gummies is four times as high as in the ones I’m used to. I want to try them anyway, duh, but if y’all don’t hear from me over the next month or so, don’t worry. Eventually, I will remember how to speak and the munchies will drive me to resurface. Til then, naked guys:

Cleanliness

Well. This cutie goes by both Jeff Hallum as well as Jeff Wayne. In case you need to do some research.

Well, OK. If you insist.

Diego Barros, who always hides under his hat. Dude, what’s with your hat?

I love big nuts, and I cannot lie. Ball sacs that hang down past one’s dick are so sexy.

Red silk and big muscley ass, a match made in heaven.

Sweet

And I like the dresser, too.

Young, dumb, and ready to rock.

Considering I never go to the beach, it’s amazing how much I miss it in the winter.

Do you think he rents that by the inch?

I recently used another picture of this same youth in the bed flashing his ass, but really, can you have too much?

Ruggery Valdivia, now with glasses!

Scorpios. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

In Which a Quiet Night Goes to Hell

The other evening I was sitting in my living room, minding my own beeswax and investigating various porn matters when suddenly

KA DABAM BOOMPOW

A huge noise erupted seemingly at my feet. It was such a perfect cacophony that it seemed like it couldn’t possibly be real, like it was just another CGI effect. If Saki were still with me, he would have bolted under the couch and for an instant I considered what a sensible idea that seemed like.

Once I finally tiptoed over to the window I saw some fat head had managed to crash into the tree directly below me. Considering there are only two trees left of the original 11, it’s pretty amazing he managed to nail it. In fact, another foot to the left and he would have missed it entirely and plowed into the front of my building instead.

Tree or no tree, it’s confounding how he wound up where he did. It’s as if he decided to make a hard right in the middle of the block. Baby what’s up with that? Did your GPS fuck you over?

I called 911, because that’s how big responsible citizens behave. Besides I couldn’t think of what else to do. The operator there was incredibly chill, she sounded like she was hanging out with a glass of white wine and a few Valium. She did get a little testy when I couldn’t describe the car to her satisfaction. I don’t know what difference it would have made whether it was a sedan or an SUV. It’s not like there was a crowd of wrecked cars down on the sidewalk for the responders to pick from.

Eventually the cops showed up, the fireman, the ambulance, the tow truck, just everybody who is anybody was there. I sort of lost interest and never did see what happened to the driver. Apparently he had wandered off at some point and then resurfaced; I overheard one of the cops ask him “Is this your car?” “It was,” he replied. If only someday I could be that cool.

guys who would wreck you

One can only envy his neighbors.

Truth in advertising.

Workin’ hard or hardly workin’? hyuck hyuck hyuck.

Talent.

Inky, not stinky.

More nice tile work.

In Which We Are Arty

Super Agent Fred gave me a charming pair of portraits for my birthday. They are a couple of powerful women who have challenged and overcome the limitations society has attempted to place on them.

They are top-notch bitches.

I realized this afternoon that my entire social life revolves around sitting in Peet’s cafe and scowling at people. I’m not complaining, and it makes me wonder, what’s really so bad about leprosy?

Sort of along those same lines, my dear, dear niece Amber has revealed she has plans for me should I ever find myself living out of a shopping cart under a freeway here. She has a lovely big house and assures me that I’m welcome there, which is so sweet of her, and there’s a big private loft above the living room that’s all mine. I see my future before me, the crazy old uncle locked in the attic, occasionally howling, demanding coffee and gay pornography. Actually, it sounds okay.

I know I mentioned in the last post the newspaper in Austin had warned that security lines were so bad at the airport they wanted you to get there three hours early. Obscene. I got there a couple of hours before my flight and my Uber driver dealt with the massive traffic outside by simply driving around it and then cutting through three lanes of idling traffic to drop me off. What a gal.

I have Clear, the pre-approved security, get-out-of-jail card and that let me jump to the head of the line and then the frazzled TSA agent just waved a bunch of us through an old timey metal detector instead of the Star Trek-y booth and boom, I was through security in less than 15 minutes. I spent longer in line at the coffee place getting a latte. Irony, it’s what’s for dinner.

guys I’d wait in line for:

Willie Gomez, who still refuses to publish nude pictures on the internet, selfish bastard.

Arty AND meaty, the best of both worlds.

Sorry, you’ll have to repeat yourself; all I can hear is your dick.

Soon it will be beach weather. Are you ready?

Deservedly cocky.

Some cliches are just too potent to ignore.

In Which mrpeenee Brings You Tales of Old Age and Terror

As I crossed over the threshold into old age, I realized, with great annoyance, that while my head hair has retreated into non-existence, my pubic hair has continued to thrive. Wispy, straggly, and long-ass long, it exists solely to irritate me. I could braid it if the whim so moved me. It creeps me out. I am concerned that eventually it will get tangled up in my shoelaces and then where will I be?

So occasionally I break out the pruning shears and lop off the top. I’m not shooting for some kind of manscaping, I just want the mess to look less like something out of a Lovecraft story. Eldritch pubes, that’s what I got.

I also don’t try for anything fancy or too close to the boys, cause I am not crazy. And yet, and yet…. You can see where this is going, can’t you? Yes, tonight I nipped my nutsack.

I’ll pause here to let my male readers unclench. Fortunately, or as fortunate as that situation can get, it was no big deal. I didn’t castrate myself, the skin just got caught in the scissors and caused a tiny, little cut. It didn’t even really hurt, just a sharp pinch. It is possible I screamed like a little girl, a little girl who has just pecked the ball bag, but if ever there was a screamy moment, it was that.

But oh baby jeebus, did it bleed. Reminiscent of one of those chocolate fountains at some pretentious buffet. It turns out your man pouch is thickly covered in veins. Why? So that when you cut your nuts, your melodramatics are justified. The bathroom wound up looking like a set from a slasher movie and my testicles are now sporting a band aid.

Okay, so maybe this is difficult reading, or at least it is for those readers equipped with low hanging fruit. Maybe they are slightly pale around the lips, possibly light-headed. Sorry. Did you want a widdle trigger warning? Suck it up. I’m the one with my poor little huevos bleeding. I suppose this exemplifies the difference between empathy and sympathy.

Guys with unnipped nuts:

Watch out where you’re slinging that blade, buddy.

Maybe I should look into waxing.

Thick

What a piece of work is man.

I really hope this is not PhotoShop; it would reinforce my belief in god.

Speaking of god….

In Which We Celebrate an Anniversary

Happy anniversary to our dear chum and Chaturbate sweetheart, Mikey. October 1st marks Mikey’s 7th anniversary entertaining the masses. My impression is that chat room models do not, in general, have a long run so Mikey’s stint is pretty impressive.

And those of us who count ourselves as his fan base are plenty glad he has stuck it out. Afterall, he’s muscly, big dicked, and so good looking with those huge, beautiful eyes. Amazingly, he’s also sweet, sweet, sweet. Come for the tits and stay for the disposition, that’s what we say.

I like to think this fan club/impromptu therapy group has played a part in his longevity. The small Eastern European town Mikey lives in does not have a terribly vibrant gay scene. Queer life does not add a lot of color to the local landscape. So I think we regulars provide him with a connection to an otherwise unavailable homo universe. Yay for us.

I also think it must have taken a lot of courage for a boy in that situation to make the leap to performing dick dances for strangers on the internet. Please join me in toasting Mikey for having the balls (and such lovely plump balls they are, too) to take that plunge and for continuing to charm all of us.

Anniversary presents for Mikey. And for you, too.

Anthony Varrecchia, cause Mikey is all about hairy old daddies.

And Pete Kuzak, cause Mikey is also all about big muscle meat.

Dimitri Averyanov, cause it’s my damn blog.

Max Warner, cause yeah baby.

Some anonymous guy, cause I’ve decided I don’t care about the crimes of PhotoShop.

Trevor Adams, cause sometimes having everything is just enough.

Mr. Sundial again, cause this is one of my favorite pictures of all time.

This guy, who’s name I forget, cause.

In Which We Collect Just a Little More

Perhaps you remember mrpeenee’s unparalleled collection of aluminum plates, platters and other serving pieces. The fact it is unparalleled mostly because no one else is interested in what is essentially decorative debris is neither here nor there, and I do wish you would stop bringing it up.

The collection. Some of it, anyway.

.Thirty years ago, I got tired of not being able to afford any of the cool stuff in my thrift store prowlings and so I started collecting these. Mostly because they were cheap, but also because no thrift store, no matter how crappy, would fail to have at least one or two pieces.

My limit initially was that nothing could cost more than three bucks. After a while I raised that to $5, but even that allowed me to bring home so many of them eventually R man threatened to put them all out on the curb and me with them. That was probably 15 years ago and honestly, even I realized I had plenty enough. But when I moved to this apartment and mounted them all up on the wall, I wound up with a couple of odd bald spots that could use filling. And so I turned to Google to track down a few more bits.

Almost the very first result was some junk store trying to unload 13 pieces of the very finest examples of aluminum junk. That was more than I had in mind, BUT three of them were exactly the right size and two others were such interesting specimens I couldn’t pass them up so I bought the whole lot.

So here they are. The really interesting ones are the small basket with a handle and made of pierced metal and the other is a tiny silent butler.

Silent butlers. Sssh.

Silent butlers were an invention to help hostesses deal with mess on tabletops. You would rake up all the crumbs littering the cloth and dump them into your silent butler and then close the lid to keep all the garbage from flying back out. You could also empty ashtrays that way.

Also, coasters, cause aluminum coasters are so very practical. Most aluminum pieces feature very realistic botanical art, in this case, each coaster is a tiny CABBAGE. I am in love.

So there. I really am through collecting them now. Really. What few oddball spots there were are now filled and I have no more excuses for any more aluminumania. My decision has nothing to do with them being no longer easy to find or certainly easy to afford. Should the aluminum hostessware industrial complex call, tell them I’m out of the game.

Guys I’d like to collect:

What, does he charge by the pound?