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.

I Which We Look Back

It is the end of the year, perhaps you heard? To celebrate not dying in these last twelve difficult months, I decided to post a sort of Greatest Hits post, but in this case it’s the Greatest Nekkid Guys Hits.

Hit it:

January, a cowboy kind of month

February and the butt chops are ripe.

March, in like a lion, baby.

April, my burfday and an arty nude to celebrate. Apparently, I didn’t realize this is Tyson Daley when I posted it originally.

May and my favorite photo of my favorite Person of Porn, Mike Betts.

June and Gay Pride’s photo is brought to us by the letter ASS.

July and goodness, what lovely skin. And so much of it.

August brings us Doug Perry of Colt Studios and his phenomenal pussy.

September. My Chaturbate Chums are always demanding more of this particular kind of filth.

Also, speaking of September when Madge died. I’m just guessing this is what hell looks like today.

October. Just insert some damn joke about pumpkins here,

November and I think this is my favorite dick pic, I just wish I knew his name. This is at least the 5th time I’ve included him.

Also, November is the birthday of Mikey from Chaturbate https://chaturbate.com/playwithme55/

December and a view the Meat Mountain.

So thank you for sticking around this year. Except for all the shitty stuff, I thought it not such a bad year, certainly not when compared to 2020.

In Which We Are Appropriated

Let me share my outrage with you, yet again. Our story begins in New Orleans in 1985. Homogay mrpeenee is busy leading a happy, quiet homogay life when his puny attention is snagged by a snappy tune called Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beat.

And what a brilliant song it is. It’s the story of a young gay man thrown out of his home because he’s queer, everything he owns “in a little black bag” after already experiencing ostracism and gay bashing. Even those of us lucky enough to have avoided that extreme when we came out could still identify with the pain and the alienation and the fury in that song. Plus it had a really rockin beat.

The singer, Jimmy Somerville, is a role model, fierce and furious and pissed off and not willing to take any shit. He’s a humpy, short redhead (I’ve always had a weakness for them) and his videos dancing around to his music are very appealing, but the message in his songs was for his gay brothers to demand to live our lives unafraid. FUCK TOLERANCE, I DO NOT WANT TO BE TOLERATED. Oops, sorry, I got carried away.

Anyway. Try to imagine my feelings when Super Agent Fred sent me a video of Smalltown Boy covered by some yahoo, Marcus Layton. I’m not including it here because I don’t want it to get even a single more view. The cover is so unoriginal it might as well have been karaoke. The video itself is a classic of the “My cousin has a camera” with abrupt quick cuts of bland youth rollicking around some parking garage with a boosted grocery cart: urban but not too urban, we don’t want to have to mess with any riff raff. It is stripped of any politics in the original and it includes heterosexual humping just to rub salt in the disco wound.

Did anyone involved in this production ever listen to the original, could they have possibly understood the lyrics? Or did they just hear a song they liked, downloaded the lyrics from Google, and recorded their own stupid Brady Bunch cover.

I worry that some people vaguely think the struggle for gay equality is over, that somehow, the right to marry means that The Gays won and now we all can go back to not worrying. I got news for you. In living memory there was a time when simply being gay was illegal, not merely frowned upon or socially awkward. It was against the law and you could go to jail. Not just in some bum fuck rural outlier, but in London and New York. I worry that young people, young queers, think the fight is now about the right pronouns and including the right colors on the right flag. Our living an out life is not inalienable. A Supreme Court Justice recently included, in a draft decision for the court, the suggestion that attacking gay legal rights would be just peachy keen with him.

The kind of appropriation this cover represents, where the queer context of the song is erased, shows how easy it would be, in small encroaching ways, to shove us back into the good old days closet. Just like women and abortion, I can’t believe we’re still fighting this fight. Oh well. At least we know the words to the song.

Smalltown boys, naked edition:

Love them big boys.

You need to get out of the sun, baby.

Dappled.

It’s the peak of beachy weather. At least it is if you’re not living in San Francisco where it remains chilly.

oh, my dudes, I forgot to mention, on July 25, that it was the 15th anniversary of my little blog. Yay.

This seems to have been the first dick pic I published, from August 25, 2007. Another anniversary.

That first year, when I was much more apparently energetic, I cranked out fifty-four posts in one month.

I’m pretty sure I couldn’t think of 54 words now.

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 Say Goodbye to a Dear Little Buddy

There’s nothing as satisfying as the weight of a cat curled up on your lap while you sit reading Barbara Pym for the bazillionth time. It’s just the right amount and it emphasizes how cozy the moment is in a cold, hard world.

I was thinking about that yesterday afternoon. Saki was settled in my lap on top of the blanket he claimed years ago. It was a position he and I perfected long before all the odd times of the last decade. The very sweet vet who had come over to my place gave him three injections, 10 minutes apart (morphine, valium, and ketamine, I thought about asking for some of that good stuff, but I was distracted) and Saki got loaded, fell asleep, and just drifted off. That’s how I want to go.

I was very sad that day, but actually, the hardest part was resigning myself to it and then scheduling the euthanasia. Just saying the words on the phone to the receptionist was almost impossible. But he had stopped eating 4 weeks ago. It became obvious the choice was putting him to sleep or watching him starve to death.

Even now I expect to see him somewhere, like he’s been taking one of his naps and wandered back in to see what I was doing. I’ll see something out of the corner of my eye and for second think that it’s him.

Anyway. This end, regardless of how easy or painful it is, is always obvious in the beginning when you take on a pet. The chances of outliving them are very small and you have to know that this is coming. So let’s all take a moment to remember all the ridiculous cats and dogs that have been in our lives and made them better for the time they shared with us.

You Google the phrase “naked guy with cat” and you get some pretty amazing results. To wit:

I know, not naked, but too cute to ignore.

Hard to believe, but the kitten is even cuter than the lanky, doe-eyed beauty

If you haven’t done this with your cat, are you really trying?

“put me down RIGHT THIS MINUTE, or you’ll be sorry”

Not one, but TWO oozy woozums.

I know, not naked again, but the cat is Saki’s double.

Can you pick out the kitten?

Surely if your Grindr profile just read “I have glasses and a cat,” the internet would melt.

Oh, keeses. Many, many keeses.

I think anyone who’s ever lived with a cat recognizes this classic pose of a squirming cat in one hand and something you don’t want to spill in the other and know that tragedy is eminent.

I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see this man naked. The I’m including the picture is the story that went with it which was about a cop who rescued a kitten, much adorbs, and which described said cop as 28 years old. Not to be bitchy, for once, but does this guy look 28? Is that in dog years?

Sleepy Time

I suspect when I tell people I sleep all day they translate that as something like I sleep at night like normal people and then take naps during the day.  Wrong.  I go to sleep about 7:00 AM, dawn for those of you who might miss the whole “rosy fingered” thing.  I then saw away until 5:00 or 6:00 that evening, broken only by occasional old man piss trips and whenever Saki can wake me up enough to feed him.

It’s a schedule made famous by rock and roll legends and vampires and it works fine for me.  My system apparently is owl.  No wonder I had such a hard time getting up for school or work; I was leaving my bed just when I should have been settling down into it.  Of course there were drawbacks, there always are.  Trying to get to appointments, doctor, hair, chats with friends, whatever, was problematic and I never got the sympathy I deserved when I would whine about setting my alarm for 2:00 in the afternoon.

And then three days ago, suddenly I couldn’t sleep.  At all.  Does everyone have trouble sleeping?  Yes, yes we do, except cats.  I would turn in and lie there expecting to doze off at any minute, but the minute would tick by and suddenly it was early afternoon and I was still awake.  The second day I surrendered and wound up down at Peet’s Cafe knocking back a latte with some tasty muffins.

I know, I know, coffee when you can’t sleep is just exacerbating the problem, but my experience is if I can’t fall asleep in the first half hour, it’s not going to happen.  So I embraced insomnia and turned to my usual answer to everything, coffee and a pastry at Peet’s.  If it can’t help, it also can’t hurt.

I’ve finally fallen asleep about 3:00 or 4:00.  Is this my new schedule?  If anything it seems even more inconvenient than my old one.  I’m hoping this passes and I can go back to watching crappy You Tube videos at hours when all the god fearing are snoring away.  Still in the video queue are hundreds of hours of Russian lunkheads trying to unload a sports car off the back of a truck with a couple of 2 x 4s.  Hilarious.

Guys in bed:

 

The Whirlwind Whirls On

I think I sold my house. I have been in such a whirlwind of activity this last month, most of it much too physical for a genteel widow of my declining years, that the actual reason (selling the house for as many buckets of money as possible) kept fading from view. Over and over, I would just be in the midst of so many simultaneous crises that trying to keep them all from collapsing seemed to be the ultimate goal.

Extra muscle pussy because it’s kind of a long post without much beefcake and so I decided to toss in a little extraneous This Season’s Fashion in Towels.  You’re welcome.

So today, when Wendy, my realtor, called with this offer and strongly urged me to go with it, I was sort of surprised. Oh. Right. Sell the house. It’s on my list.

And even though all this crazy, complicatedly synchronized knife juggling has been furiously paced (We’ve only been doing this for a little over a month) this REALLY seemed to have just appeared out of the thinnest of airs. Three open houses over four days. I am, most assuredly, not complaining. I am just sort of stunned. I never even had time to bury a statue of Saint Joseph upside down in the backyard.  For those of you trying to pass off your dog of a house to some unsuspecting sucker, the fabulously straight forward named Discount Catholic Products, for all them Discount Catholics, offers a whole Saint Joseph kit to help you slip that troublesome radiation leak in the basement past your potential buyers.  I was going to include a link, but the URL was so long and looked so very much like some Ukranian scam, I decided to spare all of you its potential bad juju.

Of course, there’s many a slip etc., etc., etc., but at least it’s in the cup and headed in the general direction of my lips. I am concentrating on thinking positive thoughts.  Those of you still capable of thinking, please join me.

Oh, Saint Jospeh, pray for us sinners now and at the moment of closing.

Kneeling at the altar.  Haven’t we all been there?  Saint Joseph is also the patron of Families, so when you fervently, but silently, ask “Get Aunt Winnie and the girl from accounting she wants to set me up with off my back,” you are praying to St. Joseph.  Bless.