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 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 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 We Give Up Breathing

My motto.

My buds over on Chaturbate and I have spent the last few weeks enlivening our evenings watching Mikey whack his big whacker by complaining about our various and sundry allergies. It’s nice to have something to share with your friends.

I’m sure you all know the story: cough, cough, squish, squish, splut, splut. Every few days I think the allergy has given up, the worst is behind me, I have overcome pollen. But then I suddenly realize I have turned back into a walking puddle with every orifice dripping. Every orifice in my head, I mean

I never had any allergy problems until I crossed the dread 50-year-old threshold. Suddenly I was attacked by every pollen particle in the Bay Area. Each spring, I am waylaid by hay fever, or, has Eva Gabor in Green Acres put it, “I get allergic smelling hay.”

This snot season hasn’t been particularly bad, but it has dragged on a hell of a long time, appropriate for a year that has lasted several decades. I deal with it by popping antihistamines on the regular. I’m not ashamed that my youth was enhanced by any number of controlled substances; it’s just lowering now to have my drug of choice be Benadryl.

Men to take your limited breath away:

Oh my

Commenting on the last post, Monsieur DeVice mentioned how fond he is of freckles.

Today’s butt is brought to you by the color red.

I’ve decided to stop worrying about PhotoShop and regard it simply as a fantasy enhancer.

See? Fantasy enhanced.

I think this might be au natural rather than PhotoShopped. Discuss among yourselves.

I C U

Gaydar. I hate the word itself as well as the concept behind it. I think it reduces gay men to precious, magical creatures who use our magical powers to discover other precious, magical creatures to suck our dicks. Speaking as a dick sucker, I can attest we use the same indictors everyone else does to find potential sodomites: body posture, attention, eye contact (oh definitely,) and the always popular micro reactions. Did you know your pupils dilate when you look at someone you’re attracted to? We all see these things, but only notice them on a subconscious level because they’re so subtle.

For the history of the gay world (which is also the history of the world, coincidentally) queers have had to rely on these subtle hints exclusively until very recently, unlike straight boys who have always had the entire society rooting for them to go root. Not to mention a mother trying to set you up so you can finally pop out a couple of grandchildren. So yes, we have had to develop the ability to recognize each other without the benefit of all the signals having an opposite sex provides. But that does not mean we possess some mystical beam that tells us infallibly who is and isn’t a fellow traveller.

Gaydar pretty much only comes up when some woman demands that I use mine to see if some guy is bent in the homo manner. “Is he gay?” they whisper about some new co-worker, or celebrity, or (worst of all) some dude they’re sexually interested in. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask him,” I would reply irritatedly. “Gaydar doesn’t exist,” I would usually expand, even though I had already determined whether he was or not. I know, hypocrite. But there is a difference between being tolerated as a gay man and being accepted and refusing this whole “gaydar” bit seems to me like a part of being accepted, which is what I demand.

When I first started at SBA, I was introduced around our office of about 30 people. Over the following years I worked there, of the 6 or so men I initially pegged as queer, all but one eventually confirmed my initial diagnosis. And even that one turned out to be an old hippie who played acoustic guitar at our Chrsitmas parties, so I think my confusion was understandable. So, okay, I can pick ’em and I understand claiming gaydar doesn’t exist when I’ve always used something very much like it to get laid is a contradiction, but a) I contain multitudes and that is not nearly my biggest hypocrisy and b) shut up.

In conclusion, yes, we probably can guess successfully who is and isn’t but that doesn’t mean we want to be your homo geiger counter.

A subset of all this is gay movie stars. I think we all can figure out the poofters on the silver screen (hello Kevin Spacey and Sean Hayes, who did you think you were fooling?) but some, especially historical ones, continue to linger in the questionable end of the spectrum. Here we have the beautiful Guy Madison. He was married twice, had four kids, girlfriends, all of which point, of course, towards straight boy. But…. But, he was a client of Henry WIlson, the Hollywood talent agent who groomed gormless but hunky young men into stars. His client list included Rock Hudson, Tab Hunter, Nick Adams, and many other really pretty, mildly talented guys who were frequently queers and pretty much always pieces of ass for Henry. So maybe, Guy was bisexual, maybe he just understood how to get ahead in show biz. But in many images of him, the love that dare not speak its name seems pretty damn loud, much like the one below. To me this picture speaks volumes and what it says is “I will suck your dick until sperm shoots out my ears.”

Other guys on my radar:

It’s been really warm lately in San Francisco, turning our thoughts towards the beach.

I don’t understand gay men who announce, arrogantly, that they don’t like “pretty men.” It’s just their loss.

Even better are pretty cowboys.

He seems confused. Maybe he needs my help, my personal attention.

Sometimes, I realize I am just pandering to my Chaturbate readers.

But everybody likes a big, fat, Hispanic dick.

Perhaps you were wondering what the word “gormless” means. Here we present Exhibit A.