Friday, January 13th, is Boobday!


Such a wonderfully busy week; I haven’t had a minute to spare and Thursday I spent in a fog recovering.  I have two stories to share — one with Franklin and one with another fella, Martin — and more general thoughts about my new pursuits.  N. Likes also helped me with my OKCupid profile and he gave some extremely interesting — if not exceedingly frustrating — advice, which I need to still process.

Thanks, as always, to the lovely humans who’ve sent in their images and to all the bloggers who link up.  You’re all da bomb.



Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email ( OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

  1. If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)
  2. Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

I love the winter.

NOT my tits:

I love the sprawl, the necklace, the ease in Miss Over 50’s frame. Beautiful!

I loved modeling my new leather dress and my hubby enjoyed unzipping it…fun times for both.


Do you see how the loop in Kim’s necklace mimics the curve of her breasts?

Friday Smiles ☺, not entirely pleased with this view, but WTF!


Miss Ellie’s nipple piercings make me miss mine.

Something special for Friday the 13th!  What do you guys think of the look?


I love this pic of Sandy. There’s something so raw about it.

Shame they won’t let me workout topless. I don’t want to put the bra on.


Adriana’s mind is playing tricks on her currently. This is a stunning image. The colors, the costume.

Despite incredibly cold temperatures, I showed up to the boyfriend’s place in my favorite winter trench coat, thigh high stockings, black heels, & little else. We managed to warm things up quite nicely.


Be sure to check out the other beauties below!

Having feelings really puts a damper on casual sex.

Ok, that’s not exactly true.  Having feelings for someone other than the one you’re casually fucking sucks.

I eat, sleep, and shit Luke these days; he’s literally all I can think about.

We text and send video messages all day throughout a day as we juggle our respective responsibilities.  I cum listening to videos of him telling me about the errands he’s running and, chagrined by my constant begging, he sends me selfies and tells me how he thinks about me while he soaps himself up in the shower.

He says he’ll never leave me – though what that means is more theoretical than practical – and I choose to hit pause on reality and bask in the attention of a man I find to be incredible both inside and out.  I let the smoke of his words fill my lungs and infiltrate my system and, as I exhale slowly, bask in the high that someone says he sees me and won’t go away.  Crack, meet Hy, Hy, crack.

I’ve been out with a few men since stumbling upon Luke, but none can clear the room of his scent.  Brad is a loving father, intelligent, filled with Dad Puns which make me cry with laughter, and a nimble lover, but he’s ignorant to his second-chair status.  Kent and I met for dinner after five years apart and argued over whether or not Michael Jackson actually touched those poor boys and though he smelled delicious, I went home alone.  There was another man whose brand of sense of humor left me straight-faced and deeply unimpressed.  He never had a chance past “Hi, all my dates end up saying they don’t want to see me again.”  Franklin’s presence is more life-preserver and less love interest and his existence seems to reside within a conflict-free zone at the moment.  Thanks, Universe, for that small win.

I’ve been doing my Hy thing for so long I’d forgotten that there was more to be had, more to feel.  A friend who knows me as Hy laughed when I told him I was struggling with having feelings for someone.

“All this time you DIDN’T feel alive? Wow. It must be somethin’.”

Indeed, it is.

When I lived next door and slid into a sexual, playful relationship with The Neighbor I was also fucking other men.  He was one of many, no big deal, a young, furry, inexperienced yet exceedingly talented lover next door.  And then we began to talk and hang out more and the sex steadily improved until every man I met and fucked was being compared to him.  That new, next man had to meet or exceed what TN gave to me.

TN was unavailable (and never said he wasn’t), but our attraction and chemistry overrode both of our common sense and eventually, I threw caution to the wind and decided to take what little he’d give me and go all in.  I focused on the positives until it came to a sudden end and now, nearly 2 years later, I am still sweeping away the residue of his chalk outline.  We had something special and I felt a certain way.  That inexplicable measure where suddenly you are real, you are heard.

I haven’t felt so divided, so distracted by anyone else since that early time with TN.  When I tried so hard to find someone to replace him – a man who didn’t want me – but who made me feel alive just the same.  Luke has inadvertently triggered a reawakening in me.  Not unlike the stirrings I felt while in London with Ben, but more strongly.  Perhaps they’re building upon themselves like a snowball down a mountainside or maybe I’m just becoming more comfortable with my softer, open side.

Luke wishes me luck before my dates and asks that I text him at the end if possible.  If I don’t text him until the morning he wishes me good morning and asks me how things went.  He’s jealous of the men in my life much as I’m jealous of his poofy, 5lb dog who gets to sit on his chest and lick his face like a miniature lion.

I have lost almost all interest in local adventures; I can’t muster the energy to focus on a man who isn’t Luke and I feel like an asshole.  It’s not like anyone I’m talking to thinks they’ve snagged all of my attention, but last I heard the polite thing to do is to successfully not think about another man while one is inside of you.  Just sayin’.  I’ve reached new lows.

Obviously weird shit happens in the course of a lifetime.  I have no clue why Luke was thrown into my path or I in his.  All I know is that with him I feel safe to explore the vulnerable parts of me, the parts which are so closely guarded I all but forgot they existed, and the distance between us emboldens me to poke around, find my limits.

It seems the impenetrable Hy isn’t quite the cool Ice Queen she thought she’d become, she’s also a warm-hearted fool who wants to slumber and rise wrapped in her crush’s arms while high as a motherfucking kite.




I might be too hard.

The script was the same, yet different.

I sat on his lap, naked and spent, resting in the cradle of his big arms. He stood and turned and gently lay me down on the crisp hotel bedding. I promptly fell into a demi-sleep, drunk off the $350 bottle of wine we’d split and the dozen orgasms.

His giant paw had slammed into me as I urged him on and I came in great rushes and filled his hand; his white mustache had crushed against my lips as he breathed in my orgasm like a drowning man. He hadn’t touched a woman in 5 years.

Franklin almost hadn’t come to meet me, he’d confessed. When I shared my pictures with him on Seeking Arrangement he’d found a couple of them to look “hard.” “Like you were a retired dancer.”

“Gee, well thanks for taking a risk on me.”

“You’re much more beautiful than your pictures, Hy. I was very happy to see you walk into the bar.”

He was an enormous man — more bear than human — and more than a foot taller than me, possibly a hundred pounds heavier.  He wore a brown houndstooth blazer, those type of 1980s metal glasses that all business men used to wear, and smelled delicious.

He’d been conned at least twice in the six weeks since joining the site, but the few hundred dollars he’d given away were such an inconsequential amount to him he laughed it off as a learning curve.

After cocktails, dinner, wine, and dessert, we headed to the lounge of a nearby hotel where he grabbed me and kissed me.  It turned me on that he’d told the servers and wait staff to pay attention to us and they’d be rewarded for their attentiveness.  It turned me on that he oozed power and confidence.  It turned me on to feel so small in his presence, taken care of.

He insisted I get whatever I wanted at dinner and urged me to not think of cost.  How different life must be to not have a care about money.  Everything I do from eating to dressing myself passes through the “Can I afford this?” filter.  It made me giddy and nervous.

“I think what you want is a boyfriend,” he’d said over dessert.  “You want to hang out with someone you like and who likes you and to not always rely on him for money.  That sounds like a boyfriend.”  I was too embarrassed, too afraid to answer.  Is that even true?  I couldn’t say and I quickly changed the subject.

At the copper bar in the swanky hotel, my lips swollen and my belly buzzing he leaned in.

“Wanna get a room?” he murmured hotly.  I nodded.

At the front desk I held his hand and giggled.  In the elevator he cornered me and smashed me against the mirrors with his weight, his hands roamed like a lech and I arched into him.

We left the room in a tangled, wet mess two hours later; I had to relieve the dog who’d been cooped up for 12 hours.  He didn’t need to stay without me and I suppose $500 for a couple of hours wasn’t a big deal.  He walked me to my car, kissed me again and sent me on my way.

It’s unclear if he is interested in me beyond our night together.  I have thrown my hat into the ring, but he has yet to respond.  The entire transaction, the entire night and ensuing days, have felt like they happened to someone else.  His lack of response has not affected me; he will either want to see me again or not.

His tender post-coital care came close to cracking me.  Kindness is my kryptonite, it’s the big spoiler.  Use me, fill me up, leave me and I will stand tall and still.  Show me a soft side of you and it is my undoing.  His distance since the date has allowed me to shore up the hardness he said he saw in my images.  Perhaps he was right.  I have been in the trenches for so long…

The story could end there, but it doesn’t.

Enter stage right a British expat who lives 1000 miles away, Luke.  He’s my age, tall, beautiful and neglected by the woman in his life.  We stumbled upon each other – as people do – completely by accident and have found in one another a salve to the wounds we carry.  With him I admit to even having them.  He knows me as Hy.

He’s realized he’s a man who is alive and not a martyr searching for meaning in the drudgery of his life and I have realized (again) that I want to be cared about and accepted.  Cherished.   Ben first lit me upon this notion and I have had a wobbly several months since our time together.  I’ve fucked and frolicked, but as usual have kept to myself emotionally.

Luke is literally in my pocket and is the last person I think about and the first when I wake up.  I want to make all his dreams come true then set him on a plane stuffed full of affection and sex.  I want the person sitting next to him on the plane to look at him and think, “That guy looks goddamned happy.”

He’ll arrive home satiated knowing he’s not alone and that someone sees him and I can be safe from long-term vulnerability even while feeling the ghost of his arms around me.  I fully recognize the irony of this, but it feels like a step in the right direction.  At least I’m trying.

Ben is across an ocean and so busy I don’t hear from him for weeks at a time.  Our distance (among other things) was the golden key to unlock my own secret yearnings for deeper, softer, kinder things in my life.  I was forced to admit to having a heart again, but not suffer the vulnerability of trying to maintain the exposure.

Luke is closer, can see me more easily than Ben, but he is still far away both literally and figuratively.  He has commitments at home that would forever prevent him from being nearby long-term.  We will always be apart even if our feelings are together.

And yet, I want him all the same.

I imagine waiting for him at the airport. He quickly closes the distance between us when he sees me standing there nervously, wraps me in his arms and kisses me deeply and passionately.  I hope everyone around us is jealous as they see our affection and joy in one another’s arms.

It feels like we’d be stealing a moment, but I can almost taste him I want it so badly.  I want to be a fucking thief because with him I don’t feel hard.  I feel soft and real, nearly a whole woman with an entire back story.  Not just some sex-kitten ready and willing for anything.

“I’ll let you fuck my face, my ass, my pussy, all of it.  You just can’t leave for 3 days and you have to hold me close and look at me like you’re the luckiest man alive,” I texted.  Tears filled my eyes.  My biggest fantasy and my darkest secret is to be cherished while I am ravaged.

“You are, without any doubt, the sexiest woman I have ever seen or spoken to.  There’s something about you.  I’m getting butterflies…” he replied.  And later, after he picked his name for the blog, encouraged me to lay it bare for him in this post when I told him I was feeling overwhelmed.

“I like what I see,” he said again.


How could anyone find me aloof?  How could anyone think I was unaffected by men??  I am avoiding pain and searching for myself.  I’m not trying to hide.  Clearly I’m a walking contradiction: I’m hard, I’m a puddle; I’m distant, I’m a shadow; I’m bold, I’m bashful.

I have successfully managed to untie my self-worth from the behaviors of men, but have I let loose of the ribbon entirely?  Does my understanding that I have no control somehow translate to apathy?  I don’t think I’m apathetic — Luke proves that, Ben proves that — but I am terrified of the closeness and now I worry that it’s trickled out and changed colors in the light of day.  It’s ugly out there.

Franklin’s silence is logically frustrating, but emotionally I am a flat line.  Never mind I think we could be great friends and have a very mutually beneficial relationship.  I feel a distant stillness about his non-response  He’s just yet one more man who wasn’t right for me for one reason or another.  I let go of any kind of “us” the day after I lay naked beneath his great bulk and didn’t hear from him.

There are so many others that I never bothered to include here, men whose time on the stage of my life was so brief, their impact on me negligible, that they are included in the credits as “Crowd Member.”  They’ve contributed to the story, but only as moving props.  Or as fucking ones, as the case may be.

And I largely felt nothing for any of them.  Just blips on the radar regardless of how they behaved afterwards.  It bothers me how little I feel sometimes for these local men, but it’s effortless.  I come by it naturally.  Perhaps after years of mistreatment I have become a product of it.   No wonder the prospect of Luke’s affections and attention is so utterly irresistible.

He says he has hazel eyes with green in them.  I imagine they’re like a sun-dappled forest, both deep and light, waiting.  I want to lie down on the forest bed and melt into the leaves and moss.

I want to look deeply into those eyes as I breathe his breath and hold him in my hand, feel him beneath my fingertips.  He won’t leave me because he can’t stay.

I may have overshot my target and accidentally convinced men that I don’t need them or want them, but the truth is I used to be open and I was punched again and again like a soft-bellied idiot.  No, Hy.  Goodbye, Hy.  I don’t want you, Hy.  It was fun while it lasted, Hy.  You’re all wrong, Hy.  I chose poorly again and again until I finally wizened up and took my soft self to a higher place where no one could touch me and when I’ve come back down I am no longer soft.  It’s not untrue.  But is it wrong?

A savvy, keen-eyed reader lovingly bludgeoned me in emails for months about how imbecilic I was with men.  She wasn’t wrong.  I grew hardened, memorized my lines, set my sights on the end of the story and skipped over sagging, boring plot lines.  I don’t regret it.  I’ve done what I needed to do, but now in the face of pure kindness I am forced to peel off a layer or two of armor and slow down.

I don’t want to be so hard that I miss opportunity, but nor do I want to be so soft that I am beaten to a pulp.  My friends come to me with all manner of dating questions, their hearts on their sleeves and I chuckle.

I remember when not hearing from a man after a date used to hurt.  I remember when long delays between correspondence bothered me.  Today, those are failings I don’t tolerate and I quickly move on to the next.  No fuss, no fight, just go.  Whether that’s emotionally or physically doesn’t matter.  I’m gone.

This push-pull of hard and soft is the battle between my sense of independence from the pitfalls of dating while my need to simultaneously flex my heart.  I may have stated it before, but it has become increasingly clear to me that my next relationship may very well have to start here.  As Hy.  How else can I possibly get past my own fear and armor?  My very soft underbelly is always exposed here and I am all of me: sentient and sexy, longing and lascivious.

Since I’ve come to realize I am more Hy than anyone else, it may also be time for Hy to be the star of the show.








Go to the sex category for the pervy stuff.  Not all posts here contain explicit sexual content, but a lot do.  If I mention someone in a post, I put it here.  Sometimes.  I’m not really all that organized, though the Virgo in me demands at least a semblance of it.

All names are pseudonyms — except those that aren’t — and  I have gone to great lengths to protect the identities of all the men written about here — and my own — but I understand that anyone intimately engaged with me might think, “Hey!  That’s me!”  Don’t be shy if that’s the case.

If you are reading this and recognize yourself please email me and we can discuss what to do next: take it down?  change anything you feel is identifying?  send me hate mail? ask me out again?

All I ask is that you reach out to me first before emailing my mother or boss a link to this site.

 Current Lovers

Internet boyfriend (a.k.a. IBF) – this is the mysterious, all-encompassing boyfriend that is you and everyone else who reads this blog.

  • He is kind, loving and knows me inside and out. He is patient and wise, but also loves to hear the gritty details of my dissolute life.  He isn’t jealous, but he is protective and wants only the best for me.  He is my champion and always happy to get a sext from me, always willing to come over to fuck  me till I’m inside out, always willing to listen any time of the night or day.  His support is inexhaustible, his humor droll, his intellect sharp.  I need him in my life as I learn to walk again as a woman and a sexual being.

It’s hard to have an accurate and current list because men come and go so quickly, but basically no one is a steady in my bed except the dog.  However these fellas aren’t completely off the table.

– Ben (5/16) – 16 years younger at a tender 24, Ben offered me a place to stay while I was in London for Eroticon.  Our 36 hours together changed me. I hope to see him again.

– David (4/15) – 8 years my junior.  Fireman who likes to choke me with his giant cock.  We don’t communicate well, but the sex is boundary-pushing and a thrill and so long as we keep the talking to a minimum things are good.  He keeps coming back for a savage fuck.  His new year goal is to fuck me in the ass, apparently.  Not sure how that’s going to happen seeing as I’m basically an ass virgin, he’s as big as a beer can and we never see each other, but a man can dream, I guess!

– Poppy (8/16) – 10 years younger, from Long Island, tall and beautiful, like an Adonis.  Also limping along from a messy breakup and a shattered heart.

– Franklin (9/16) – 15 years older than me and a wealthy single man looking for an uncomplicated sugar relationship. 

– Brad (9/16) – My age, chiseled from marble and a joke book; shorter than me.


It took a little while for me to get my ducks in a row after the break up, but I got back at it eventually.

– The Little Marine (4/15) 10 years my junior.  A good way to get back in the game, but it was brief.

– The Ginger Viking (4/15) – 5 years my junior.  Honestly, I don’t want to count him.  It lasted less than 90 seconds.

  • Hrm.  Not even really worth a post.

– Chase (5/15) – 6 years my junior.  Compelling and a kindred sex-spirit.  And like I suspected, he decided to devote his energies to the two women with whom he liked the most.  He texted me a few weeks later to confirm I was into being a couple’s 3rd.  Maybe he’ll be back in my bed one day, along with his girlfriend.

– Bad Texter – (5/15) – 6 years younger.  He ignited a different side of me completely by accident.  His rude texting behavior eventually forced me to politely walk away.

– The Lawyer (6/15) – 10.5 years my junior.  Tall as fuck, sweet as pie, lived an hour away.  He tried a few times to pin me down, but I couldn’t commit to a second date.  He did the quiet fade, sadly.

– Never named this guy (8/15) –  A couple years younger than me we hung out 2 or 3 of times like real human beings.  We decided I’d go to his house and he’d make me dinner.  It was when I realized sometimes I sucked.

– The Soldier (9/15) – 9 years younger, tall, tattooed, stupidly beautiful.  We met on AFF and met 24 hours later and had our first date 24 hours after that.  A week later he disappeared, reappeared, and a couple of days later he vanished completely.  A few weeks later he returned, apologized and we’re talking again.  I have whiplash.  As of February I haven’t heard from him since wishing me Happy New Year.

Petya (11/15) – 15 years younger; a Russian immigrant who had a perfect American accent.  He was like the Tazmanian Devil.  I ended it because he wasn’t together enough.

Kevin (1/12 for a few months then we picked back up 12/15) – 11 years my junior; pretends to be an old man.

21 yo (12/15) – 19 years younger.  He took a selfie of us at the bar, which I found odd, then blocked me the next day.  Perhaps it was because I made him download Lyft to get home at 3 am.

Bad Tuesday Night Lay (12/15) – 10 years younger?  Can’t remember.  He booty called me a couple of times after to no results.

Bearded Guy (1/16) – 7 years younger

– Clark (1/16) – 15 years younger; stylish AF, smart and sweet.  First guy in a long time to take me out on a proper date.

– Captain (3/16) – 14 years my junior; a captain in the Marines.  Tall, burdened with the troubles of the world.

– Bones (1/16) – 9 years my junior; short-ish, hung, archaeologist with a dry, easy-going energy.  Mad kisser, bad at darts, Jenga, and communicating.

– Remington (4/16) – 15 years my junior; tall, blond and beautiful.  A musical virtuoso and a fellow artist I decided to trust.

– The Welder (4/16) – This was the experience where I began to unravel.

– Nameless Friends With Benefits (6/16) – Men who never got named.  Part of the Summer of ________.

– Will (7/16) – My age, married man I met on a sugar daddy site.  Our attempt at “an arrangement” failed miserably, but I learned some valuable lessons.

– The Artist (8/16) – 7 years younger, Viking-looking, sensitive.  Too sensitive in the end.

– The Sub (8/16) – 13 or 14 years younger we met on a D/s site and emailed for weeks exploring our needs and wants.  I pressed “pause” on finding a sub after our time together, but not why you might think.


The Neighbor

The man from whom I’m [still] recovering.

The Neighbor (TN) – 9 years my junior, the man I loved.  We dated from November of 2011 until January of 2015.  He broke my heart, but in the end, I absolutely agree it was the right thing to do.  I just wish I’d done it sooner.

Click here to read from the beginning or here to read posts only about him in whatever order you choose.

During The Neighbor

TN and I weren’t monogamous for a long time.  It wasn’t until the middle of our second year that I focused only on him.

– Jason (10/11) – 11 years younger, a PhD student.

– Phillip (10/11) -9 years older than me, a business man who fucked the shit outta me.

– Casio (12/11)– goddamn he had a purty body.

– Bulldozer (1/12) – chick with mocha colored skin and big, juicy lips.  She used me and Kevin and skipped out with a smile on her face.

– Tuesday (3/12) – couple of years older than me, maybe; dude caught in the crossfires of my desire for The Neighbor.

– Beefcake (a.k.a. Beefy, but nerdy) (7/12) – a few months younger than me, tall and beefy, but nerdy with lots of tattoos.

After I left my husband

After my husband and I separated I hit the ground running.

– Jimmy (9/10) – ex-lover who got an epic blowjob.

– Matt (10/10) – 4 years younger; ADD, dental student who took advantage me.

– Ethan (10/10) – 4 years younger, a contractor who liked to make big promises he had no intention of keeping.

– Dave (11/10) – 2 years older, a single dad with whom I never really felt a lot of chemistry.  I introduced him to Lina and to my knowledge, they’re still dating  married today.

– Troy (11/10)–  2 years older; loved to suck cock. We dated non-monogamously for about 8 months ending all communication in November of 2011. We had several group sex experiences together including my most loved MMF combo.  He was a very talented lover who opened my eyes to truly great sex, but could also be cruel.  Years later, we’re good platonic pals and I value our special friendship and special bond.

– Alan (12/10) – 5 years younger, a dude who looked like a dockworker.  I told him I needed a savage fuck, he said, “Come on over.”

  • I like my men to talk less and keep their tongues in their mouths

– Jack (12/10) – 10 years younger; identifies as pan-sexual. He fucked me and Troy several times with various other partners, but then schedules got in the way and we drifted apart. He’s a Dom with a loving streak. I’m still friends with him and his fiancée, Emma.

– Dan (1/11) – a couple of years older than me, he was an old high school crush who came through town and stayed at a swanky hotel.

  • I poured champagne on my tits

– Emma (1/11) – 18 yo at the time, I felt like Mrs. Robinson but a dirty, filthy one.  It’s no fun fucking someone to whom you could be their mother.  She was great, though.

– Zed (1/11) – a couple of years younger than me and the best friend of a graduate school friend of mine.  He wore tweed the first time I met him and was a killer kisser.

  • I wish his dick matched his bravado

– Lina (2/11) – 11 years my junior;  I loved how accessible she was to me (she was always up for fun), but she was cruel and an unapologetic racist.

– Geoff (3/11)  – 30-something dude who shaved his entire body.  He was fun, then he disappeared until he brought Ross over for a disastrous MFM a month later.

– Tennis Pro (3/11) – a year or two younger than me, 6’2″, gorgeous.  When he saw me in the coffee shop I could see him catch his breath.  He was nice.

  • I won’t let you cum on me on the first date, but you can fuck me on the second

– Giant (3/11) – 10 years my junior he was 6’6″ and nerdy.

  • I’ll ask you if you want a bologna sandwich with Cheetos

– Kent (3/11) – a couple years older than me, 6’1″, he was the color of a coffee bean and built like a track star.  I teased him about being a tripod because his cock was magnificently huge and he claimed to have been a scrawny little teenager.

– Ross (4/11) – the nice friend of Geoff who got his rocks off on my balcony after the shittiest threesome ever.

  • Homophobic men aren’t sexy

– Lou (5/11) – early 30s.  We fucked only twice because the second date he accidentally slammed it into my asshole twice and though I was clearly in pain, he was unapologetic or concerned.

– Mensa (6/11) – 2 years younger; claimed to be in Mensa.

– Hunter (6/11) – late 30s, 6’4″; charming as all fuck.

– Ryan (6/11)- late 20s; he was on the DL with his other female lovers, but I got to see him suck cock.

– Becky (7/11) -barely past drinking age, Ryan’s girlfriend.  She had the figure of Brittney Spears and a sweet disposition.  We loved each other’s bodies.

– Pianoman (7/11) – 30-something single dad who played piano for a living.

  • I blew someone away

– Jake (8/11)– He got a surprise.

– Roy (8/11) – 4 years younger, a special ops kind of guy. We first met the end of the summer of ’11. He was marvelously generous with his jokes and his money.

– Max (9/11)- My birthday present.

– JohnJohn (10/11) – 30-something entrepreneur who wore those funny toe shoes.

  • I fucked a guy while my friends fucked in the other room  |  If you fuck my face too hard, I will vomit wine on you

– DeRouge (10/11) – 30-something traveling man from out of town.

  • Traveling men are fun