imagooddog

Love those lips !!!

In this day and age, I'd say yes. 85% of the web cam guys are uncut, and I have to scroll waaaaaaay down to on purpose look for #cut. I personally appreciate the guys who put either foreskin or uncut in their description because it saves me time. Now if only the cut guys would lose weight or put on muscle or manscape, their viewership might get a boost. I love a cut penis, but not attached to a grizzly bear, twig, or "big boned" physique.
 
Millions less people each year are cut from when I was a kid, as anti-circ crowds are as vocal and boisterous as ever. Me, I very likely may be the last circumcised man left when I die! If Congress passes mandatory foreskin restoration surgery, I'm going into hiding

I think a cut cock looks better.

I am probably the only person on the message forum who does not really understand the meaning
of these terms. I am just an old guy not up to date on some things.
Some escorts advertise that they are on PrEP and PNP friendly. Some clients say they would not hire them because of this. What do they mean exactly ?

What would be some of the "rough trade" bars? I like the straight nice body guys but never see them in gay bars.

http://www.homotrophy.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/ramon-by-paul-van-der-line-adon-p2-0.jpg

I always was attracted to the lips on Troy Ackman (former Dallas NFL player)
Also love the lips on actor Eric Roberts (brother of Julia Roberts)

I wish, I wish I wish !!!!!!

Is this guy new ?
 
https://www.masseurfinder.com/massage-therapists/36475/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clint_Walker
 
RIP

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clint_Walker
 
RIP

I was 16, traveling with a student group in Germany. Was with a buddy at a beer garden, having already downed my first taste of German beer. My buddy couldn't handle his liquor even though he was two years older than me. We were all seated around long farm tables, elbow to elbow with other patrons who were friendly, singing songs, and having a good time. A particularly strapping blond haired, blue eyed hunk of a man close to my age seated slightly across from me kept giving me a wink and a beautiful smile as we clinked glasses amidst cheers. My bladder got the best of me and off to the bathroom I go, and lo and behold he follows and stands next to me at the piss trough, whipping out a beauty of an dick with curly blond pubes. I openly stared and I'm sure salivated. He beats his cock and asks me if I want to have some German fun. I have the good sense to bolster my courage and quickly shake my big and small heads both. My horrible luck bit me in the ass as one of the female bar maids pops her head into the bathroom to tell me my friend had fallen over, vomited, and needed to go. I had to slug the bastard back to the hotel and my opportunity for my first German cock was delayed another couple of years. Thankfully, my drunken friend and I were sharing a hotel room, different beds and he passed out promptly leaving me alone with my five fingered friend and a fond memory of the big German cock that got away.

I feel sure most of us regret having missed an opportunity and wish we could somehow go back and
and act upon it for a different outcome.
When I was about 25 and in graduate school on an assistant ship, teaching 2 classes and taking 3 I lived
in a dorm with mostly underclassmen. I almost always studied in the room with the door to the hall open
and could see all who walked by. There was an 18 years old freshman, a really cute personable guy, black
hair, dark eyes, great smooth body who would stop by an talk occasionally. I think he admired me, being
older and more mature and in those days I was a good looking guy. One day (Tom) stopped by and in talking
said that he thought he had jock itch. I asked what it looked like and the said he could not see down there
himself. I told him that I had it years before and could take a look if he wanted and he said sure. So I told
him to go on down to his room and I would come down and take a look. So in a few minutes I went to his room, opened the door and he was standing there naked.
Now here is where I screwed up. Those were the days before "gay", you were queer and I was deep in the closet and I was very shy.
I got on my knees, face about 8 to 10 inches in front of his dick. And what did I do? I took a nearby pencil and moved his dick and balls about with it !! (He did not have jock itch or any sign of a rash).
I feel sure this 18 year old testosterone fueled good looking boy would have had a hard on in a minute it only I had used my fingers and hands while I carefully examined and moved around his dick and balls. That thing
could have been in my mouth then and maybe many times in the future. If only I had known than what
I know now.

I feel sure most of us regret having missed an opportunity and wish we could somehow go back and
and act upon it for a different outcome.
When I was about 25 and in graduate school on an assistant ship, teaching 2 classes and taking 3 I lived
in a dorm with mostly underclassmen. I almost always studied in the room with the door to the hall open
and could see all who walked by. There was an 18 years old freshman, a really cute personable guy, black
hair, dark eyes, great smooth body who would stop by an talk occasionally. I think he admired me, being
older and more mature and in those days I was a good looking guy. One day (Tom) stopped by and in talking
said that he thought he had jock itch. I asked what it looked like and the said he could not see down there
himself. I told him that I had it years before and could take a look if he wanted and he said sure. So I told
him to go on down to his room and I would come down and take a look. So in a few minutes I went to his room, opened the door and he was standing there naked.
Now here is where I screwed up. Those were the days before "gay", you were queer and I was deep in the closet and I was very shy.
I got on my knees, face about 8 to 10 inches in front of his dick. And what did I do? I took a nearby pencil and moved his dick and balls about with it !! (He did not have jock itch or any sign of a rash).
I feel sure this 18 year old testosterone fueled good looking boy would have had a hard on in a minute it only I had used my fingers and hands while I carefully examined and moved around his dick and balls. That thing
could have been in my mouth then and maybe many times in the future. If only I had known than what
I know now.

I feel sure most of us regret having missed an opportunity and wish we could somehow go back and
and act upon it for a different outcome.
When I was about 25 and in graduate school on an assistant ship, teaching 2 classes and taking 3 I lived
in a dorm with mostly underclassmen. I almost always studied in the room with the door to the hall open
and could see all who walked by. There was an 18 years old freshman, a really cute personable guy, black
hair, dark eyes, great smooth body who would stop by an talk occasionally. I think he admired me, being
older and more mature and in those days I was a good looking guy. One day (Tom) stopped by and in talking
said that he thought he had jock itch. I asked what it looked like and the said he could not see down there
himself. I told him that I had it years before and could take a look if he wanted and he said sure. So I told
him to go on down to his room and I would come down and take a look. So in a few minutes I went to his room, opened the door and he was standing there naked.
Now here is where I screwed up. Those were the days before "gay", you were queer and I was deep in the closet and I was very shy.
I got on my knees, face about 8 to 10 inches in front of his dick. And what did I do? I took a nearby pencil and moved his dick and balls about with it !! (He did not have jock itch or any sign of a rash).
I feel sure this 18 year old testosterone fueled good looking boy would have had a hard on in a minute it only I had used my fingers and hands while I carefully examined and moved around his dick and balls. That thing
could have been in my mouth then and maybe many times in the future. If only I had known than what
I know now.

I feel sure most of us regret having missed an opportunity and wish we could somehow go back and
and act upon it for a different outcome.
When I was about 25 and in graduate school on an assistant ship, teaching 2 classes and taking 3 I lived
in a dorm with mostly underclassmen. I almost always studied in the room with the door to the hall open
and could see all who walked by. There was an 18 years old freshman, a really cute personable guy, black
hair, dark eyes, great smooth body who would stop by an talk occasionally. I think he admired me, being
older and more mature and in those days I was a good looking guy. One day (Tom) stopped by and in talking
said that he thought he had jock itch. I asked what it looked like and the said he could not see down there
himself. I told him that I had it years before and could take a look if he wanted and he said sure. So I told
him to go on down to his room and I would come down and take a look. So in a few minutes I went to his room, opened the door and he was standing there naked.
Now here is where I screwed up. Those were the days before "gay", you were queer and I was deep in the closet and I was very shy.
I got on my knees, face about 8 to 10 inches in front of his dick. And what did I do? I took a nearby pencil and moved his dick and balls about with it !! (He did not have jock itch or any sign of a rash).
I feel sure this 18 year old testosterone fueled good looking boy would have had a hard on in a minute it only I had used my fingers and hands while I carefully examined and moved around his dick and balls. That thing
could have been in my mouth then and maybe many times in the future. If only I had known than what
I know now.

http://s3.amazonaws.com/zweb-s3.uploads/visiontv/2016/05/24162513/Grantchester_S1E2_600_8.jpg
 
James Norton
 

 
http://78.media.tumblr.com/ab2a21b4b66e68d5cac7235abca6dd37/tumblr_inline_opnc8nkx9b1u7xg34_500.jpg

Yessssssss

I am well over 70 and still wear my 501's size 30 that I wore well into the 1990's.

I am well over 70 and still wear my 501's size 30 that I wore well into the 1990's.

Ben was born in the hills of West Virginia where he roamed and survived on skills learned and honed, until he was brought into the throes of civilization, at about the time of his first birthday. Civilization, being what it is, placed him in a cage and handed down a death sentence to be performed within 10 days. Such is the fate of millions of domestic animals in the US each year. Ben, his captive name and the only one he would have, waited for the death knell. Given what I came to know of his nature, he likely lay peacefully in the back of the cage and stayed a fair distance from anyone who might have the notion to spare him from this fate. Despite this, a group came and took him from the cage and brought him to Castle of Dreams. Castle of Dreams is not a Castle and it is not something many would find dreamy, but they do offer "3 hots and a cot" or more accurately, 1 cold and a hold. And for several months, he ate the one cold and stayed in his hold and waited for something different, something better. At Castle of Dreams, each rescued animal gets a title long with with the captive name and so brown dog #73 as he was originally known, became Sir Ben, knighted by the sword of fate that smote the lock of his death row cell and brought him to this place. Reports are that he interacted well with other dogs, but his interactions with humans was guarded and skittish. He was hand shy and cowered at loud noises and loud voices, even if directed elsewhere. I hate to consider what manner of nature, beast or man could instill such fear into the what I came to know as a serene soul wrapped in long brown fur and with one of the coldest noses to ever wake a man from a sound sleep.
 
When I went to Castle of Dreams, it was to meet Princess Rose, a pretty lab mix puppy who caught my eye on a day I had the intestinal fortitude and the tissue supply necessary to go onto Petfinder. A phone call later and a marriage had been arranged. I was to meet the fair lady and whisk her off from her Castle to my Castle. The required two days passed and I arrived in my chariot to escort fair lady home. As fate would have it, another suitor suit her better and she was gone. However, Sir Ben was there, in the back of a cage which neighbored the cage that the Princess had vacated. He was offered as a sort of consolation prize and that is just what he was, a great prize of great consolation and just a bit unknowable.
 
In the 14 or so years we shared a home, Ben never got over his fear of loud noises, and a hand raised to get a glass or swat a fly might send him skittering off, sliding on the tile floors which were never his friend. He joined the two other dogs living with me and he apprenticed himself, or more accurately he became squire to Fred, a large black street dog, likely a Newfoundland/Lab mix, who like Ben, led a life out on his own and who eventually allowed himself to let down his guard enough to live with me in out home. Street royalty brought in to teach others what can be accomplished from humble beginnings.
 
Fred was old by this time and his time was short and so he quickly taught Ben the essentials. This is how we guard the perimeter. This is we mark our territory. This is our area for exercise and this is the area of hygienic purpose. Ben learned quickly. He slept with Fred, usually in a different room than I, while Rusty, the other dog sought solace in my bed and at my foot. They ate together, they played together. They huddled together in thunderstorms and then they said goodbye as I carried Fred out, an old soldier who had just no more life left.
 
Ben became the pater familias to the other dogs that came into my home, and three of them have been lying silently in canine grief, near his spot on the couch. Anyone who has ever witnessed the loss of a pack member from a pack of dogs knows the real grief these animals feel and I think if dogs could cry, my home would be flooded and washed out to sea in the torrent of canine tears that these three would be shedding. As it is, my tears will have to be the outward sign of their inner angst and sadness.
 
I will not go into great detail about Ben's life as a dog in my home. Suffice it to say, he was the most difficult of the pack to know. He would never take a treat first, even as four dogs looked up waiting to hear their name called, he would not take his first. If he name was called first, he would gently nuzzle away the offered treat until another name was called. After that, he was ready. It seemed he wanted to be sure that he was not being singled out for some special reward. That he wanted to be part of a team and that he would be assured that others were reaping rewards.
 
Friday night I returned from work. I am dogsitting a friend's dog and when I came in, Ben did not get off the couch. I opened the door and let the others our and I patted him on the head and moved on the change my clothing. I came out and he was lying by the front door. He preferred the front area, but I usually did not indulge him in this foray around the main entrance area. This day, I did and upon opening the door he did get up to look and smell and guard and dig and do all manner of his usual activities. He stood up and then sat and then laid down again. He did not seem to be in pain, but he seemed tired. I thought, too much instruction for the guest puppy had tuckered him out. Later, he walked a few steps and again seemingly without pain, stopped and then lay down. Working on the theory that this was just old age muscles, I escorted him to my bed, gave him a non steroidal medication and a treat and left him lying there. Later, he left the bed and in the middle of the night, I saw him sitting by his water bowl, by water bowl I mean the bathroom toilet bowl. Though there were always plenty of water bowls around, Ben loved cold water. In the winter, a water bowl outside would be assiduously licked to unleash its cold refreshing liquid and at other times, the cold toilet water was his beverage of choice. He could not be dissuaded from this. This fount of cold water was his fount of life. That fateful night, he stood and took a few laps of water and then lay down on the bathroom rug. I pet his head and went to bed and two hours later I awoke and walked to check on him. I found him lying peacefully at that same spot. I stroked his head, there was barely a motion of the tail and then a sigh and then no more. I took some of the cold toiler water and swathed his lips. My only hope is that last drink was really cold and really refreshing. That the cold water brought to his mind the cold streams of the mountains of West Virginia and a puppyhood that shaped the dog that shared my life. I hope those last drops quenched the fires of fear that had slowly faded over the years and that in that final pet on the head, he was able to fully accept that he was worthy of a special reward.
 
Thanks for sharing your life with me Ben. Last night I had a dream and this song played in it, and I think this was meant for you. I wont bore you all with the details of a golf game with donald trump which played a role in that same dream.
 

JAWbreaker - I would love to wrap my lips around this beercan....
 
http://78.media.tumblr.com/d06a2f59e5861e4daefbfb5fa24a4309/tumblr_p3fawcTQHX1wp4r7co1_500.jpg

My happiest moments during the boys' holiday break were every morning, waking up, and hearing the shower running. As I posted before, the quiet house in the morning is hard, but I would get up to the sound of running water and murmuring voices and know that we were together. Some snapshots--
 
Getting ready to go to my folks' for Christmas dinner, Plebe twin comes downstairs in civilian clothes. Older brother tells him to wear his uniform, everyone will really like that. PT replies, "I have to wear it at school, I don't want to war it at home!" Heated argument ensues, which I stayed out of. Finally DePaul twin, who's been playing a video game, quietly interjects, "You should wear it." At which point PT heads upstairs to change. Everyone loved seeing him in his Service Dress Blues.
 
A funny discussion about roommates one evening. DT's Irish roommate and he get along great, but the guy is apparently quite the ladies' man, and twin spends a lot of time in the dorm lounge while the room is occupied-- "sexiled," he says. PT's two roommates have never shared a room with anyone before, and are having to get used to it. One of them changes clothes in the shower (each room at the Naval Academy has a shower stall and sink), and they are amused at how comfortable twin is about dressing etc in front of them. He shared a room and a bathroom with his brothers all his life, and there were times that end of the hall was pretty uncivilized, so that's no surprise. "He's naked again" has been proposed as the room's motto. Older brother has a great roommate and they've joined others in a four-man suite, so they have their own bathroom and a little living room. I believe it's his roommate getting sexiled more often.
 
Plebe Twin is honest about how hard it is, and had the most anecdotes. Of course, I've been able to see him a good deal, but he regaled the other two with the rigors of Academy life. He got very quiet, maybe wistful even, listening to his twin talk about how unstructured and free his life is, with parties and exploring Chicago. I don't think there are second thoughts, but the depth of his decision is sinking in.
 
Each separately asked me about being alone, and I told them some of what I told you-- that it's a learning curve but I'm doing okay. That eating alone and waking up to a silent house are no fun, but there are trade-offs. No coming out talks yet, although I told them I've been playing basketball, and that I went out a couple of times to play darts or shoot pool. Just not where.
 
Both twins spent a lot of time with the girlfriends, and they all seem to be handling the long distance thing fine. Older brother missed his girlfriend a lot and there was much skyping-- I think they're really serious. He's about the age I was when we got engaged, and not much younger than I was when he was conceived. Oy.
 
Everyone's been back for a while now, and the goodbyes were not too bad. DePaul Twin was the first to leave and he and his twin had another long hug at the airport, that separation will always be hard. One day I came into the den where they were watching football on the couch with their arms around each others' shoulders. I almost envy having that kind of bond with someone.
 
I am on a trip for work right now, which is why I sadly missed the DC gathering. I'll have a quick stop in Chicago so I'll check in on DT and his roomie, take them to dnner maybe. And perhaps I'll hire while I'm there-- recommendation of Chicago tops, anyone?