Kufrol

CONGRATULATIONS !!!
 
~Boomer~

Interesting. Back when I was using, when I saw PNP I always assumed it was meth and for those I hooked up with, meth was always part of the equation. Sometimes there would be other things like g, or k but there was always meth. I will hit my 3 year sober mark on the 19th of February. So glad I left all that shit behind.

Based on what BlakeBenz has said so far, I think this thread promises to be excellent. Let's keep it coming.
Mutual respect counts for so very much. In my limited experience – admittedly only 4 occasions, and those focused on muscle worship – I have approached the provider with respect, admiration, conversation, sincere interest and, I would hope, with some good humor. Things can backfire, of course, and maybe I've just been lucky with my choices, but everything BlakeBenz wrote is what we should strive for, both client and provider alike.

Check out: https://rentmen.eu/dreamboyy - He has very favorable reviews on rentmen and on this site under Sean of Boston.

His profile says he is 20 and that he has been a member of the site since September 9, 2013. I'm terrible at math, but ...

Here's to a speedy recovery!

I wish you a full & speedy recovery. My Mom had a brain tumor and I know what that entails.
 
 
~Boomer~

Speedy recovery, my friend!

My favorite clients to do business with are respectful clients. Clients who are on time. Clients who do not ask for bareback repeatedly, because one ‘no’ should be enough. Clients who do not try to take the condom off when they think you’re not looking. Clients who do not open closed doors in my home without permission. Clients who use proper greeting/introduction when contacting me. Clients who do not make racist or other ignorant uneducated comments based on opinion. Clients who genuinely care about me. Clients who ask me what they can provide for our time together (I.e, drinks, snacks, etc.) and most importantly, clients who are just simply good energy to be around!

That @tristanbaldwin guy is a bum. Lol!
 
Seriously +1 on TB’s niceatude. And yes I know that isn’t a word.

Because I need regular sincere exchanges of affection with emotionally intelligent men and my ego is too fragile for constant rejection.

Well, dammit. I knew better than to open this post. Now I am sitting here at work with tears running down my face like I had just watched the end of Old Yeller. Dammit.
 
Breaks my heart. They are the absolute best. So unfair that their lives are so short and that monkeys and turtles and parrots live for years and years. Such a testament to the kind of man you must be that you have opened your heart and home to so many and how lucky and truly blessed they were to have found you. So sad to see them go, but at least, in your buddy's case, he slipped away seemingly peacefully, secure as always in the fact that you were nearby, trusting til the end that you would see him safely home.
 
I am on the same scary path these days and know all to well how it feels to watch them for every tell tale sign. As my Dad used to say about my mother when it came to me, that she was like an old hen with just one chick (which sadly explains a lot about how things turned out), that's how I am with my furry little roommate. Just holding my breath, thankful for the good days and dreading the inevitable.
 
And having that constant conversation in my head about how all the joy that they bring to your life out weighs the sadness of when they leave it.... and it does. But dammit, it sure doesn't feel that way when you are in it. Many prayers for you and your gentle Ben.

I should qualify -- I'm 63 chronologically, but feel much younger psychologically and attitudinally!

So downer alert, this thread topic has been on my mind. At a conscious level I hire for the thrill of the experience -- doing something I love with interesting, handsome partners that makes me feel alive and human in a way that no other activity comes close to by comparison. The business relationship serves two purposes -- (1) keeps expectations clear and defined because I'm not looking for a relationship; and (2) enables me to connect with men motivated to perform who I'm too old to otherwise motivate.
 
But there's a subconscious driver of this behavior too, and I think that's aging/death. Although still healthy, fit, high energy and horny, at 63 I'm 3 years past the age when my dad died and I've lost both parents and 3 of 4 grandparents to cancer. Bottom line, I have a deep sense that my remaining time as a healthy, energetic, horny adventurer in life is limited.
 
I hope this post doesn't come across as totally depressing -- bottom line, fear of cancer haunts me and drives me to have fun! While the sun still shines. And it feels like late afternoon.

I trust your treasured memories you have of Ben will quickly eclipse your grief. Thanks for reaching out during this difficult transition.

Beautifully written, PK.

I'm very sorry about your loss, he lived a long and happy life because of your love and the great dog dad you were.
 
I don't know if Heaven exists, but if it does it must be full of dogs!

My thoughts are with you.
We are fortunate Ben inspired you to write such a beautiful piece, and to share with us.
http://38.media.tumblr.com/36e884576deeb92864cf6338c304b7c4/tumblr_nkjkt6IdAi1tdv8gno1_500.gif

Now my little old man is wondering why dad is crying.
 
Dogs have been one of my life's greatest pleasures and biggest heartbreaks. I can only hope he goes as peacefully.
 
RIP Ben.

Big sniff. RIP.
T

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.
 

Wonderful post. God bless you and Ben...My thoughts are with you tonight.

An escort who eventually became a Platonic friend treated me to Waffle House once; I'm glad I took him up on his invitation and refrained from commenting. He lived for a while with his grandmother whose budget could afford Waffle House on rare occasions. The escort said he ate there out of respect for her and nostalgia, so whenever I go to a Waffle House, I think of them. Sadly, the escort died at age 23.

I've had good luck with: https://www.carrentals.com/ . Beware of upgrades, and if the person on the counter wants to put you in a different car class, decline; sometimes that means they don't have the one you requested, so they'll bump you at no additional cost if you've declined the 'offer'. Bring your car insurance verification with you as well.

I’m aware of some instances where foreign visitors have gotten some very good rates.
Car rental booked overseas, from an overseas IP address, and paid for in foreign currency.
 
Don’t forget the “add-on’s”. Especially insurance. Check to see if your credit card might cover some of them.
 
And a week rate might actually be cheaper than a 5 day rate.