Charlie

There is another thread on here about Drake and his identical twin.

Why wasn't there any place like that when I lived near Islington Green?

On Nov.22, 1963, I went to visit a friend who was recuperating in the college infirmary. I saw the tv was on, and the news broadcast was showing the Kennedys arriving in Dallas and preparing to take the ride through the city. Then I left to do something else, and about an hour later I was on my way to the barbershop when I saw several classmates standing around a car on campus, with the doors open as they listened to the radio. I asked what was going on, and they said the President had been shot during the motorcade. I continued to the barbershop, and was in the barber chair getting a haircut as the shop buzzed with customers discussing the news from the radio there. Then someone on the news announced that the President had been declared dead, and suddenly the room went totally silent. After a moment, the scissors started clicking again, but for a few moments no one knew what to say. A few days later, four classmates and I, who had driven to DC, walked silently in the queue of people past the casket in the Capitol, and then stood on the street to watch the procession of mourners and dignitaries following the riderless horse pass by us as they headed to the church for the funeral. Then there was nothing to do but get in the car and drive back to the college, and wonder what the future held.

The photos have been uploaded over a long period of time; the oldest photo on there is more than thirteen years old, and the newest 2 years old. The most recent face photos do look like I would have expected him to look at 40 (I first met him about 15 years ago). The dick, of course, is ageless.

When I was an impecunious graduate student, I decided to try hustling. It was before the Internet (actually, it was before the invention of the personal computer) or cell phones, so I went downtown in Philly and tried to do it on the street. A couple of guys showed interest but had nowhere to go, and then a guy offered to take me to his apartment. The experience quickly taught me that I was not cut out to perform with someone to whom I would not have been sexually attracted anyway. I pocketed the only money I have ever received for having sex with someone, but never tried it again. I developed a lot of respect for those who can perform on demand.

After a cooler and wetter Spring and early Summer than usual here in Palm Springs, it is now very hot and dry (forecast of 119 for this coming weekend). We will be driving to central Texas next week, and I am not looking forward to it.

My best friend was the #1 ranked kid in our high school class, but it was his younger brother who was the only person in our school ever to get a perfect score on the SAT. IMHO, their sister was actually the smartest member of the family, but she never excelled scholastically. When ETS asked me to help revise the SAT in the 1990s, it was one of the most frustrating tasks I've ever had.

One of my college roommates died earlier this year, and though I searched everywhere, I couldn't find any obituary. My alumni magazine usually has notices from the family and tributes from others when an alumnus dies, but there was nothing. I don't know why, but I suspect that his family relations were messy: he had at least two wives and a few children. We didn't have any relationship after our senior year, but he was a likeable guy and had made friends easily at school, so I took it upon myself to write a short note to the magazine, to let classmates know that he had passed, and gave a little general information about his life after college, so that he is at least memorialized somewhere.

The guy in the middle--the only one not looking at the photographer--looks like he is nervously realizing that he is the only one starting to get hard.

I remember going to a drive-in theater with my parents in the 1950s. There was a heavy speaker that one connected to the inside of the car's side window for the audio.

Those Buicks were really heavy.

There is a long article in today's LA Times (based on an AP article) about the shooting rampage in Philadelphia Monday that left 5 people dead and several injured. It begins, "A 40-year-old person killed" the victims. Throughout the article, the perpetrator is referred to as the shooter, the individual, the person, etc., but no reference is ever made to the gender of the suspect, although the assailant's outfit of ski mask and body armor is described. Quotations from observers of the shootings never include any words that would reveal the gender of the shooter, who is in police custody. Perhaps the police are waiting to find out from the person's lawyer what pronouns the person prefers.

Hmmm....not only "Bisexual" but also "by coastal."

I think he was educated at a "humble college," since he doesn't know the difference between discrete/discreet or your/you're.

Yes, at the Wellness Park next to the hospital😒

One time I went to the apartment of a first time hire, and he suggested that we start by me sucking his cock. After a couple of minutes of sucking, I thought I heard light snoring, and looked up to see his mouth was open and his eyes were closed. I stopped, got dressed, and woke him to tell him I was leaving. I didn't offer to pay, and he didn't say anything. Your situation was different. The escort was making an effort, but was unable to perform to your expectations. You behaved like a gentleman, and he responded like one. Under those circumstances, I think I would have done what some others have suggested: I would have offered to pay him something for his time and his attempt to perform, and then let him make the next move.

I had never heard of triamcinolone until my doctor recently prescribed triamcinolone cream for some very nasty spider bites, and within three days they were almost undetectable.

I got genital herpes in my early 20s and suffered occasional outbreaks for years, but I haven't had any outbreak for at least a dozen years. Any idea why?

Although Fortaleza is quite a large city, one hardly ever hears anything about it. Years ago, close friends of mine who had joined the Peace Corps were given an assignment there; even though I had always been a whiz in geography, I had to look it up in an atlas when they told me.

I think I got my first one when I was 55.

When I was in my early 30s, I went to Paris to meet up with my American friend Robert, with whom I intended to travel to Cannes. He didn't know much about the gay scene in Paris, so one night I took him to a bar called Le Bronx. There I met a cute young man who invited me to come back to his place, so I decided to leave Robert at the bar and went home with young Bernard, whose home turned out to be a garret on the top floor of a 17th century building on the Seine with a view to the Ile St. Louis; it was like a scene out of La Boheme, and we had delightful romantic sex. Then I went back to our hotel and went to bed. A few hours later, Robert arrived back from Le Bronx; left alone there, he had discovered the dark back room, where he had engaged in a much less romantic scene. In the course of orgiastic group sex, someone had managed to slip his expensive watch off his arm, and when he happened to turn his back to me, I said, "Robert, the back of your pants look like they have been split with a knife"--apparently someone had fucked him without removing his pants! To the end of his life he would mention that experience to me with a nostalgic sigh for our wild youth.

Baked chicken, that is.

I am trying to figure out what the specific attraction would be of getting a message from a Mormon. Is it a fetish?

It is not just the exercise, it is also the companionship, and the sense of having a purpose in taking care of an animal.

Those tables seem to up my life expectancy only an extra year. Aren't there other variables to be considered as well, such as whether one lives alone, has a dependable support system, etc.?