wsc

O. M. G. What a chest! What abs! What a face! What hair! What perfection! I'm speechless, simply speechless. Except, of course, to say, "Yes, Sir. Starting where, Sir?" As Oliver Twist asked, May I have some more? (Who is this hunk?)

Seems harder to pin down than a gnat on speed.

John Waters' description is spot-on. Whether arriving on foot or for valet parking, you entered on the second floor in the back, which was ground level for the back of the building, owing to the hill those businesses were built on. The bar was downstairs on the first floor, with no access (that I can recall) from the street front. And there was a "grand" spiral staircase to take you down to your land of hopes and dreams where the food, booze, and boys awaited your arrival. The "long" bar -it was something of a smaller space so, like other things there, was only as long as it could get - and yes, that is a metaphor - was on your left as you entered and red-leather upholstered booths were along the right wall. At the far end of the bar was a small open area with space for leaning against the walls so sellers could better display their merchandise to interested buyers. Damn! I miss those days!

The chest says "be nice," but the eyes say "or else."

And yet, getting worked over like that by Topher Dimaggio -with the domineering sex still to come- makes me think of the lyrics "somewhere in my youth - or childhood - I must have done something good."

Well, if Mr. Hammer is as endowed as the 10.5 mentioned in his ad, I'm afraid that after our session I'd just be too thor to walk home.

For me, that would make them thongs. Not a good look.

On November 22, 1963, a newsman in Dallas, Texas asked Mrs. J. D. Tippit, widowed earlier that day when her police officer husband was shot and killed by Lee Harvey Oswald, which death that day she was more upset about, her husband's or the President's. Not all journalists are Walter Cronkite. Or even close.

Ditto. Ditto. Ditto.

A man's wife had slipped into a coma and the doctor told the husband that there was very little modern medicine could do to help her. He did say, however, that there was one method that had had some limited success but was rather radical. "Well, what is it?" asked the husband, "I'll try anything!" "Well," said the doctor, "you have to go into your wife's room and have oral sex with her." "Oh my god, man! That's practicality repulsive," blurted the husband. "I know, I know," said the doctor. "But I have seen it work." So, reluctantly, the man went into his wife's room but came out after only a few minutes. "Doc, I don't think this is working," he said. "She keeps choking." [Adapted from a Norm Macdonald joke.]

What a blessing it is, I now realize, to suffer from my degree of MMTI (Mild Modern Technology Impairment). I couldn't find grinder or a game gift card with both hands and a flashlight. And for that I am truly grateful.

Some pics just force scenarios to pop into my head. In this case it was: I was keeping it together until he shoved my face into the floor and said, "Shut up and take it, bitch!" I came right then and there.

When wresting resembles bowling - there's somewhere to put your fingers.

By his stats, he's a big boy, and I really like his body; nice muscles and not overdone. What's shown of his face looks fine but wish there were more.

For those here who resemble this very delectable and desirable morsel, when you go out dressed for this kind of weather, please, I beg you, do not wear shoes and socks, by instead wear some variety of flip-flop. Otherwise, you will leave me certainly appreciative, yet not altogether sated in my search for mental images I may store up for later use.😛

My tongue is already exhausted!

I spent six years in the US Navy with 350,000 other sailors and we all got screwed a little every day.

The linked information stated "The patient, an American from McMurdo Station, is in a stable condition with a non-life threatening condition. However, they require medical treatment that cannot be carried out in Antarctica." The McMurdo Station is located on Ross Island and is accessible from the sea, so long as the weather is agreeable. So, what other evacuation options are available, aside from the RNZAF C-130, for a non-life threatening condition? Water taxi? How do people routinely move to and fro the Station? Nonetheless, an impressive operation by the RNZAF.

A new take on "Assume the position"?

Don't know why, but even fully clothed and just from the backside, this hunk just seems to exude a dominant sexiness I'd find impossible to resist. Woof!

The decor.

Well see, now I need a cigarette.

The ad list his penis size as 6 inches. From his vids, he hasn't been that size since before puberty.

I always thought the penis was the hose, not the tank, and that it fills things rather than gets filled. One of my guiding principles has always been that if you don't have a good reason to change something, you have at least one very good reason to leave it alone.

It seems the flag has gotten to a point where it was first meant to celebrate our unity and common purpose but now just lets us exhibit and wallow in our differences. Eventually we'll adopt the Amazon symbol, everything from A to Z, but without the depth. (To the subtlety-challenged, that was sarcasm.)