Tygerscent

(B)Romance… 

He’s actions raise a few questions: if items are returned to their owners of origin, is there a way to properly preserve them there? Well, offering a due respect by not exhibiting the items without permission, is also valuable, education lost that could better influence the people that stole these items? Does this put a financial burden on museums that have exhibit rooms which can properly maintain historic items and predict them from lights, humidity, oils, dust, mold, and bacteria and fungi, etc.… and, Does it actually deter these provisional places from accepting vulnerable historic items thus leaving them open to degradation, vandalism, and decay? 
 Some museums are facing financial difficulty at this time, and even prior to Covid… Is closing exhibits like this way of using in place law to cut costs? I.e. conveniently using law to manage a dwindling budget at the cost of the integrity of the institution itself and the artifacts~
 It’s a bit surprising that somehow protecting these items, showing them to the public on behalf of whatever culture any particular item came from isn’t part of some trust agreement/contract.

The song added here is really a contribution from my mom who lived in Greece for 27 years, leaving the states behind and completely immersing herself into the culture there.  
 She befriended Maria Farantouri, (above), and Mikis Theodorakis, who composed the song~ while difficult to find copies of this song that have clear quality~ This version here is live but, the quality is good and the video offers lyrics, which are powerful and moving~   
Thanks Mom~ 

It’s pretty fair to assume that guys who take multiple appointments per day are probably not ejaculating to all of them because they need to keep their mojo at top speed for their next client. There can be some fun and games with edging but, even then, I’m going to want to cum.  Not really convinced that not cumming repeatedly for extended periods is good for your prostate either.
 Dont want your pipes to get rusty.

I can’t imagine not coming~ I don’t see more than one client per day… So, there’s never any pressure on my end that I’ve come before I’ve seen somebody or after I’ve seen somebody… If I’m with somebody for a number of days or a month, I don’t really care how many times a day we come. sometimes it’s none and sometimes it’s eight or 10 times depending on the person and both of our stamina, mindset and personal bonds~ Usually, usually when I’m with people for days or a month or two, we’re doing other things. Shorter appointments have a different field And we pace ourselves, according to the time frame available… So, it’s very rare that I don’t come… I don’t really care if they come. Sometimes coming for them is not the point and there is no pressure there. I personally enjoy coming and I do. If that is multiple times… And they’re down with that, even better~    
If I’ve already come a number of times, then, I like certain things done to me, or I like to do certain things to the other person/persons that make it all fall into place for another kaboom

Lots of memories from when I was super tiny…
 my very first memory is really a lot of sensations. I think I was in a baby basket on the ground… what I remember is voices, (male and female that in retrospect remind me of my mother, grandmother and grandfather on my moms side), temperature sensations of warmth and cold and diffuse colors that went from brown blue and green to more yellow and orange, and then the feeling of something cold and wet on my face… the visual references are blurry/literally fuzzed, but the temperature and the color sensations are describable. I heard voices around me, and in retrospect, I recognize some of the sensations as being: my mother‘s voice, my grandmother‘s voice, light shining through the ash trees in our backyard of my parents, house, the wet nose of our basset hound named Molly Bee~   I think what happened was, I was in this baby basket on the ground and it was maybe in the afternoon or probably late afternoon because that’s when the sun actually comes through these ash trees at the west end of the yard.  I think there was a light blanket covering me and Molly push the covering aside, and her wet nose touched my face. Then I heard the voices and the covering was replaced back over me. It’s a very distinct memory.
 I can vividly describe what was in my bedroom when I was in my crib. There was a clothing rack in the shape of a giraffe, and I know where the furniture was placed and what it looked like. I’ve discussed this with my mother in the past when she was alive and she confirmed these details to be true. The things in that bedroom are very specific timewise because I had surgery when I was five years old: ( urethotomy due to genetic stricture of the meatus in my penis. (I recall being in the hospital, not getting Popsicles, even though the girl next-door was getting them for her tonsils… I remember the doctor removing the Urethra all stretching bar from my penis and the doctor telling me not to be afraid because it was just gonna tickle… It actually did tickle, and I was not afraid)~ anyways, while I was in the hospital  for over a week, my mother painted Winnie the Pooh with Tigger, and piglets on the entire length of my bedroom wall. It was a giant mural she painted while I was gone.
 I also remember being two or three years old and eating my grandpa Jakey’s cigar… My grandmother busted me and my mom took me into the kitchen and put me on the sink and they were laughing and cleaning me up…  I also remember throwing up.
 I’m the kaboose in the family… My brother and sister were both older than me. My brother four years older and my sister 1.5 years older.  We had something in the house called snippy scissors. I think it’s something from the 50s or 60s. It was an electric scissors made for children. I’m sure that eventually topped the list on the Ralph Nader Death toys along with the easy bake Oven and the covair automobile with the motor in the back but, there was one of these electric snippy scissors in our home.
 I was probably just a few years old. I could barely speak and limited vocab but, my sister was playing with these snippy scissors, and she could not pull the cord out of the wall. She tried using her teeth to pull the cord out of the wall from the outlet, and her lip touched the live Plug electrocuting her and giving her third-degree burns on the left corner of her mouth. I alerted my parents by repeatedly, yelling “snippy, scissors, snippy scissors.”   
 My sister underwent repeated plastic surgery on her mouth thru her mid teens as a result of this incident and had a permanent scar as a result~ She was apparently a keloid former~   
 On a separate occasion, I recall my brother starting the living room curtains on fire, using a zippo lighter. There was a bee in the house at the large picture window, and he tried to burn the bee. I remember my parents coming into the room very excited and making a lot of noise~ My uncle was also there at the house~ His wife was not present. So, it was before he was married. My brother was four years older than me and he didn’t speak very well at that time. So, we were both very young.~  
 When my mom would tell the story, she would explain that she came into the room after smelling smoke and asking my brother what he had done, he apparently replied: “I burnded the bee’s bottom”~ What a little rascal~ 
 Also, my dad’s parents had some kind of a car with big wings on the taillights~ My brother took me with him to look at the car… The door was open and we both crawled in. I’m guessing the keys were still in the ignition because, somehow, while pretending to drive, he put the car into neutral across the street, and it rolled down the driveway, across the street, and into the pushes of the neighbors house. Everyone got spanked. 
 Good times~   
 I was very tiny. I really don’t think I was speaking very much yet. My language skills weren’t there but, I’ve always had strong visual and audio skills~ 

Both intense… Argyle is fun and funny, plus H Cavelle~ Monkey man is just powerful and compelling w/ lots of action 

Paul Cadmus Paintings:

 They allow people a way to gasp in public but, masturbate to their inner fantasies in their mind… 
 The images can be viewed, and the viewer can participate by reacting anyway chosen, but, how they really feel about it in their mind is still left private. These are so wonderfully playful, and the viewer participation that can take place is sublime but compelling. The imagery is Provocative yet, simultaneously disarming if not casually inviting… pass the stuffing and gravy please~ 

“The boy with the whiter butt and red /gold hair here is Paul’s lover , Jared French”