How many a generous rain has poured, so that the sea could scatter pearls! How many a sun of blessing has shone, so that clouds and seas might learn generosity! The sunbeams of Wisdom struck the soil, so that earth … Continue reading →
One of my naughtiest fantasies is a guy wearing a kilt. He can be as old as 50 and above. He and I are at a secret place, he gives a sexy smile then he reveals what’s under his kilt. … Continue reading →
It is not a matter of red cheeks, red lips and supple knees. It is a temper of the will; a quality of the imagination; a vigor of the emotions; it is a freshness of the deep springs of life. Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over a life of ease. This often exists in a man of fifty, more than in a boy of twenty. Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years; people grow old by deserting their ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, doubt, self-distrust, fear and despair—these are the long, long years that bow the head and turn the growing spirit back to dust. Whether seventy or sixteen, there is in every being’s heart a love of wonder; the sweet amazement at the stars and starlike things and thoughts; the undaunted challenge of events, the unfailing childlike appetite for what comes next, and the joy in the game of life. You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear, as young as your hope, as old as your despair. In the central place of your heart there is a wireless station. So long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, grandeur, courage, and power from the earth, from men and from the Infinite—so long are you young. When the wires are all down and the central places of your heart are covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice of cynicism, then are you grown old, indeed! Samuel Ullman (1840–1924)
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Naked – he lay, Masculine – he smelled, Muscled – he bulged. Dark hair – the signature of his manliness
I stood over his broad-back. The muscles clearly relaxed but outlined under his dark hair I warmed my hands with a hot towe,l Before applying it over his back from shoulders to hips. His naked buttocks – relaxed, but still rounding upward. I pressed both hands – fingers spread, widely either side of his spine. A breathy-groan of release exhaled his dark moustache-lined mouth. I inhaled the scent of this 44 year old man, repeatedly filling my lungs with masculinity. I evenly pushed into the meat of his ribs. Forcing many more groans of tension-release from that handsome mouth. Two agonizing minutes before the towel was to come off, but I relaxed him until the warmth of the fabric had diminished — then Releasing it, causing a rush of cool-air to cringe the glutes that I had glued the sight of my eyes on during the entire duration of pre-warming. But, now was the time I loved most of all…That fleeting moment before I applied oil to my hands and began to force my strong fingers against and into this meaty creature.
Naked – he lay
Masculine – he smelled
Muscled – he bulged
Dark hair – the signature of his manliness
I never made him wait too-long though before the true massage started. I knew my job… and I knew he knew it as well… as this was his third session with me.