*** Warning, explicit content. Adults only material. If you are offended by explicit content and adult themes, please, stop reading now and have a look at a travel blog, or something a bit less racy! Thank you. ******
Ok, there, I knew that would get your attention 😉
Hi bloggers. As anyone who’s every read my crazy shit knows, I am the whole person – including a sexual being. I don’t try to hide it, I’m not ashamed of it and if anything I need to keep that shit on lockdown because if it like, oozes out or whatever at inappropriate times, everyone gets all flustered!
Bleh, I digress.
So what does B.H.C. stand for? Big Hard Cock of course! That’s what I woke up with yesterday morning. I was fully primed. I can’t explain the why’s and what for’s. Probably a mix of feeling generally good within myself, and a few days of not releasing any man-fluid. Wait, that’s bullshit. The night before I spent a little time on-line watching short videos of micro-bikinis. Honestly it wasn’t that great. More like a quick economy-wank before you know you have to get to sleep for work the next day.
Ok, on with the post!
Ok, so once in a while, as the fellas reading will attest to – testify with me brothers… you wake up with an extra hard, extra fat erection. It’s a wonderful feeling. But sadly, yesterday, I had to work early. So I reluctantly got my shit together and did the usual pre-work getting ready stuff, and my erection subsided to a lovely mildly erotic sensation that was forgotten about as I got on with my day.
Now this morning, its a day off. I could relax. Laying in my bed. I didn’t have that BHC sensation immediately. I took a few moments to work it up. I lowered the waist band of my board shorts I had worn to bed the night before. I let my member fully emerge from over my shorts.
I begin to explore the fantasy world. I think about a woman teasing men on video chat, helping them lose their loads, one after another. I think about how good my little tight shorts feel in the gym. I think about going to the beach and sunning in some very skimpy speedos.
At some point, the sensations build. I am ready to release. I take a few tissues from my bedside supply. I think about releasing into a hot warm wet mouth. Some guys like to squirt it onto the tits or the arse or whatever, I like to come into the mouth. For me, its a power/dominance move. There’s nothing as gratifying as a waiting mouth to take my stuff. Swallow it down, until its all gone.
And now, I can get on with my day!
Ah, the simple pleasures in life. Relative calm, my own room in the basement.
Riffing away with Bad Company’s Feels Like Making Love, or AC/DC’s Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, or how about a bit of John Cougar’s Hurts So Good?
That’s what I’m talking about. Just leave me be, with my guitar! Fuck yeah!!!! I’m a happy clam.
Source: Beauty Preserved
Everybody. This is J. She’s awesome! Good blog!
Super set : Close Grip straight bar presses & Alternating dumb bell curls with rotation
Qty: 4 sets of 20 each
Cadence: Slow to tension…
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I love this city….
As you know, I am musically inclined. I’ve been playing guitar for a very long time in several different iterations of bands – some quite good and some that never made it out of the practice room.
I’ve had a break from it for a little while. Too many other factors in my life and some changing circumstances that ensured that my dear Fender Tele stayed tucked away in its hard case.
I got a text from a friend I used to jam with in another band a few years ago. They have a spot for a lead guitarist and they asked me to learn some songs to see how it goes. I’m excited, it feels a bit like the musical shot in the arm I needed to get off my arse as far as guitar playing goes…
So, there you have it, I guess I will be rocking the suburbs all over again!!
Anyone that has read any of my blog posts know that I am a music lover – a listener, a performer etc.
So one day I was listening to CBC local radio (hey Saskatoon!) and these guys happened to be travelling through town. They were being interviewed and they were playing a show in our city that night.
It perked my interest, because, like me, these guys are from Australia. Nice to hear some familiar accents on Canadian radio.
My only regret – I didn’t go out to see them. At the time I had too much shit on my mind like working and getting sleep and a bunch of other stuff.
But please, put your ear buds in and watch the video. It’s really beautifully done. I hope these guys get all the credit they deserve. I listen to CBC radio 2 a fair bit – national broadcast radio playing alternative and non commercial and really good music, and these guys get on pretty regularly!
It’s almost perfect!
So last night I was out having a life… you know where you actually go places, and mix with other people and stuff. I received a text from the ex at some point (I still live in the basement at home, currently). It said something about ‘can you get milk’ and or ‘why don’t you answer your f’n phone’, etc. This was accompanied by like 10 missed calls or something.
At some point I read a message that said something like ‘your work clothes and shit is outside in the rain’. ‘Oh, great. That’s fucked,’ I thought. I didn’t really register much, other than the general vibe that she was pissed.
So I came home, and didn’t notice at first, but I glanced over at some point and saw that, yes, just as stated my work clothes were not in their rack. So I had a look out the back. Just happens that last night was a torrential downpour. Like biblical magnitude of flooding rain. And there, in an un-holy pile was all my work clothes, my boots, my gym bag, my sneakers, my jeans, pretty much a whole bunch of stuff.
I was angry. I called her some nasty names. I expressed some frustration. But you know, it doesn’t make me unhappy. Further to that, while I didn’t like it, I dealt with it, and I can even have a chuckle at her and myself. If I let it get to me, well, that would be just stupid!
Still, it’s pretty shit. lol.
Oh, and I did bring some milk home.
If I came with a warning label (my entry into the world of WP online poetry)
If I came with a warning label, it would read ‘open with caution.’
If I came with a warning label, you would be compelled to open the container and have a sniff.
If I came with a warning label, you wouldn’t heed the warning anyway.
If I came with a warning label, you would keep examining the jar, unable to focus on anything else.
If I came with a warning label, it would probably read ‘you know better than to mess with this.’
If I came with a warning label, it might say ‘dangerous fun inside’.
But I don’t need a warning label, ’cause if you got anywhere near me, my ex would tell you what a c… I am.