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  1. Added:  May 09, 1996


    Average,  Average-looking,  BadpuppyContent,  CleanShaven,  CollegeStudent,  European,  JerkingOff,  Masturbation,  NoelSmith,  Outdoor,  Photos,  ShortTrimmed,  Solo,  Tattooed,  Twink,  Twinks,  UncutUncircumcised,  updates, 


    Anthony - Noel Smith.zip

  2. I'll Take Both, aka Marine Furlough (Brentwood, 1975)

    I'll Take Both (aka Marine Furlough) is one of three Brentwood loops featuring Gary Boyd, and costars Bill (in the opening sequence) and Marc Stevens. Gary also appeared in Service Station (with Mike Savage, r. 1976) and The Biggest I've Ever Had (with Dino, r. 1976). He was reportedly a Canadian ex-marine, and apart from his work with Brentwood also posed for Junior Studio (based in Los Angeles). Less is known about Bill, who is credited as Jim in Ebony Love (Brentwood, r. 1975) and Mike Savage and the Woodsman (Brentwood, r. 1975). The most prolific of the three was Marc Stevens, who performer in mainly straight porn (and is interviewed in In Heat  magazine [No. 1, 1977, pg. 12]). 


    Brentwood was founded in 1974 by Jack Dufault (aka Matt Sterling), in partnership with Jim Hodges (aka David Shields / John Travis), and was based in San Francisco. (More info in Manshots, Vol. 2, No. 6, March 1990, p.6).

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    Speaking of that trip, my man doesn't know that I got fucked by this beautiful, fat black dick while I was out there! 🤫😊😉


    OMG he felt so fucking good inside me! Even tried to take him up the ass! 😯😉😊


  4. One of the erotic experiences. Chatting with this sexy cam model Mariano Costa listening to Audio by Feelgoodfilth. The Audio voice is so controlling and demanding that I am unable to control myself and almost came twice before completing whole. The model is sexy with chest tattos, his amazing legs and beautiful cock. Worth every penny!!


















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  6. I hope everyone had a wonderful summer... I did... and as usual I did not get everything done I planned... with all the changes in the world... the summer flying by is not one of them... I can't believe this is my seventh year writing... Thank you for joining me and sharing your thoughts and insights...

    I said in a previous entry that dancing is one of the most important aspects of my life and who I am as person today... but there would be no dancing without music... the arts, theatre, athletics, travel, reading and education have been enormous contributors... but music has always been at the heart of everything I have ever done and central to most of my thoughts, dreams and ambitions...


     I remember listening to music and memorizing words and singing along before I could read and write ... when I was eight I started taking piano lessons once a week from a woman named Mrs. Parks (I forgot her first name)... when I was twelve I started taking guitar lessons from a woman named Mary Lou (I forgot her last name) They each started me in the direction of first learning how to read music. Music is like learning to read and speak a new language so so you start with the basics and grow from there... they both stressed that music is essentially any 12 notes between 12 octaves... the music or the song is how you interpret those 12 notes. ... and doing drills ...I can still hear some of those cords, scales and progression drills in my head... 
     I've had arguments until I'm blue in the face debating people who learn to play a musical instrument by listening and repeating without reading music and understanding music theory... and my stance remains... you can speak a language but if you can't read or write that language... you are essentially illiterate... and I still feel that way... but with time I'm willing to say... as long as you have music in your life...that's the most important thing...  but I digress...Some of the things we started with in my musical education were...






     they each  taught me about pitch and rhythm, but on the guitar learning and really understanding the frets and position markers and picks vs fingering... on the piano learning the keyboard how to use the pedals to enrich the sound... and playing drills for octaves.



    And intervals lead to understanding music theory...


     and on the guitar...the relationship of the strings to the frets to the fingerboard and understanding picking and strumming... with each teacher and each instrument I took their advice and practiced every day... it's the only way you will get better at anything...and I did get better at both. By the time I started high school I was intermediate at both (But sight reading for me has been and continues to be an issue)


    Here is the basic reason knowing how to read music and understanding music theory are so important...

    ...it was here that I took a step back and started voice lessons... with my music background I was not starting from scratch but had to learn that my vocal cords were an instrument...Mr. Peterson (I actually do remember his first name) and the piano accompanist (Marcia) worked with me two years and in that time I made remarkable progress vocally... and learned that it helped to go back to the piano and the guitar to cross train for lack of  better words...I stayed in the music department vocally but moved into the theatre department... I found a home in both... but what I really noticed particularly in the music department (and in particular the band people) is that many people who were shy, self conscious and lacking confidence and self-esteem in traditional class rooms became confident and had their voices (sometimes literally ) being heard for the first time (it breaks my heart that the arts and physical education are among the first to be cut from curriculum because they offer so much that is not available in the core program such as building friendships, working as a team and expressing themselves by connecting with themselves and with others)... it was during a short break in a voice lesson one day and the accompanist turned to me and said something I've never forgotten... "your vocal work reveals who you really are... your eyes read the music and your heart sings the song!"... from here I took a little sabbatical from music and devoted most all of my non-academic time to diving and skiing! It's really important to know when you have to step away and not split your focus; and equally important to know when to go back and put the pieces together again... during all of this the music always played in my head while working on those skills and focusing most of my attention on athletic pursuits... but I still sat down at a piano or picked up a guitar  whenever I had a chance and gave daily vocal concerts in the shower... and I still play music in my head on every diving board and ski slope.






    When I got to college I found my way back to the music and theatre departments and all my friends were there... new people in another city but it seemed like we had been life long friends  from the first day... it was here that things became much, much more competitive... because there was much more at stake now... in four years I became a more accomplished singer and advanced to become an excellent pianist ...I still picked up my guitar to unwind... truth be told I still do. I spent so much time in practice rooms alone... I think it's the reason I feel comfortable being alone and with music and my thoughts... because it was in those small rooms that the some of the things that were simply noise inside of me turned into music... and many ofthe words I had difficulty expressing became lyrics.

    During college I learned the music never gets any easier... I just got better... but even so...


    or perhaps this is more accurate..
    This is where my knowledge of music started to include...

    Here is something that even if you don't read music... if you've seen the movie or heard the song you should be able to read this...

    But on a positive note...the things that I struggled with then I sometimes use to warm up now...What most people don't realize is that music is one of the few activities that involve using the whole brain



    Something that my voice coach told me relatively recently (I still took weekly voice lessons up until  the pandemic shutting everything down) after a strenuous hour... "Art is the way to decorate empty spaces... but this music and your voice is how you can decorate silence!" I think about these words every time I play or sing (I've continued my vocal work alone since stopping weekly classes... I don't recommend it over having a coach... but it's better than stopping all together... In all these years there have been so many sheets of music and so many songs... I said this in an earlier installment but it bears repeating... sometimes it's not that the song or the music is so emotional... but the images in your mind and the feeling in your heart about people and events when you hear it...whenever I've played or sang in a venue that lets the audience request songs... it's because it means something important to them whether it's bringing back the memory of someone or they way they used to feel... so I never disparage any request...  There are certain special songs when I hear them I see and hear someone who is or was special in my life and what life was like when I first head it... we all have those songs on our internal playlist... I honestly think music imprints itself on our brain unlike anything else! Of the things I've considered recently from the music and vocal teachers and coaches... they all did a few things alike..
    • They took the time to get me set up and comfortable and do a warm up.
    • They taught me how to navigate music by measures and lines and how to break it down to understand it and replay it...(sometimes several times)
    • They watched and listened and gave constructive criticism and notes.
    • When I just could not get to something for whatever reasons... they demonstrated it step by step and note by note.
    • We took constructive breaks to walk away for a few minutes and come back to a task calm and with a clear head or new insight into the material.
    I've tried to bring all of this into my everyday life and to every practice and performance. Bringing music into everything in my every day life is one of the things I am the most proud of accomplishing...
    I've never in every practice or performance lost track of knowing that I'm only a half step away from the right note...and away from music we are always just one note or one word away  from making a beautiful impact whether to a song or to someones life. Music is one of the most powerful instruments to the human spirit... it can transcend beyond language and age and go straight to the heart and mind.
    Of all the things that have happened on the outside in the world that have sometimes deeply effected me emotionally and/or physically... I've always been able to keep playing or singing my song... and I've enjoyed every note. So if I can give you any advice whether you sing or play an instrument... we all have music inside of us... Don't die with your music still inside of you... let it out and enjoy every note. Music is what feelings sound like! One major bonus is that I'm very popular at parties if there is a piano.
    Often during difficult or confusing times I play music or I sing to help me through it to the other side...
    In closing... I can't speak highly enough about music therapy...The benefits include but are not limited to... music can help repair brain damage and restore memory loss.

    Thanks for reading... see you next month! I'll be talking a little about the elements involved in  writing music and lyrics.
  7. Conquered Manhood

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    Just testing this blogging format out.  Complicated!


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  10. Jakob

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  11. Hallo mein Name ist Hardo Brinkmann 






  12. Naked Studs

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    Castelluccio is a small village in Umbria, in the Apennine Mountains of central Italy, just at the heart of the Country. The closest town ( Norcia ) is about 28 km distant, but beyond a mountain pass. The village lies at 1452 m, making it the highest settlement in the Apennines. Its inhabitants are about 150, but most of them don’t live there all year long.

    The village dates from the 13th century or slightly earlier, but the area had previously been settled by the Romans.

    In 2016 and 2017 Central Italy sismic events hit Castelluccio hard, destroying roughly 60% of the town, forcing the evacuation of all inhabitants and the total closure of all road and/or offroad access. Since 2018, the village can be reached again, and temporary buildings have been erected housing bars and shops.

    The fields on the slopes below the village are cultivated; the town is known for its excellent lentils. The plains grassland is ideal for sheep husbandry. Nowadays there is also a lot of ski- and trekking tourism.

    For a few weeks, from June to early July, the chromatic monotony of the pasture and lanscape change image, thanks to the wonder of nature called “La Fiorita” of Castelluccio. When the flowers bloom , the three highlands burst with color, with shades ranging from yellow ocher to red, from purple to white, from pink to blue.

  14. It gets better, my expirence

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    I don’t know how old I was when I first encountered pornographic material, but I do remember being very interested, deeply desiring to see more penises when I was being potty trained.  I am the eldest of five children and my parents were attending college prior to my birth and two children later, or until I was eight. I remember my parents frequently going to the drive-in theaters and as a young child being fed soda pop and you know it doesn’t take much to get a little guy needing to pee. I remember the drive-ins had trough urinals. I’ve tried to find images of trough style urinals that resembled long narrow bath tubs that you would stand on either side of and see all the cocks, but I haven’t found anything beyond one sided wall trough urinals. My father would frequent the university swimming pools and take me along with him so I would get to enjoy the nude masculine form in the gang showers and locker rooms. My mother kept a lot of baroque era sculpture and painting art books in my bedroom that also doubled as her library. She believed up until I finally admitted to her just a couple years ago that my interest in these books wasn’t of an innocent nature. I do know that it was I who showed the boys in daycare porn through the baroque lens until the sitters caught on to what we were doing. I suspect that I may have walked in on restroom play in the times I was not accompanied by my father at the drive-ins or when I was tagging along to my parents college lectures as many sexually graphic fantasies and dreams I have had since I was at least seven if not earlier is of gloryholes, stall fucking, and locker room exhibitionism.

    My mother is a LDS Mormon and so I was raised in that environment. My mother was vigilant in checking on me multiple times in a night to verify that I was not touching myself. When caught I would get the dreaded lecture of “that is only for when you are married to a woman and that is a sacred organ that is not to be defiled by your self touching”. I warned my husband when we first started dating in late 2006 that I had these weird sleep behaviors that I had experienced since childhood in which I would wake up to masturbating myself, fisting myself, or stripping myself naked. I was horrified as a teenager that my mother would come in and find me sleeping in the nude or engaging in this touching behavior. I suspect that some of the sexsomnia behavior may have come to manifest itself from this stress of the dreaded snooping mother and lecture.

    I did do the age and developmentally appropriate sexual exploration with classmates on the playground, neighbor kids behind the bushes, with my younger brother, and my younger cousins but access to that came to a screeching halt when my family moved to my paternal grandparents’ beef ranch in the mountains of western Colorado forty miles north west of Aspen in late January 1989 when I was eight and a half. I had my brother but didn’t really do much after we moved to the ranch. Two months after I turned nine my maternal uncle got married in Logan, UT at the Mormon temple. On trip back to the ranch I began experiencing off and on what is termed a volvulus bowel obstruction. The small intestine essentially strangles itself by twisting over on itself and cutting off the blood supply. We stopped at my paternal grandparents’ home in Grand Junction, CO and my grandmother immediately recognized the family’s disease and advised my parents to take me to the hospital. My parents ignored her plea for two more weeks. We attended the US Citizenship ceremony for our Hispanic ranch hired hand at the Colorado Mountain College facility in Carbondale, CO on a Sunday and I began again to get the excruciating pains of the bowel obstruction at the ceremony. My father promised that we would go to the hospital on Monday if the pain didn’t subside. It didn’t but on Monday my father took the only working vehicle on the ranch to Grand Junction to report to my grandparents the status of the ranch business. My mother called my Cub Scout leader who lived in a trailer park about nine miles from the ranch to pick us up and take us to the hospital in Glenwood Springs. Glenwood Springs is about twenty miles from the ranch property. I arrived at the hospital at the right window of time for a pediatrician that was in the hospital that knew to order an exploratory surgery. Upon opening my abdominal cavity, the surgeon saw almost all of my small intestine was black. All but seven feet or one third of a normal adult’s small intestine was amputated along with my appendix. The physicians speculated that an earlier bowel surgery I had in infancy, intussusception, may have contributed to this volvulus episode along with an altered diet while travelling for my uncle’s wedding. It’s hard to say because my paternal great grandmother and several of her children all died from bowel obstructions including this same grandmother who had several episodes of it effecting both the small and large intestines. Here is a really good YouTube video on bowel obstructions https://youtu.be/FE0ySkS6KSI.

    In recovery from the surgery I was presented by the nursing staff with a life sized anatomically correct gendered doll to help me work through the psychological trauma of what I had been through. All I wanted was to have access to that damn doll without adult supervision but they wouldn’t allow it. Prior to the surgery I allowed all sorts of invasive tests and pokes and prods a child would normally throw a fit about because in that type of pain all that you can deal with is the pain and all other forms of pain or discomfort does not register. I was catheterized which I had experienced again right before the pandemic started when I visited a urologist to have my prostate scoped for possible scar tissue from this catheterization that happened in 1989 as I had been experiencing chronic pelvic floor pain immediately upon the catheter being removed and subsequently experiencing this pelvic floor pain at least once a week until a few weeks after the urologist referred me to a pelvic floor physical therapist. You never forget the feeling of something travelling in your urethra but when the urologist got to the bladder sphincter I just about came up off that examination chair.

    My siblings, a brother who is almost three years younger and the oldest of my three sisters who is almost five years younger both have said that my behavior changed not only in the physical interactions with them and the obvious slow down in play between siblings but also in that I was a different person after the surgery. I can confirm that this would be accurate because I did experience at least one if not several NDE, near death experience. Of what I remember of my NDE I did not see the universal path of light but remained on the hospital premises. I spoke to a woman in a black dress with a blue and green floral pattern in an area of the hospital grounds that at the time of my illness was closed to public access but upon the birth of my youngest sister in 1995 this area became accessible after the hospital did an expansion. I remember floating above my body in ICU, of seeing my paternal grandparents whom my parents said never came to the hospital room I was in, floating and exploring the hospital construction above the ceiling tiles as if there was light in these spaces, and of visiting various operating rooms including the maternity ward. After this experience I rejected everything that was Mormonism, and foolishly declared this to my mother at age 11.

    My father who is not Mormon but probably knows more about Mormonism than most members of the faith told me that I would have to abide by my mother’s religious demands until I was eighteen.  Because of my father’s expertise on Mormonism my father was asked by the local clergy to teach various Sunday school classes. My mother was always about stepping out and doing things vicariously through her children, particularly me, that was not the ho-hum typical. My baptism had to be elaborate and different. I had the privilege of being dunked in the frigid waters of the Provo river. I had to do Cub Scouts and later Boy Scouts by threat of a belt whipping every day of the meetings if I didn’t comply with my mother’s demands. To save my mother’s reputation I went to the Boy Scout National Jamboree at Fort A.P. Hill, VA in 1993 and had to pay for it out of my own pocket even though I didn’t express a desire to attend. I contemplated running away during the trip to the east coast but ultimately rejected that idea out of fear of the unknown. One thing that I have fond memories of from the Jamboree was the plethora of cocks in the gang showers and locker rooms. During this trip I suppressed my masturbation.

    I had learned to masturbate from several sources that I pieced together from trips to Denver when my mother would go to the Mormon temple and I would accompany her to care for my infant middle sister, who is almost ten years younger but if you saw us together you might think we were the same age. As a treat at the end of our visit to Denver we would go to the now closed Tattered Cover Bookstore in Cherry Creek. On one of our visits I climbed the central staircase and could view what people were reading in the coffee shop below and I remember seeing a guy looking at either a gay porn magazine or a erotic male photo book. At about this time, early 1990s the Cone Head movie came out and there was all of this marketing books and merchandise in the bookstore. I remember looking through the comic book/humor section and coming across a illustration book depicting the anatomy of the Cone Heads and the lemon singular testicle illustrated before my fresh seeking eyes. On one of the drives back to the ranch my mother gave me details on what vigorous activity I was not to engage in with my penis. Ultimately I discovered the joys and pains of your first ejaculations while horsing around with a lighter and PAM cooking spray and then smarting up to the potential danger of igniting the aerosol canister. I couldn’t keep my hands off my cock and the grease of the cooking spray lead to the addictive masturbation yet very painful first two ejaculations the year I turned 12. I only remember ever having one wet dream. That is how much I was jerking off upon my discovery. My paternal grandmother passed away April 12, 1994 from complication from a large intestine obstruction and subsequent strokes. My paternal grandparents had hired a in home nursing service and then later picked a specific nurse exclusively. After my grandmother died we traveled to my father’s home town of Wilson, Oklahoma for her funeral and burial in Ardmore. On the trip we traveled in an extended cab Ford pickup with my three siblings and I in the cramped back and my parents in the bucket seats in the front. I found creative ways to masturbate in that space with all persons awake in daylight by creating a tent with my winter coat. When we returned to Colorado it was decided that I would stay with my paternal grandfather to ensure that there was someone to call for help during the night since my frail grandfather suffered from sever COPD having smoked cigarettes since age 17 until he was 69. Oh, what an unsupervised horny boy will do in a mansion home?! I wiped out all lubricating toiletries and stayed up all fucking night watching what would equate by today’s television programming as Adult Swim and found my grandfather’s copies of Tom of Finland books in his bathroom. I was in heaven. My oppressive mother was ninety miles away on the ranch probably tormenting my siblings and I didn’t have to go to church or scouts, or listen to her scripture reading, or praying, or scolding, or be the brunt of her physical tirades of her depression.

    February 14, 1995 my youngest sister was born. My parents asked me to call my maternal grandmother after they left for the hospital. I laughed in my mother’s face as she was having her labor pains. When ever my parents would leave us kids unattended we usually would fight to re-establish our pecking order and honestly it was a cycle of abuse beginning with my parents arguing and then my mother physically taking her frustration out on me because I resemble my father. I in turn would take it out on my brother and brother to sister and down to the youngest. The oldest of my sisters was fed up with my brother bossing her around and so was chasing my brother around and around the kitchen island with a chef knife while I was calling my grandmother. My maternal grandparents live in Delta, CO which is about a two and a half hour trip through the potentially dangerous McClure pass. My grandmother asked me why I wasn’t remaining on the phone to talk to her and I explained that I was attempting to breakup a fight between siblings involving a knife. My grandmother insisted that she speak with this sister who after having the phone conversation pretty much told my grandmother off and that she was going to follow through on murdering our brother and potentially murder me for preventing her from getting to him. My grandmother got to the ranch in less than thirty minutes upon hanging up from that call. My parents never learned to provide a more responsible caretaking situation from the time my brother and I had a refrigerator fall on us when I was six after convincing my brother to climb to the top of the fridge to recover the candy my parents stored on top while my father was attending university and my mother was moving irrigation pipes at the olive orchard my parents had purchased from my paternal lesbian great aunt in Chico, CA between 1985 and 1991. We didn’t go to the Chucky Cheese pizza my mother had promised we would go to after I had struggled to lift the fridge up so my brother could get out and get help from my mother. My brother had threated to kill me several times on the ranch having pointed a hand gun, rifle, a compound bow, and a hatchet at me over the years and times in which we were left alone. He tattled to my father when I took my father’s quad cycle for a joy ride when I was fourteen and for my punishment I was forbidden from driving a car until I achieved the Boy Scout Eagle. I was so traumatized by this restriction and fear of making a driving mistake that in order to gain self confidence I trained to drive a semi-truck and for five months drove long-haul for CRST right as the economy started to show signs the Great Recession in the logistics industry several months before the mortgage market crashed. I now drive powered industrial trucks for my current employer, and yes I did get the Boy Scout Eagle but chose not to drive cars until I was 19 because I didn’t want to be required to chauffeur my siblings who were now attending public school as we were home schooled until the eldest of my sisters refused to do any more home schooling at age 14, in 1999. My mother came to me and said that I could also attend the public high school that my siblings were enrolled but I declined having been attending the local community college since fall 1998 and felt that would be a step backwards.

    November 22, 1996 my father drove my brother and I to my paternal grandfather’s home in Grand Junction to meet up with my maternal grandparents who had planned on taking me on a road trip to Florida to visit my aunt and my cousins. I was also going to be given the opportunity to bypass the Eagle restriction during this trip with my maternal grandparents and practice driving on this trip. It was not to be. Shortly after we arrived to my paternal grandfather’s home my grandfather suffered a serious COPD attack that ultimately killed him within a few hours. My life changed in that instant and the stability of living on the ranch came to an end. My maternal grand parents did arrive after my paternal grandfather had passed away. We attempted with no avail to call the ranch to notify my mother of my grandfather’s passing but the phone was always busy and we could never get through. Unknown to me at the time was that my mother had signed up for Internet access and the ISP technician had come after we had left for Grand Junction. My paternal grandfather’s death created opportunity for lack of supervision with my parents dealing with the estate matters and the Internet access opened my eyes to my true nature. I could finally label myself and I dare not utter it for all the vitriol that was expressed in my home growing up against homosexuals.

    There was a gallery website I used to visit called “JadeStar”. It started off as free of charge and then a few years later became a subscription service. I came across a picture there of a guy holding a scythe curved sword in the nude but I haven’t seen the image since JadeStar shutdown. The Alt/Newsgroups system had lots of still image porn. I have used Nifty.org and Eunuchs.org pretty much since I was sixteen. I was such a naughty horn dog and used my siblings as lookouts for vehicles driving the country road to the ranch house while I perused the online porn on a 14kbs analog modem using Netscape 1.0 and Eudora on a Apple Macintosh Performa 630CD.

    I started working for my parents in August 1999 and officially became an employee of their stone masonry company January 2000. I got access to my first debit card and purchased 20 porn magazines of different flavors from the now out of business A Different Light Bookstore. I also purchased several vintage AMG and Bel Ami magazines and picture books. When the porn cache arrived, I made the mistake of opening the box at my parents’ business office and spreading the magazines out on all the tables and then locking myself out of the office. Luckily one of the foremen showed up before my parents or the rest of the office staff did with the office keys and I rushed in and quickly cleaned up the mess before I was found out.



  15. Becoming a real cowboy

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    Lately I have been enjoying the view of some of the Playgirl archives here. This may sound slightly corny, but I owe a lot to Playgirl. I was 19 when I bought my first edition (you have to remember that the internet didn't have awesome things like AM back in the mid-90s). It was the first time I ever saw porn that focused on men. It was also the first time I ever pleasure myself to images of men.

    It has literally taken me +20 years to have sexual experiences with men, but I wouldn't have likely done these things without Playgirl. 🥰

  16. LevisGuy's Corner

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    I’m in the midst of moving away from New England all the way down the coast. Have had enough of the endless winters & more cold months than hot. Also had enough of trashy neighbours. My area has gone down the toilet since I was growing up. Can’t take it anymore. 
    Never realised how much effort, not to mention crushing stress and anxiety went into moving. 
    I miss spending the time on here I once did, but have over 40 years of stuff to clear out of this house. Not easy. A bong rip & a blow job would be perfect about now. 
    Off to bed, junk guys will be here tomorrow morning. I just want this to be over so I can relax

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