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That box in the attic still has lots of photos that we've been rummaging through. This gent must have stayed at the hotel way back when what is now The Bunkhouse had been a secluded fishing camp on the lake known as "The Loveless Lodge". The lodge was generally unknown but by word of mouth, and was only available to book if you knew someone who knew someone. Townies seeking accommodations for visiting family members were virtually always told they were fully booked, and few had seen it. Most often booked by small groups of out of town of men arranging their stays by communicating to each other under fictitious names to private mailboxes, it only had a capacity of 40 with a total of 15 rooms with shared baths upstairs. The kitchen, dining room and gathering hall with a check in desk, a bar with a few tables and 2 sofa suites were on the main floor. Staff lived in the basement. Of the townies who had ever been to the property, one man simply disappeared, and some other men were employed as cook, handyman and "fishing guides"; all were single with no families. It all seemed to be "on the QT." Two cousins from Nottinghamshire in the East Midlands of England had immigrated, bought the land and built the lodge with hoarded cash after successfully entering the hospitality trade in New York City after their arrival on Ellis Island in June of 1914. The morning of their departure from the city, the day before Christmas, 1929, Edgar noted a local vaudevillian had declared that ex-stockbrokers were being declared the state bird. They exited via train, in answer to an advertisement in a countryside periodical and headed to the hills of another state. People said they looked remarkably alike. Their names were Edgar Loveless and Sinjin Birdwhistle, which place them solidly in a group of families whose British surnames seemed to have a visibly declining progeny, and these two were no exception. In town, quiet Edgar was overheard to say his wife died of dysentery in England, while it was said of strapping Sinjin that he wasn't the marrying kind. Seemingly popular with a few of the shop ladies whenever he came into the village for supplies, he was observed to have a high-pitched tone and a propensity to giggle at the end of nearly every other sentence, which put off all but a few of the men in town.

Loveless Motel celebrates the rich diversity, culture and sabor of our guests - one of the gentlemen, Rod, in Room 222 asked for Snap Wadmacher to come in and do a photo shoot with some Cinco de Mayo props, and as luck would have it, Rod's a bit of a show off and has a sense of humor to boot. Vivid color and black and white film were used to capture the mood, hot horse cock and all. Like Snap says, "What business goes on at Loveless is nobody's business but Loveless' business."

One of our guests called and spoke to an Assistant Manager on a sensitive matter after receiving this postcard in the mail. On further investigation, it's been discovered that our Senior Manager, Nic, and front desk clerk Psycho Randy got drunk with "Snap" Wadmacher, the photographer at Shutterbug Camera Shop, and during a lull at 3am in the morning decided to take a picture of the Christmas Tree in the lobby and print 75 copies to be sent as Christmas Cards to many of our new and returning guests. The caller complained that his wife opened the card. Nic claims he had no idea that the post cards were made, and that he thought they were just doing the picture as a joke. The Loveless-Birdwhistle Corporation dba LoveWhistle Inc. Board of Directors have been notified and an ongoing investigation is ensuing.

Certified Hustlers need to be kept in line - there's nothing worse than anarchy among call-boys, and from its inception, the program has had at its head one of the most respected in the trade industry, Loveless Motel's seasoned Escort Coordinator Hank O'Hare. Often the mediator in some of the petty disputes between our self-employed joysticks, he's great at fingering an instigator and putting him on notice. On occasion he has had to demand the return of a Certified Hustler shingle and certificate, an almost ceremonial event in which the perpetrator is marched into the office and presented with his picture and stats page which Hank has just dramatically ripped out of the "Big Book" used by guests to place an order. "They don't come any better than Hank, " says his long time fuck buddy, Danny Kutwan. The two men are infrequently seen together, making sure that Danny's availability is never in doubt, but on occasion, when warranted, Hank has stepped in if a guest has requested a role play routine that involves the client walking in on a Dad/Son Uncle/Nephew situation and being invited to join or watch. The two excel at that. Hank is always the in-charge guy, and they've perfected a scene where there's a detailed discussion about the benefits of masturbation, with Hank demonstrating, inviting Danny to unzip him, pull it out and feel his swelling cock, while reaching over to see if Danny is getting the idea. In this exhibition, which they've played out before a gawker several times, Danny eventually gets rimmed and finger fucked, which always seems to get their observer off, without either Hank or Danny having to touch him. The requisite "Oh Daddy" grunts and groans are usually forthcoming. On rare occasions, they've fucked, but that's extra. There's a list. One guy got so excited when they showed him the list of stuff they'd do, with prices, in the middle of the whole scene, that he came just looking at it, which made for an early work night with time for a late supper at Birdwhistle's Tearoom or an all-nighter at After Midnight Arcade. Their relationship is a balancing act. With the rest of the group, he can never be seen to have favorites beyond his relationship with Danny, because every Certified Hustler is a volunteer, beholden to no one, and free to move on at any time. Hank's good at keeping most everyone happy, and he definitely does that for Danny, in or out of his clothes.

A few weeks ago we wrote to guests with confirmed reservations inviting them to keep a diary of pictures of their road trips down to Loveless Motel, including in the letter a coupon for 24 hour film developing at Shutter Bug Camera Shop, located off the lobby. That request paid off! We share with you here just a tip of the iceberg of results that we continue to get, and invite you, future and former guests, to send us pictures of yourselves on your way to see us. Whether you're in your driveway at the beginning of your trip, you have pulled over to a rest stop, found a deserted highway you heard might be interested, a public park in a town you passed through, or just stopped to get gas, we want to see you! As a public service, we ask that you refrain from taking any pictures which may compromise your safety. Road head, while it is a well known travel delight, can be dangerous if the driver is the one receiving AND holding the camera, especially at that crucial moment that has your eyes rolling back in your head and you drop the camera, while your foot hits the accelerator pedal and you holler "MAMA!"

Tossing Beanbags When masturbating, aiming so that cum hits a partner's chest or face -1960s- "That trick sure was hot but so nervous - I wanted to go around the world with him, but all he wanted to do was toss beanbags, which took about four minutes, and he was gone."