That dick pic above is new. It was sent to me today by Arsen, the man with the giant black cock who likes me to dress up. Sometime in late July, it will be buried in me daily.

Today, we finally hooked up. He didn’t get my texts (changed phone number) nor did he receive my emails. He just happened to be scrolling through the contacts of his old iPhone and came across my number. Out of the blue, he texted me from a number I’d not seen before:

“I do miss you dearly. I am burning up (he moved to Nevada), yes, but I am alive and employed and trying to get into California still. It’s 115 degrees out here. I hate it out here, but I am healthy, safe and employed.

“My career will not end here, fuck that, no way (he’s an aspiring actor). I work in retail, part time, $9.50 an hour. Nothing good out here, it’s hot out, OMG. I hate it. I miss our fucking sessions.”

Since he’d not received any of my messages, I had to bring him up to date:

“I want to live with you, sleep in the same bed, be your full-time pussy. Here, in the high desert north of LA, for the moment, then work on both of us moving together back to LA. Help you get back into film. What do you think?”

“Godddd! I never thought of anything else when I lived there. This is a dead-end city. Palmdale has work, yes. I would want two jobs. I don’t have a car. I have a valid license. I would want to fuck you a lot. You are highly valued to me as a friend first and as a personal slut second. I would like to disappear from here and my roommate.

“I want this offer. I want a lot of sex and I would respect your environment and your house rules. I hate this city. The film studios and agencies are in LA and Burbank; they all want me in LA but $400 a month is all I could cover in LA and that’s not enough for even a couch.”

“I’ll cover all the bills for a while. Monday, I go in for the ‘porn star panel’ of RNA HIV testing and hepatitis and STD testing. I will have the results by Wednesday. If I’m negative, we can begin the process of bringing you here.”

“I want to get in somehow. My SAG card will be expiring this fall. If I don’t cover the $300, I’m out, so professionally, it’s life or death. I’ve got to get back and I want this chance to move back with you. It’s known that you’re independent and I truly respect that. I’ve just got to find a way to do this. It can’t be tomorrow but it’s got to be done right. I need to provide notice to my roommate-landlord and employer.

“I just don’t want to die out here. Our sex is great, it is so exciting. I don’t drink or smoke. I am excited about the fucking-when-I-want-to part and you will dress up for me; I loved that!!”

“Yeah, we can buy whatever you want me to wear. No problem about the SAG card, I’ll cover it.”

Then he called me. I asked how much stuff he had to bring to my house. Clothes, a surfboard and a lamp, he said. I told him I could drive to him in the van, load him and his stuff into it, then head back to my house. I told him he could drive my van. He gave me his drivers license info; if we proceed with this, I’ll put him on my car insurance.

With any luck, it’s likely I will be a slut for one very well hung man. I’ll keep you posted on developments.

I’m happy!  🙂