Where have I been? Uninspired to write. And I used to love to write.
Every morning when I turn on the news, it’s an instant headache with that tantrum-throwing, incompetent clown in the White House some of you voted for. What the fuck were you thinking? You couldn’t see he’s an asshole, a racist, a chronic liar? If you voted for him, get the fuck off my blog; you’re too stupid to live….
Yes, I’ve been getting action but not enough or crazy enough to overcome my post-election depression and apathy.
That is, until Thursday, June 8th. The blog post before this one. That was just too good not to write about.
But there’s more going on. First, some background….
In 2013, I met a guy in LA. Check out the post for May 23, 2013. This is the guy I met at 11pm that night. We really hit it off. We met a few times in 2013 then he moved away. He returned in 2015. Check out the first story on April 8, 2015. Then on May 10th. We met several times. Let’s call him Arsen.
The entire time in 2015 — during April and May — he had rented a room in a South LA house from a crazy woman and her violent family. All their bullshit was literally driving him crazy. He was trying to get an acting career going. I helped him out with that, running him around town, getting him registered with an extras casting outfit, etc.
We met every two or three days at my house. We made a few visits to cheap lingerie joints in the Valley. He picked things he wanted me to wear and I paid for them. Each time he came over, he had me suck his giant cock and he fucked me. The fucking was always brutal. I could just barely take his cock. The pain could be immense.
After he pulled out, my hole gaped open. When I had to take a dump, the shit would just fall out of me. We shot lots of pics. These are all pics of him and me. Then, when the fun was over, I took him back to that house and the crazy people in it.
His bad times in that South LA house spurred him to try to find other accommodations. He began working on me, trying to convince me that he needed to be my roommate. He tried to manipulate me in every way he could think of. All manipulation does is piss me off. I told him no and I told him save his breath, it’s not gonna happen, he’s not gonna move in. In May, he escaped to a town near the Nevada border. For work, he sold clothing.
We stayed in touch. He kept the pressure on. Even at his new location, things were awful, he said. The only solution, he insisted, was for him to move in. I just told him to forget it. I knew full well I was not his only option. I dialed down the amount of contact I had with him, just to avoid the relentless pressure. But we were in touch as late as last December.
Then I came to some realizations. And my anger at being manipulated faded away. Clearly, I’m not getting enough dick. I do miss seeing him.
He had told me he’d sleep in my bed and fuck me all the time. I’m sure he would do that; I know for a fact he’s capable of it. He told me he would have me in girl clothes in the house, maybe wear a wig, etc. I don’t have any problem with that, except that we’d need to think about how to handle some things, such as a FedEx delivery. He wants me to be a full-time sissy? Fine, we’d do it.
I was finally OK with him moving in. And although I’m no longer in LA, if he moved in, we’d try to figure out how to afford a place together in LA and get his acting career back on track.
I texted him. I know he had an iPhone, as do I. For those of you not familiar with iMessage, outbound texts appear in blue, when both phones are from Apple. For any other kind, the texts are green. I expected to see a blue message. It was green. In the days since, I’ve sent a few more texts. Green. None of them were answered. None indicated non-delivery.
Did he change phones? Does that number belong to someone else now? I do not know.
I tried sending an email. It went through but there was no reply. Hmmm. The last time that happened, with someone else, it turned out the guy had gone to prison for a year for drugs. Was Arsen in the slammer?
I do have his full name and age info. I checked the Cali prison system inmate search page. Nothing. He had been living in San Bernardino County. I checked the county jail roster. Nothing.
What the hell? Maybe the thing to do is just be patient. Something else must be going on. I would like to think he would reply if he received the messages. I haven’t any reason to think he wouldn’t. If he does answer and we live together, my days of fucking around will likely end and so will new entries on this blog.
And my ass will be very sore every damn day. Just as it was every day after he fucked me…