Stranger Things. Eleven.
Posting this because it’s @bigxbad and Stranger Things. Yessss.
Hey readers – if you guys are looking for new music, I highly recommend you check out Saint Motel’s new album ‘saintmotelevision’. I’ve been enjoying the shit out of it. Indie/alternative music with a brass section.
butt grabbing is very important in a relationship
Very
He’s watching Netflix on his tablet, on his belly. You’re reading the Wall Street Journal, propped up on pillows. Lazy Sunday morning in bed. Your eye drifts up to those tempting curves wrapped in grey cotton. They have shape now. They didn’t used to. Moving into a condo unit with a gym on the ground floor has been paying off. You decide your boy needs to know you’ve noticed. You lean forward a little to take a drink of water, just so it looks like you have an excuse to be moving. You set the water down, pick up your paper with your left hand, then reach over with your right and squeeze that firm meat. The boy’s ass tenses under your hand, and he looks over his shoulder at you. He raises an eyebrow. “Hey,” he says.
You give him a smirk and lean back with your paper. “Hay is for horses,” you reply, adjusting your glasses and turning the page.
He shakes his head and goes back to his Netflix special. Ten minutes later, a hand reaches up and squeezes your bicep. You glance over at his grip, then flex. He squeezes hard and rubs it, trying to hide a smile and look forward at the same time.
God he’s just the most precious thing. You bend to the side and kiss his fingers. That makes him look up at you.
“Hi,” you mouth, knowing he can’t hear you with the earbuds in.
He pops them out anyway. “What are you doing teasing me like that?”
“I can’t help it,” you say, “You make me want to kiss you.”
“Oh really? Cause if there’s kissing happening I want in on that…”
“Oh really?” you reply, mimicking him a little. You bend over the same time he pushes himself up and you meet for an awkward kiss that has you bumping noses and giggling.
“That’s not working,” he notes.
“It’s really not,” you reply, setting the paper aside and pushing his lifted shoulder down so he naturally rolls on his back. You set his tablet aside, pausing to pause it, and swing your leg over so you’re straddling his form. You have his attention now, eyes alert and glittering. You gather his hands and pin them into a pillow. He licks his lips like he’s nervous and you bend over and claim his mouth properly in a deep kiss. A groan percolates in his throat. Suddenly you can’t remember what that article was about, and you feel pretty stupid for reading that the whole time you could have been doing this. When was the last time you made out like teenagers again?
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Captions are fictional. Source is @maxxie1129.
you know, sometimes I just lay back and think “fuck it’s good to be me”
“Does that whole ‘fuck it’s good to be me’ mentality include the part where I just want to worship and suck you and have you fuck me because you’re so hot?” I ask.
He looks at me with that entitled smirk I love so much. “It does now. That part is pretty nice. Matter of fact, I think my refractory period should be about over. I’m going to fuck you again right now.”
I rub his bulging bicep. “My ass is yours to use when you desire Sir.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Of course it is. Your ass would just be a regular butt if I didn’t grace it with my cock. And you will show me gratitude for elevating your status as my bitch.”
I squirm as I’m getting very horny, “Yes sir. Of course Sir.”
“Now get the lube and ride me. I’m comfortable and don’t want to get up.”
“Yes sir, of course Sir. May I clean you with a warm washcloth before hand?”
A pleased smug looks crosses his face. “You may. I would enjoy that. My cum is all dried on from the last time I put it up you.”
“Should I offer a plug so it stays in this time?”
“What a smart considerate bitch! Gosh, I wish there were more boys like you.”
“I don’t,” I say under my breath.
He hears me anyway and raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Cause then I’d have to compete with them for you.”
An honest look of fondness crosses his face. “What a lovely thing to say about someone. You definitely factor into the it’s-good-to-be-me mentality now, for sure.”
I blush and feel warm all over. God I love his attention! Every, sticky, sweet, sexy, drop.
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Captions are fictional.
@insertpupname and I having a play…
“So, Jovy, remember my friend Takashi from college?”
Jovy nods.
“This is his pup. Kuro. He’s going to be staying with us for a few days while his
Master is out of town for a business trip. I know he’s a little
different than American pups you’ve met before – he’s a Japanese breed, so he’s a
little smaller than you. Don’t worry though, he may seem reserved but
once he warms up to you he’ll wrestle you until you’re both exhausted.
Go on. Say hello now.”
Jovy instantly loves the mask and wants to make a new friend. He gives Kuro a sniff – a long sniff, cause he had an interesting earthy smell- then he offers a deep “woof!” as a cheerful greeting.
Kuro pops up on all fours, and responds, “Wan!”
Jovy’s so surprised by this that he sits back on his haunches and stares.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
Jovy looks at me, then back at Kuro.
“WOOF!” he says, slow and insistent.
Kuro looks at Jovy expectantly.
“Arf!” Jovy tries again.
“Wan?” Kuro says with a tilt of his head.
Jovy looks at me again, as if it say – ‘some help here?’.
I chuckle. “What? Did it never occur to you that dogs make different noises in different countries?”
Jovy stares at me, blinking under his mask. He shakes his head, bewildered.
I swallow my laughter, cause this is precious. “Well, that’s how they say hello in Japan.”
“Won?” Jovy tries.
“Wan wan!” Kuro barks, tail wagging.
“Wan!” Jovy repeats.
“There you go!” I say, giving Jovy a scratch on his neck. “Good boy. It’s nice to make a friend huh. Why don’t you show him where the toys are kept?”
“Woof woof wan wan!” Jovy responds. He bumps Kuro with his head, and then they trot off together.
I smile. “Can’t wait to tell Takashi about how well they’re getting along.”
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Captions are fictional. Adorable boys!
Instagram user @rebilw http://ift.tt/1UNiteg
“Yo, fag.”
Jackson was kneeling on the floor, waiting orders while Sir dressed, and popped up to sitting position when he was summoned. Sir did not like being called Master, and as his subservient, it was not appropriate to use Sir’s real name like they had casual relationship. Sir’s friends could call him Rocky. Jackson though that was such a perfect name for his Sir, with his sleek, muscular body. Without hair, he looked like a Marine. Jackson thought for the millionth time that he was lucky to gaze upon and serve such a handsome man – and talented. He had an amazing singing voice.
“Yes sir?” Jackson asked, looking at the chair he had last flung it over.
“Where is my black V neck shirt?”
“In the closet behind the red Vans shirt.”
“Fetch it,” Sir demanded, picking up his phone to check a text message.
“Yes sir!” Jackson was up like a rabbit, picking the shirt out of the closet. He removed it from the hanger, folded it, then kneeled and presented the shirt.
“Nice. No wrinkles,” Sir muttered, inspecting it. He didn’t need to know that Jackson had ironed it after Sir had gone to bed that night.
Sir dressed. Jackson stared at his bulge.
“Hey boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“My band’s going on a tour this fall. I think you’re trained enough to come with us. Clean up after us, make us coffee, help run errands, service us… wanna come see the US?”
Jackson stared, eyes so wide he could feel the air on them. “Oh my god yes, Sir! Please Sir! I’d love to. I’d be so useful, I wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.”
Sir did an unexpected thing – he smiled. “Your face is precious right now. If you had a tail in now, you’d be wagging it I’m sure. I hated having to board you for our last tour. Hate knowing Sir Bennett was using you.” Sir shook his head. “He boards well, but he’s so gross. Ugh.”
“I don’t like being apart from you either Sir,” Jackson said softly.
“That’s what I like to hear. You are an extension of me, boy. I will be very busy on this tour, and you may have to assume direction instead of waiting for direction – but I know you won’t let me down.”
“No sir!” Jackson said quickly.
Sir considered his happy looking boy kneeling on the floor. “You look weird. You have this dopey expression on your face. I think you need a cock in your mouth.“
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Captions are fictional.
,
“Alright, Dobe. I want you to stand there and focus – really focus. Don’t just see green. See the leaves, each individual one. See branches. See paths and ways. This is going to be your territory. You must know every inch of it. Next fall, I’m going to send you into these woods and expect you to bring supper back home. I’m going to petition to host the annual charity fag-hunt here for 2018. You mark this territory as yours, and it becomes yours. Are you up for it pup?”
“Arf arf!” The tail began to wag.
“That’s a good pup. No more days of haphazardly chasing squirrels. You will be disciplined and stealthy. The pup suit will protect you from poison ivy and spider webs. You will channel all of your horniness into energy to prowl here. Understood?”
“Arf arf arf!” Doby bellowed.
The young master smiled. “Good pup.”
The pup squinted. He straightened his back and his knees moved; he strained his neck and lifted a paw – pointer move. A soft woof sounded in his throat.
“What? What is it pup?”
They both stood still. A long moment later, a doe strode past them, pausing to nibble grass, then moved on.
The young Master could feel Doby’s muscles under his hand. They were tight. He wanted that deer, but knew it would bolt. Plus, he didn’t have his knife.
The deer was now gone.
“Arf!” Doby said.
“That was excellent,” his Master noted. “Learning self-restraint already. One day you will take down prey that size – but not yet. Alright boy, lesson is over for the day. Let’s make a lap of our property and go home.”
Doby head butted his Master’s hand, then jumped down to the carpet of leaves below. Master began to walk, but Doby pulled and paused – had to mark that stump first.
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Captions are fictional.
Matthew carefully creased the towel he was folding and hung it on the towel bar of the stove. He smiled. The barn-red fabric looked nice against the white of the stove. He sniffed the air. The new candle he lit was filling the bottom of the house with its cinnamon-y smell. Perfect.
Matthew gathered the spare oven mitts, floor mat, and towels and took them to the laundry room. He looked at the tropical green patterns with a mournful sigh as he dumped them into a basket. Summer was over. Their Rottweiler had brought him the first yellow leaf to fall in their yard today, and thus it was undeniable that autumn was on its way.
Turning the house over for the season took two days, but Matthew enjoyed the busy work. All of the small linens – like the towels and pot holders – were swapped out four times a year: pink for spring, green for summer, red for fall, and blue for winter. Big things, like the dishes, welcome mats, curtains, and sheets were swapped out twice. Before he’d done the kitchen, Matthew had put the thicker flannel sheets and the down comforter on the Master bed upstairs. Good bye white linen sheets!
The houseboy had also gone through his Master’s clothes, adding thick socks to his underwear drawer and tucked cedar-scented sweaters in drawers underneath. Waterproof boots and slippers came out of storage and now waited by the garage door. Soon the canvas shoes and sandals would vanish until warmer weather.
About that time was also when the snowboard gear would come out of hiding. Matthew couldn’t wait for the season to start on the mountain!
There was also the actual house to work on too. Fall was when Matthew flushed the gunk out of the radiator, checked the dryer for clogged lint, and reversed the direction of the ceiling fans. Tomorrow, Matthew would be busy preparing their vegetable garden for winter – he was just waiting on a few more things to be ready to be picked. Gutters would have to be cleaned. The roof checked. While he was up there, Matthew would also note any breaking or sagging branches of the large elms and pines that flanked theier home. Last year there was a big one splitting off, and the arborist said it had maybe two weeks left on it.
There was also the cars…. Master’s sports car would be covered and the battery disconnected; out would come the larger and more snow-hardy jeep of which it was easier to wash off salt from the roads. And the back had to be packed with emergency gear in case of a road accent into a snowbank. So much to do, so much to do.
Fall was the best baking season though. Finally an excuse to use the kitchen all day long without breaking a sweat! Pies, Thanksgiving, Christmas cookies…. Matthew sighs softly. He can almost smell gingerbread. He opens the box of chai tea he put in the cupboard this morning and makes himself a cup. Master liked tropical fruit blends and light green teas in the warmer months. Now hojicha, chai, and black teas populated the shelf. Matthew preferred them anyway.
Matthew made his tea and tidied up. He stirred coconut milk into the steaming mug in his hands, nibbled banana bread, and surveyed the kitchen. It needed a few more decorations. Oh, he realized, he forgot to swap out his recipes. He shoved the bread into his mouth and set his tea on the counter to cool. He dug the box out from the pantry and sorted things out. Away went the recipes for zucchini, berries, stone fruit, and corn; and in their place went the recipes for squashes, root vegetables, oranges, pomegranates, and cranberries.
All in order, all in order. During his first years in this house, Matthew had to make a list to get everything done. Now he could do it from memory. He looked at the calendar on the wall. December would be their 5 year anniversary. Master was going to get a particularly nice Christmas gift this year – a trip to Beijing. Sir always wanted to see China.
Matthew smiled. Three years of saving. Worth it for what was surely going to be a great reaction. He hoped there’d be a 10th anniversary, then a 15th, a 25th, a 50th… god, he loved his Sir. He loved making his Sir happy and creating a proper home for him. Sir understood him, and knew what kind of environment Matthew needed to be happy. Matthew thought he was very lucky to have that.
He glanced at the clock on the wall again. Hm, if he hurried, he could make that brown sugar-glazed marshmallow sweet potato dish to go with tonight’s pork chop entree. The recipe was just out of finger’s reach now. Yes, Master would be very pleased with that. A content Master was often a horny Master too. What better reward would there be for his hard work than to christen those flannel sheets with lovemaking? Oh god, Master would taste like marshmallows and brown sugar too.
Matthew groaned and his cage felt tight. Yes, definitely making that for dessert.
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Captions are fictional.
I arrived home yesterday after a month overseas and my guy had a little surprise waiting for me. I said yes! • /r/gaybros
If you guys like the cavity-inducing sweetness of happy couples and the adorableness of engagement posts, you really need to read this. Just, aw.
THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO THIS STORY.
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I watch, hands on his shoulders for support. His hand is tense with pain from gripping.
“There you go…just like that…” I murmur in his ear. I feel it first. A tremor ripples down his shoulder to his shaky hands and vibrates the block, making the other blocks resting on the corner of the half pulled one shake and skew. The tower tilts wildly.
“Goddamn,” he swears, back-handing the whole thing. I gasp as the blocks scattered everywhere with a clatter. Cashew, who has been sitting by his Master’s feet waiting patiently, jumps to his paws and begins to collect the wooden blocks on the floor with his teeth and putting them in a pile.
At the chair in front of me, my boyfriend CJ rests his head in his shaking hands. I embrace him awkwardly from half standing position. “It’s ok, it’s ok…”
“No it’s not ok,” he whines, barely holding back emotion. “I hate this. I hate this! Why can’t I do this? I could do it before with no problem. I’m so fucking useless, I should have died in that car accident.”
“No! Don’t you say that. Don’t you fucking say that. I nearly went insane waiting for you to wake up int he hospital.” I pulled up a chair and sat in it. “I lost weight, I missed work, I didn’t eat… I didn’t go through that hoping you would DIE, Christopher James. I know this sucks, and I know it is hard, but you are young. Your noggin took a whack, but science and medicine saved you. You are so, so lucky CJ. It will just take time for your brain to finish healing.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” He sniffles. His shoulders tremble. I put an arm over him. “The doctors say it will,” I say, more soothing this time. “But even if it doesn’t? I will still love you. And I will still help you.”
CJ looks up at me with wet, sorrowful eyes. I’m still not used to seeing him with short hair. A long scar runs over his ear from where the doctors removed fragments of bone to let the swelling have some place to go. They later used plates to hold his skull together. I smile at him, just to show him it’s alright, and I embrace him. He cries and I let him.
The doctors, the nurses, the physical rehabilitation specialists all told us we were lucky. It’s hard to feel that way, but then you remember the fear you felt during those darkest hours and know that it can always be worse. I knew that fear. Getting the news, driving around in a hysterical daze. Picking a funeral home, just in case. Evaluating his organ donor status, just in case. The car accident happened over a month ago. CJ’s car was pushed into the dividing wall of a highway after a senior citizen blew a tire and lost control of her car. She hadn’t driven in a while, and the air pressure in her tires was low. Her daughter was supposed to take her to an appointment, but said daughter was called to her own daughter’s school due to her kid running a fever. Instead of taking a taxi or calling an Uber, the grandmother just decided to drive herself.
CJ’s car was so crumpled that they couldn’t get into it from the passenger side. They had to physically hook it up to the fire engine to move it, use the jaws of life to get the door off, and extract him. I thanked whatever deity or angel was out there looking after CJ, because the woman driving three cars behind him in his lane was a paramedic on her day off. The small paramedic wiggled in the car from the broken back window and held CJ’s neck still and pressed her shirt to the wound to stop the bleeding until the fire department cut him out. I had sent her many, many thank you cards and gifts, and made a donation to her favorite charity.
I think part of her efforts are why CJ’s brain damage isn’t more severe. They called it TBI, or traumatic brain injury. At the worse, it’s life destroying. Personalities can change permanently. People lose the ability to judge or act rationally or logically. They steal, do drugs, become violent. Their speech and mobility can change.
So in that aspect, CJ was oh so very lucky. He was still him, which is really all I asked God to give me. Sure, his speech was garbled and out of order for days after he woke up from surgery, but now he could speak in short sentences. And sure, he couldn’t remember a week before the accident, but he remembered me and his parents and Cashew. It was like I had cashed in all of my good karma and taken a loan out on the rest.
CJ though struggled with controlling his intense emotions like he used to. He would get incredibly frustrated out of nowhere, then burst into tears the next. This was only worsened by the loss of sensation to the right side of his body, meaning he had to have months of physical therapy to relearn walking on that side. He couldn’t manipulate small items yet either and got terrible tremors trying to grip things.
But I have CJ. I have him, the whole him. I promised myself to take his new flaws and love him even more. Cashew had been dopey with doggy happiness ever since his Master was back. He took special joy in helping, every way he could. He’s a good dog.
I fetch CJ a tissue and some water. “Ok?” I asked.
He nods. “I’m ok. Just…stupid jenga blocks.”
I chuckle. “They won’t win. Up for rebuilding and trying again?”
CJ exhales. He reaches down and pets Cashew, and takes some blocks out of his mouth. “Such a good dog.” He smiles, seeing the pile of blocks by his paws. “He’s so cute.”
“He is. And he missed you. The sooner we do this physical therapy, the sooner you can take him on runs and play frisbee like you used to.”
CJ nods. “I miss that. You know what I also miss?”
“What?” I ask.
“Us,” he says softly. It knocks the wind out of me.
“CJ…” I reply.
“I mean like, intimacy. You must have been so needy without me, and I wasn’t there.” Another tear slips down his tan cheek.
I wrap him in a hug again. “It’s not like that. I was so stressed out, sex was the last thing on my mind. But you know, if your right hand isn’t hurting so much after this…maybe we could fool around a little?”
CJ’s face lights up. “I’d love that. Do handjobs count as physical therapy?”
I pick up a cylindrical wooden block out of a tub on the table. “I think I’m a bit bigger than this don’t you think?”
CJ chuckles. I’m stunned by just how much that noise fills me with glee. It’d been so long since I heard him laugh last. “I think I can grip that. Yeah yours is bigger. And less green.”
My turn to laugh. “Maybe my balls are blue, but definitely not green.”
Then he’s laughing again and shaking his head. “You’re doing so much to take care of me, so I want to take care of you too.”
I put the block down and lean in for a kiss. “I’d like that. But you always come first, understand?”
He nods, very serious. “I will get better. I beat the water temple from Zelda 64 for fuck’s sake. I can handle fucking jenga.” His words are a bit slurred by the tenacity shines through.
“Fuck yeah you can.” I herd the blocks into a pile and slap him on the shoulder. “Get building.”
“Fuck yeah. Hey Theo, put on some music would ya?”
“Oh music. Good idea. How about Metallica?”
“You ok with Slayer?”
“Whatever motivates you, baby.”
I, of course, had no idea that what was really driving CJ was that he wanted to be capable of sliding a ring on my finger when I said ‘yes’.
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Captions are fictional. Photo came from here.