I was pretty damn happy about the weekend weather being absolutely perfect. I spent Sunday entirely at San Onofre State Beach. For those that don’t know, it’s known for it’s lack of swimsuits and skin is in. It’s also a perfect place to spend the early morning hours until sunset where I can blow off steam and forget all my troubles and worries.

I pack a lunch, plenty of liquids, sun block, and I pitch a tent after I ditch the clothes. No, I really bring a tent. Boner patrol comes much later once I’ve settled in, had lunch, and relax and watch everyone who goes by.

Being a holiday weekend, the beach was very busy and it was really cruisey. It’s part of it’s charm. The dunes get plenty of action. After a couple of hours I set out for some exploration.

Where ever there is going to be cock sucking, there is also going to be some people you don’t want touching you. And no matter how many times you yank a hand away from your butt, your cock, or your nipple in comes the hands like a pesky mosquito. If I could come up with a spray, like Raid, for handsy, annoying and unwanted attention, I think I would have doused myself in it.

My first foray into the ravines, I met a fun couple of guys and everyone was blowing each other and between that and blinking, we’d drawn an audience. Normally, I don’t mind being watched, but it’s when they decide to participate is when I start to bug. It’s like going to see a comedian and everyone insists on heckling, but a whole lot less funny but completely annoying nonetheless. I left to return to my towel.

A couple of hours later, I decided it was time to scope it out again. I passed several of the offending hands from before and left my sunglasses back at my towel for maximum glowering. I came upon a very hot scene between this bald cock muncher (in socks and low-top steel-toed work boots and nicely in shape) and this smolderingly, sexy hispanic bear cub who passed by my tent with the same expression on his face from before. I watched the nob-goblin go down on 7″ of angry, purple uncut meat. My soldier saluted, bound by my neoprene cockring. I removed my camouflage military hat and brushed back the sweat on my brown back into my mohawk. The bear motioned for me to come back and grabbed ahold of my stiffy.

The bald guy went back and forth between my cock and the hispanic guy’s, each of us taking turns grabbing the back of his head trying to make him gag. No dice – this guy was a pro with no gag reflex. The hispanic bear clamped down on my right nipple and I let out a low moan. Soft, sweet attention to my thick, protruding nipples made that way from piercings I’d taken out a decade ago. That beautiful brown face, thick black eyebrows, perfectly trimmed goatee, long lashes – all this in conjunction with the guy on his knees going down on us couldn’t get much better.

I was wrong.

With his free left hand, the bear cub probed my ass crack and found what he was looking for – my bunghole. In soft circular motions, he rubbed my lips as he sucked gently on my right nipple. In went his index finger, opening me up to take the full length of it. I grunted and wiggled back on it and he got more vigorous. He pulled himself off my nipple and spit into his hand, worked 2 digits in at once and I parted easily, watching the cocksucker move from his prick to mine. That swollen, uncut head slapped against my thigh and I looked deep into those smokey eyes of this chubby little fucker. He produced a condom from the fist he’d been using to guide the cocksucker’s head down on each of us. I nodded yes. Completely unspoken, but absolutely what we both wanted.

He unrolled the rubber down over his prick, grabbed me by the waist, and with a tiny bit of guidance he slammed it deep inside me. I bucked and fucked myself on his meat, pushing his back hard into the cliffside as the bald dick muncher’s head was firmly in my hands and the head of my cock was lodged firmly in his throat. I groaned and pushed back, I swore and I thrust forward, and none of us missed a beat. I felt like one part of an amazing, well-oiled engine.

I knew the bear was about to shoot his load in me because he began to pull me ass back on his dick faster and faster. I kept riding him a few minutes after he came and milked that fucker until I too burst all over the face and in the mouth of my greedy cum-pig below us.

With a handful of guys around us watching, we thanked each other and parted ways. When I left the gorge, the bear had returned to his towel where his sleeping boyfriend and iPod were waiting for him. He stared at me and I smiled back into his smoldering expression. I spent the rest of my time on my towel in front of my tent, where I watched two boys down the beach fuck like dogs facing the ocean.

Conversations with my mom via e-mail are never an easy experience. After reading the ALL-CAPS letter, it usually takes me 4 hours to unwind from the ordeal. This latest episode has been incredibly harrowing for me. Besides my mother thinking I hung up on her on Mother’s Day without saying “I love you”, she told me she’d been crying all day. I am so numb right now about the whole damn thing that I feel like I’m malfunctioning.

My mom’s dog, the red-haired toy poodle, is dead. Sure he was blind and deaf, but did I have to find out that my dad took it upon himself to kill the dog himself? I joke about my family being trash (which is mostly true) but couldn’t he have taken the damn animal to the vet to have him humanely put down?

Sometimes I really have to wonder about my father. If I didn’t look so much like him, I’d swear I was adopted. Who the fuck does shit like this and what the hell is the thought process that motivates somebody to do it?

So now I’m caught with the prospects of having to console my mom without condemning my father’s actions as to not put my mother in a predicament that could possibly be explosive between the two of them. I’m sick to my stomach over it.

I remember when I was 13 and my mother found out my dad was having an affair with an 18 year old girl. She threw him out of the house. The signs were all there – he was working out, he pierced his ear, came home really late. All my mom had to do was look in his car to find receipts for gifts to a girl that could have easily been an older sibling. My prepubescent hate boiled up inside me upon finding out and when my dad came to pick up some things to go stay at a local hotel while my parents sorted out what to do next, I confronted him. He looked at me and tried to put on a good face while I felt my face go red. Why? That’s all I had to ask and my father cried. The next time I’d see my father cry would be Christmas break 1991, when I told my parents I liked boys.

Of course, after my dad’s affair, my mom had one herself just to be a horrible bitch and I didn’t speak to her until she cornered me. I don’t think she was ready for my 15 year old disgust. I had a lot more words for her. I distinctly remember the words “stupid”, “drunk”, “immature”, and “bitch”. My father, I’m told, almost hit her. I almost wished he did.

Strangely enough, after they got it out of their systems, they got closer instead of distant. With the death of the family dog, I don’t think I’m going to be mentally ready to deal with what tit-for-tat my mother is cooking up.

It’s a very sad day, boys and girls. Desmond Dekker is dead at age 64.

Do you remember your the very first time you heard his voice? I remember getting my very first CD of some of his best work after hearing “You Can Get It If You Really Want” again for the first time since some distant corner of my childhood. I rushed out to get more of his fluttering falsetto, over what appeared to be upbeat music at first listen until you started to let the lyrics set in. Ska. So full of soul and a sound that this man alone can be blamed for making me want more of his and other contemporaries music. I was knocked for a loop and never looked back since.

And folks, you can try and try, but you’ll never get this kind of quality sound from American Idol.

Me deciding to possibly get XM Radio just got a whole heckuva lot more interesting and appealing. Fungus 53 has got psychobilly, surf, punk, and ska all on one handy-dandy station.

And I just got my tax return checks. Oooh, the agony. Tattoos? Vespa fancy-ing? or XM Radio?

I’m fucking horny right now. It’s killing me.

Friday night, I came home and started cutting and dying the mohawk and prepping to go to the Time Again show at the Soma. I have had my tickets for weeks. I get there in the middle of the band’s set and I’m kind of pissed at myself for being such a fag and spending all that time in the bathroom.

Soma is a huge fucking place, tucked into a strip mall of all places. I see Daniel up on stage strutting his stuff and the band backing him up. He’s taller than his pictures and his lean, tight body is dotted with black tattoos and he’s dripping with sweat. His liberty spikes stand high above his beautiful head and sometime before I got there, he’s lost his shirt. His boxers cover him just enough, but his bondage pants hang below his ass and the only thing that seems to keep them up must be the cock in his pants.

He’s little more than half my age, but probably has more street in him than most 40 year olds. I’m transfixed. I move right to the edge of the pit, taking an elbow in the ribs several times just to get a closer look. I don’t care.

In the pit, the boys go ’round and ’round in a clumsy, counter-clockwise motion. Several of them barely twenty and a couple with a good amount of wet chest hair on their pecs. Go ahead, I think, rub up against me. I don’t mind and I can smell you from where I stand. If there is a heaven, it’s this moment here.

I look good and feel good, but can’t help but feel I’m just that side of what they might consider “old” and lecherous. My bondage pants, my new Aggrolites shirt, my Duane Peters kicks, my mohawk dyed to look like fire, my face absolutely blemish free and one-day stubble and chin scruff. I have on a red jock but that’s just for my benefit. I turn toward the stage and Daniel Dart announces that there are 4 more songs. Four? You are opening for that other band? Ugh. Add stupid to that list.

After the band leaves the stage, I spot Daniel in the crowd, this time with a well worn Rancid t-shirt on. Several fans crowd around him and shake his hand and I catch his eye several times. He excuses himself and makes a strange zig-zag line right for me and turns away and stands right near me and looks up on the stage.

“Hi” I imagine saying, but choke and turn away from his lanky beauty. It gets strange fast and I turn back. He goofily turns on his heels and slowly meanders by me and I miss my chance.

Stupid. Why do you do that? If anything you could have shaken his hand and thanked him for the music, but instead you act like a frightened school girl or some cartoon geisha. Idiot.

He disappears into the crowd of ever changing, humpy shirtless boys who ditch their female arm candy to jostle with the other sweaty, skin-bared boys, as a horrible band, Strung Out, starts. They look squeeky clean, dress in uniform black, but they are loaded with tattoos… like alternate universe’s Will and Grace extras. One young skinhead stands next to me and I can smell his armpits and it’s like catnip. A beefy boy, a good foot taller than me, stumbles backwards, literally into my arms and I grab ahold of his left pec. I totally cop a feel. This guy behind me pushes the guy out of my arms and back into the swirling pit. Bye-bye! I can only take so much more of this before I start jacking myself off with my hand in my pocket of my bondage pants.

I’m going to finish this up, go sit in my dark bedroom and press my sweat soaked t-shirt to my face and let my cock out of these ever tightening pants.

I had an amazing time tonight! I took in two bands for $10 and danced my ass off at the Casbah. I’ve heard the Aggrolites on a compilation and really liked them and stumbled across their MySpace page, onto more songs, and then their website itself. Little did I know I was going to be knocked on my ass by the amazing stage presence and sound that came from the stage. The Aggrolites are one of the best bands I’ve seen live ever. They warmed up a somewhat sleepy crowd here in San Diego by the 3rd song, which I was beginning to wonder if it was going to happen, but everyone was singing along at the end of it all and had me wanting more. If you get a chance to see this band play – go. End of statement. You’ll thank me later. My only criticism is that the CD doesn’t do them justice as I think the vocals get lost in the mix with the music. That said, I think the lead singer must get a lot of pussy.

I’ve seen The Slackers probably 8 or 9 times now and tonight was their final stop on a 3 month long tour. I guess they haven’t been in S.D. since 2000 and people were glad to see them. By the time they took the stage everyone was buzzing with excitement and it was a Monday night at that. I barely had to remind myself that what I came for was up on stage with plenty of eye candy about. They played songs from their first through their present album, with a sprinkling of songs I hadn’t heard yet, which surprised me. I thought I heard them all! They totally shot their wad up on stage, as always, and then came back for the encore that everyone demanded and hoped for – 3 songs and then some more… but I wanted to beat everyone over to the merchandise table and grab a shirt and a CD for myself. I had a great night and I wanted to get into my nice warm bed.

I’ve caught The Mighty Boosh on BBC America. It’s on at 11 PM and I’m a night owl. I’ve managed to see 3 episodes so far and I usually laugh myself stupid, get mad that I have to rewind it because I missed something in the dialog, rinse and repeat.

I see the DVDs of the first and second seasons are available in the UK, but not here. I guess I’ll have to wait for it, like I waited for Dr. Who.

It’s cleverly surreal without going too far out there, but just that side of weird that makes it different from all the rest. And don’t forget the musical numbers. I live for those!

I guess it’s got a long history and finally ended up on TV for me to enjoy.

A picture is worth 1000 words. Well, that’s what they say anyway…

I’m giving away a new piece of art (see in full here) to one lucky winner who can come up with the horniest, dirtiest, dick-hardening, one-handed story you can write based on the piece of art you see here. The stories will be published in a special section for people to read and you’ll be given full credit for all your dirty words. Make sure you give it a good title and you have very few errors – I’m a stickler for good spelling!

Got that? So get started!

All entries will be judged on originality, creativity, and general horniness. First place winner will get a signed print of the image. Second and third place will get a set of 5 cards of the print.

Submit to me you best story! I’ll choose the best stories by July 31, 2006.

I did this twice a long time ago and thought it would be fun to do another one.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you “100 Things About Me“