A quickie.

Heya.

Well, no, my puter still isn't feeling her best yet, and I won't bore you with the details why. Not that I'm enough of a tech-head to really be able to anyway.

But, thanks to Toronto internet cafes, I'm sure you'll be hearing more from me very soon now. Besides, it'll be nice to get out of the house to do some writing, even if it means editing hot images while the students around me blast each other on World of Warcraft.

I know. I'm bad.

But some things to catch you-all up on:

o I tend to wear shorts in warm weather when I'm working, and of late, I've been getting a lot of flirtacious comments from women passers-by during my day. It's really been a treat because God knows I love to be the one receiving the flirtations too. Yum.

o I'm really enjoying sharing with, and getting to know more about some of you, through Twitter. Keep it up!

o Dean and I continue to date, if you want to call getting together once or twice a week to fool around, taunt her gangsta-wannabe daughters, and kvetch about things we have in common "dating." I really should, like, you know, take her out sometime. Hrm. My work schedule is brutal. Our friendship is developing very nicely, and she's become quite the friend as I deal with some recent annoyances. And, you know, she loves a good spanking. Bonus!

o The Schoolteacher and me finally realized that while we liked each other as people, we really have precious little in common, and we mutually expressed our adult understanding of that and essentially ended things. Not that that should really be a surprise, because we haven't seen each other in weeks and weeks now, but it feels good that the understanding was level-headed and without tension. I'm sure we'll see each other, as friends, sometime. It's all good.

o Like the ebb of tides and the movement of the moon, my affair with Shayne continues to shift and at once both delight and tease me. She's recovering from her own break-up with The Violist, and we've stayed in touch through it all. While she and I "officially" broke up some time ago, there's just something about It that keeps drawing us back together, in some fashion, in some form. When I allow myself to let go of ideas about relationship structures (a challenge for an earth-sign like me) it's really very nice in its own anarchic, Aquarian way. We're talking about getting together again this summer, possibly with her coming to my city for Pride 2009.

o Morgan has dropped off the face of the earth. I like her, and it's unfortunate. But, you know, her loss.

o Scheduling has been keeping Bootblack Boi and me from being able to hook up again socially, but I'm still hoping that could change in the future. I have a feeling that if I bring Dean to one of the local playparties, I may run into him again, and that would be a treat.

And I bought a new car. Mmm.

Gremlins.

Grr.

Well, it seems that we here at Rogue Enterprises, Ltd. are dealing with a few complications lately. Damned gremlins got to the puter again. It's really time I treated myself to a new iMac.

Soon. I hope.

Meanwhile, posts around here may be a little less frequent for a short while. Don't let it spoil your fun though: there's a lot of tawdry goodness in the archives, and my head (and libido) is still simmering with more rogueries to share with you...

...Like how Dean crested into waves of orgasm while she lay across me as I spanked her tender, smooth labia and ejaculated in splattered streams across my hand...

...Like how the teens at the table next to mine discussed their friend who "rocks the world," and how the girlfriend among them was shocked to hear about this girl's love of facials...

But first, and just for fun, here's a sexy Latina with a different sort of Gremlin. Vrum vrum.

The Queen of Spades.

Friday night and Queen Street is pattered with rain. Traffic weaves around the red streetcars, the wayward pedestrains, impatient as the taxis deliver their well-dressed cargo to the corner of the Gladstone Hotel. The evening is still early and already the bar appears full when viewed through the elegant windows, the lounge beside simmering with the young, the successful, the countercultural, the trendy, the wannabes.

Her sleek heels clik on the wet pavement as she crosses the street toward the hotel. Her hair is taut across her scalp, the long and swaying strands of her rich brown hair complementing the movement of her hips as she strolls. The sheer dark miniskirt is as tight as a drum's skin, holding her thighs in an embrace, accentuating her small and so perky derriere as its cheeks raise and lower with each sensual and graceful step she takes. She's petite, likely in college, and as the faintest smile is spread across her amber lips as she makes her way to the lounge.

Friday night and she's on a prowl. Is the man she's seeking awaiting her? Or has she come out on her own on this windswept, rainsoaked evening, seeking to locate and lure the male object of her desires? What sifted through her mind as she selected that small skirt, those sleek dark shoes, and painted her face in her mirror?

One thing is certain: her intention tonight is likely very limited, very select. Will the night come to the result she seeks?

Upon the rear of her bare left calf, well above the sexy heels that clik and clak on the rainy pavement and stark against her so very white skin is a particular tattoo that, to the appropriate man's eye who knows its mysteries, reveals much about what it is she seeks to fulfill her Friday night with.

Oh, those wacky Christians.

Hester Prynne would weep.

When does attempting to do some reasonable, charitable good for a community slip into an administering of myopic, uncharitable judgement?

A Los Angeles-based Christian ministry has begun selling some interesting T-shirts through the intarwebs. Wearers can share with the world that they overcame their perditious sins of masturbation, homosexuality, enjoying porn, or generally most other great and terrible moral crimes. Who knew that sexual repression could be so easily twisted into a seemingly positive and healthy motivational marketing tool?

Of course, the ministry does this because the bible tells them that masturbation, or being gay, or being bisexual is wrong. And certainly, they're obligated to do each and every thing that the most sacred book in Christendom tells them to do, right? Absolutely.

I mean, it's not like the bible also advises that people should sell their daughters into sexual slavery, or that rape victims must wed their attackers into lifelong matrimony, or that brides must be virginal on their wedding day or be put to death. I mean, that'd be just awful.

Oh wait. It does. Oops.

It's not so much that I'm "anti-religion" as I'm "anti-repression." Personally, I think we should set up a softball game between this ministry and these guys. I'd be in the stands hawking beer and hot dogs for sure, enjoying the irony of my "Ex-Porn Addict" Tshirt and taking bets on the game.

If that wasn't a sin, I mean.

A distant kiss.

Hey.

I'm hoping that you're well, and that your artist's dreams have come true for you. I'm hoping that your parents are fine, healthy, and that Schatzie, their dog, remains alive and happy. I hope your sister/daughter continues to see you as a vibrant role model, and that she's happy and safe; I enjoyed being her uncle, of a sort, for a time. I'm hoping that you've found success, and joy, and the peace that you've craved, and that you remember our time together with some fondness and smirky memories. I still miss your conspiratorial laugh, and the energy in your unique vibe.

Happy birthday, sexywaifygrrl. Be well, wherever you are and whatever you're doing. Sendin you luvins. Miss you lots.

Run.

the pavement solid and firm under my nikes while the sun is in my eyes and the wind is in my hair my roughly cut sweatshirt marbled with salt lines from the heat and my exertion my heart is pounding like a thundering drum

i see you on the next block holy crap is it really you and you're jogging too what are you doing here the last i heard you were racing motorcycles in italy or your business had gone under because of the economy and you and your suv were going on a road trip to ferret out a new location in the world where you would start over i'm gonna jog behind you now and say hi

i remember our road trips and the hot times we had in that van do you remember when you were giving head to jacqueline on the plush rear seat as i raced the van to new hampshire for that playparty where you got spanked in front of that audience

but here you are and you're running and your hair is longer and blonder than ever and you have some new tattoos on your arm and it looks really hot you always were really gorgeous baby

there's a guy beside you he's running too is he your new guy his thighs are strong i remember how you used to love to nuzzle your face into my thighs and breathe deeply the salty scent between them and my heavy balls you groaned with such feral pleasure while you sucked air my scent my salt in through your nose just before you would swab your wet tongue up the length of my shaft jesus christ it was so good you're so great at sucking cock honey

i've sped behind you now and i'm watching you run while i run behind you and i'm checking out your ass in those tight shorts of yours holy christ you look so good i've missed our better days and you're still so fucking hot

he's laughing beside you as you two run where did you meet him was he a marine also or maybe you met him from your landscape work god you were so sexy when you were bent over the plants in those dark round sunglasses you used to wear

i heard you were with liam after we broke up that tall and lanky guy always had the hots for you he was a good man i bet he really liked feeling your sexy mouth too what ever the hell happened to him anyway

the sun is hot and beating down on us and this run is fucking killing me but i really wanna see you run and see what's happening with that muscular dude beside you you really built up your muscles too over the years you look awesome and i'm proud of you my heart is thundering my lungs are vacuums for air i feel sweat down my legs

i bet he liked your mouth but who is this guy are you gonna suck him also nice i'd love to watch you suck him because i've felt your mouth and jesus my heart my pounding now between this hot jog and watching your muscular ass and seeing you sucking on his thick wet twitching salty dick i bet it fills your whole mouth up

it's gonna be really wet and musky after this run baby and i know how you like cock to be thick and wet and musky you always sought out my precum and milked me in your wet fist to ease droplets of seaspray from out of my widening cockhead when you would suck me i remember god

you're jogging to his place aren't you and then you're gonna drop to your knees after he strips off his sweaty shirt and you're gonna groan like you used to when you wrap your hot hand around his girth and then you're gonna tap his big head against your cheekbones and your chin and wipe it smoothly and wetly across your face while smelling the salt and sweat under his balls i know how you like it

suck his cock baby i know you want to and i know you love how it tastes in your mouth lick that dick and suck it deep pump his throbbing shaft between those beautiful lips of yours do you remember how i would hold your head and fuck your mouth while you moaned and went limp with your head on the bed and then i'd fill your mouth with my come you loved to swallow

he'll give you his seed too his thick hot creamy seed and i know you'll love it sometimes i wonder how many cocks you've sucked since we broke up and especially during your trip to europe and the italian men around the bike track i enjoying wondering as much as i enjoy the envious look on your face when you've seen some of the successes in my life too but that doesn't mean i'm bitter about anything anymore because you really are an amazing person and quite the catch and that last guy who dumped you was a fucking idiot because you're right you were the best thing to ever have happened to him

suck his cock suck it wet it taste it lick it have it smell it i know you like it you good fucking cockslut slurp on his thick dick taste his scent groan in ecstacy pump it in your fist and swab your tongue under the head jack it off into your mouth with strong wet hands your spit coating his penis you like penis don't you and when he shoots feel your lips straining because they're being opened so fucking wide while his salt is all over your face you can smell his flesh on your skin as you suck it as you suck it as you suck it and taste his thick pumping load into your mouth you love cum and i always loved feeling you suck me down suck that cum milk it give him give me your fucking slutty mouth

the pavement solid and firm under my nikes while the sun is in my eyes and the wind is in my hair my roughly cut sweatshirt marbled with salt lines from the heat and my exertion my heart is pounding like a thundering drum

Queen's Quay.

My job permits me to do a lot of travel in this city, and one of the things that keeps me entertained throughout my day is to listen to the echoes of places where, in the past, I've enjoyed pleasure and sensual fun. Recently, I found myself in the Queens Quay (pronouned 'key') area of Toronto, and I realized that over the years, Aphrodite has blessed me from one end of this strip to the other.

Queen's Quay is an upscale stretch with plenty of sunshine, buff joggers, dog-walkers, tourists, and art lovers of all stripes. Garden marinas and yacht clubs share the gentle ripples of Lake Ontario with glittering condominums, arts and cultural centres, the ferry to the islands (with the city's only clothing-optional beach), and the lower tip of Chinatown. My smiling eyes enjoyed the sight of dreadlocked hippie girls on their antique bicycles alongside the Paris Hilton wannabes strutting out of Starbucks, lattes in hand. The giggling Japanese tourists quizzing the competetive figure skaters as their tired legs brought them home from the rink. The young artist who balanced her fishingtackle box of brushes and charcoal on her lap as she coyly drooled over the Bay Street dude reading the business section of the Globe and Mail on the streetcar.

As I cruised through the area on a recent, unseasonably warm afternoon, I realized that to the furthest west of Queen's Quay stood the glass condo where Caylynn lived. In one of the tiny, homogenous lofts of that building, she made elegant dinners before sucking my cock, kneeling on floor before the couch I relaxed on, idly stroking her straight blonde hair as she tasted me. I was the first man to take her ass during one of those nights, and how stunned she was to discover that she liked it. A lot.

On a an eastern part of the strip, just south of Chinatown, stands the aforementioned Korean's condo. I remember her with a shake of my head and a raised eyebrow, but she also sucked my cock as her dogs barked in the adjoining room. She splayed herself on her bed as I stroked myself while watching her slide a purple dildo into her pillowy folds until I watched her cum. She was, well, interesting.

Gorgeous Shayne and I strolled beside the yachts and through the herb gardens along the strip during her last visit here. We ferried to the islands, where we picnicked with wine and fruit while feeding gulls and making out on the sand. As dusk came while we awaited the ferry back to Queen's Quay, we were alone in a passenger's waiting cabin beside the dock. Years' worth of graffiti told the tales of the many lovers who had been there before us, and I pondered how often the largely vacant single room had been used for discrete liaisons. It was sorely tempting to withdraw my cock and guide her red, pouty lips there, and we chuckled at the idea just before a family of four had come in.

At the ampitheatre at Queen's Quay, The Grrl and I snuck vodka-spiked organic juice to enjoy during a free public screening of The Princess Bride. We snuggled as fireworks burst over the lake that night, and danced to Jamaican drummers as a passing schooner glittered the lake with a wedding reception.

And suddenly, I found myself enjoying a pleasant memory of, of all women, my ex-wife. Odd, in a way, given the time and distance, but I suppose it's nice to know that it wasn't All Bad after all.

We enjoyed a sexy party together along the lake itself one summer. I was still new to Canada, and one of my first jobs here was as a manager to a high-end adult toy store and DVD rental outlet. One of our wholesalers had thrown an evening yacht party for the owners of the various retail establishments that sold their line of vibrators and the like, and the owner of my store sent me along to represent him. It was fun, and Heidi and I enjoyed a bounty of food and drink among all of my elegantly-attired, friendly competitors as we gently cruised the lake along Queen's Quay.

With the better weather approaching, it won't be long before I'll be found biking beside the sexily dreadlocked, the upwardly mobile, the barking akitas, the latte-sipping yuppies, and the glistening lakefront again. As I pass each mental landmark, its echoes and ripples will continue to make me smile with memory as summer sweat cools my back.