I’ve started a new tumblr which has skype calls recorded between a good friend of mine with our typical late night conversations because they’re amazing and I sorta wanted to have then on record because some of the things we say (not everything) are golden. The recordings hopefully won’t be any longer than 20 minutes after editing and for eye candy each post features a photo of Kitty.

The tumblr is http://cats-eavesdrop.tumblr.com/, “Skype calls between aboy and girl with a cat’s eavesdrop.”

I’ve been having such great consistent sex lately, it hasn’t been this available in forever.

The first night was horrid because I was too familiar with sex being something I did alone, in private and was straight to the point. Off the strength of guilt and guilt alone I made amends though, mentally swearing on everything I’d break her off proper. The stigma of how much better it could’ve been that first time on my end drove me bonkers. Usually memories of having sex seem better than the actual sex that was had but every time after that initial one matches perfectly. Inwardly I had to tell myself to get over myself and try to put my confidence in check which would make me feel like I was downplaying the sex and confidence was rise again. T-shirts were soiled, and condoms weren’t going to see 2015.

There were a handful of things I found myself sort of watching in stupor as it was happening and thinking about later a lot. A large part of me wanted to instagram my dick going in from the back out of pleasure, vanity and to reminisce on when sex isn’t this available. I found myself looking at my dick a lot with skepticism and stern approval at the same time, everything about what was going on was a beautiful mess. Looking down at my dick sort of had a grotesque sexy gleam to it that wouldn’t exist if we weren’t fucking but because we were it subjectively became hot.

Christmas time reminds me of still being in school. Getting clothes and what not, seeing who can outlast who with the new outfits. You had to be pretty strategic when it came to when you decided to wear what. My dad’s family bought me some really bitchin’ Fubu get-ups one year. One thing about new outfits at that age was you had to make sure you spaced out the time you wore each fit properly.

Wore it Monday? No one can see you in it again until two weeks or you’ll embarrass yourself immensely. I made a habit of noticing when someone broke tradition and wore a fit too soon again, occasionally some kids would call each other out on it. Others would be slick and mix the pieces up. Nowadays you can catch me wearing the same jeans two days out the week easily.

What I need for Christmas though;

• glasses, I’m out of contacts and the sex appeal would be nice.
• new undershirts, boxer briefs and socks
• get this oil leak with my car fixed
• new everything