Sometimes I just need to step away for a few moments, in spite of the beautiful, wonderful, and radiant energy of all these gorgeous bodies I am so privileged to lust for everyday on IF.  Of course, what I hope to see more than anything are pictures of yourselves, real beauty captured of ourselves and forever preserved in the chasms of space and time, sealed in timelessness as our bodies slowly wither, consuming whatever remains of our youthful glow, each day closer to the last, our experiences,  our unique narratives of who we were slowly fading and then forever forgotten in history. 

Those peering eyes from a generation we will never see and who will never know our names, capturing and pleasuring us in the deepest, darkest recesses of their minds, releasing us from the captivity of the forgotten, then sending us back again in such a dark and lonely world, isolated from an existence that has long departed and moved on, everyday consuming the legacies of those once loved and admired by so many, only the nameless, naked mmanifestatios of their beauty remains, forever imprisoned in one image.

I am sure a handful of you have read my little naughty, dirty, mischievous gifts I left for you, telling you how good it would feel to be touched by those parts of you that have made so many people so feel good and feel so happy, the luckiest of which being those you touched in real life, that glowing, beaming, tranquilizing fuck happy grin as your going away gifts, the sweet scents of your love tickling the senses of your prey and offending those in their presence while you giggle like the naughy boi or girl you are.  How dare you invade the fresh air of purity and righteousness they hide themselves in with all of your delicious, sweet scents of lust's delicious perfume, stealing their sense of security and morality, watching their angry and repulsed faces, their manifestations of denial, of self loathing their impurities inspire, of all the sanctimonious fakery that these wonderful breezes are working so hard to expose, matched only by the instinctive and conditioned resistance that they know in their dark hearts, yet yearning a day they will be freed from.

I guess I fit somewhere in the middle of all this.  Fed up with the monotonous, monolithic lifestyle of the white picket fence suburbia (one of the greatest lies ever told to so many people), a slice of the American pie with its stale, moldy crust, and filled with the bitterness of abdicated free will and adventures, served on a plate of endless bills, bad news, bad vibes, jaded spouses, and little to give of which inspires gratitude.  All the sacrifices made, all of what you have given, reimbursed with a sense of resigning oneself to a lifetime of lost dreams, unfulfilled desires, a body ravaged by overconsumption of subsistence, the brightness of one's face ravaged by unkempt, untrimmed beards, wallowing and wandering aimlessly in lethargic dullness, nowhere to go, no aspirations left to achieve, just a repeat of yesterday, nothing to look forward to tomorrow.  The last remaining relic of much happier and hopeful times is the music transmitted by instruments that spin vinyl disks, its mixer the conductor of this electronic orchestra, alone late at night with the only companion who will ever feel the deep spiritual connection it's wonderous beats and its pulsating rythmic ebbs and flows provides.  

Enter image fap and escape from the crossroads of silent desperation.