Shine on, shine on Harvest Moon
Up in the sky...
I haven't had any lovin'
Since January, February, June or July!

Me so Haw-ny!

Oh damn I want it bad. Must be the crisp winter weather, the full moon, the hard work.

Whatever.

Before I took Dorian to the train back to New York in Trenton, we stopped off (where else?) at the Starbucks in Doylestown.

Oh. My. God. There was this... this... this Boy working there! Unbelievable. Wavy hair. Trim beard and moustache. Sweet little body underneath his Starbucks shirt and apron.

Imagine an extra in a staging of Jesus Christ Superstar set in a coffeebar and you'll get the flavor of my favorite barrista boy.

Damn. It was soooo easy to imagine his honey blond haired head bobbing up and down on my dick. I'd want to plow him doggy style, have him spread his cheeks for me, opening up that little rosebud, slap his ass some to get the red up, then go in. First, just the head of my dick, and hold it there for a while, teasing him with it, watching him get all hot and bothered trying to back up into it, and then, when he can't take any more, drive the point home, then pull all the way out (one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand), then slam! All the way in. Just go at him deep and hard and fast, like a jack hammer. Turn that sweet boy into my bitch, my pig, my peg boy. Oh yeah. Unload my junk in his trunk.

So.

I hope he keeps his job there. I have lots of time to think up come-on lines since he's sort of a captive audience.

"Hi, welcome to Starbucks! What can I get for you?"
"Well, boy, you've got something I want, but I don't see it on the menu."

"Hi, welcome to Starbucks! What can I get for you?"
"What do you have that's fresh and hot and smooth? And I'm not thinking of coffee or chai or whatever, boy."

"Hi, welcome to Starbucks! What can I get you?"
"How about... 'Off'?"


Shhhh.... Be b-wee be-wee kwiet. I'm huntin' boy butt.

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