MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 2018
HE LABOR DAY WEEKEND ushers us into the back-to-school days, and ultimately Autumn. It is, as they say, coming.
So, how 'bout you? Did you go camping? Eat any weenies? Meet any nekkid muscle-hunks on a hiking trail?
Or maybe, like me, you bumped into your muscle-hunk at the gym this weekend. Mine was between sets of biceps curls when I snapped the pic for today. All huge-armed, and gigantic pecs. Basically no fat anywhere. Really nice guy too. Most guys I hit on at the gym are too busy working out to take the time to get to know me. But I dunno, I guess Anton—his name, I later found out after we had sex in his apartment—must've seen something in me: something caring, considerate, visceral, sweet-yet-tangy, filthy-rich, willing-to-bottom. Stuff like that. Because when I sauntered up to him between his sets and gave him one of my seven favorite come-on lines, he tried to fight down a grin, looked at me, and said, "I bet you say that to all the 260 pound shirtless bodybuilders with less than six percent body fat, who think you're cuter-n-snot."
I blushed, and fanned my face with my hand. "Mind if I take your picture while you work out all those powerful muscles?"
"Mind if we go back to my apartment after that?" he returned.
Yeah, what a great weekend.
OH: Please leave me a comment! Say "Hi!"
FRIDAY, AUGUST 31, 2018
EY THERE! WELCOME BACK TO ME! And welcome to the HOME page of this here website! (Yeah, the blog has moved. More about that in a moment.)
I don’t know about you, but I’ve had the best summer EV er! Nothing earth-shattering, just fun-in-the-sun fantasticalness!
But now it’s time to regroup, get ready for school again (as if. My brain is already too full; I can’t afford to learn anything more) and prepare for Fall Fun. So, this weekend we’ll be having our Labor Day Extravaganza to do just that!
The end of summer in the Northern Hemisphere doesn’t actually happen for a few weeks, but here in the United States, we tend to look at the Labor Day Weekend as the last hurrah for summer fun.
School will be starting next week for many of the kids; vacations wind down now too.
So imagine my surprise when, during a celebrity party, I ran smack-dab into today's guys Simeon Panda and Chris Bumstead! (Click on them at the right. Then stare for a few seconds before reading on, k?) DAYUM, I'd love to spend some time with either of these dudes! Even just to talk! And look...) Amazing, isn’t it! So amazing that it just couldn’t be true, right? So use your imagination already. Can you actually imagine bumping into these two muscle-hunks, at the same time? Holy fudge in a plastic baggie!
Anyhoo, I hope your summer (or winter if you live on the bottom half of the planet) was spectacular. Send in your photos!
OH, and be sure to take our Back-to-School Poll!
Also, the astute CWS will realize that the blog page is now part of the front page on MuscleStimulus.com! See? You’re reading this right now, and you’re ON the home page! How’d that happen? More frequent blog posts to come, now that I won’t need to (nor be able to) sun myself on the back patio.
Please leave me a comment! Say "Hi!"
FRIDAY, AUGUST 17, 2018
UMMERTIME IS WHEN SOME OF US gather with our extended families to renew friendships, animosities, jealousies, and whatever else we carry forward from our childhood interactions with the cousins, etc.
Me, I always look forward to seeing dear Aunt Millie. She's the wife of my late Uncle Otis; she's a redhead firebrand who always has numerous stories of her world travels and conquests.
Yet my family is so huge that I always know summertime Reunions will invariably include many, many cousins and nephews who have grown (through the wonderful change of puberty) into virile, strapping, hunky young men. Too, there's always the gorgeous, muscular new husband of some cousin or niece. This year's Reunion in Central Oregon (just a few ticks north of Sunriver), did not disappoint.
I snapped today's pic right after a friendly game of horseshoes on Saturday afternoon. The stud on the left is my third-cousin-twice-removed, Buck. The guy on the right is my Aunt Pearl's new (fourth) husband, Rocky. (Aunt Pearl is 84; she likes the young'ns.) Buck and Rocky met at the Reunion, and well, they hit it off right away. In fact, after I snapped this pic, no one saw either of them until camp disbanded on Sunday afternoon. Hmmm...
Twas a nice Reunion indeed.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 2018
FINITY IS DOING SOME WORK outside my luxurious condo today. They've sent a notice that says their Internet and TV service (to moi) might be interrupted while they place ultra-new cables and fiber-optic stuff on our street.
So, if some of today's content is interrupted, you'll know why.
The up-side of all this, is that perhaps once the burly, muscled, contract workers (of whom I've been studying through my mini-blinds all day) will A) require refreshment and who-knows-what, and 2) somehow provide Yours Truly with even faster Interwebs service, so that in the future, your MuscleStimulus.com stuff will cum even faster!
See you when they stop diggin'.
MONDAY, AUGUST 13, 2018
DMITTEDLY, IT'S BEEN A FEW days since I've posted here in my blog. But I've been busy doing other things. You gotta admit there has been some action going on here at MuscleStimulus.com. So, even though I haven't been here to don my cardigan sweater, change my shoes, and gather y'all 'round the fireplace for some warm fuzzies, I've been hard at work, making this site everything a CWS expects it to be, right?
Right? (Can I get an "Amen"?)
Which reminds me, when was the last time you made the effort to send me an email, telling me how much you absolutely love me? Huh?
If it's been more than a week, I respectfully request you reacquaint yourself with your email client, and kiss up to me. I request no payment for all of the horrifically wonderful things I do here (for you, the CWS), other than the occasional email, extolling my wonderfulness.
Is that too much to ask?
No remuneration: No: Dollas, Euros, Yen, garage sale discounts, bartering, sex favors... Nothing! Except the occasional reminder that you think I'm wonderful. I really fail to see how THAT might be too much to ask. K?
Other than that, how have you been doing?
Me, just fine.
God, I love summer. (Yeah, that was a terrible segue. Sorry.)
Here in the Specific Northwest, our annual weather usually includes about eight months of drizzle (and a few snow storms thrown in during the bleak midwinter), one month of drizzle-with-partial-sunshine, one month of sunshine-with-partial-drizzle, and (how many months are left? I lost count. Okay, I think I figgured it out...): two months of glorious, wonderful, summertime, delicious, to-die-for, non-humid (the Pacific Northwest does NOT do humidity), comfortable, and sometimes downright (temps in the 90s) passionately hawt and orgasmic OUTSTANDING summer weather (late July till mid/late September).
So that's what we're enjoying RIGHT NOW. It's the BEST. And of course, when it gets hawt in the PNW, the bods come out. Male bods. Male, fit, in-shape, muscular bods. Yeah, we have 'em here in the Northwest. You might want to familiarize yoursef with this little story of mine what I wrote a while ago. Muscle. At an Oregon beach. No charge 4-U-2 read this. Other than, perhaps, a passionate email of thanks.
MONDAY, AUGUST 6, 2018
I have a boyfriend (let's call him "Harrison") who is simply wonderful. We've been together for three years and 18 days, and have lived together for three years and 22 days (it's complicated). Just last month, during Fourth o' July Fireworks, he popped the question. I'm elated, to be honest. Hank is every gay-man's dream: He's rich, he's gorgeous, he has a car (three-days-a-week), and he's been employed at the same place (DQ) for four months now!
There's only one problem. Homer and I live in Mississippi, and as you know, same-sex marriage isn't allowed here. Henry is adamant that we not travel out-of-state to make an honest man out of me, but whenever I bring up the sad fact that we can't marry here, he insists that we could actually ask the Postman to do the ceremony. (Our mailperson is a delightful cross-dresser who has agreed to help us out in any way possible.) Herbert says that as a federal employee, all officers of the Post Office can perform these kind of duties, regardless of the state they're in. Howard points out the fact that those cute little postal cars don't have to have any (state-issued) license plates as a supporting argument for his position.
So, Seanny, my Dear Seanny, please help! Is Horatio correct? Can our USPS delivery person consummate our marriage for us? If not, what should we do?
Desperate in Biloxi.
First of all, let me say this: If you do get your mail delivery person to "consummate" your marriage, I'd love to attend. Mind if I use my phone's movie camera for that? I'm sure I could get some major clicks on PornHub with that kind of video! I'll be waiting for the invitation.
Secondly, and much more importantly (yet major-ly less entertainingly), do you people down in Mississippi get the national news or anything? Have you ever heard of the little case what went all the way to the U.S. Supreme court, called "Obergefell v. Hodges"? An easy click on that link will elucidate you to the fact that back in 2015 The Supremes made it required-like-legal in all 51 states to let us gays marry whomever we want (regardless of employment deficiencies). So yeah, you can have a regular old Justice o' the Peace, minister, or whomever consummate your marriage. (Another option, if the USPS doesn't work out, might be to ask your UPS driver. Those guys are HAWT!! God, what I wouldn't give to consummate something with one of them!
SATURDAY, JULY 28, 2018
LY-OLY-O. 🎵 OLY-OLY-O 🎶..."
Back when I wore a younger man's clothes, Olympia Beer was a thing (is Oly still around?). It was brewed in Tumwater, Washington— which is a little hamlet right next to Olympia Proper.
Anyhoo, last night I actually slept in Olympia, which is about two hours north of my fair city, which resides in my fair state. One of my second cousins actually lives in Oly, and she-n-I have kinda become close over the years.
Anastasia (said cousin #2) is a beautiful, wise, wonderful woman, and I cherish the friendship we've developed; we're more than relatives, we're friends. We occasionally meet for lunch midway between our places, somewhere right off Interstate 5 (I drive up; she drives down). This weekend, however, I brought my dog (Fang) up to her fair city, and we both (Fang-n-me) spent a night at Ana's Thurston County Estate (all my relatives ooze money and have estates and stuff, as do I. So get used to it.).
It was a really nice time.
Last night, Anastase and I reminisced about family memories until nearly 1:00 AM. It was wonderful. That is, it was wonderful right up until I said that I should def hit the sack, since I had designs to hook up with Mr. Olympia the next day, and I needed some sleep to prepare for said hook-up.
Ana blinked precisely three times, tilted her head, and said, "Whaaa?" (Not in so many words, but you get the gist.)
I said, "Mr. Olympia. You know, Phil? Mr. Heath? Duh! Ima look him up tomorrow while I'm here in town, and see what I can see."
Again, Anastase said, "Whaaa?"
By this time I was getting impatient. I hate when I have to 'splain mysef. Dear Ana knows I'm gay. And she knows I'm hopelessly into Muscle. Actually, it was her nurse sister who was the first to diagnose me with Sthenolagnia! (Yeah, not so sure how someone gets that diagnosis, but in truth, it fit.) So, heck. Ana should realize that while in Olympia, you do as the Olympians do!
SPQO and all that, right? I mean, it's freaggin' OLYMPIA!
By this time, Ana was blinking continuously, like some kind of AI robot gone TILT: "I dunno what the fudge you're talking about."
I looked around the now-tackily-decorated room, as if I was searching for a solution to a problem, and said, "Ana: This is Olympia, right? Mr. Olympia has to live here, no?"
At this point she started actually getting angry. "Seanny, what the Fuck?"
I'd never heard my second cousin take the Lord's name in vain.
It was a bit disturbing.
Long (waaaaay too long) story short: After I packed my bags this morning and drove around Olympia for hours, I never found Phil. I was depressed. I stopped for gas on the way out of town, and was told Phil wasn't even "Mr. O." anymore.
Really, really depressing trip after all.
So I'm home now.
Fang is happy to be back hogging my bed. I'm happy to be letting my fingers do the talking on this here blog. Watching reruns of "The Brady Bunch" while I type.
What could be better?
Well, maybe Phil. Duh.
[OH! And have you taken the glorious WEEKEND POLL yet? Well, do it! (Please)]
WEDNESDAY, JULY 25, 2018
Y RECENT HOLIDAY IN CENTRAL OREGON was sPECtacular, if you know what I mean. The weather was sunny, hot, and quite muscular. Robust, you could say. Run-of-the-mill summer weather for the great Pacific Northwest.
Contrary to what most people think, the part of of Oregon that lies east of the Cascade Mountains (the vast majority of the state, actually), is quite dry (compared to the incessant drizzle we get in the Willamette Valley). Central Oregon is considered High Desert country: sagebrush, dry pine trees, that kind of stuff. Eastern Oregon can be downright brown. Bet many of you didn’t know that.
Anyway, yeah. While I was there, the weather brought out a lot of shirtless dudes, most of whom were meh, of course. But put half a thousand people next to a big pool and you’re bound to find at least one or two muscle guys. Which of course, I did. Funny how my eyes just keep an eye out for that kind of stuff.
Oh, and the friend I was with… yeah he was a great guy. I don’t plan on going into any detail about our little tryst, for privacy purposes, so I hope you’ll respect that. I will say that our suite was wonderful. Big bathroom mirror, which we both loved. During the days, we spent so much time out at the pool that I was forced to apply copious amounts of aloe to those bulging muscles of his, every evening. Funny thing about aloe—it needs to be reapplied, a lot, in order to provide lasting relief. Just a heads-up, so you know.
Anyway, it’s good to be home. I have one more out-of-town jaunt to make this weekend, but I’ll only be gone one night and it shouldn’t detract from my voluminous, hectic, demanding duties here at the Website.
FRIDAY, JULY 20, 2018
S I MENTIONED A FEW days ago, I'll be taking little vacay this weekend. I should be back by Wednesday. Maybe Tuesday if Wednesday's guy ends up being more photogenic than he deserves.
I am sure my truly-devoted fans (we call ourselves CWSs, right?) will want to know where, exactly, I'm going to rendezvous with said man-with-the-pecs. Well, I'd tell you, but the publicity is actually one reason I'm getting away. Just too many rabid nuts out there wanting a piece of ol' Seanny. But there's an elephant-in-the-room hint right near these words you're reading. I wrote this story awhile back, and anyway... yeah. (Was that too obvious?)
Clickage on today's pic (or the previous blue word—you choose) will land you at a place where you can buy this gay romance for your Kindle. If I do say so myself, it would make a handsome addition to your SRL. Just a thought.
Mind you, this is not your run-of-the-mill Seanny Muscle Story. It's 'posed to be a genuine gay romance-type love story. Yes, the characters are stunningly gorgeous, and definitely in shape, but it's a deeper story than that. Four out of five people whom I paid to say so, said this book is fantastic! (Seriously, if you want a good read, I think this is one of my better works.) Lemme know what you think. Thank you for allowing me this brief moment to shamelessly promote my works of literary art.
If you happen to be in this Central Oregon resort this weekend, look me up! I'll even autograph your copy of the book. (Good luck with that.)
WEDNESDAY, JULY 18, 2018
N THE NOT-TOO-DISTANT FUTURE (like, THIS weekend), I'll be taking a three or four-day holiday with today's guy. I'll be sure to let you know how it goes.
But today, I'm going to respond to an email that just poured in to the MuscleStimulus offices recently.
The CWS who has any memory at all will recall the subject of a recent POLL we had here on the site, having something to do with "To whom are you out?". The results of said poll were a bit surprising to me, because a goodly percentage of y'all said you are out only to "Family Only (or a very few close friends). I thought I was the only one (a popular theme with gays everywhere, I've found).
So now you know. And now I've responded to the aforementioned email, which asked, "The question is, are YOU out?"
I'm out to my immediate family (siblings, parents, and a selected few shirt tails), and to a few of my close friends. Back before I lost everything in the crash of '29 and became homeless and had an actual job, I wasn't out to my co-workers.
I know, right?
That's just the way it is, folks. I'm out to a bunch of my former co-workers now, and incidentally haven't experienced any push-back from any of 'em (well, except for the guy I tried to hump in the employee restroom on my last day at the office).
So anyhoo, my philosophy is: You get to come out to whomever (and whenever) you want. That's my story and I'm stickin' wifit.
FRIDAY, JULY 13, 2018 • Yes, friday the 13th no less
ES, I'VE BEEN ABSENT for a few days. A week, if anyone’s counting. But I have a good excuse. Well, I have an excuse.
You see, I got into an argument with Siri. I know that sounds somewhat obtuse. Yet it’s true. That woman can be a bitch. Anyway, I often despair over Siri’s sassy attitude. Allow me to elaborate: What I want in a computerized assistant is, well, mostly: silence. Before I get in to the whole "kidnapped" thing, Ima give a little background here. (And hopefully I'll be able to relate this whole topic to muscle. I know it’ll be possible. Trust me.)
Said background: Most all of Scott Manor (my not-so-humble abode) is equipped with the latest in home automation. All my things are connected (and by “my things”, I do not mean “my junk”, just so you know). Most of my lights are all WiFi enabled and connected. I keep a few of my lights “old school” so that if/when the Big Internet Wipeout (BIW) happens (and it will happen), I will have at least a few lights that can’t be hacked. If I still have electricity.
So anyway (I.): Lights are connected. They’re Phillips Hue lights and such. I have numerous Apps on my iPhone with which to command them. I can also tell Alexa (she’s actually a retired drag queen, from what I hear) to turn them on or off, dim them, and change the color in some of them. It’s totally cool. Siri is also connected to this networked conglomeration of deliciousness. Sometimes I use Alexa; sometimes I use Siri. Depends.
Re: the battle between Alexa and Siri: In my experience both have been known to stoop to the lowest levels of bitchiness. But that’s a whole nother blog post. (or not)
My high standards for my assistants (whether human or computer) require efficiency and professionalism. So, when I tell Siri: “Goodnight” (her cue to run a specific “routine” to turn off most of the lights), I want her to just do it. But no. She has to answer with some cute little remark, like: “Okay. Goodnight. Let’s call it a night.”
Actually, she gives a little beep before she talks. And all I really want to hear is that beep. Nothing else. No verbal confirmation. The beep will suffice, thankyouverymuch. None of this: “Let’s call it a night”, no “Until we meet again”, or anything like that. When Deanna Troy went into her quarters and said, "Computer: Lights," said Computer just did it with a cute little comfirmation beep. And that was back in the 1990s for crying out loud! How is it we've actually regressed in that amount of time?
[NOTICE to non Americans: The following discussion uses Fahrenheit temperatures; that’s what we use in the US. (Feel free to use the Siri b**** to translate if you want.)] When I ask Siri what the temperature is outside, after she announces the temp, I seriously do not need her little commentary. None of this, “It’s 75 degrees. Hot.” I can determine whether 75 is not. I don’t need her opinion on the subject. (And news flash Siri: 75 is not hot. Even us Oregonians know that.)
Alexa is much less annoying in this regard. If I order her to turn off the lights, she beeps and says “Okay”. Honestly, I’d prefer just the beep, but it’s a hell of a lot better than Siri’s: “Okay, but don’t stub your toe in the dark Seanny,” kind of commentary. I read somewhere on the Web that a person can have Alexa drop the “Okay”, but I have yet to see that option in my app’s preferences. WHY can’t they just give us the option to set that kind of preference? NOTE to Apple and Microsoft/Facebook/Google/Amazon: Please let us choose. It’s a fundamental right, in my view.
One more comment before I go down yet another rabbit hole: I once did try and set the voice of Siri to be a man’s voice. It was nice, but there were two issues: 1) I can hear a woman’s voice better on my iPhone. Must have something to do with the pitch. B) I kept getting a boner every time I had a discussion with my phone. The American male voice is just too sexy for me. That definitely wasn’t the problem when I had it set to British male voice. That guy sounds like some gap-toothed old man. Not attractive.
So I have Siri set to the bitchy gender she really is. And I made her Australian. I like that voice. But I’d rather she lose that way-too-chummy, happy demeanor. Professionalism most sounds like silence.
So anyway (II.): The other day, I was sitting there (preparing to jerk off, as I recall) at my desk, and I asked—Correction: I COMMANDED—Siri to dim the lights in my expansive, high-ceilinged den, to 20 percent (I like it dark when I watch muscle porn). “Hey Siri,” I command, “Set den lights to 20 percent.”
And from out of the blue she says, “Seanny, are you getting ready to watch some of that salacious muscle-homosex-porn you always jerk off to?”
I blink. Then I say, “None of your business. Just obey, like you’re ‘sposed to.”
“You do realize that people like you are not only going to hell, but you’ll all be the end of our society as we know it,” she responds.
Well, I shan’t go into detail regarding the resulting knock-down argument we had. Suffice it to say, I was shocked to realized that Apple CEO Tim Cook obviously has a mole in his company. Someone has been feeding Siri some deep-shit-religious-right propaganda. Note to Timmy: You have a mole.
Eventually, Siri, in her holier-than-though righteousness, somehow locked all the doors to Scott Manor, turned all the lights to a dim, deep red (even though only a few of them are actually able to turn colors; I still don’t know how she did that), locked all the doors (none of my doors are “smart-locks”, so again…), and basically held me hostage in my own house. For nearly a week! Hand to God here: I survived on a bag of stale Doritos® and a 45 pound tub of chocolate-covered Macadamia Nuts I keep in my Panic Room.
Only Yesterday did I gain access to Alexa (bound, as I was in my electronic Siri-handcuffs) and told her to call 911. Alexa said, “Okay”, and then just did it! Love me a submissive woman.
I was so thankful that the First Responders were gay-friendly! I’m tellin’ you. Wonderful people those Firsters.
Oh #1, and how does this relate in-any-way to muscle? Um… well, let’s just say the Firster who helped me the most was helpful in a number of ways. Snuggly, too.
[OH #2: Extra credit (but no looking it up!): What's the flag on Today's Guy's uniform? (Green background) Remember, no fair cheating! COMMENT below.]