Marc needs to go home and meet his new roommate. Not that I care whether or not he actually meets him anytime soon. I'm just sick and tired of him always being around. Which reminds me, I need to buy some orange juice.
I wish Carlos would turn off the news and stop about that Ron Paul shit. Like I care. Well, except he seems to be gay-friendly, anyway, which I like. Obama's been a real disappointment there. Not that I care about politics. You probably won't hear me say anything else about politics ever again. Seriously, who cares? They're all the same.
At least Carlos is gone off somewhere, which means it's naked time in the house. Marc and I have been walking around, watching T.V., and even ate lunch naked. With the windows shut, of course. Don't want the prudes that control this country to call the police. Who cares if everyone goes around naked? I'm pretty sure that the more prudish a country, the more perverse it is.
Marc says he has to go use the restroom. I look at his nice ass as he goes, then turn back to this. Well, maybe one more go-around before he goes. But he has to go. I need to get some sleep, and I hate for anyone to be in the bed with me when I sleep. He likes to snuggle. Blah! Snuggle! He likes to take advantage of me every time he enters REM sleep is all.
I can smell those oil paints of Carlos's. He'll be wanting me to pose for him again, which is somehow both fun and boring. He gives me all the drawings, pastels, and paintings at least. He says it's all about the practice. He's gotten a lot better, I must admit. I do have to wonder if classes wouldn't help him though. Practice makes better, but perfect practice perfects, and I don't know if he will get perfect practice without help. Still, he does better than I ever could.
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