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The Old Master

The Old Master(Bater)

When I’m depressed or bothered by something, I like to go to the local nude beach, and just walk in the sun for a while. It is a long but narrow beach. It is unofficially nude, meaning there are no lifeguards, and no signs telling people what they can and cannot do.

Because the path leading to the beach is steep and rocky, it is seldom if ever patrolled.

The few people who do show up, usually no more than twenty, even on a warm weekend, seem to know the etiquette. Like most nude beaches, nudity is perfectly OK, but anything sexual simply isn’t done. I’ve always felt if I were to spring a boner on the beach, it would be somehow wrong. I’ve never figured out what would happen. I wouldn’t be arrested, but perhaps people would yell at me, make fun of me, or maybe even beat me up. So of course, although the beach does make me horny, especially if I see some beautiful people there, I keep things under control until I get back to my little apartment.

On this particular day, I was feeling depressed indeed. My job had been eliminated several months back, I hadn’t found anything to replace it, and my savings account was just about gone. Not only that, but my girlfriend left the minute she heard I got fired. Lately, I’ve come to think of her as selfish, which I realize is only hurting me. I’ve got to let her go out of my mind. But that’s difficult, as I’m sure anyone who has been dumped knows. I tried to mitigate my frustration over her by remembering that she was quite prudish when it came to sex, which bothered me at the time. Now, however, any kind of sex would do!

I have a PhD in music education, which from a financial point of view, is a stupid idea. The thing is, I’m a multi-instrumentalist, meaning I can play guitar, flute, banjo, piano, and a number of other instruments fairly well. And I love teaching. To see a student enjoy a new chord, or work flawlessly through a piece for the first time, well, that just brings me joy! To lead a student band or orchestra in working together is nearly orgasmic.

Schools seldom have funding for music programs, and so finding another job in that field proved to be remarkably difficult. I had been lucky to get hired right out of college by Harrison High School, but now, at age 28, that was gone. What a shame, for me and the kids!

So, I was walking on the beach, trying to figure things out. Could I build a studio of private students somehow before the money ran out entirely? Not likely. Could I get a job in the construction trades, maybe? Start a business of some sort? What else could I do?

Such were my thoughts as I walked along the beach. I passed an old man sitting in the lotus position. He had a remarkably long gray beard, and long gray hair to match. I couldn’t help thinking that the long hair is typically the mark of a musician.

As I continued to walk past, I had to swivel my head around and take another glance. Sure enough, he had a nice, straight, fairly large uncircumcised erection sticking up from his lap as he sat there, seemingly blissed out. Knowing I shouldn’t stare, I quickly looked forward again, and tried to sort of tiptoe past him. He seemed like someone who should not be disturbed.

“Hello young fella,” he said, quietly.

I knew he meant me since there was no one else on that part of the beach, so I stopped, looking back at him, and said the first thing that came to my mind, “That’s quite a nice erection you have there.”

Oops! Why the fuck did I say that? Now, what was this old man going to think of me?

“Why, thank you,” he replied, then announced, “Stay tuned.”

I didn’t quite understand, but gathered he wanted to talk or something. I was in the mood to walk on, not interact with anyone. Yet that erection of his had a weird effect on me. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, and at the same time I knew staring would be, well, not right.

I started to turn to walk away, not knowing quite what to say. Maybe something like “Have a nice day…” He quietly beckoned, “Watch.”

I didn’t have a choice. You don’t just walk away from people who want you to watch something, whatever that might be. I don’t know what I was expecting. In my imagination, he was going to rise six inches in the air in some sort of levitation or something.

That’s not what happened. Instead, his penis started bobbing back and forth a half-inch or so, then he started squirting white cum on his belly and onto the sand. I found it remarkable that his hand had never touched his penis. He seemed to have the ability to just will the orgasm to happen.

For a second, I was a bit embarrassed for him. Like, what kind of weirdo…? At the same time, there was a part of me that knew there was something more at play here. He might have been weird looking with his long hair and beard, but he also seemed unaccountably wise. I was searching my brain frantically for something to say about what just happened. Finally I came out with, “Pretty nice trick!”

“Thank you. Come sit here.” And with that, he patted the blanket on which he was sitting, scooting to the left to make room for me. Oddly, my circuitous thoughts about my problems disappeared for a moment, and I found his invitation appealing. I supposed I could talk to this funny-looking old fellow for a few minutes.

And talk I did. He had a strange knack of asking just the right questions, so within ten minutes, I was telling him my whole story, even the part about how after Friday, I’d be kicked out of my apartment unless I could somehow magically come up with $2,500 in back rent.

He said if nothing came up by then, he had a spare room, and would be ‘honored to have my company.’ Suddenly, a smartphone appeared in his hand. He didn’t seem the type to even know what a smartphone was, and within seconds, he had texted me his contact information.

We talked a while longer. I tried asking him some questions, but he deflected them so craftily I didn’t find out anything about him. All I knew is that his name was Paul, he looked quite strong with well-developed if somewhat sinewy muscles, he seemed to be short, like me at five-foot-seven, and had been around a few years. How many years, I couldn’t tell. He could be anywhere from fifty to seventy, I figured.

The sun was going down, leading to a chill in the air. I left him, feeling somewhat better than I had in a while. My problems didn’t seem so bad. Especially since he offered me a place to stay. Of course I’d never take him up on that. I mean, he was likable, but what was the deal with this guy, anyway? I didn’t know him at all. And what was with that ejaculation trick? Was he gay or something? Did he want to play with my young body? Well, there was my imagination going crazy again. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with being gay. I had played with guys a few times. It was only mutual masturbation, but I didn’t feel there was anything wrong with it.

Actually, I sucked a guy off once. It was pretty strange feeling my mouth filling with salty cum. I don’t think I liked that part of it very much, but I did really enjoy getting him off, knowing that it was my attention that was making him hard and I gave him a nice orgasm.

And the time my older brother wanted to know what buttfucking was like, and so I stuck it in him. Oh yes, I ejaculated, and it was nice. He wanted to buttfuck me, but he couldn’t get his dick hard enough to get it in. I kind of regretted that he and I didn’t experiment some more, but there was no time, he and I were both in separate universities.

Saturday morning found me loading the few things I hadn’t given away to Goodwill into my old Jeep Cherokee, and with nowhere to go. Ever so reluctantly, I looked up Paul’s number, and called him. Yes, his offer of a place to stay was still available and he’d be delighted to have me. ‘Have me…’ I thought cynically. I sure hope that doesn’t have any horrible strings attached.

Paul told me that I could stay as long as I needed. He said that the rent would be whatever I could pay. I tried to pin him down on an amount. Like, would he find $500 per month OK? He wouldn’t answer directly. Instead, he simply said, “No worries.” He also wanted me to know a couple of details before coming over. He said there are a few other people in his home, but assured me I’d like them all, they’d like me, and that it was a clothing-optional household. I was fine with that. After all, I sometimes visited nude beaches, didn’t I?

I drove there right away. Going through a huge open gate, the place turned out to be some sort of mansion. Almost a castle, fronted by a large circular driveway and a manicured lawn. More than manicured, it had a pair of topiary trees, made in the shape of matching spiral cones.

I figured I should drive around the back. Maybe he was the gardener or maintenance man. That seemed like a role that would fit him. There were no buildings in the back. It was one sprawling rock structure with no significant outbuildings, just some sheds by a large garden.

I parked in front and rang the doorbell next to the huge double doors. In a moment, a tall, black-bearded guy about my age answered, totally naked. I shouldn’t have been shocked, remembering Paul had said ‘clothing-optional,’ but I was taken aback anyway. Recovering quickly, I said, “I’m Zack, um, Zachary Lenovich, here at Paul’s request.” I was feeling weird that I didn’t even know Paul’s last name.

“Ah!” the man said. “We’ve been expecting you. Welcome!” He broke out with a big, genuine smile. “We could use some music around this place,” he added, with an odd smirk.

Evidently, Paul had told him something about me. The guy, Jonathan, led me through a large great room, down a hallway, into what seemed like a den. And there was Paul. He was naked, and an old lady was sprawled across his lap. She was thin, had gray hair, and a surprisingly shapely butt. If I was fifty years older, I could go for that butt.

Paul looked up and smiled, evidently delighted that I took up his offer. The woman released Paul’s penis from her mouth, turned around, and greeted me with a smile. “I’m Selma. Welcome!” Then, she turned her attention back to Paul’s erect dick.

Wow, this was crazy! Things like this don’t even happen in the movies. Perhaps the craziest part was that I didn’t understand a thing about what was happening around me.

I was in a huge home, having been led in by a stark naked guy, and came across Paul, the gardener, or whatever he was, in the middle of a blowjob, by an old lady – with a nice butt – and everyone seemed just fine with everything, as if it was ‘business as usual.’ Perhaps it was for them.

More details started coming to my attention. For instance, it dawned on me that Paul’s finger was still in the woman’s vagina, causing her to squirm deliciously, as she turned back to the business at hand, his penis. There was a naked young couple about thirty feet away, cuddled together on a sofa, looking at a computer. They smiled at me, then resumed whatever they were doing.

Paul yelled. “Hey Cindy!” In a moment, a beautiful girl popped in a doorway. She, like everyone else except me, was totally naked. She had freckles, smallish boobs, and here wavy red hair was really long. She also seemed quite young, like maybe nineteen or so.

Along with her came Mary, a woman who might have been in her early forties, and could lose a few pounds. She had that cherubish rounded look, with remarkably large breasts. I liked her at first sight. Not sexually, but more like a mother replacement. My own parents died in a car wreck when I was six years old. I was in the crash too, but don’t recall anything about it. I don’t really remember them. I was raised by an aunt and uncle who seemed to care about me, but not really love me. They evidently took me in because a sense of duty. Oh, they weren’t mean or anything, but there was just a sort of stand-offishness, which I always regretted. Whenever I tried to hug ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad,’ they seemed to politely back away.

Not Mary. She hugged me right away, and she didn’t even know me. “I’ll do it, Cindy,” she announced, and with that, led me out of the den. I wanted to see more of Cindy. Her absolute beauty intrigued me, but Mary, in her own nude way, was a very suitable replacement.

She led me down the hallway, then up some stairs, then another hallway with about a dozen doors. It seemed more like a hotel than a home. The doors didn’t have numbers, however.

We stopped and she opened a door. “Here’s your room. I hope you can stay for a very long time,” she said with a big smile. The room had its own attached bathroom complete with a jacuzzi tub, a window overlooking the woods behind the house, a mini-fridge, microwave and hotplate, plus nice curtains and furniture. It would do nicely. Too nicely. I was curious about many things.

“Mary, can I ask you what this place is? Is it the Hotel California? And who’s Paul? Is he the janitor or something?”

She burst into laughter, “Oh, Honey!” she said between gasps. “I feel, Paul, in his usual mysterious way, hasn’t told you much of anything.”

“That’s right,” I said, being only slightly distracted by an excellent view of her asshole as she leaned down, reached into a dresser, showing me that socks, underwear, T-shirts, and even a few pairs of bluejeans were already provided.

“I hope they fit. If not, there are others.” That wasn’t an answer to my question.

“No really, what is this place? What’s going on?”

“Zack, I can see you’re overwhelmed. OK, let’s see if I can tell it to you right.

“Paul used to be a musician.”

“Ah ha! I thought so.”

“But not like you think. He tried very hard in his younger years to make a living through music. It didn’t work out, so he ended up working as a bus driver.”

“So, he’s the chauffeur.”

Mary laughed heartily again. “No Zacky. He carefully saved his money, and bought a duplex, living downstairs, and renting the upstairs. Then he bought another. And another. Paul is a real estate investor, quite possibly one of the most successful in the United States.”

I whistled.

“Yes, you know the Harrison Hotel?” I knew the place. It was an big downtown building in the old grand style. It had to be at least a hundred rooms. “He owns that.”


“Oh, but that’s not all. He has fifty hotels like it scattered throughout America and another ten or twenty in Europe. He has office buildings, he has some ungodly number of houses, and a few apartment complexes. It takes two of the people here in the house and a whole team of others in an office downtown to manage his assets.

“But his first love is music. Hey, he told me you actually have a PH.d. in music. Is that right? Can I call you ‘Dr. Zachy?'”

It was my turn to laugh. I was always uncomfortable being called “Doctor,” and especially “Doctor Lenovich.” But the way she said it was adorable. I could like Mary. It didn’t matter that she was a good fifteen years older than me, and by no means a knockout. She was just lovely.

“So, when Paul came across you on the beach, he was really, truly hoping you might be able to join us. You can teach, right?”

“I live to teach music!”

“Well, then, it’s a match made in heaven. Everyone in this house is a music enthusiast in one form or another. Paul also does a lot of work in the community, supporting music, and individuals, mostly children, interested in music.”

My wheels were turning a hundred miles an hour, trying to imagine what might be transpiring here. Was it like a dog who while walking down the sidewalk suddenly discovers a spilled ice cream cone? Yup, I was starting to believe I had stumbled onto something fantastic.

Mary hugged me again. Now, you’ve got to understand, she was stark naked, and I was still fully clothed. At that point she invited me to remove my clothes. There’s nothing I would have liked better. I felt a desire to fit right in with this crowd right away. When in Rome… But, I was also developing an erection after Mary’s second hug. In my whole life, I had never been seen with an erection by anyone other than my former girlfriend. And she was such a prude she needed to fuck with the lights off, and under the blankets. I never really saw her naked in our whole two years together.

I was thinking, I can’t just take off my pants in front of Mary, revealing my hardon. Then I realized I could do exactly that. It would be alright. So, still feeling a bit of concern, I slowly peeled off my T-shirt, undid my shoes and socks, then stepped out of my pants and underwear, my cock springing upward at a 45 degree angle.

“Nice!” she said while pushing me down into a sitting position on the bed. She then leaned forward and kissed the tip of my dick. It jumped an inch, and I felt something like an amazing chill throughout my body. She then started in on a good solid blowjob, but just as I was feeling the inevitable, she quit.

“More later,” she said coyly, leading me out of the room, then back down the long hallway, my erection waving in front of me as we walked. It was the first time in my life I had been that close to orgasming without finishing the job. It was a weird experience. But then again, the whole day was turning out super-weird. In a good way. Such a good way!

I settled quickly into my new life, meeting the rest of the two dozen or so residents of the house. It was a Paul-designed community. Everyone contributed something. There really was a chauffeur, who also maintained the several vehicles. There was a gardener, the guy responsible for the topiary, and there were maids and butlers. Everyone lived rent-free, and got a generous weekly stipend for their services. Everyone was a ‘failed’ musician.

You might think it was cult-like, but not at all. Everyone was free to come and go as they pleased. Everyone was free to be religious or not, and eat what they liked, although there were many impromptu community meals. The group did tend to prefer organic things that weren’t excessively sugary. Most of us were naked in the house most of the time, except that downstairs wing of the house where we entertained students. Paul and many of the others taught kids all about the world of music, from theater technology to playing in a classical orchestra, as well as rock, jazz, you name it. Being only four miles from the big city meant we had a lot of music students.

Paul seemed to especially favor me. At first I assumed it was because of my advanced education in music, but pretty soon I discovered he favored everyone, even the chauffeur who could barely play a note, but just enjoyed music.

I had never worked harder in my life. In the mornings, I had many private adult students, many of whom were residents of the house. I might teach 45 minutes of guitar, then vocal instruction for the next 45 minutes, and then some piano. Paul encouraged me to take private students in the mornings, and charge them as much money as I liked, all of which was for me to keep. In the afternoons, I taught a never ending parade of children anything from playing little wooden recorders to rather advanced rock ‘n’ roll, including stage presence, and even dance steps. I never had more fun in my life!

Mary did come through on her promise of ‘more later.’ She and I became quite close. It was strange, and totally unexpected on my part, that I’d be hanging out with a heavyset 40-something lady. We weren’t like boyfriend and girlfriend. We were just like buddies, but buddies who did oral sex all the time. Her thing was oral sex. We didn’t fuck, and we didn’t do massages or anything like that. She just loved sucking me, and having me lick her to orgasm after orgasm.

She wasn’t the only one. There was Cindy. She was the young girl I met on that first day. It turns out she looked like she was nineteen, but she was actually twenty-five. I just loved her skinny, small-titted frame, and frizzy blond hair. We didn’t fuck either. I’ll explain that in a minute. What Cindy and I liked to do was massage each other to happy endings. She showed me something I didn’t know: That you can curl two fingers forward inside a girl’s pussy, rubbing the inner wall, and bring her to multiple crashing orgasms. She would give me handjobs and I’d cum right away. It took me a while to learn how to hang on longer, and end up enjoying it more.

We also had group sessions, essentially mutual masturbation orgies. But we never fucked. I shouldn’t say ‘never.’ We seldom fucked. It was a philosophy that Paul endorsed, and we all happily went along with it.

The idea is that actual sex is risky. One can catch diseases. Women can get pregnant. Safe sex, on the other hand, is a real delight when people know some of the specifics of how to get the most out of it. So, Paul, and the others, too, advocated all sorts of orgasmic activity, but brought on by hand or oral stimulation, and not so much fucking.

Paul, it turns out, is a very intelligent man. He is also absolutely friendly and personable. He never insisted on anything. He respected everyone, each for their own ‘gifts’ as he called it, that they brought to the home. If some of us wanted to fuck, that was fine. But mostly we didn’t, because he taught us how much fun can be had in other ways. He often went so far as to demonstrate. Sometimes with Selma, who turned out to be his wife of 40 years, and sometimes with some of us, he showed us things like testicle massage, labia pulling, glans rubbing, and multiple, dry, and continuous orgasms for men.

Paul’s interest in masturbatory sex went beyond the people who lived in his house. He could talk to anyone who’d listen, and talk for hours, about masturbatory sex, saying it had many health benefits, and being the safest form of sex, that the public should learn to embrace it. Although as a society we’ve made great strides in bringing masturbation out in the open in the last fifty or sixty years, there’s still a long way to go. Paul believes that advanced masturbation should be taught in the schools. That it should be considered positive sexuality, and not something to be hidden away or snickered at. He says, and I totally agree, that if people were more comfortable with masturbation, and mutual masturbation, there’d be a lot less disease, and a lot less unwanted pregnancy in the world. He takes it a step further, saying that by eliminating horniness through masturbation, a new kind of peace would permeate society, possibly even eliminating future wars. I don’t know about that, but I understand the possibilities.

Like almost every man on earth, until I came to Paul’s home, I believed that sex and masturbation was pretty much just about ‘cumming.’ You stimulated, you ejaculated, and you were done. It was satisfying. However, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as what we learned from Paul. He showed us guys how to get very close to orgasm without going over the ‘edge’ and ejaculating. I practiced frequently, sometimes just by myself in my room, but more often with Mary, Cindy, and sometimes Selma, and even with some of the guys in the house.

I felt particularly honored when one day after a big community dinner, Paul invited us all into the great room, and had Selma give me a spectacular testicle massage in front of everyone. I was rock-hard right away as Selma started working my nuts. I had become fairly good at edging, even ending with two ejaculations in a row a couple of times, but on this occasion, I ejaculated just from her massaging my balls. It was my first ever hands-free orgasm. It reminded me of the first time I met Paul on the beach.

Paul had the remarkable ability to stay hard for an hour or more as he did things around the house or practiced his guitar. Then, when he felt like it, he could close his eyes, concentrate for a minute, and have a hands-free orgasm. I kept trying to do that, but could never manage it.

One afternoon, Cindy was getting a good anal massage from me while Chuck, one of the butlers, came by, watched, and joked around a bit. After she came several times, he offered to do something he called ‘intense’ for me. I didn’t know what it was going to be, but I was most definitely interested.

Loudly, he announced in the den, “Hey everyone, Zack’s going to get apple polishing, who wants to help?” People responded enthusiastically.

‘Help?’ I was wondering. This sounded like it was going to be good. About twelve people gathered around. Normally, I would be hard as a rock, but there was something weird about this, that had me sufficiently concerned that I was soft as a noodle with all my friends watching. I had grown fond of showing my erection in the house, so was trying to will it to bone up. I needn’t have worried.

He had me lay on a thick rug in the middle of the room, and sat cross-legged next to me. He started with a very light tickling of my frenulum. There was no helping it. Right there, surrounded by all these people, I hardened up quickly, my circumcised penis sticking straight up, six inches into the air. Chuck then gave me a simple ball massage. That was kind of a weakness of mine. I had discovered that this action alone can have me squirting all too soon.

Before he went too far with that, he stopped, and then told everyone one word, “Now.” They evidently knew of Chuck’s little technique, because several people knelt down next to me, and some right on me. Mary sat on my feet. Paul stretched his legs over my knees. Two people knelt on my open hands, and one held my head. I really couldn’t move.

Chuck then told me that ‘kittycat’ was the safeword. If I were to say ‘kittycat’ whatever he was doing would stop right away, and all the people would get off me. He told me not to waste the safeword, whatever that meant.

I agreed that I was ready for whatever he was going to do next. He lubbed up his hands with coconut oil that someone had brought from the kitchen. Then he grabbed my now rock-hard cock with one hand, wrapping his fingers around the shaft. With the palm of the other hand, he started very gently and slowly rubbing the glans, the very tip of my dick.

It didn’t feel good. It was like an intense tickle. It made me squirm and moan. I thought about saying ‘kittycat’ right away, but remembered his admonishment not to waste it. He continued, and the intensity got much worse. Really bad. I wanted to get away, but then, I didn’t. It was terribly intense, yet I found myself loving it, even as my stomach muscles and my legs were kind of shivering. I felt like I had to pee, and said so.

Someone in the crowd said the rug was washable, and not to worry. Chuck said I probably wouldn’t pee, and just kept right on rubbing. At the same time, I felt like I was going to cum. A ‘gotta-pee’ and ‘gonna-cum’ feeling at the same time. How weird is that?

Neither happened. Soon, even though he was rubbing quite firmly, the feeling changed. It was no longer unbearable. It was becoming delightful. Then it happened. I came. I was rather proud of squirting my cum all over the place with this group of my new-found friends watching. I was also in a level of ecstasy I had never experienced before.

Normally, after a guy cums, whoever is administering the treatment knows enough to slow down then stop. The guy becomes way too sensitive at that point. Not Chuck. He kept right on going, but much lighter. That damn safeword ‘kittycat,’ was right on the tip of my tongue, but I held back. As I started finally settling down, Chuck picked up the pace. I noticed that my dick had stayed hard. Pretty soon, I was feeling that feeling again, and sure enough, I had a second ejaculation. This time, Chuck was done, and the people started getting off my knees, hands and feet. I looked down at my dick, and was surprised to find that the semen from my first ejaculation had been worked into quite a bit of white foam.

As I was still recovering, and getting my senses back, Chuck turned his heavy attention to Paul. The people climbed on Paul’s hands, knees and so on, and he got the same treatment, and just like me, he was ejaculating big-time in absolute delight.

Mary started having some true success in her own right. She was a singer, and she had been writing replacement comedy lyrics to popular songs, much like Weird Al Yankovic. She had put some videos on YouTube, was making rather remarkable money from her AdSense revenues, and was embarking on a concert tour, opening for Weird Al himself. She left Paul’s home. We were all sad but glad for her at the same time.

One day, after returning from a performing session at a retirement home, I walked into the great room, and discovered Paul was hosting a new kind of class. This had nothing to do with music. He was teaching a group of about twenty men advanced masturbation techniques, and they were all loving it. At the same time, in the den, Selma was guiding about twelve women through a female version of advanced masturbation techniques.

Within months, this started becoming a new trend. We were hosting more and more ‘positive sex’ groups in the home. We were training members of the community in everything from tantric massage to continuous orgasm. At the end of every class, the instructor, whether it was Paul, Selma, or even me sometimes, would offer a short but delightful lecture on masturbation, recommending all our students to go out in the world, and let everyone know that masturbation is actually a very good thing, and everyone should promote it, and do it as much as they want.

Two years after I came to the house, Paul died suddenly in his sleep. He hadn’t seemed the slightest bit off the day before. I always thought Paul was in his seventies. He was 86 years old. That gave me renewed faith in the things he advocated, such as organic foods, staying away from all the vices such as smoking, drinking, and sugar, and of course, live a masturbation-positive life.

The members of the house, led my Selma, had several informal meetings about what to do next. Selma was insistent that she would manage Paul’s considerable inheritance to continue the good works of ‘the home.’ We filed paperwork to become a non-profit organization, and it became officially known as “The Home.” I became the manager, and two of our members managed the Paul’s considerable assets, just as they had been doing for years, but now officially benefitting The Home, rather than just as Paul’s personal wealth. Selma was also insistent that we expand and operate at a profit, since as she put it, ‘a healthy business is a growing business.’ She, like all of us, also believed we had very important sex-positive, and music-positive messages to impart.

We lost Selma a year later. I’m still the manager. I still teach music. In some sort of solidarity with Paul’s legacy, I’ve grown my hair really long, and now sport my own long graying beard. We have two satellite communities, one in Dayton, Ohio, and the other in New York City, with two more planned. Our primary focus is still music, but we have an ever-growing interest and community support in our pro-masturbation message.

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