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Michael in happier times.
In Memory of Michael W. Price (1968 -2004)
1999, All rights reserved, known and unknown.



It would seem that Michael was not the person that I fell in love with at all. He was literally a cheap hustler who used to work the streets of Baltimore City, while I was at work. His street name was "Triple-A" for Any one, Any time, Any where. Later, after I taught him how about the Internet, he became "Hot Bottom Boy" or anyone of a number of various similar derivatives depending on which hook-up website he was using. Hell, he even used my webcam and digital camera to make the pictures he used on his various sex profiles. He had a lot of nerve that is for sure. Anyway, I guess they could have added a fourth "A" for any thing because, apparently, he would strip and do anything, anyone, anytime, anywhere and do it for any number of guys at a time, all for twenty bucks a pop. If they did not have the money, then he would do it for cigarettes, booze, drugs, food, and even IOU's. According to more than a couple of sources, there was one back alley near the Baltimore Eagle where he routinely pulled trains. He was a pretty cheap date and pretty popular since he would let anyone and everyone cum inside his ass. He only took it bareback and even if a guy did use a rubber, apparently he would stuff the used rubber up his ass so the cum would keep his ass lubed and ready for the next guy. He was especially into giving rimjobs and drinking piss, too. In fact, he would drink so much piss that he would end up in throwing-up but he would always go back to guzzle more of it down. Of course, I found out about this for sure after the fact. 

All through those early years, guys (some of them Baltimore City cops who were fucking Michael in exchange for letting him "work" the Train Station) kept telling me these stories and telling me what an idiot I was for staying with him and believing in him but I would not listen. One of the cops liked Michael to go down on him because, with his long hair and beard, he looked like Jesus. During this time, I had break-in after break-in but in reality, it turned out, it was Michael. He was covering up the fact that he pawned my cameras, televisions, VCRs, answering machine, etc. Every time I got something nice, it would disappear. Finally, the insurance company cancelled my renter's insurance and I stopped trying to have anything nice. I turned down dozens and dozens of offers to be with other guys because I thought I was in a committed relationship - I guess I should have been committed instead.

I thought I got him cleaned-up and sober and working again as a construction worker and as a mechanic. He was very good at both. It was more dignified then sitting around in between tricks coloring in child's coloring book in a stupor. When he got tired of swinging a hammer or, more correctly as I later found out, when guys stopped buying his ass, I got him a job as a receiver and a forklift operator at a major retail store. I got him his driver's license back. I helped him pay his back debts to utility companies and the like and helped him repair his credit rating. I got him his first cell phone. I even taught him how to used a computer and helped him with his projects and assignments, which got him promotion after promotion and raise after raise. Eventually, he was made Merchandising Manager and was on the verge of become regional management when he died.

The last few years he was "with me" he apparently cultivated a sugar daddy who was actually using him even more. I guess I should have known something was up when he got his own cell phone, away from my family plan. The irony would be funny if it were not so tragic. He sold his parents' house out from underneath his family so his new lover could profit off the commission. Michael moved to another state to be nearer to his new lover but he told me that he was moving to further his career. Turns out, Michael continued to work at the same store where I had gotten him that job several years ago. He went from commuting fifteen minutes each way to commuting up to three hours each way.  The car I helped him get and that he was so proud of became a trash can on wheels, full of junk food and other crap but his commutes were so long he was living out of his car more than out of his house. Speakin of which, the house he bought was twice that he could afford courtesy of his new "sugar daddy"; who actually profited handsomely from that commission, as well. The new guy even got him using drugs again, mostly crystal meth.

He told me that he had adopted our dogs out because he could not take care of them anymore because of his new responsibilities. In actuality, according to his credit card bills, he had them put down. He did not even ask me if I could keep them with me. It turns out that they were being starved by his neglect; they were cutting into his new social life of flitting to down Ft. Lauderdale for gang bangs, spending nude holiday weekends pulling trains, or just getting high so the new guy could pass Michael around to his friends. That was salt into the wounds for me because we could never afford to go off on vacation but Michael could foot the bill for all these trips with his new lover. Hell, Michael was buying this guy birthday gifts, Christmas gifts, you name it. I never got one anniversary gift, birthday gift, or Christmas gift from him, ever.

If you want to see a collection of his sex pictures that were take while we were "still together" (we were not in an open relationship at that time), then click on his picture above. I got them off his computer before I turned it over to one of his brothers. I am sure hundreds of guys will recognize him. Fortunately, Michael never changed his passwords. For instance, even until the end, he used my old wireless telephone number extension as his PIN number/password for his voice mailbox on his home and wireless telephone numbers. 

Still, I was the one who buried him the way that he wanted, with his parents. Regardless of how he felt about me, I loved him, I always have, and I always will. Love is not blind; it is stupid. I am just going to spend the rest of my life having a good time and never being used by another hustler again. I may become the biggest slut there is but at least I am not going to become a heroin/crack/meth cheap whore like he was. Michael died of the same genetic defect and liver complications (cirrhosis) that killed his father; only at a lot younger age. In addition, one of Michael's brothers died of drug and alcohol abuse not even a year after I buried Michael. Of course, Michael and his brother did a lot more than their father did; their father just smoked like a demon and drank like a fish. By the way, under the laws of the state where he died, his brothers got his estate - the house, the car, the furniture, etc. They offered to share it me but I have not seen a dime of it.


No dick is too long, too thick, or too big for my ass to take long, hard, and deep (and again and again)! Any and all hard dicks are welcome regardless of the owners' age, race, orientation, looks, etc.

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