gavin blog

Oh Gavin.
We had such high hopes for you.
We all wanted to have sex with you. (Depending.)
We didn’t care that you’re a hound. We all kind of sensed that. But still, there are limits….
But no, this is San Francisco. There are no limits. You can do what you will. It is a Nietschean (Did I spell that right?) environment in which power, soap opera, porn, and politics collide. San Francisco!
I wanted to have sex with Gavin Newsome. Everybody wants to have sex with Gavin Newsome. But still, there are limits. (“No! There are no limits!” I shudder. I faint.)
That little crooked smile. The endearing expensive yet ill fitting suits. The hair product. Who would not want to have sex with Gavin Newsome?
Well, many, I expect, but left over enough to fulfill Gavin, or make his life miserable, or a combination of both.
Oh, Gavin: Tell me what you want….
Sez Gavin: “I want you to tell me what YOU want. I will give you anything. I will listen to you. I will lick you where you want to be licked. I will obtain your signature. I will insert my unit, should you desire. You think? Sign here.”
And we assemble around the body of Gavin Newsome. His eyes are closed. He breathes deeply. His breath is sweet. We can touch him anywhere we desire. He may touch us back. Maybe not. But don’t touch his hair. “Leave it alone. Don’t touch my hair.” DON’T TOUCH HIS HAIR.
Hair product will leap from his head and devour you. Be forewarned.