Birthday greetings from RitaPHL and her husband Jim. A card they created together that celebrates Autumn – thoughtful, beautiful and longer lasting than a bottle of Château Latour!

When Johnny expressed a little impatience on Thursday with regards to the long development period of the new HazzardXXX.com site I figured I had better buckle down this weekend and make some progress. Not that I’ve been ignoring the project, quite the contrary. It has been months since the design was complete, but I have gone through five different content management systems and none of them thrilled me. So I thought I had found the right one yesterday and this morning I awoke to find the server down leaving me without a work agenda. Instead of scrubbing my tub, going through the two months of mail on my dressing table or trying to discover the source of that mysterious smell in my room I opted to create the photo galleries from the Delinquents glamour shoot. After all, you need content for a new web site, right? That smell will be there tomorrow.

Six hours later I was still on the first of three galleries. It didn’t occur to me just how long it would take to give those photos the loving attention they deserved. Usually I would be sick and tired of the subject matter by this time, but for some reason I’m not at all over seeing Johnny half naked on high quality linen sheets. Go figure.

Saying goodbye to Johnny at Micky’s a week ago tonight was very sad for me. He’s been in my time zone for several months and, let’s face it, I’ve become spoiled. Knowing that he might show up at any moment to go hang out or hang in was such a splendid place to be. One of my fears about him being on the other side of the continent was that he would be out of my taskmaster reach. I think that fear was unfounded. He never ceases to amaze me. Without much prodding he’s been whipping out the camera and writing his ass off! Damn him for being so fucking precious! He is so freakin’ dedicated to pleasing his fans it borders on a sickness.

Earlier today I wrote about Johnny’s condo in Palm Springs. Well, he sent me this image a while back and I was saving it for one of those dry content weeks, but it seems appropriate to post now. SO MANY PEOPLE have written in to say they want to see the lair Johnny calls his own. We love to satisfy. Here is Johnny in his natural (winter) habitat:

Last weekend Johnny invited me to join him at The Standard downtown for a cocktail gathering with a photographer. That kind of thing is great on the weekend, but on a school night it’s certain disaster for me. I accepted immediately because I have no restraint whatsoever. Luckily, Johnny messed the dates up so we had to cancel and last night we spent watching TV at my place instead. I’ve become spoiled this winter. Lately I’ve been trying to spend enough time with him to get sick of the lad. It just isn’t possible and he’s leaving for the summer next week! Argh! No more pajama parties, no impromptu late night coke-fuelled gang bangs, I’ll have to pick up my own guys instead of using his cast-offs. OK, we don’t do any of that, but I’m going to miss him something awful anyway. Even though we talk on the phone like six times a day it just isn’t the same. *sniff*

Back in the old days when Johnny didn’t know that many people in L.A. he would stay at my crap-hole apartment during his visits here. He would camp out on my couch, fold his laundry in the nude, catch up on BBC sitcoms and generally make himself at home. Johnny didn’t stay with me in my room because I informed him that anyone in my bed was free game as far as my subconscious mind went and our relationship has never been the kind that involved waking up in a fetal embrace. Plus my bed is so old that the weight of two people makes it sag and you end up mashed together all night. Great for newly weds, not so ideal for bosom buddies.

These days Johnny has many options for accommodation and all of them are twice as good as my place in the best of times. Yesterday we met up at his boutique hotel for an overdue meeting. OK, it was a small meeting and a big dinner accompanied by Ab Fab – we’re really, really gay, alright? When it came time to crash, Johnny announced that I had to take the side of the bed with the alarm clock because he didn’t want to deal with my early rising. Until that moment I hadn’t really thought too much about sleeping arrangements. Could I be trusted not to wrangle him into a compromising position, nibble on his ears and leave him in a puddle of tepid drool? Only time would tell.

My mind was already racing with ideas from our lively discussion earlier. Worrying about sleep molesting my little brother sex symbol client that’s more like a plush toy than a porn star to me did little to help my ability to rest. As predicted, I tossed and turned all night; waking up at random intervals to ensure I was still nestled on the precipice of my side of the enormous bed. Seriously, that bed was so big I could have had a luau on my side and he never would have been the wiser. At seven sharp the alarm clock sounded with such fury I was tempted to check for a defibrillator. I gathered my crap and made my way to the office. By the time I arrived, Johnny was already awake and answering e-mail. He wrote and said, “Thanks for last night, u r so quiet, I thought you were still here, i’ll see you soon.”

The moral of the story: Don’t worry, it will work out.