Tag Archives: D.C.

Travel Diary: Velvet Vice

Travel Diary: Velvet Vice

I lived in Washington, D.C., for more than a decade. Then again, it was a decade ago when I lived here and bred asses here.

When I return on my visits, it’s always nice to check out the new crop to breed. And there are. What I forget about the D.C. area is the attitude.

When I first moved here as a graduate student in my early twenties, this city held hope for my social life. As began to frequent my first gay bars, I soon felt that hope dwindle into the embers of burning hatred for anything remotely close to social gathering places of gay men that lack any nudity.

On this visit, I am inaccessible by Metro, which means most people avoid such hook-ups like they’re somewhere 200 miles in orbit above the planet, where there’s a total lack of oxygen and inaccessible except via special dispensation from NASA.

deephole4loadsThe Velvet Vice Hole

This is impossibly good ass came to me, though.

This bottom has a hole that deserves a whole book. The perfect hole is a rare find. I do not find it. I find many asses to fuck. Many enjoyable.

Few cause me to lose it.

This one did.

His name on BarebackRT.com is DeepHole4Loads. You can see the perfection of the photo.

His ass. His muscular toned body. But great photos are a dime a dozen. I’ve seen hundreds of great photos only to fuck a mediocre ass.

His suck job on arrive was above average. He proved to be good. I tickled his ass with my finger. He’d told me two previous loads had been deposited earlier and he’d offered to have them cleaned out. But I told him to leave them in.

His hole lacked any hard ridge. With the pucker had a nice ring of hair, it could have been smooth… almost perfectly so.  My fingertip slipped inside and could feel the familiar warmth I’d associated with a nice ass.

No cum had leaked near the hole, which told me this little cunt soaked up all the cum he could.

As I prepared to fuck his as, I couldn’t help but lick it a little. He’d already spit on his hand to supply the lube for the ass for my cock. But I wanted to add mine to the mix.

His asshole opened as soon as my tongue touched it and I could hear him groan. He snorted some poppers. The way his ass grabbed at the tip of my tongue, I couldn’t hold off long before I mounted him.

My cock slipped inside. Easily. This man was a natural bottom. His ass immediately contoured to the shape of my cock. He didn’t need a moment to adjust. And he didn’t thrust one way or another. He let me set the pace.

I like a bottom who knows who is in control. I fucked him, but his ass just kept up the perfection in massaging my cock.

I couldn’t distinguish where his sphincter wrapped around me. His hole tightly grabbed my cock and held on. He wanted me.

“Use my dirty cunt,” he whispered.

“You like men to fuck you raw, don’t you?” I said.

“I like my cunt used,” he said.

“I love cum.”

I wrapped my arm around him and my hand around his throat. As I pumped his ass slowly and deliberately, I tried to hold off.

But his ass just held on to my cock like a velvet vice. Before I knew it, my cum began to boil and I began my orgasm.

I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t control it. I just… happened.

I felt his pulse quicken under my hand. He knew I was cumming, at least on a subconscious level.

He groaned. “You want my cum?” I asked.

“Pump it in my dirty cunt,” he said.

Through the blinding strain of my orgasm, I kept it up. “You’re getting my load man,” I said.

This man experienced jizzjoy. He wanted it. He got it.

I stayed inside him and pumped it deeper. He left later, off to find another load.

I would hope to pump him again.

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Happy Ending Erotic Therapeutic Massage Atlanta

Temporary Visitor Chad Makes for a Great Addition to Atlanta’s Massage Therapist Scene

See the other Atlanta Massage Therapists Opens new window of a page on this blog previously reviewed.

Chad Turns Blond into Gold-Star Service

Chad-Massage-TherapistChad

Profile on MasseurFinder.com as Chad Open-New-Window-External
Inactive profile on MassageM4M.com as Chad Open-New-Window-External
His online cell is listed as (323) 899-7688

Highlights

bullet Chad earn the best rating of all 10 currently reviewed therapists
bullet 33 years old, 6 feet tall, 175 pounds, dirty blond with unshaven look, light blue eyes and 7 inches cut

bullet Massages in the nude with light body hair, nicely trimmed where it needs to be
bullet Mutual touch is allowed and the way he maneuvers, it’s practically encouraged
bullet His massage is Swedish based and on a bed in his hotel room, as he’s currently traveling the country
bullet In the Atlanta area, he’s currently staying
I-85 near Druid Hills Road but that could change
bullet When he leaves Atlanta, he’ll be in Nashville, Knoxville, Arkansas and eventually San Francisco

Update

bullet Pissed off about this review; see his response Opens new window of a page on this blog
bullet Leaves Atlanta on March 17, 2013
bullet Chad does NOT bareback Opens new window of a page on this blog

four-out-of-five-stars rating

Atlanta’s massage therapists Opens new window of a page on this blog bring a certain lackluster approach to their skills. I’ve tried a few and am looking to try more. It’s a challenge because most massage therapists don’t seem to know a damn thing about customer service (but that’s another entry).

What I want to write about is Chad.

For the past month or so, I’ve been seeking a good therapist who knows a thing or two about connecting with a client. I’ve been able to get a decent massage — at least technically good. The therapist will find the knots, work it out for a while, make me feel some pain.

A little while later, the therapist will make me feel good.

But all the while, this gulf is between us. We are two people, going through motions and not sensing how the other feels.

I wrote a long while back about my two Filipino massage therapists Opens new window of a page on this blog, one of whom I had when I lived in Washington, D.C. This guy had the most incredible body, was half my age, but during our massage could find this weird space that created a kind of mindmeld where the two of us would synchronize.

Look, I do not get off on a blowjob, much less a handjob. But with a few strokes after his build up, this guy had be blasting all over myself.

Back to Chad

Let’s just say things could have been rocky with Chad. I’d like to say he’s a little down on his luck, but his attitude seems so cheerful as he’s figuring out where he wants to go. Or maybe he’s just a wandering gypsy nowadays. He has some adventures to tell, I’m sure. But he made it easy to set things up and I met him.

Like me, his sense of humor is a little twisted. And since his hotel room is so damn small, he can’t really accommodate a massage table.

Chads-ass-Massage-TherapistThank God.

His technique allowed this kind of luxurious relaxed posed where he’d lounge next to me. It wasn’t so much trying to get his dick to touch my leg as the fact his body would just naturally seem to fit up against me.

He started with my legs, which seemed a little weird. Then he worked up to my back. When he got to my shoulders, he almost cradled me in his arms and across his smooth (and trimmed) chest.

Was it hot? Not. It was comfortable. And erotic. I mean, just felt right. Strangely so.

I truly enjoyed his skill, although he never really integrated deep tissue. He picked up intrinsically on those points of my body that provided more pleasure and worked them expertly.

He just connected with me. We connected together. It was unspoken. In fact, when we spoke, I don’t know if we got along. But when we didn’t speak, he could weave some magic between us.

Best Massage Therapist Reviewed Yet

The quality of the lotion could be much better, as it seemed to be generic and not meant to be for massage. And cleaning up with tissue paper rather than a towel didn’t really work for me. I think if those two had been in place, I’d definitely given him another half star to put him at 4½.

Still, his 4-star rating earns Chad the best rating of all the massage therapists Opens new window of a page on this blog I’ve seen in the area (and, frankly, out of the area) in recent years.

I hope Chad let’s me know where he’s going so I can see him again. It will be well worth visiting him again. And while he’s in the Atlanta area, I encourage you all to seek him out and book an appointment.

bullet_square_green        bullet_square_green        bullet_square_green

Want to be included in my massage therapist or escort review list?

If you would like to be reviewed, feel free to contact Mark Bentson at his contact page Opens a new window from this blog or via e-mail iblastinside@gmail.com . These entries are at the discretion of Mark Bentson and in no way would any services provided to Mark guarantee or indicate any review (positive or negative) may or may not appear on these pages Opens new window of a page on this blog.

Reviews of male escorts, companions and massage therapists in the Atlanta area are included here. Mark also provides training to those escorts, companions and massage therapists as well as marketing services such as web, e-mail, blog and social media advice for compensation and barter. Mark can maximize the financial intake you receive by teaching you basics Opens a new window from this blog  as well as advanced techniques.

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Happy Ending Erotic Therapeutic Massage Atlanta

Chad: An LA Blond with a Caress of Gold

Chad Turns Blond into Gold-Star Service

Chad-Massage-TherapistChad

Profile on MasseurFinder.com as Chad Open-New-Window-External
Inactive profile on MassageM4M.com as Chad Open-New-Window-External
His online cell is listed as (323) 899-7688

Highlights

bullet 33 years old, 6 feet tall, 175 pounds, dirty blond with unshaven look, light blue eyes and 7 inches cut
bullet Massages in the nude with light body hair, nicely trimmed where it needs to be
bullet Mutual touch is allowed and the way he maneuvers, it’s practically encouraged
bullet His massage is Swedish based and on a bed in his hotel room, as he’s currently traveling the country
bullet In the Atlanta area, he’s currently staying
I-85 near Druid Hills Road but that could change
bullet When he leaves Atlanta, he’ll be in Nashville, Knoxville, Arkansas and eventually San Francisco

Update

bullet Pissed off about this review; see his response Opens new window of a page on this blog
bullet Leaves Atlanta on March 17, 2013
bullet Chad does NOT bareback Opens new window of a page on this blog

four-out-of-five-stars rating

Atlanta’s massage therapists Opens new window of a page on this blog bring a certain lackluster approach to their skills. I’ve tried a few and am looking to try more. It’s a challenge because most massage therapists don’t seem to know a damn thing about customer service (but that’s another entry).

What I want to write about is Chad.

For the past month or so, I’ve been seeking a good therapist who knows a thing or two about connecting with a client. I’ve been able to get a decent massage — at least technically good. The therapist will find the knots, work it out for a while, make me feel some pain.

A little while later, the therapist will make me feel good.

But all the while, this gulf is between us. We are two people, going through motions and not sensing how the other feels.

I wrote a long while back about my two Filipino massage therapists Opens new window of a page on this blog, one of whom I had when I lived in Washington, D.C. This guy had the most incredible body, was half my age, but during our massage could find this weird space that created a kind of mindmeld where the two of us would synchronize.

Look, I do not get off on a blowjob, much less a handjob. But with a few strokes after his build up, this guy had be blasting all over myself.

Back to Chad.

Let’s just say things could have been rocky with Chad. I’d like to say he’s a little down on his luck, but his attitude seems so cheerful as he’s figuring out where he wants to go. Or maybe he’s just a wandering gypsy nowadays. He has some adventures to tell, I’m sure. But he made it easy to set things up and I met him.

Like me, his sense of humor is a little twisted. And since his hotel room is so damn small, he can’t really accommodate a massage table.

Chads-ass-Massage-TherapistThank God.

His technique allowed this kind of luxurious relaxed posed where he’d lounge next to me. It wasn’t so much trying to get his dick to touch my leg as the fact his body would just naturally seem to fit up against me.

He started with my legs, which seemed a little weird. Then he worked up to my back. When he got to my shoulders, he almost cradled me in his arms and across his smooth (and trimmed) chest.

Was it hot? Not. It was comfortable. And erotic. I mean, just felt right. Strangely so.

I truly enjoyed his skill, although he never really integrated deep tissue. He picked up intrinsically on those points of my body that provided more pleasure and worked them expertly.

He just connected with me. We connected together. It was unspoken. In fact, when we spoke, I don’t know if we got along. But when we didn’t speak, he could weave some magic between us.

The quality of the lotion could be much better, as it seemed to be generic and not meant to be for massage. And cleaning up with tissue paper rather than a towel didn’t really work for me. I think if those two had been in place, I’d definitely given him another half star to put him at 4½.

I hope Chad let’s me know where he’s going so I can see him again. It will be well worth visiting him again. And while he’s in the Atlanta area, I encourage you all to seek him out and book an appointment.

Greater Boston Jock John Peréz

Greater Boston Jock John Peréz

GreaterBostonJock-Bareback-Escort

Sometimes it’s the photo that gets me.

We’re all visual at our core. Oh, I am an equal opportunity fucker. I will fuck practically anyone Opens new window of a page on this blog under the right conditions. But I’ll admit being especially 

iBLASTinside's Escort Bareback Confessions

shallow when it came to John Peréz, better known as “Greater Boston Jock.”

He started following me on Twitter from @GreaterBosJock Follow on Twitter and used the Bareback Brotherhood hashtag #BBBH. But his RentBoy.com profile Link Opens in a New Window notes under Safe Sex he’s “Always Safe.”

After that, I had to find out what was up with this muscle stud. 

muscle-icon             muscle-icon              muscle-icon

 

Beefy Boston Jock Delivers & Takes Loads

QuestionWhen did you start escorting?

GreaterBostonJock-2

AnswerI started right out of high school. I hung out with an older crowd of people. A guy I knew who was a stripper at a night club in Providence, RI. That’s where I had my first taste of getting paid for my time. I fell in love with that world and I’m still doing it today nine years later.

QuestionWhat do you like most about escorting?

AnswerI’ll be honest. It’s the endless amount of money I can make at any given time!

Also the different type of men I meet on daily basis: Young, old, married, closeted. You name it, I had it! It does keep me on top of my game with new sexual techniques I can use on my clients over and over again.

Escorting also brought me some new endeavors that I would never have sought out on my own. I been approached by few porn scouts to do solos and videos. (I’m working with them right now as we speak!)  I get to travel more now. I been flown to Los Angeles, D.C., Miami and Dallas just to name a few.

QuestionWhat do you like least about escorting?

AnswerThere are a few things I dislike…

bullet The endless amount of spam I get sent to my phone and e-mail.
bullet Men who call and don’t really want to book you and waste your time. They just ask tons of questions. So I spend most of my days filtering out the good from the bad.

Going Raw with John

QuestionSo tell me, do you bareback?

AnswerThe big question eh? Barebacking!

I’ve been barebacking for a bit, starting a few years ago when it a fad, I guess. Would you call it that? A fad?

Anyway, clients asked me. So I did. I have no problem with it since it was I preferred. It’s like the most common request I get these days.

QuestionDo you like barebacking?

GreaterBostonJock-1

JOHN PERÉZ

Follow on Twitter Follow on Twitter
Visit His RentBoy Page Link Opens in a New Window 

Age: 26
Sign: Cancer
Height: 5 feet 8 inches (173 cm)
Weight: 189 pounds (86 kilos)
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Black
Body hair: Some brown
Cock: Average size cut

GreaterBostonJock-Cock

AnswerI love, love, love barebacking!

The feeling that you get when your pleasuring a man by topping and feeling the control that you have over them! Woof!

Even when I bottom, I can feel there throbbing cock inside me, with every thrust the pump into me! There’s an ecstasy when you get when the top is going to blow there load in you…. I can’t get enough!

QuestionDo you have conditions under which you will bareback and under which you will not?

AnswerI have no conditions that have to be met in order for me to bareback and Truvada Link Opens in a New Window also helps in the barebacking realm of things. (Mark notes: Truvada is the anti-viral cocktail drug approved for use by negative people to prevent possible infection from HIV exposure. Opens new window of a page on this blog)

I ask one question: “Are you neg?”

Based on the way the client answers it, I can gauge how I will respond. Based on the answer to the status question, it can change whether I’m going to top or bottom. 

If the client is undetectable with can flip fuck until the cows come home. If they are poz, I’ll stick to just topping. I’ll bareback with poz and non-poz guys.

QuestionDo you charge more for barebacking?

AnswerI do not charge more for barebacking. I do get tipped extra at the end of the session for it on occasion — usually between an extra $25 to $50.

QuestionHow often do clients ask for it raw?

AnswerAbout every 10 clients, I have I would say seven or eight men prefer or asked to play bareback.

QuestionWhy do you bareback?

AnswerIn today’s society, it’s still considered taboo! Something we should not do… So it gives me a thrilling feeling when I do it!

It also gives a deeper connection with your mate at the time releasing all your inhibitions, which gets me off so easily — multiple times.

Getting it On with Greater Boston Jock

QuestionSo you’re versatile?

AnswerI am versatile. I love getting both ways! Why limit yourself to one? I like options in bed! And going back to my previous statement… I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE barebacking!

QuestionHow much do you cost?

AnswerMy normal rates are $200 for out calls, $800 for overnights and $2,000 for weekends. 

QuestionIs there any particular bareback clients who stand out?

AnswerI do have one memorable client in mind! He was different from the others. He was very passionate with me.

GreaterBostonJock-AssHe didn’t  want the one-hour-let’s-get-down-to-business-and-leave.  He wanted to be romanced and enjoy his time with me. Which oddly enough was fun!

It was different because he didn’t treat it like a transaction. It was more like we were temporary lovers!

QuestionIs escorting your only job?

AnswerI have a full time job. I actually run my own business as a souvenir photographer and I help out some friends selling luxury fur coats.

On occasion you will see me go-go dance at a night club or slinging back some hardcore drinks behind a bar!

QuestionHave you ever stealthed Opens new window of a page on this blog anyone? Has anyone stealthed you?

AnswerSince I ever started escorting, I never stealthed anyone. Unfortunately, I have been stealthed quite a few times… It comes with the territory and the job on hand.

QuestionWhat about doing porn?

AnswerI haven’t done any porn yet but been approached multiple times by porn scouts to do some. I’m interested in Treasure Island Media, Maverick Men and All Real Bareback.

QuestionWhat can a client do that will turn you on?

AnswerThe one thing a client can do is dive right in. Don’t treat like a transaction. Just do with the flow and enjoy the ride!

 

muscle-icon             muscle-icon              muscle-icon

Are you a bareback porn star, massage therapist Opens new window of a page on this blog or escort Opens new window of a page on this blog ? I’m always looking to interview the hottest men who go raw with clients! Hit me up at iblastinside@gmail.com mailbox_full or on my contact page Opens new window of a page on this blog.

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The Missing Post: The Death of My Mother

The Missing Post: The Death of My Mother

This entry isn’t sexy at all. You might want to skip it entirely.

I scolded someone today about missing a post regarding the death of my Mother and, when I went back to find it, realized it wasn’t there myself. I apologize to that reader since several places throughout my blog, I do refer to my Mother’s death but the recount of it seems to be missing.

I had debated writing about it when it happened in January of 2010. In fact, the gap of my posts seem almost invisible now looking back, covered up by Q&A posts that seemed popular at the time. Truth is, I probably did post something but along the way to this platform or in some cleaning frenzy, I deleted it as too overly sentimental or not sexy enough.

Yet that incident has significant bearing on two things in my reportour of posts these days: My extraordinary dislike of smoking Opens new window of a page on this blog and my intense disdain of catfish Open-New-Window-External.

By the way, the photo included here is actually a real photo I told of me holding my Mother’s hand one long and painful night and texted it to the catfish.

flower_white          flower_white          flower_white          flower_white

A Second Hospital Visit

My job at the time had me travel throughout December through March. I’d returned home in January after another string of visits and my uncle, who’d just left, suggested I go immediately to see my Mother, as she wasn’t feeling well.

About six years earlier, I’d moved back to Georgia from Washington, D.C., to help care for my elderly parents. My father had passed in 2005, all of us by his side. But he was at home in hospice care. I’d been his primary caretaker during his final two weeks, administering the painkilling medicine that eased his discomfort and helped him ultimately make the transition as easily as possible.

To be honest, his passing was almost one of a miracle, as we’d talked about a month before about his wishes at his funeral. As he breathed his last breath, all of the family around him, hugging him, crying and saying good-bye, the television began playing the one song he’d asked to be played at his funeral.

Compared the the gentle but stoic nature of my Father was the truly steel magnolia Machiavellian matriarch that was my Mother. I loved her dearly. But at 78 years old, she would ignore every doctor’s advice (and my orders) and do as she wished.

From almost 42 years of smoking, her chronic obstructed pulmonary disorder made the most simple tasks brutal. Yet she would insist on housework, fixing dinner, driving herself places, and more, her little portable oxygen tank in tow. And I’d drive her all over the family gatherings, with her often upset when I deviated from the old routes to take quicker, new highways.

I’d been travelling all over the country — three cities this last nine-day tour — and I wanted to sleep and rest because the next week I would be off for two more cities. But instead, I dragged my fat ass over to see Mom.

She’d been sleeping on the sofa across from the hospital bed I’d had in her home for the last six months but she refused to use because there wasn’t a lamp close enough to it.

More petite and frail, her hands and arms dotted with bruising from whenever she’d bump up against anything, she insisted “something was wrong.”

I struck a bargain with her: We’d go to the hospital but when she came home, she’d have to learn to do what I said. After all, I reminded her how she bossed around her Mother (my Grandmother) for 10 years before her passing. I told her she needed me let me get a little bossing in.

Now that I look back, she agreed too quickly.

It was the second time I took her to the hospital but the first time she would be admitted.

Nothing Out of the Ordinary

Mother had bronchitis. When I moved home, I went to the doctors with both of my parents and spent time with their primary care and any specialist, learning as much as I could about their chronic conditions. I also learned what to expect when the time would come.

For Mother, it would be a series of lung infections that would get steadily worse over time until essentially, she could not get enough oxygen and would suffocate.

“The process is beginning,” I told myself.

When I moved home, Mother’s lung capacity was at 23 percent of normal. Even though she’d quit smoking about five years before I came back to Georgia, her lungs would never heal. That’s one of the myths about smokers. If you quit, your lungs don’t get better. Actually, they continue to deteriorate — just at a much slower pace.

Each year, Mother would lose between 1 and 2 percent of capacity. She currently hovered around 17 percent.

She began making a rebound quickly with the antibiotics and everything seemed fine. But one afternoon, she told me something was wrong.

“What is it, Mom?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

My Mother’s eyes contained sheer terror in them. I noticed the her oxygen saturation in her blood on the monitor suddenly dropping. I hit the nurse call button.

In the next 30 minutes, we were in the Intensive Care Unit. The doctors wanted to intubate my Mother — that is, put a tube into her lungs to breathe for her. And in her fear, my Mother consented. But I overruled her, pulling out my power of attorney. One of the healthcare directives she’s insisted upon in it was to never be intubated and the doctors agreed, saying if we did, she’d likely never be able to be taken off since her lungs would never be strong enough.

She was put onto a machine that strapped an oxygen mask onto her face so tight, it made bruises all over her face. It would force her to breath.

She cried through the night, hating that machine. I was there the whole time, holding her hand. She asked constantly for it to be taken off. But I asked her to bear with me just a little longer to see if it would help.

But in 24 hours, her condition didn’t improve.

My only companion other than some family and friends who would stop by was a words at the other end of texting. The person was comforting in so many ways. And I was at my most vulnerable, here, next to my dying Mother, feeling the most alone in the world.

The reassurance of his care and love for me seemingly helped. But later, I would discover it was all a lie. He didn’t exist. And I’ll be honest — what that person did, the betrayal just reaches so deep into places where I’m still scarred and hurting that I can’t even begin to explain or even discuss it. It’s actually easier to talk about my Mother.

Relief at Last

With no improvement and really no hope, I spoke to all the doctors the next day to assure that switching to palliative care would be the right choice. I wasn’t prepared for this decision so early. I’d expected to take Mother home and have a few more hospital visits before this event. But that wasn’t to be.

I then spoke to my sister and my aunt to make sure they agreed. Turns out I was the late one to the decision, but I had to be there. It was time for me to talk to Mother.

We turned that horrible machine off and took it away. My Mother was so relieved it wasn’t working on her now and she could breathe at whatever pace she wanted. I went and sat down, alone, next to her, put my hand in hers, feeling the warmth and the knotted knuckles from the arthritis. Her poor body was just so battered and bruised, but through it all I could see that beautiful woman who cared for me through all my years, kissed my boo-boos. She guided me kindly and occasionally spanked me. I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed it, feeling that rough skin that still contained a softness. I brushed back her gray hair from her bruised forehead and looked into the dimming brown eyes.

“Mother,” I said in a quiet tone, managing to keep it together.

“Yes,” she said.

“We had a choice and I want to know what you think,” I said. “I know you hate that machine but it’s your only hope of getting any better.”

I paused, as I could see the recognition come across her face.

“We can put you back on it and try to make you ask comfortable as possible,” I continued. “Or we can leave you off of it and you can go see Daddy.”

A single tear streamed down my left cheek.

She didn’t answer immediately. But she did finally speak.

“I think I’d rather go see Daddy. I really miss him.”

My Mother and Father were married 53 years before he passed away. Of course she missed him.

I hugged her.

The Rebound

Over the next few hours, Mom seemed to feel better than ever, visited with so many people. It’s one of those miraculous gifts we get before we die and we get to say goodbye. I have a precious video of her time with my nephew that just would tear anyone apart to watch.

She laughed so much. I was so glad to see that. I hadn’t seen her with that much joy in so long.

It was then I began to realize just how sick she’d been.

And if on schedule, as the final people left and the last prayers were uttered, she slipped into a silent, fitful sleep. With all the paperwork signed, I had the nurses begin to add morphine and other calming drugs to make her sleep more restful.

Just after midnight, she stopped breathing in this world. But she got a lung-full of air somewhere else.

I screamed, not in pain, but at the top of my lungs, “She can finally breathe!”

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