I won‘t be doing that. Track bleed is a wonderful thing. Between hard disk recorders, digital track editors, and bands that record their records locked away in separate rooms, most of what’s on the radio today sounds so lifeless and exact that it puts me to sleep. All that soulless perfection…yuck. I’m just glad it wasn’t done that way when records like Tea for the Tillerman or Songs in the Key of Life were being cut. The tour I got on my first day here, yonks ago, offered a little surprise that still kills me. One of the isolation booths in Studio A has a door on the opposite wall that leads into yet another large tracking room. This one’s even bigger than the first, with an adjustable ceiling so you can control the amount of natural reverb. I’m serious. They gave me a ceiling remote control. I wanted to ask for sharks with lasers, but I was afraid they might actually have it. This big room would be great for orchestras, but for my small band it would be too big. You wouldn’t get. The feeling alone got him to climax in minutes flat. One evening while at the local home decor store Jon didn't notice the man staring at him. The first thing Nathan noticed was the boy's red lips. Oh my, a boy that pretty should be a sin. He probably was too tempting to be real. He barely looked legal and the way he slowly caressed the utensils had Nathan's cock ready to burst his zipper. Next his gaze focused on his slender body. Nathan enjoyed his covetous moments because he knew the boy thought he was alone in his thoughts. He rubbed the handle of each items with a type of stroke that was very intimate. And Nathan should know because he used every day objects atypically as well. "Ahem." Jon heard the man and looked up, his hand gripped the thick handle of the metal spoon. He was blushing. The man was goregous. Jon usually never noticed anyone, but this man demanded attention. Sharp features. Intense gaze. "Hello there. My name is Nathan." Jon's fingers tightened around the.
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