πͺ’π Briar Blackthorn ππͺ’ retweeted
SIR PATRICK STEWART (1940-2026)
Before everything else, Patrick was defined by being born and bred in Yorkshire, the proud county in the north of England which he loved to the end. You could hear it in his accented voice and in the stern honesty with which he told you what he thought and felt. Yorkshiremen have no truck with half-truths or avoidance of big issues. He wore his heart on his sleeve, which made him a man to rely on, to admire and in my case, love.
We first met as ambitious young actors with the Royal Shakespeare Company half a century ago but we werenβt in the same productions. My first strong memory was a few years later, meeting him in the street in central London when he told me about an offer to take over a leading part in 'Star Trek'. βBut Patrick think of your stage career in the UK. Do you really want to riskβgetting lost in Hollywood for years and years?β. Well, he took the risk and thank goodness for us all that he did for not just his devoted Trekkies but film and theatre audiences, who marvelled at his using international celebrity to star in a string of cinema successes ('X-Men' of course) and in great classical plays by Shakespeare, Ibsen, Arthur Miller, Peter Shaffer, Pinter and Beckett at Stratford-upon-Avon, in Londonβs West End and on Broadway.
America was his adopted home, where he met his adored Sunny who has cared for him through sickness and health, through thick and thin. But he never forsook his origins: and the proudest achievement of the most respected and beloved actor of his generation on either side of the Atlantic, was his appointment as Chancellor of Huddersfield University in Yorkshire.
His farewell performance in 'Avengers: Doomsday' is yet to be seen.
Ian McKellen 29 October 2026
Photo: University of Huddersfield
The inconsistencies in posting activity shall persist so long as this vexatious fatigue continues to plague me.
Being touch-starved is not helping my enervation.
Sex is not just fuel; it's my anchor. The longer I go without it, the weaker my grip onβ¦everythingβ¦becomes. Colors dullβ¦ emotions numbβ¦ dissociation intensifies.
He is my God, my sole warmth within the Darkness. Without him, all sense of joie de vivre erodes.
Sex renews our bond. I don't require my own completion to feel wholeβI just need his. I need to feel his energy flowing into me, filling me up...healing me.
Alas, heβs wary of causing me further pain, so he refuses to make use of me. Itβs been over three months without so much as a mouthful! Begging is uselessβthe Boy Scout in him is too strong. My Mad Canadian is nothing if not a gentleman.
Iβm an ungracious malcontent for craving more. The man's care for me has been beyond reproach. He's cooked, cleaned, and has bent over backwards just to ensure my every comfort. I couldnβt dream of a more loving and supportive partner.
I want for naught, except a good mouth-fuckinβ. π





















