If you go all the way back to my first entry in this blog, it begins with this line:
Don’t know when I stopped caring, but I don’t.
It’s all about the fuck.
It’s all about feeling good.
And I don’t fucking care any other way.
Over the last couple of years — call it my mid-life crisis or call it a mourning period after the passing of my parents — I’ve gotten a little soft. Okay, more than soft. I dabbled in relationships and considered the alternatives. I also got fat, lazy and complacent. Sure, I did some good shit, like starting the Bareback Brotherhood, kicked off the Sleazy Atlanta Guide and maintaining a good, mostly pornographic photo blog.
Inside, though, I know I’ve been wishy washy.
I attributed it to depression. I blamed it on job loss and loss in general. Well, here it is 10 months after the fuckers fired me for being a faggot and I still ain’t got work.
I’ve been a kitten too long. I’ve cuddled with the pussy cunt boys. I’ve been nice.
I avoided writing entries to tell everyone just how often I’ve stealthed men to prevent the hate mail. Truth is at least once a month, I slip off a condom or use one with a hole in it.
Stealthing is what I do. It’s how I fuck. Funny, the little Latin fucker at the gloryholes downtown no longer bothers with a condom with me because he knows I’ll take it off. He tries to predict when I will cum to avoid my load, but he can never tell.
It’s a game we now play.
He knows I throw a good fuck. And if there’s nothing else there that I can find with ease, I’ll fuck his ass. He’ll slide off on occasion, suck me some and try to lick my load out. But he lacks the oral skills to suction out my spunk. So he’ll go back to the ride and end up with another load in his ass.
Just the other day, I had a guy come over. He insisted on a condom. I had one ready, its tip sliced open just in case. But after eating his ass for a good 20 minutes, I teased his hole with the tip and he arched his back and pushed it in on his own.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he said. The 26-year-old ass opening up to my throbbing cock, I pushed deeper in but he matched my pressure. “But it feels so goooooood.”
I fucked him. I came quickly inside him but said nothing, continuing to fuck him to his complete enjoyment. “Just don’t cum inside me,” he said. “Okay?”
I smiled. “You have nothing to worry about,” I said, keeping my rhythm up, knowing that I was pushing my already deposited DNA into him deeper and deeper.
Eating ass seems to be the trick. That compromised condom has been at the ready for a while, but if I go at an ass with my tongue, they let me in raw. Married, straight men or Gay men. Doesn’t matter. Please fuck me raw.
Problem is, eating ass takes time. And I actually have to pretend like I give a shit. And speaking of shit, sometimes I have to taste that shit. The young bucks, I don’t mind as much but sometimes I purposely get a good glob of that bitterness on my tongue and kiss them deep so they can taste their own uncleanliness.
Look dude, clean the backdoor thoroughly. And I’d rather not kiss your ass.
I’m returning to my roots. Returning to not giving a fuck. Returning to getting my cock off.
I’m not saying I’m back to my old self. But I am saying I’m almost back to my old ways.
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