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Travel Diary: Be My Cum Dump for a Week While in Las Vegas

las-vegas-postcard

I am seeking a cum dump for a full week.

I will be in Las Vegas for a week and, like everyone else, I like my share of fun. But at some points, I’m going to be so damned busy it’s going to be impossible for me to attempt to find, procure and assure I’ve got ass to breed.

That’s where My Cum Dump comes in.

I need reliable ass in Las Vegas. Someone who will arrive at my hotel on a  nightly basis, suck me hard and then take my cock which ever way I want it… usually I like the bottom to sit on it a ride for a bit before lying down flat on their stomach for me to mount like a bitch and breed deep.

It would be particularly nice if the cum dump in question would guide me to the more sleazy spots in Sin City (please, you know they’re there), help procure other bottoms to breed (maybe even trick a few) and follow my instruction on the number of loads they might need to have in their ass before I see them that evening (I might like a pristine ass while I might be in the mood to churn it up with 10 other loads).

I want to help my cum dump get more loads. I want my cum dump to help me experience the best Las Vegas has to offer.

Hit me up if you’re in Vegas and interested in becoming My Cum Dump for a week in April. Here are some requirements:

  • Non-smoker.
  • Generally fit, healthy, athletic or beefy.
  • Bottom (obviously) or mostly bottom.
  • Be in his twenties or early thirties.
  • Reliable and not a flake.
  • 100% Barebacker.

Some other things of consideration:

  • I have a thing for ethnicity, especially Asian. But every race is welcome.
  • I personally don’t use drugs but have nothing against it. Just don’t be a tweaked out fool.
  • I do love poppers.
  • Don’t be the jealous sort. You’ll get many loads from me, but I hope to inject a few other assholes while out there.
  • I will be writing about you here but will respect your privacy as much as you’d prefer.

If you’re seriously interested and meet the requirements, please e-mail me as soon as possible at iblastinside@gmail.com. You need to include photos of yourself (face, body), your stats and a way to get in touch.

I’m completely serious about finding a bottom cum companion while in Las Vegas. Would be especially cool if it were a Bareback Brotherhood (BBBH) member.

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April 1, 2012 5 Comments MarkBentson Short URL
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A Dozen Resolutions for 2012 & A Dozen Reasons Why 2012 Will Be Better Than 2011

2012

12. Porn Star Fuck…

Surely 2012 is finally my year to get some porn star ass, don’t you think? Hint hint porn stars. You know who you are. And I know you read me. So offer it up to me.

11. Meet My Meat

Looks like I’ll be doing my share of traveling in 2012, not just to Northern California. While I’m around, I want so make sure some of the people out there who read me (and who I read or follow) meet my meat. No particular number. Just a goal to make sure that I spread my DNA wide and far.

10. More Asian Invasions

I love Asians. Well, let me be specific. I love fucking Asians. I want to fuck more Asians. My goal is to make that happen. More. A lot more.

Here’s the thing… if I’m lucky, I could get resolution 12, 11 and 10 in one shot. But I doubt it. I only know one half-Asian porn star. But I’d fuck and breed him twice to make it count.

9. Shape It Up

I’ve been doing good but I need to get started back at the gym. I will. More work to do. More muscles to gain.

8. Something Kinky

I need to shock myself. If anyone can come up with something that will shock me (and in the process, turn me the fuck on), hit me up.

7. Tattoo Time

I know, I promised myself last year. But the tattoo I want requires a good artist. Okay, not just a good artist. A great one. And someone with that talent isn’t just someone you find at the corner shot. You have to find the right one. I hope I find him or her this year.

6. Curb the Curmudgeon

Perhaps a reader has a point. I know there’s exceptions to every rule. Fuck, I know straight men take cock. I need to start believing more men. So maybe they will drive to meet me.

Interestingly enough, I like to consider this part of myself a pragmatist and not a curmudgeon or pessimist. I’ve been told I was a pessimist, most recently by an 18-year-old who really, really was just curious to know my age. This Grindr cutie claimed he would still very much be interested in me, no matter my age. Of course, the oldest man he’d ever dated was two years my youth — and a doctor.

We’ll see if he follows through in the new year. Okay, so in curbing… I HOPE he follows through…

5. Roll on them Rollercoasters

I have a passion for rollercoasters but the past few years has kept me away from amusement parks. Not this year. I’m hitting them and going for a ride.

4. Occupy the Obvious

The Occupy moment had its moment and, at times, my support. Not always. As the movement said they were the 99 percent, I suggested that I was the 9 percent — the 9 percent unemployed who simply couldn’t find a job.

That story goes further. I could find the most basic work. Even Target or other hourly positions turned me down. I just wanted a chance. I finally got that chance and got a job. I got two job offers.

However, one job offer came with stipulations. It came with a three-month trial to determine whether or not I was “compatible with the culture” in the company.

With both companies, I’d been forth coming about my sexuality — not in an obvious way, but inquiring about support of same-gender partner benefits. One answered my questions professionally and neutrally. The other — well — needed time to figure it out. Then questioned whether I would “fit with the corporate culture.”

This was later in the process, so as not to look homophobic. But it didn’t fool me.

Fuck fit.

I didn’t occupy the job, especially when I left them know that I recognized their homophobia, no matter the subtly. I called them out on it.

They backpedaled and tried to get me to take the job, but emotionally, I just knew I couldn’t commit myself there. Which leads me to my next resolution.

rage3. Punch Back

Look, as much as we like to suggest, IT DOES NOT GET BETTER. We just learn to deal with the crap better. And after the last couple of years, with “FAG” carved into the side of my car, my shit stolen, bullied at work and eventually fired by a homophobic boss and the hatred I confront from the Gay community, I’m done being Mr. Passive.

I’m punching first, asking for clarification later.

2. Mentoring a Man-Boy

I have hoped for a while to find someone worthy of learning what I know. Occasionally I find someone who has promise and I begin speaking with him. But as with most of these young’uns, they fall off the planet when it means a little work. This includes the Seattle bottom who’s cheating on his boyfriend and learning to be a cum-loving slut, the Midwest Asian frat boy who thinks he’s not all that hot but he breaks all the molds with a big cock and the big-dicked black Florida Military boy who keeps skipping around on me like a fairy.

If you’re worthy and will truly dedicated yourself without being a flake, hit me up: iblastinside@gmail.com. And include a fucking photo.

1. Connect

Vague as it sounds, I know what it means. I have been sans a best bud, a wing man, a co-conspirator for a little more than a year now. I have good friends but when friendship is tested, few pass the test. I wouldn’t mind it if someone just starts out and we don’t test anything other than whether we can get a good drink on together and travel some.

I’ve even had buds who have been straight and with whom I’ve never fucked. Used to go with one to pro hockey games, getting drunk before and after. He’d check the girls, I’d check the guys and we’d fucking scream our heads off at the checks on the ice.

Miss that.

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January 2, 2012 MarkBentson Short URL
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Cash Slave?

I’ve had some interesting messages into my Formspring.me inbox. Among the usual collection of sex and personal questions, some of the inquiries focused on whether I would like a cash slave as well as offers to donate money.

I created the donate button and I’m glad for the kindness of a few men. For now, these gifts help me to know that some consider the work I put into writing actually provides value to some folks.

I’m curious about the cash slave aspect, though. I’m curious about dominating those men enough so some of those luxuries I’ve not yet been able to indulge in might be afforable.

I’ve not yet written about everything I’ve experienced in BDSM. This seems like another step in this realm.

So, if this interests you, let’s talk.

And any donations are welcome to further my dedication to writing.

Questions from Formspring.me

Q. You accept all credit cards for payment?

A. Cash slaves are welcome as well as donations and other gifts.

Q. If you accept credit cards, what do I get out of it?

A. More words. And if you’re close by, a load in your ass. Seriously, I really didn’t expect the requests. In the past week or so, I’ve received notes from people offering to give me money. So I went ahead and added the PayPal “donate” button to see if they were serious.

I don’t get paid for writing my blog. Not a dime. I do it strictly for my own cathartic release. I have a regular full-time job. At this point, I don’t even have a single advertisement on my site to bug you to visit pay websites.

Let me make it clear: I am not begging for money. I only added it for the convenience of a few who claimed they wanted to give me a little something for the pleasure they receive reading my content (and I imagine, jerking off to it). I am also not going to give a long sob story (I could, but I won’t).

It would simply be nice to earn a little money — even small donations to go to my Diet Coke addiction.

And any advertisers out there hoping to get exposure, I can be bought as well, but I want to keep it tasteful and focused.

Q. Are you seriously looking for cash slaves?

A. Yes. I would seriously consider cash slaves.

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March 13, 2010 No Comments MarkBentson
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My Dark Passengers

I debate what should be revealed here. Certainly, by posting the old series, I’ve exposed a part of my psycho-sexual history that’s probably a wet dream to any therapist. Of course, this is a sex blog and not my normal blog.

Correction: I don’t have a normal blog. However, other outlets for the writing beasts inside have a place to occupy.

Back to my considerations of unleashing the other beasts of my past explorations. Those explorations — in particular two such thought-provoking time periods — begin to form the mosaic of my sexual being.

The first is a topic that, surprisingly, was unearthed by a female Dominant — although she has considered herself a switch. Her blog, Making Boys Blush, provides for an interesting read. For me, it’s the submissive straight or bi men in her life. She herself admits I’m a little more ingrained in a “sick twisted-ness” that she finds fascinating.

That brings me to my past when I too indulged in a bit of the BDSM lifestyle. Actually, it was more than a bit. I spent a little more than a year immersed in it with full force. I explored some elements of myself still disturbing to this day. And I wonder the impact it had. Yes, that photo is me in some rubber gear in a dungeon.

As I have mentioned, my appearance is now and always has been unassuming. Back when I lived in D.C., I used to frequent the Eagle, the only leather bar in town (as it seems to be with every city). I think the Eagle is gone now, but in its day, I found it enjoyable. This somewhat lanky, awkward guy in black jeans, a black t and black boots walked through the door with the only thing that seemed to betray him was the bookish glasses, neat haircut and pale white skin.

The leather community proved to be a place where I found respect. In a leather bar, your status had nothing to do with the size of paycheck or biceps and your status in the overall gay community had little sway. In fact, the true nature of a leather bar could be found deep within the community itself, only hinted at among the drag queens (those who dressed as butch as possible but hardly anything was butch about them) and curious frat twinks.

I recall one night I was standing next to a boy I knew and we were chatting. One of his friends stopped by and ignored me mostly to chat up his friend. The boy attempted to introduce me, but the friend had no interest. Again, I blend into the woodwork — or in this case, the black-painted walls.

The friend spilled his guts, telling the boy who he was about to depart with for some fun. And he turned to walk away when the boy called out, “This is…” followed by my online name at the time.

The interrupting guy stopped dead in his tracks. You could see something probably akin to a chill run up his spine. He turned around, nervous, glancing at me and then the boy.

“That’s… him?” he stuttered.

The boy nodded.

“One… could you both wait here a moment?” he said and pushed his way into the crowd.

I shrugged and continued my beer. A moment later, he was back, apologizing and shaking my hand.

I did not fuck him that night and I didn’t the next. In fact, for the next few weeks, he courted me as I allowed it. In fact, I even had him procure me a fuck before I allowed him to serve me. Among that community and in that moment of time, I was infamous — at least in a small circle.

So I debate how much of that to share here. How much of that exploration advised the place I am now.

The second Dark Passenger I am considering is even further back in time. One of deep places in my psyche that I’ve began unearthing of late.

Around the age of 9 or 10, I was molested. As horrible as it sounds, many times I chose to allow myself to have sex with this much older man — up until I was 17 — right about the time I found the gay community in the nearby city and could drive there on my own for the sexual curiosities. Even then, I was used (and knew I was being used).

Yes, I love the show Dexter on Showtime. But when he speaks of his Dark Passenger, I actually see Dark Passengers for me. I see more than one. And I am thinking of introducing them to you. There will be more hot stories and a few not so hot.

You tell me. Comment back. Should I?

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October 15, 2009 No Comments MarkBentson