Category Archives: cheating

the lies men tell

The Lies Men Tell… Test Results (Part 3)

Read Part One & Part Two

I’ve had this request more than once. You can find an example of one among the comments on my “Contact Me” page. Here’s the message:

Can you take a photo of your last HIV test results and post it?

I’m big on bareback sex, but too terrified to ask enough questions to hunt down a negative man. I had an incident where I went over to someone’s house, miscommunication, and had a hard time ever since.

If I saw a man’s HIV test signoff from a Doc… I’d consider fucking bareback, because it’s the fucking hottest.


So a sign-off from a doctor would do it? How about if it’s notarized?

Just HIV? How about all the other bad shit you can get?


The Results Are In

Well, here is my test results document. It’s even notarized.

Would you bareback for me now? Let me load your ass, breed you deep and shove my DNA inside you?

Does this piece of paper make a difference?

Would you like to see a copy of three months ago? Six months and a year also?

How about affidavits from the other 300 or so men I’ve fucked and bred in the last year? Oh, and there’s probably another 200 who’ve blew me and I’ve stuck my dick inside but I didn’t cum. Would it be okay if they just signed a petition?

But this piece of paper bears some weight…

…If it’s real…

I’m really, really neg.

I’ll look you straight in the eyes, I won’t flinch, I won’t look down and to the left and you’ll see the sincerity.

I’m neg. You’ve got nothing to worry about.


You Say That’s Illegal… I Say That’s Bullshit

Look boys who get on your high-horse and start with the illegal bullshit with me about what is and what isn’t illegal. Ask any law enforcement official or attorney and they’ll tell you what I’m going to tell you: What’s illegal doesn’t matter because it’s what you can prove in court that matters.

If you are some nasty fucking slut who doesn’t bother with people’s names and flashes your ass at adult bookstores, gloryholes or sex clubs yet pulls out a condom and turns your ass around when you back it up to a gloryhole then finds yourself stealthed, I don’t think there will be a lot of sympathy anywhere.

Chances are, you can’t prove how anything happened anyway considering the promiscuity that infiltrates your life.

So you want it, get the cock you want. In your ass. Raw. The way it’s intended.

the lies men tell

The Lies Men Tell… Photos (Part 2)

Read Part One

Whether it’s a decade old photo or the time of our meeting, lying is the constant in the world of fucking. I have honed my own skills at determining who will be truthful and who will not.

For example, the veracity of photos provided by someone can be found in the details. A mole is here in this photo, can it be found there? Or does this photo include a Rubik’s cube and a cassette tape player in the background, indicating it’s clearly from the 1980s? Are the photos from a sequence (leading to further suspicion) or from different times and places? Do they look candid or professional?

Lately, the photo thing had struck a chord with me. I think the proliferation of Grindr, Scruff and other such sprouted more camera mavens insisting on evidence of legitimacy. One face pic is no longer adequate. I must provide multiples. Same with cock pics. Even more, to prove my prowess with fucking, I’ve been asked for video.

Not kidding.

Yes, more than once of late, people have insisted on video proof that I’m worth driving five miles for a fuck. I imagine soon I will need to begin to record myself throwing a few into an ass before anyone will believe I’m good at it.

Believe me, I have heard all the possible excuses on why some poor fucker doesn’t have a photo. No excuse. No more. If you’ve got a cell phone that doesn’t make photo, you’re a fucking idiot. Camera phone save lives and document moments that will forever be discussed on CNN. Your computer did not crash and destroy all your photos. And you can pretend you’re at work and have no photos there, but if so, what-the-fuck are you doing on at that same company? Please. You’re just some self-hating fag.

Moreover, everyone in the photo trade had been burned one time too many. Some asswipe’s stiffed us and not sent us a pic, left us holding the bag and we, in turn, feel foolish for trusting. But that does not mean now you have the right to always go last in the trade.

All things equal, he who asks first, send first. No exceptions. If someone has posted an ad on Craigslist with a self-photo, that counts as a “sent photo.”

Otherwise, the bottom should send first. I don’t give a fuck if the bottom is 19 years old and hot as hell (or at least says he is).

  • If you unlock without any previous conversation, I’m under no obligation to unlock for you, even if you ask nicely. The whole unlock trade occurs with conversation, not independently.
  • If you show X-rated photos in your profile photos and then “unlock” photos, those unlocked ones should have a clearly available face pic. Else, I’m not obliged to unlock mine. If I unlocked mine first, you should e-mail me a clear face pic. Vice versa as well. If you show face, your locked pics should clearly show cock and/or ass.
  • The only time you have a right to “break the code” and not trade photos is when someone has egregiously lied. This means the following: A 20-year difference in age, a different race or completely different appearance. Otherwise, if you get a pic, you must respond with a pic. You’re welcome to tell the guy you’re not into him.
  • What you send is what you get. If you send me a tiny photo where you can’t see shit, I have the right to send you back a tiny photo where you can’t see shit. If your photo is blurry and you’re wearing sunglasses, I’m welcome to do the same.
  • Just because we both unlock photos does not mean we are meeting for a fuck. I believe in being fair. But my unlock doesn’t mean I’m suddenly into you.

I do study photos (as has been proven) and I can recognize when people lie. And most do lie.

On to Part Three, Test Results

the lies men tell

The Lies Men Tell… Smokers (Part 1)

Have you ever watched the television show, “House”? Dr. House on the show offers up a kind of mantra or philosophy: “People lie.”

Occasionally, he adds to it: “All people lie.”

It’s true. Very true. As much as anyone wants to pretend that 100 percent of everything in their lives are true, lies might be the one constant that a human being can find and if you deny that, you’re simply lying to yourself. And that is the most powerful lie of all.

I find, more often than not, many people lie to me. Dishonesty is honestly the one thing I can count on more than anything else.

My favorite lie men like to tell me is the one that’s my own issue — and I admit as much.

It’s smoking.

I simply cannot fuck smokers. I know. Those of you who indulge this somehow think you don’t stink at all. Even without kissing me, I can smell it. It’s on your saliva and breath. No amount of toothpaste, mouthwash or gum can cover it up. It permeates your clothing and comes out of your pores as you sweat. Ask any man who’s tasted your cum. He knows the flavor of nicotine.

We all have that one thing and that’s mine. I’ll lose an erection so fast — if I’m lucky enough to manage to work one up.

I know when men lie about it. I know you’ve done your best to cover up your addiction. I don’t fault you for it. I simply won’t fuck you and send you on your way without calling you the liar you are when I asked about it. I usually do ask. Some men attempt to find out why I’m asking or the response I want.

Like that matters.

I know. I go with my gut. If you tell me you’ve quit recently, I know it’s bullshit.

So if you’re wondering why I’ve blocked you on or I didn’t hook up with you that time we met or the reason why we kissed only once then I came fast and left. It’s because I know the truth to this simple fact.

These are life’s speed bumps, things we just can’t get over. And this is mine.

On to Part Two, Photos… then Part Three, Test Results

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Virtual Words and a Vibration

Virtual Words and a Vibration

Nothing more than the feel of vibration. The notion of an arrival of a text message. Your stomach gets a little knot. Could it be? Is it from?

No. Just a friend checking in.

Returning your iPhone to your pocket, it vibrates once. It’s just an e-mail. You relax. But then you think, it could be an e-mail from him. Naw. He’d text me. Not e-mail.

Still, it bugs the back of your mind until you check it later.

Finally, on a bathroom break, you send the obligatory, “How’s your day going?” message.

Not much communication during the day. Sporadic bursts of intense messages with long delays in between. Then that night-time, battery-draining flurry.

The night-time. That’s what you live for. That’s what you wait for. That’s what you wish for. That’s what you hope won’t stop.

For the day the vibration stops is the day you’re afraid he’s moved on to something more real. Something that’s not virtual. Something that won’t fit into a pocket. Something not cold, metal and plastic and glass.

Something flesh, warm and pliable.

And even then you’re afraid he’ll return to the promise of the other choices that are virtual and vibrational. The things not connected to you.

Travel Diary: Trio of Cum Dumps in San Fran, But Barely Remarkable

Travel Diary: Trio of Cum Dumps in San Fran, But Barely Remarkable

As I continue my visits in the San Francisco Bay Area, I’ve been attempting to get closer to the Castro as much as possible in order to attract a larger crowd. This time, I stayed just across the Bay Bridge in Emeryville. But I might as well had stayed in the Silicon Valley as the bottoms insisted I proved to be much too far for them to venture forth from the city itself.

I’m beginning to comprehend the mentality that the Bay is a great divide and few dare cross it. It’s similar to Atlanta and the Interstate loop around the city proper known as the Perimeter or I-285. People here refer to life “ITP” or “OTP” as in, “inside the Perimeter” and “outside the Perimeter.” Those inside dare not step outside for fear the air isn’t breathable. Many outside won’t go in for fear of rape, shootings or worst of all, paying for parking.

During my stay I fucked and bred three holes — a Latin, an Arab and a half-Asian. One crossed the divide for me (thanks), I crossed for one and the other happened to be on my side of the Bay.

Arab Ass

Arab ass is hot. Not metaphorically. I mean it’s temperature hotter than normal ass. I’m sure somewhere along the way I’ve fucked some Arab ass, but I just can’t access that index file at the moment. He was a late-night stop-by and I figured, what-the-fuck, here’s something new, I’ll try it. He wasn’t hideous but I’ll be damned if he wasn’t all that. He made up for it with enthusiasm, even licking my ass that I’d not exactly prepped for rimming (yet he lapped it up with gusto).

Let’s just say I was just there to breed him. He kept begging me to hold off so we could play some more but I didn’t. I injected hot sperm into his steamy ass.

Gotta had in to the Arab, he licked me clean, put on his clothes and said, “I go now.”

He slipped out into the night.


On my way to the airport, I stopped by his place. His photos on were hot, hot, hot. The photos were accurate but the attitude went a little more prissy than I’d hoped. We got down to business and his skills were okay as long as I pinched his nipples — damned bossy bottoms. Perform and I reward. Don’t expect me to reward so you’ll perform.

Anyway, this ass had been well-used many times and once I got into it, he opened up like a Morning Glory Bloom at dawn, making it impossible for me to cum. So I stopped being polite and started getting real, pushing him down to his stomach so I could fuck him like I meant it. He protested and resisted, but I finally got him where I needed. I went into top mode and lost how long it took, but I had to go harder and deeper to get my cockhead somewhere in his ass where it felt a little tightness. He just grunted. I finally buried it and pumped out a few squirts.


I save the best for last. Short and looking like a Marine, he stepped inside. When he kissed me, his mouth opened and he started with the tongue, from top to bottom. Sloppy. And sexy. Great chest with just a little hair. Hardcore angular face. And the fucking started almost immediately after I got hard. When he rode me, I got him close to the edge fast and we had to slow down.

Didn’t matter much. When I had him on his back, I fucked his ass hard and he grabbed his cock. Two jerks and thick, milky cum flew out.

He endured me fucking a little longer, beginning for my load and I let him have it.

Obviously, his thick cock was a top cock and this was a top fulfilling an itch that came along on occasion. But he let me finish off, which I appreciate.

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