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Behind Dead Eyes (Part Three)

The Hottest Man
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Be sure to read Part One and Part Two

We left the room, his ass richly seeded with two of my loads planted deep. He was hot in pursuit of more cum.

Over the course of the next hour, we would bump into one another. A semi-straight man pulled him into a room and bred him, degrading his “faggot ass” and filling his pussy full of cum. It only got him hotter. And when we encountered each other and he recounted the story, I wanted to see him get bred again.

The Wednesday night crowd at the adult bookstore just didn’t seem to be living up to the promise, I was about to give up. But something magical started happening.

Within about 10 minutes of one another, two bottoms got naked and just sat in open rooms waiting for cock.

I’m standing upstairs watching one and then the other. Both are respectable, although one is a muscular black man and quite attractive.

My friend comes upstairs and shortly following him is a tall black man. They make a bee-line for an open room and I’m invited in.

The black top isn’t real happy I’m there, so I’m relegated to watching and jacking my cock some. As the latte-skinned top peals off his clothes, he reveals massive pecs and a perfection of a body. When his shorts come off, the cock that springs forth is one of those massive ones you see in porn.

My friend’s eyes widen.

He  kneels naked and goes to sucking on this huge arm that, for all the trite “baby arm” references, I’m guessing it’s larger than that.

As my friend, now with three loads in his ass, sucks, the black top pushes his head deeper onto that humongous appendage. He’s choking. The width alone cannot fit down any throat, no matter how much anyone relaxes.

The top bends over to feel my friend’s ass. It’s a hint.

Eventually, after sucking a while, my friend glances at me and I mouth, “Offer your ass.”

After choking for too long on the monster, now covered with a thick spit, and the top playing with a slightly out of reach ass, the bottom lays on his back and his ankles float naturally toward the ceiling.

The top jerks his slicked cock and slaps it against the hole. The bottom is so thin and his hole was tight for me. I’m wondering how it will accommodate this elephantine cock.

The top stops slapping the ass, pauses and turns around. He grabs his pants.

Fuck.

I’m hoping he’s searching for lube. Maybe poppers.

The top is trying to find the right pocket and then pulls it out. A Magnum condom.

He hurls it at the bottom.

If only I’d had time to train my friend. Bottoms can sabotage condoms easily. But I’d never had the chance to teach him any techniques. Dumbfounded, he holds the condom and then hands it back to the top, who rips it open and, like a porn star, puts the shiny plastic over his cock.

Some spit follows and, luckily, the previous loads aren’t all dried out. The top positions it at the opening of this tiny bottom’s hole and, with his massive muscles, pushes in.

The bottom’s eyes open wider than ever, his mouth gapes and… well… he’s screaming, “OH FUCK!”

It slides into him. Some how. It seems physically impossible. But it is.

The bottom tries to control his massive black man’s pace. He attempts to stop the onslaught. But he can’t. And the black man begins to own the little bitch bottom the way he wants.

As he fucks him, rolling his hips, I can watch the muscles in his well-defined back, ass and legs move with precision and rhythm. There’s a musicality to it. It’s not a simple in and out. There’s a pumping and side to side, up and down, circular. It’s a dimensional fuck.

He’s got a technique that’s exquisite to watch.

“I want you to cum inside me,” the bottom says. “I don’t think I can take this cock much longer.”

I’m imagining the top has heard this before. So he grunts an approval and then speeds up and, quite frankly, proceeds to fucking with some force.

I’m surprised my friend survives this onslaught as I watch the strain of how the top’s muscular arms pull the bottom’s legs toward him at the same time the top’s hips force forward. It’s a collision of the black’s thighs to the white’s ass.

“I’m cumming,” the gutteral grunts.

And he fucks even harder, if that’s possible. Slamming with force. I can see my friend’s cock swinging flaccid. Yet, he seems content in a weird way.

Then he pulls out and pulls off the condom, tossing it in the small trash can in the room. My friend is on his knees, sucking the remaining cum off the cock.

“I usually pull out to cum,” the top says. “I don’t usually do that.”

Neither of us say anything.

I’ve only got my pants open, so I zip up. As the top begins to put his clothes on, he explains how he prefers one-on-one and not three-ways. This is the first time anyone has ever watched him fuck. We all make small take.

I think my bottom friend and I are thinking the same thing.

Finally he leaves and we close the door behind him. I neglect to lock it, although it does no good because the other two bottoms are out there giving free fucks. We aren’t disturbed.

My friend’s pants are down soon and I’m fishing around the trash for the condom. I find it. Pull it out.

It’s so huge. I could never really get it on me inside out. I try though. But the tip where all that white juiciness is located would never be exposed. And the condom is so stretched out now. So I take my fingers on the inside-out condom and push it inside his raw hole.

I know he’s really raw inside his ass. As I’m adding the fourth load to his mix, I push in deep and along the edges. I want to make sure that the DNA contributors from these three men bond with this bottom boy. That we all become a part of him and he know it. That he feels this.

As I push the condom in and out, the slimy goodness disappears more and more and now there’s just a film of ass juices on the condom.

My cock is hard. I want to fuck him some but I know he’s sore.

“I need to cum,” he says.

He flips over and I play with his ass while he jerks his cock. Soon he’s shooting his load.

As we clean up and get ready to go, I admit there’s something about him that attracts me. Something deeper than his looks. Something more than his twisted sexual nature. And as I look into those brown eyes and again get lost in the limbo, there’s a recognition there.

Behind Dead Eyes… A Return to Breed a Third Load

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Travel Diary: My Welcome Load in Vegas

las-vegas
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Arriving in Vegas is always an adventure. This time, it turned a little bumpy as, believe it or not, a thunderstorm awaited on our approach to this desert oasis. The bumpy landing ended with a smooth enough transition into the airport and soon I was among the throngs of humanity at McCarran awaiting bags.

No one picked me up. No one welcomed me. And I waited in the humongous taxi line like everyone else until finally pitched into the back of a cab and sent scurrying off to my “resort” destination.

I’m smart enough to know a good cab driver in Vegas and he recognized someone who’d been here before, so he avoided the Strip and approached my hotel from the back, getting me there quickly and efficiently, earning himself a decent tip. My room got an upgrade and soon I was online to see if I could procure an ass.

Coming from the East Coast makes the time thing a little challenge, although jet lag always seems to be a little easier going back. The wet weather helped with the transition from the humid East to the desert West. But still I wasn’t up for running up and down the Strip for a fuck.

The usual collection of folks I’d already lined things up with didn’t seem all that available in that moment — surprise, surprise — including one who will be the subject of a future blog entry (“My Las Vegas ‘Catfish’”).  It’s odd how that whole thing doesn’t work out.

I was tired. I’d ordered room service and I didn’t feel like chasing for ass. I’d just about decided to quit when a little blond bear pinged me on my ad from Craigslist. And it so happened, he mentioned he was in my hotel and was full service.

Generally, one cannot put “bareback” bluntly in ads on Craigslist ads, as usually some condom Nazis go fucking bonkers and begin flagging the shit out of it and the ad goes down (if you include a photo especially). Sometimes you can slip in “bb” or “uninhibited” as hints but dare not include a photo as it raises the ire of the “safe sex only” police.

So I had not gone through the song-and-dance to determine whether he might or might not take me raw. But tonight, as I attempted to swallow a grilled rubber chicken sandwich from the hotel, I decided to get to the point.

“You want to get bred?” I wrote back in a single-line e-mail.

“Fuck yea,” he said. “Here’s my room number.”

“Be there in five minutes,” I responded.

And I knocked in five minutes.

His photo had obviously been taken the moment before he’d sent it, it was that fresh. I am not repulsed by bears — even ones like this one, with hair growing out of every inch of his body. He was a little shorter, a little younger, a bit beefier and stood behind the hotel door practically naked. His fur could have used a bit more care, but he was clean. He sucked me hard then stood, hiking one leg up on the bed and lining my cock up against his pink hole.

I slid inside.

The sweet warmth of an ass is, well, nothing like anything else. That’s why I love topping so much, I guess. That and the energy that soon overtook me as I picked up pace, began grunting and went to town, focused on using his ass for one thing.

As I slid in and out, my ass coated with his spit, a little lube, his ass juice and whatever else was down there. I took out the frustration of a four-hour flight and a day of travel. I began really fucking his ass harder and harder. Then I reached that point of no return and crested over the edge, went down the hill toward my goal.

“FUCK!” I grunted. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it!” he said obediantly.

“Be explicit!” I said, as I pushed his head onto the bed and forced him into a strange doggie style with knees up but head down.

“Please!” he began to beg. “Give me your cum! Shoot your load in my ass! Give me what my ass needs”

And with those words and a few more violent thrusts into that hairy blond ass, I let go the frustration of the day into that ass. My cock throbbed, releasing a flood a cum in wave after wave of gushing white sticky stuff that I slammed deeper into his raw ass.

I pulled out with a pop and his ass began to leak immediately, but he sat down on the floor, turn around and licked my cock clean before I zipped up to head to my room.

Turns out, it was the worst fuck of the trip.

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Travel Diary: A Morning Surprise at BarebackRT.com

BarebackRT.com front page
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Imagine my surprise this morning as I woke up to check on things online and notice I had 72 messages awaiting me at BarebackRT.com. A shock!

I know I’m near San Francisco, but still I’d never expected so many messages.

But as the gray mists lifted thanks to the Diet Coke, I noticed something else: For the first time ever (or that I’ve ever noticed), I made the “Today’s Most Viewed Profiles.”

Well, that explains it.

Still, I hope to get a little ass out of it. Actually, yesterday’s travel across country was pretty brutal and I needed some massage therapist work something fierce. And with the time difference, I was knackered by the time I got a decent, serious volunteer to at least massage my cock with his ass muscles.

Tonight should be different.

P.S. Yes, I know I made the fatal mistake of being on the other side of the Bay Bridge. But I thought for sure being closer to San Francisco would make you Bossy Bay Bottoms happy. Doesn’t seem to be working.

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On My 11 Resolutions of 2011…

2011-sucka
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Looking back on 2011, let us just say that the year that was is a year I would gladly not repeat. But I did give myself 11 Resolutions for the year and, actually, I’m surprised that I accomplished a few of them.

A resolution, it seems, is like monogamy — a vow meant to be broken. So let’s see how I did:

 

11. Quiet Moments, Yoga or Some Shit Like That

Nope. Never happened. At least yoga didn’t. 0 for 1.

 

10. Fuck a Porn Star

No. I fucked a friend of a porn star but not a porn star yet. 0 for 2. Not looking good.

 

9. Indulge My Photography Bug.

Third strike. Nope. I tried but couldn’t get anyone decent looking to pose for me. All the volunteers were ass-ugly. 0 for 3.

 

8. Lose Inches on My Waist.

Finally, something I have done. Lost four of those! Does it count as four? Alas, nope.

Of course, that hottie of a tragically straight trainer and his incredible body helped me too much to achieve that. But his motivation didn’t last and I’ve stopped going to him because it’s a little inconvenient right now.

I’m 1 for 4.

7. Get Me Another Pair of Diesel Jeans.

A stupid resolution since now that I’m not a full-figured gal anymore, the jeans I have don’t fit all that well and I’ve abandoned the Diesels I already have. I’m not counting this one.

 

6. Stress Less by Fucking More.

I’m going to give myself a YEEE-HAW and yessirree on that one. Despite some dry spells (and an abortive experience in Northern California, Days 1, 2, 3 and 4), I’ve bred more than 150 asses this year. That’s a good year.

That puts me 2 for 5.

 

5. Tattoo Time…

I didn’t get one. Not quite yet… 2 for 6.

 

4. Getting Friends Back or Getting New Ones.

Later in the year, when I was trying to get one of those friends back, I realized I didn’t need him.

In general, the friend situation hasn’t changed. 2 for 7.

 

3. Vacation.

Done. Had a good one. 3 for 8.

 

2. Write a Damn Book.

Nope. I made a little headway on a couple of them, but I never finished. 3 for 9.

 

1. Get a Job I Love.

Mission accomplished, just days to spare. 4 for 10.

 

So I’m running 40 percent. Not bad. Let’s hope for better in 2012.

 

Swinging Richards Review Posted to Sleazy Atlanta Guide

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So my reviews of Atlanta’s sleazy guide would be incomplete without including Swinging Richards, the premiere strip club for Gay men in Atlanta. I admit it. I fucking love this place. I wish I could go more often and see the boys here. Someday I will. In the meantime, let me give you some of the secrets of the club, in case you didn’t know.

Dancers actually pay to work at Swinging Richards. Every night, the dancers “tip out.” A percentage of their tips or designated amount go to doormen, bartenders, the deejay and security. Therefore, the bartenders, bouncers, etc., are watching for anything given away for “free.”

The little blue pill might come into play. Because most of the dancers are straight, getting a hard-on is prime time to getting good tips. Boner pills are a welcome resource at the club.

All the dancers have multiple names. Their stage name isn’t usually their real name. If a dancer likes you, he might give you his “real” name, but often it’s also a version of their real name — like their middle name or a nickname. But don’t be upset by this.

A few dancers provide freelance work but most don’t. If they do, it will be expensive. Some use the same rate of $400 an hour as at the club, which is ridiculous since they must tip out at the club. A few have quoted me up to $1,500 for overnight.

Dancers will pop-off for you if you pay for it and request it. But don’t be surprised if they lie to you. Pay for at least 30 minutes in a private room and make sure the dancer hasn’t popped off yet. Ask the dancer what he prefers and likely you’ll end up sucking cock or eating ass for a while.

To get attention from a dancer you like, it takes cash. Dancers want it. It’s very simple. However, they aren’t all beef. Don’t touch them without their permission. Be polite and respectful. Generally, you’ll get attention you want but some dancers simply will not be interested in you. That’s how it goes. But tipping twice or three times while performing on the main stage helps get you noticed.

Some dancers have done porn. Some are even proud of it. Some aren’t.

Dancers lie. If dancers get your number, they might solicit you for funds outside the venue. Some might even ask that you send them money via Western Union or other means. Be cautious about this. Understand they usually won’t “pay you back” even in kind, especially at the club. Dancers won’t give you their true sexual orientation. They’ll see if they can pick up on your fantasy and answer the question based on what will turn you on and loosen your hold on cash.

Dancers are people too. Getting past all the shit they do and lies that patrons tell them, real people lie beneath the façade. They’re making their living. Many are students, some travel from out of town to work just for the weekend. So while it’s a fantasy, be a little careful.

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