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I’m Pulled in So Many Directions…

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Coming off a vacation of week-long proportions that brought me more than just rest and relaxation. I have much to convey, oh loyal readers. Yet my first day back on the job puts me back onto the plane and off to Boston for work.

From Key West Conch to Georgia Peach to Boston Beantown.

As I sat at home scrolling through the TiVo selections to decide what to watch and rubbing lotion into my right leg now suffering the trauma of a new tattoo. Fuck me for believing in the phrase “go big or go home”; in Key West, I apparently interpreted it as “go big then go home” as my leg is a little swollen, red and angry at what I put it through. Yes, it puts the lotion on the skin or it gets the needle again.

My impressions of Key West will take a long time to extract and get out here, plus there’s a couple of encounters to write about — one a fan fuck, one a plain fuck. Both with qualities worth writing about. That said, I don’t want to wait too long to give a few impressions….

  • Big Ruby’s Guesthouse: Contrary to popular belief, I am not all sex all the time, which is the reputation of Island House. I actually went on this vacation to relax and enjoy myself. Big Ruby’s offered a great room, nice pool, hot tub and delicious breakfast every morning plus very nice employees.
  • Bourbon Street Pub: When it came to a go-go-boy bar, this has got to be impressive. Hot, hot, hot were these men. I was surprised to say the least for such a destination to find men, some hotter than what I can find in Atlanta.
  • Seven Fish: Make reservations and go eat here. It’s two blocks off Duval but the fish is incredibly fresh and always a unique twist.
  • Blu Q Gay Excursion: If you want to snorkel the coral reefs or anything like that, this is way too much fun to head out on this clothing-optional adventure. Don’t miss this fun time with Captain Steve and, if you’re lucky, First Mate Ryan.

I’m off to pack for Boston. Let’s look forward to that Yankee ass.

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3… 2… 1… BLAST-OFF! The Countdown to iBLASTinside’s Birthday (1 of 3)

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Forty-Five Random List…

…for Mark Bentson’s Forty-Fifth Year (Part 1 of 3)

To mark this moderately important milestone in my lifetime — halfway to 90, which means I’m most certainly over the hill and speeding toward a furnace to turn me into ashes that will then be scattered here, there and everywhere to celebrate the clandestine debauchery of my life. But let’s focus on the here and now, the hedonism of the moment. Here begins part one of three of my Forty-Five Random List.

45. Fuck a porn star

I can’t begin a list without the wish that continues on despite repeated tries. I want to fuck a porn star. Please. This past year has seen promising moments with opportunities that has come close including promises from two, rather significant big-name porn stars.

One with whom volunteered to take my load but fell in love and moved off to be with his new boyfriend. The other I bribed and he took the gifts and ran off to be with his new boyfriend with whom he’d just fallen in love.

Now  that I’m traveling to Northern California and the San Francisco Bay area, I’d hoped that perhaps I might just luck up on an actor or two. Nonesuch. So my desire goes on.

44. Get Medallion status on Delta

Okay, what an odd goal, but I’ve been flying so much and I’m stuck in steerage with everyone else. And so far, I have yet to sit by anyone hot or even a decent looking straight guy. Every plane ride seems to be another female, another old sixtysomething retiree with his golden-age wife, a mother with her four-year-old or a school mar’m. Why can’t I get one hottie?

I doubt Medallion status will help much with that, but it will at least help assure I get a little more legroom and a possible upgrade or two. Long-time readers will know I’ve been hoping for this for a while. I will achieve it (for sure) this year. But if anyone has the inside track on helping me get upgrades, show me some love!

43. More fucking on travel

As simple as that. I attempted something in Las Vegas that didn’t work: I solicited someone to be my regular cum dump. And while I had no trouble finding ass to fuck, sometimes the pursuit of ass gets boring. Good thing Vegas brought a stock of tourists and locals worth breeding (and even enough with whom to have an orgy).

Yet, still, I crave an easy come-over-bend-over-and-be-bred kind of guy. I’ve got a couple of men who I can contact if I’m ever in a lurch or a dry spell while at home. I’d like that on the road.

42. & 41.  Yoga & Weight Loss

I am not someone to goes to the local Y and signs up for a class. I don’t hit any old gym. Teaching me anything physical requires a special talent and I seek out people. Like my trainer late last year (as seen pictured here). I expect people helping me to be in shape themselves (yes, I’ve seen trainers who need a bit of help).

My former trainer was great, if not tragically straight. And despite some of my own misgivings, I signed up with him. But I have a few things that just do not work for me. First, he must keep me motivated. He did so, to a certain extent. But he never really followed through on additional promises to keep on me outside the gym (for which I paid him extra, I might add).

Second, he’s got to be the example I look up to every day. And when he started posting unhealthy things to his Facebook, I had to take a step back some. He stopped motivating me. It all came crashing down.

And my weight came up after losing so much.

But here’s what I learned about myself. The nutritional diet he put me on required a lot of psychological fortitude, which I somehow managed. And while my body didn’t always obey, it did provide some form of willingness to begin getting in shape. Shape which I have not lost completely.

And so, with both those, I want to step more into a yoga situation. But I want someone to work with me individually to set me on the right course for success. I’ve become convinced of the mind-body connection…

40. Stop chewing my nails

I know. Bad habit. I’d just about stopped it but some bumpy flights of late got me started again. I guess a nervous habit. Or I’m just nervous.

39. Upgrade my iPad

Have you seen the Retina display on the new one? (Although it’s not called an iPad 3, that’s basically what it is.) It makes my iPad, bought the first day of the original launch look like a low-resolution, piece of crap.

38. Massage me everywhere

When I lived in Washington, D.C., I had the hottest Filipino with the best muscle body who would come over once or twice a week and work out the kinks. Then in Georgia, I found a spa that had a lovely little Asian boy who helped me out too. Those two both gave great massages and both provided happy endings.

Love a good massage with a good happy endings.

Then I ended up with a great massage therapist but he was a straight Latino. Although very cool with the whole Gay thing, he wouldn’t bother to touch my cock and, no matter how much money was promised and how much goading. Nonetheless, I kept going to him and enjoying the massage part. It was therapeutic.

But he’s moved out of the area and now I’m without a decent massage therapist.

I’ve been looking and trying out a few people. Not a lot of luck so far. I’ve had decent results but nothing remarkable.

Moreover, when I visit other cities, am finding it very difficult to get therapists there to respond and be accommodating.

If you’re a therapist in the San Francisco Bay or Atlanta area (and you’re good), please let me know. Happy endings appreciated but not required. However, I do prefer good-looking non-smokers.

37. Better shoes

I need some. Hard to find. Right now I’m still in two-year-old Old Navy top-siders and six-year-old Rockport sandals.

36. “Read” more for work

Notice I put “read” in quotation marks, as my long commute to work allows me a lot of time to listen to books. Unfortunately, since getting my new car, I’ve been listening to Sirius XM more than anything (my favorite channel is Raw Dog comedy, Channel 99; coincidental it’s got “raw” in the title, huh?). I should be listening to more books.

35. Speaking of Sirius XM, please stop Derek & Romaine

They’re on OutQ, the Gay channel. They attempt to dispense advice to the masses about sex and gay life but neither of whom is qualified in any way, shape or form. Derek is just a prude. And he’s an asshole prude. Sometimes he’s so rude to people I’m amazed anyone bothers to listen to him. Both of them wouldn’t bother to even entertain the concept that barebacking is truly an option. I’ve even heard Romaine have a fit about men with hairy asses being horrible.

Additionally, they barely plan a show and talk about their personal lives as if anyone really gives a shit.

Please, they’ve been on the air too long. Get that shit off the air.

34. Going strong on no jacking off

Every load I’ve shot in 2012 has gone in someone. It’s gone in an ass or a mouth (and it’s rare for it to be a mouth).

33. It’s been 420 for me, finally

In my list of 43 Arbitrary Things when I turned 43, number 21 mentions I’ve never tried the infamous 420. Pot. Mary Jane. Wacky tabacky. Weed. And because of my opposition to smoking, I’ve never smoked pot. I still have never smoked pot. With research and some experimentation (hint to the right), I finally got to discover what the big deal was all about.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Made me even more convinced that (sorry for a little politics) that the stuff should be legalized.

32. More rollercoasters and amusement parks

It’s already been a good year for it. I want to make it a great year.

31. Did you read this?

Why haven’t my readers been commenting? I’m still getting almost 1,200 visitors a day but lately, you fuckers have been quiet. Speak up!

Don’t miss the next part… 30 to 16…. tomorrow.

Travel Diary: My Welcome Load in 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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On My Way to Vegas…

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My week in Las Vegas begins and the exact man who will be my bottom cum slut for the week still isn’t settled, although a few candidates certainly emerged in the search. My favorite has chatted with me but I doubt he comes through and will be the subject of another blog entry, “The Lies Men Tell.”

You see, he sent me photos a few months back. I played dumb and asked for some recently. He sent another set. The two do not match. Face, features, etc., are completely different. They’re not even close.

So among the rest, let’s hope someone comes through.

I’m disappointed no one’s been creative enough to think of ways to impress me, to get on top of the pile, so to speak. For example, when my plane arrives around 9:15 tonight, to be waiting with a sign welcoming me and driving me to my hotel. Someone to carry my bags.

Maybe a couple of people. Certainly, in this town of excess, an limo isn’t out of the question. How about a limo filled with naked, hot boys ready for a fuck on the way to my hotel?

Okay, my imagination is getting away from me. But a charming, hot guy who takes me on a night drive isn’t out of the question.

Where’s he at?

So who will be my cum slut companion for the week? We wait and hope for a sign. Primarily a sign at the airport.

 

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Travel Diary, Day 22: Like Silk

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No more than 25 years old, this young man broke my mold. A gravitational pull seems to keep me closing in on the younger set — although he never stood out as my first choice. Still, he handed in a stellar performance.

Arriving promptly, he entered and asked timidly (before getting naked) if he could use the bathroom. The young ones never follow instructions. Still, when he stepped into the room, his appearance delighted me. I relaxed on the bed as he approached, finally naked after his pit stop. His cool hands (after all, it was fucking cold outside) braced himself against my thighs as he lowered his face to my cock and began plumping it up.

I could see his own cock, rock hard and a firm five inches jutting out. He sucked a little more but he wanted fucking. I could tell. After a moment of fumbling around, he settled on his side, exposing his ass to me. I sniffed around a bit, realizing he’d come straight from work so it wasn’t as fresh as I’d like. A little spit and a touch of lube. I put my cockhead at his hole and pushed.

It ripped inside him and he grunted. The grimace on his face let me know my cock might be a little much, but he didn’t pull away and I didn’t pull out. However, he kept the angle difficult to mount him right.

“Want to ride it?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said.

At this phase, young ones can be skittish. So I let him up and ride. He proceeded and sat on it. Within a moment, he bucked back and forth. I took the moment to enjoy this boy and to touch his body. Something about these young ones, their body hair feels so silky — not wiry like those of us with body hair for years.

His photo (above) didn’t do his lithe body justice. To match his body hair, his ass opened up and felt silky smooth. After a while of letting him do the work, I began taking his ass, thrusting into it. I pulled him forward so I could plunge all the way in and begin to control the fuck a little boy.

The bitch wasn’t having it.

He pulled off and positioned himself again on his side. Obviously, this is what the boy liked. So I relented and shoved my cock into his ass. I began to build up pace and just let things happened naturally. My cum boiled up and I let it loose, deep into his guts. I kept pace and controlled my breathing.

If his ass was silky before, adding my cum to it helped.

After a moment, I began the typical heavy breathing of an orgasm. “You want it?” I asked.

As I predicted, he popped off my cock immediately and asked me to cum on him. I jerked aggressively, as he did. When he blew, I did too. I think he noticed the lack of output, but who cared at that point.

He went into the bathroom to clean up and shower. I just relaxed back and let him leave. But I wasn’t done that evening. Not at all.

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