Freedom to fuck. I love to fuck. The first moment my raw cock slides inside an ass provides for among the most amazing moments ever, second only to those precious, time-deceptive pulses of my cock as sperm surges from my balls, combines with more bodily fluids in my prostrate and then forces through my urethra and out my cock into the warm folds of a man’s ass.

The fuck session can be powerful with the overwhelming senses from the tip of my cock to my entire body, depending on the talent of a bottom.

Along with my recent post  about the rise of the bareback adverse and their belief that we of the raw-fucking-clan are out to indoctrinate the youth without comprehending the so-perceived consequences, I’ve been the target for particular hatred for my stance on stealthing . Interestingly enough, some posts by contributors   that are clearly designated  have been attributed to me by condom Nazi  blogs.

(I don’t link to these non-bareback blogs because I’m not sending them the traffic like they’re sending me here. I’ve got two already that are on track to make my December Top 10 list as referrals  but they won’t get listed by name at all.)

Although I write a lot about stealthing, what it is and isn’t , how to do it  and I’ve even debated it with other barebackers , the vicious attacks are coming against me for it more than anything (I do not post threats or anonymous attacking comments either).

I wanted to clarify a few things about my stealthing practice. It probably won’t do any good, but I’ve hinted to my readers. I imagine some of you are smart enough to read between the lines but just haven’t bothered to comment back.

Here goes:

I never agree to use a condom

The bottom makes an assumption that handing me a condom means I’ll use it. I am a man of my word. In this case, I never give my word. It’s a lie of omission. I omit the condom. The mistake is assuming that in the dark or in some anonymous sex situation, a perfect stranger will use a condom. I will not.

The bottom and I “meet” at a sex club, adult bookstore or some other semi-public hook-up spot

I don’t stealth every fuck. It’s rare. That said, none of my online profiles says I’m into “safe sex” or suggest I prefer “safer sex.”

I rarely bring condoms anymore. I’ve gotten more lazy about it, but if I’ve decided to fuck you and you think this guy who stuck his cock through a gloryhole and you’ve been sucking on for the last five minutes is going to adhere to the honor code you’ve composed in your mind, you’ve got another thing coming. Or should I say, you’ve got something cumming up your ass.

If you ask me whether I’ll fuck you safe or use a condom, my answer will be, “No”

I never lie directly. Even with online discussions, I will tell you straightforward that I will not use condoms, I do not wear condoms and I will not compromise on this.

Nine times out of ten, the bottom will come around and eventually ask me to fuck him. Sometimes, at the last second, after I’ve been fucking him for 10 minutes, he’ll ask me to pull out to cum. The smart ones know this is time to pull off my cock and not let me back into their ass because I never answer to the pullout.

I always blast inside. Duh.

If they’ve paid attention to my e-mail or my online name, they know this, but most think themselves special and that I’ll consider them the exception and do it just for them. In fact, I’ve had men ask me to make them the exception. I’ve responded that they need to make me the exception.

I have never caused a status change or knowingly transmitted any disease to anyone

Most assume I’m violating some law or doing some harm. I haven’t. I don’t. Doesn’t matter whether you think I’m honest or not, I’m writing this with a very clear conscious.

I’ve never attempted to be so very clear about my approach to stealthing. I don’t imaging I will stop stealthing. I’ll tell you why. For all the sensation of the physical, there’s a mental one I get when I breed an ass. Denying that to me denies me that pleasure of planting my DNA inside someone. The fact I know I’m putting the essence of who I am inside someone — especially since I’ll never get a girl pregnant — is a powerful aphrodisiac.

The condom denies me this. Since I’ve said I am a barebacker, I want to fuck bareback, when a bottom takes that control from me and assumes that I’ll just accept wearing a condom, it generally pisses me off.

When did the default position for fucking become with a condom? Even the safe sex advocates believe people should discuss this shit before hand.

There’s a power trip, sure, but I get that power trip with every fuck. Stealthing someone isn’t a special power trip. I’m not getting off more because I’ve slipped off the plastic or snapped off the receptacle end.

I’m just putting the DNA where it belongs, where I’m naturally inclined to put it. I’m like the Pope of Barebacking. No condoms ever. Every sperm is sacred. Jizzjoy  is meant to be experienced.

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From my recent support of Nick Roberts and his blog on barebacking , some people are a little confused. I got a couple of comments :

 

Kristofer Juffer writes

“YOU PROTECT YOU – NOT ME PROTECT YOU. It’s your body, your choice.”

If you agree with this, why support actively go against people’s attempts at protecting themselves with stealthing? If a bottom wants to use a condom, and the top puts it on, and the bottom keeps feeling to make sure it’s there, but you’ve popped through the tip and there is nothing short of pulling out and looking at it after each thrust…how should one protect themselves then?

If “It’s your body, your choice,” why promote something that actively goes against that choice?

 

Donald writes

Your comment confused me.  You prefer to have bareback sex and will purposely fool a bottom by having unprotected sex with him even when the bottom gives you a condom and expects you do to the right thing…the bottom is protecting himself but you are stealthing to get your own needs met. Please explain.

To Protect and Serve

I’ve written about this a few times  but I guess I’ll help some of you through this again.

It is not my job to protect you. I am not the police. I am not here to “protect and serve.” I fuck. I want only to enjoy myself. Sex therapists will tell you you’re accountable for your own orgasm. I’m not here to make sure you have a good time. We’re not in a relationship. You’re seen the abbreviation “NSA”; it means “no strings action.” I want no strings. I want no emotional entanglements.

If you expect anonymous sex with a perfect stranger to be trustworthy, to hook-up with someone you’ve just met and for them to be 100 percent honest about their weight, their age, their name (if one’s given), their penis size and their “disease-free” status, you’re a fucking lunatic.

If you’re going to an adult bookstore or hooking up online and you “trust” someone not to sabotage a condom to stealth, to slip the condom off or expect that the “safe sex only” moniker included as a part of their online profile means they’re really going to protect you, please go ahead and hand them your wallet, your car keys and your bank account numbers. I’m sure they’ll give everything back later.

You somehow think handing a wallet then turning your back on things will protect you.

It’s not my job to protect someone I just met.

I am accountable to only me and I’ve chosen not to “protect” myself. In fact, I will do everything possible to assure that my cumload will go into a raw ass.

It is your job to protect yourself.

“You protect you. Not me protect you.”

I have never agreed to use a condom. I do not want to use one. I have no responsibility to you. I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you and I just want to use your asshole to get off.

I make no agreement to use a condom. If the bottom assumes that handing me a condom means that I’ll put it on and use it responsibly in an adult bookstore or a sex club in a darkroom, he’s got another thing coming.

I’ve been writing this blog for a long, long time. But some of you seem to hate my stealthing and miss the fucking point I make about it. If you have figured it out (and those of you who’ve I met and clued in do not count), then write a comment.

It all boils down to the basics: You don’t want to get your ass bred, do not bend your ass over for a stranger.

Other of you blind with rage, please, just let it consume you. And I’ll keep telling everyone how to stealth .

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If you’ve ever been through corporate testing for your personality, the results will show the kind of person one might be. Back in 1998, I went through some extensive testing and it determined I happened to be an extreme introvert .

That doesn’t necessarily mean I’m shy as much as it indicates my focus tends toward internal factors — I’m more reflective, inward looking. Add to that my own hate of smoky bars (and smokers ) and social anxieties toward large crowds and, well, you’re talking about someone who’d much rather stay home than go to the latest concert or wander around a gay bar trying to pick up bottom.

Through the past decade and a half, I’ve taken up a project on myself to open myself up. This blog among the therapies, but I’d do things as subtle as wear brightly colored shirts to work rather than the bland, fade-into-the-background hues that allowed me to skulk through the office unnoticed.

Am I an extrovert  yet? Actually, I’ve tipped to the other side in testing, more ambivert (in the middle) than anything else.

Imagine my surprise of late as more and more people on Scruff recognize me both by my geek glasses or by my cock shots.

During my current job, I leave Scruff, Grindr and Kik  open (and I often check BarebackRT.com ) since I have a horrible boss (he had me come in on my day off just so he could yell at me for a couple of hours last week).

A local beefy bottom on BBRT and I can never seem to synchronize. We’ve attempted to hit the local adult bookstore  or swing by his place for an anonymous fuck. I’d never seen his face, just his beefy body with a little hair and some miscellaneous, non-distinct tattoos.

He seemed a little like one of those tomcats near a dumpster at midnight underneath the streetlight. He looked cute from a distance and might be tame but a sudden move and he’d dart away. In fact, he would disappear from my radar for a period of time but reappear, asking when were we ever going to fuck.

Usually this tomcat-and-dog game wouldn’t seem alluring to me. I’m a no-nonsense kind of guy. I want to fuck your ass and breed it. If you’re good at it, I might fuck you again. Otherwise, I’m done. Yet toying around with him had his allure.

We’d finally exchanged cell numbers because I had a tendency to pop downtown and he didn’t hit BBRT with enough frequency to notice my visits. I’d mentioned one such visit Monday night and he’d given me at deadline to be at his place by 8 p.m.

I couldn’t make his deadline.

On my day off, Thursday, I’d been in the office for a while and let my boss yell at me for a couple of hours straight. I’ve learned not to argue back because the idiot wouldn’t let a fact get in the way of his being pissed off. After he calmed down, he dismissed me, not wanting to pay for any more extra time with me this week, so I left, heading downtown to check on a friend in a hospital.

Scruff had been open at work and stayed open.

Imagine my surprise as I received a message that simply said, “I’m sorry that Monday didn’t work out.”

I finally see his face — round and handsome with a Van Dyke . I’d seen him mostly naked — in a jock — and found his beefy wide pecs with the fur down the middle to tree-trunk legs quite attractive. His ass provided a wide target and muscular mounds but no one would accuse him of being a “bubble butt.”

Bubble butts seem so inflated that sharp objects might cause them to “pop.” His ass provided a more substantial challenge.

We toyed with one another, as we always did online. But in the end, he relented and agreed to let me come over. It would be an anonymous encounter. Him naked on his knees to blow me hard then I’d breed him.

I arrived, parked and walked in the designed backdoor (how coincidental) into a hall just off his bedroom. In the darkness, he’d lit one candle that provided enough light to allow me to see the figure in the room.

Perfection is not accurate, but to me, perfection is not desired. I like a man with beefy pecs without distinct definition of a six pack. He’s got hair in all the right places without removing it, shaving it or waxing it. He’s a real man. He likes beer, dogs, football and chicken wings. He doesn’t spend his life at the gym but has his priorities balanced.

This is the kind of man I recognize.

He’s blindfolded. I unbuckle my belt, unbutton and unzip my jeans and flop out my cock, anxious to get it into his mouth. I step up and my cockhead brushes against his moustache as I place my hand on the back of his head where he’s got a full scalp of short-cropped hair.

“Suck that cock,” I said. “Get it hard.”

His mouth flew open with exuberance of a hungry man who hasn’t eaten for weeks and caressed my cock as it  swelled to hardness. He bobbed his head up and down,  interspersed the work with occasional licks of my balls, which thanks to the cool weather were tight up against my body but swollen. I’d shaved them a while back, so the light layer of stubble on my contracted testicles tickled a little.

I didn’t plan on this being a long session. And while he’d followed my instructions to a T, I don’t imagine he’d really wanted it to be more than a quick dump and go either.

But we all recognize chemistry when it happens and it began to blossom in the room. His oral skills were above par and he kept reaching up under my shirt. My tit tweaks were getting responses so I decided maybe I’d make this a little more fun.

I stood him up to discover he stood quite a bit shorter than me — probably about five-foot-seven. But his beefy wide stance still struck me as I pushed him back onto the bed and climbed up, kicking off my shoes and pants.

Positioning myself so my cock went right underneath his balls, his own prick stood out at attention

I growled. He responded in kind and soon my mouth covered his and we were kissing deeply. He slurped at my mouth and tongue.

He was thirsty.

“Spit in my mouth, please Sir,” he requested.

I obliged.

It had been a while since I’d had a fuck who wanted my spit and, let’s be honest, I didn’t exactly tank up for this little adventure. I’d just expected a fuck and go. But here I am kissing. My pants are off. I’ve got this naked body beneath me and, God’s honest truth, I wanted to completely feel it.

Off came my shirt too.

Now I nibbled on his perky nips, for which he jerked every time. Then I dropped to his cock and balls.

To be honest, I found his cock impressive for a bottom. Not huge but perfect for a man his size. Thick with a purple angry color to it. Yet I ignored it and went to his balls, tickled them a little with my tongue and then put my hands under the bend of his knees. I pushed him up and exposed his pucker on this wide, fuzzy hole.

It winked.

I dove into it without hesitation, tasting a mixture of soap and something else there. But I worked my tongue and a bit of spit into it. Licked his balls, nibbled a nip then kissed him deeply so he could taste his own ass.

Then I lined my cock up to his hole.

“You’re going to need more spit than that,” he said.

I spit on my hand and rubbed it into the head of my cock before pushing against his sphincter.

Pushing harder.

I pierced him, entering into his ass.

Raw, I ripped inside his ass and entered him the way a man should get fucked. Not a lot of lube. Just a little spit. So he could feel me at every millimeter as my invader worked into him farther and farther.

He began to beg.

And I began to fuck.

His thick, tree-trunk legs up around my shoulders as I moved my waist in almost an awkward fashion, working my way into his ass and out.

I would almost pull out and he’d tell me, “Wrong way. I want it all inside me.”

I did finally pull out to put him on top and let him ride. But he was a good little cum slut and sucked my cock some first before climbing on board.

He bounced. We kissed. I bit his nipples. He recognized how perfect my cock would be for double penetration . We fucked more. I made sure he had plenty of my spit to swallow.

“I think it’s breeding time,” I said.

“Would you fuck me on my stomach?” he said.

“You know that’s how I like it,” I said.

He hopped off and I moved out the way so he could crawl face down and let me invade. Despite his substantial beefiness, my taller frame allowed me to cover him almost completely.

I began to fuck and he began to beg. “Give me your fucking cum man! Breed my fucking ass, man! Let me have your load! Put it in my ass!”

I did. I shoved it in deep and my cock throbbed, flexed and began to shoot my load deep inside him. In his case, it felt particularly deep. Rocking my hips a few more times, I left my cock inside him like a butt plug as we kissed and chatted a bit more.

I pulled out. He felt his asshole.

“It’s wet,” he said.

“I wonder why,” I responded.

He licked and sucked my cock clean.

“Full service,” I said, thanking him.

He left his blindfold on as I put my clothes on and left. He played with his cock a little, which I wouldn’t deny him .

I spit into his mouth one last time before slipping out the door into the chilly night.

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After my last update on Inserection  this summer, I wondered if the adult bookstore would recover. Surprisingly, the recovery has happened and it’s much better.

It’s not perfect. The air conditioning works, the beds in the hook-up rooms have been repaired and the seeming dominance of meth addicts appears to have lessened.

I doubt it’s the $1 addition to the cover (now $11 to get in on weekdays). Maybe the door people are better trained or recognizing the addicts.

The crowd seems still too top-heavy, although I’ve kept to breeding except for an occasional abortion . In fact, I’ve got a good couple of entries I need to write up soon including a raw fuck in the darkroom on the ground level and a beautiful married man upstairs in a hook-up room.

I post to Craigslist when I head to Inserection and I always get four or five e-mails from locals asking what to expect. I usually refer them to this website. To expand upon reviews and update, I wanted to provide a little more information including a couple of “maps” of the ground floor and upper level.

You can read the updated review and learn more .

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Let me make one thing clear: I am an equal opportunity fucker.

Sure, I’ve got my thing for the exotics — Asians, Latins and the smooth twinks that occasionally cross my path. But you don’t have to be in your twenties or smooth for me to fuck you.

I’m at work and my iPhone hits BBRT . I use it to kill my long-ass days on the job or maybe to plan a hook-up. Lately, I’ve been walking into the office at 6:30 a.m. or a little earlier. I’ve been in the office almost an hour with the drudgery of my fucking 10-hour day already giving me a throbbing headache when I get a message.

“If you don’t mind heading to my neck of the woods, I’d be glad to take your load.”

Turns out his neck of the woods is the same godforsaken suburb of Atlanta I’m working in. Odd but exhilarating since I’m almost 28 miles as the crow flies from my homebase. This thirtysomething hot fucker picked me from the collection of folks online.

I respond, letting him know we’re in the same town. And since his profile is nice enough to show face, I unlock my photos.

I’m no prize. I’m in my mid-forties, could stand to lose another 10 pounds, an admitted nerd and completely comfortable in my own skin. My cock is seven inches and, if you lick my balls, it swells just a little more to make it maybe almost seven-and-a-half. I’ve had men suck me hard at gloryholes only to walk away because my cockhead barely long enough to make them choke (and it points the wrong way).

As I said, I’m no prize.

When a half-hour had passed, I wasn’t surprised that my local boy hadn’t responded.

Beside, he was six foot four inches tall with jet black hair and a thick goatee with sideburns almost to the point of a President Lincoln beard. His piercing dark brown eyes and barrel chest made him a handsome figure with almost a menacing look except for some softness around the edges. I figured him out of my league and, well, he probably looked my geekiness over and decided something else might suit him better.

Such is life.

Then, a little while later, I got a couple of messages in rapid succession.

First one told me how much he loved my blog.

Next one gave me his address.

We started texting and before I knew it, he actually texted me a photo of himself reading my blog (apparently inspired by a particular entry ). I told him I’d come by for lunch. He promised to be ready and for the next few hours, we texted back and forth a variety of thoughts.

Apparently, he ran across a few entries regarding my particular like of the smooth Asians, pointing out that if I were to expect anything short of furry, I’d be disappointed. And I reassured him that I happened to be an equal opportunity fucker.

Throughout the time we chatted, my cock would rise up in my jeans and alert me again and again of the nearing of the hour when I could leave. I had a conference call just before lunch, which I found difficult to concentrate.

When I finally clocked out and got to my car, punching in his address, his home happened to be less than five minutes from my office.

Fuck.

I was in his driveway so damn quick and when I approached his door, he opened it. We went immediately to his room and before the door finished closing, he was on his knees.

He’d obviously been reading plenty. In fact, I could see my blog still open on his computer. His mouth didn’t head for my cock but for my balls. Straight at them. With ever so light the touch, his oral skills apparent, he began caressing my balls and licking them. My cock snapped to attention and I could see a glistening of precum already.

This hot man would get a juicy assful.

As he continued his oral work, he would eventually let his mouth envelope my cock with his warmth on this chilly October day. My pants and underwear still around my ankles, I knew this wouldn’t be a quick fuck. I’d enjoy myself.

We paused long enough for me to slip my jeans, underwear and shoes off. I hopped onto the bed and spread my legs so he could get at my balls easier — especially since I’d shaved them earlier in the week.

He spit liberally on my cock as he finished up the blowjob and then climbed up and began to take a seat — just like I love to begin the fuck. He’d come out of the shower a little earlier and I could feel the squeaky tightness of the water-washed ass as he tried to sit on me. Without a foreskin, it hurt just a touch, because my rock-hard cock attempted to penetrate into that tightness.

Then I felt it begin to break through. His jaw clenched. I knew he felt the initial pain-pleasure mix of that invader entering him. But soon the pain began to leave his face, replaced only by pleasure.

I moved my hands up his belly, rubbing the black fur on his broad chest, pulling his shirt up. At six-foot-three myself, it’d been a while since I’d fucked someone my size. Even the larger men didn’t happen to be the same height. This man probably had twenty pounds on me. I liked his strength over me, riding my cock into a kind of submission. His meaty hands as large or even larger than mine. But his hairiness.

We were both taking from each other what we wanted.

His cock now swelled even larger. Where I had length, he had girth. The fucker’s cock would be something to get inside an ass. I’d heard of a beer can and now I felt one.

We fucked with abandon, saying nasty things to one another until he uttered the words I needed to hear: “I want your load.”

“You ready for it?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Let me fuck you from behind,” I said.

While I love to start with a man sitting on, there’s nothing like finishing on top of a man’s ass. I went inside him and wrapped my arms around him, my lips at his ear. My fingers went into the hairs of his chest right under his heart.

I’d snorted my poppers and I began asking him if he wanted my load.

“Yes please,” he said. “Give me your load. Please give me your load. I want your load. Please give it to me. Please. Please. Please.”

As I fucked, I went to my happy place where all that existing was my cock, his raw hole and his voice begging for my cum. And soon I went over the edge.

The moment I shoot, I come out of my daze and return to reality. And in that moment, he said, “FUCK!”

His ass clenched down.

And the most unique thing ever happened.

I know jizzjoy  exists. I’ve heard bottoms describe it. But with this man, I could FEEL it happen. You see, men can clench an ass. They can milk a cock. They can give pleasure. But this man knew my cum was flooding his ass. He was feeling my cock throb and shoot the load inside him.

As it did, my fingertips could feel his heart begin to beat out of his chest. Now, I knew he never snorted poppers. But his body was reacting as if he had. His heart picked up pace. He went into a kind of hyperventilation. We were connected by cock, cum and heartbeats. I FELT his jizzjoy throughout his body. Not just in his ass.

He loved my cum and cock inside him.

While I would have to remove my cock from that hairy ass in a moment, I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay inside him and breed him again.

Hopefully he would invite me back to breed this beast again. And again.

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