Behind Dead Eyes (Part One)
The throb of the satellite radio caused the lights to move to beat. I topped the stairs and could see his tall, lithe body as a shadow. We closed the gap, hesitated for a moment to see each other and then began to kiss.
His lips were supple, almost betraying by how little real estate they occupied his face. But his tongue had a lizard-like quality. Darting into the recesses of my mouth and finding everything that I hid there. I swallowed my gum before he could scoop it up.
I pulled his body close to mine. Despite its thinness, I felt almost no bone. It had a sinew quality, almost snake-like.
While I was not in the Garden of Eden. Far from it. I was in an adult bookstore in Atlanta. I felt almost as if this were my temptation to take a bite of the apple.
Wait a moment.
I’d already bitten. To me, there would be no doubt. This temptation was too great. I wanted this man or devil or whatever mystery he held.
I cupped his incredible ass through the tight jeans and knew that this would be a fuck never to forget.
We found a vacant room and closed the door and locked it.
Our kissing resumed and, in something as close to romantic as I get, we slowly undressed. I felt every inch of his smooth skin. His short, curly brown hair provided enough length to grab it in a fist but something prevented me.
What the fuck?
Was I losing my edge?
I mean, this little fucker wanted to be used by me. We’d met on BarebackRT.com and he knew exactly what a twisted mindfuck I’d provide, as he’d found this blog first then sought me out on that hook-up site. Yet here I am, tenderly kissing a little slut and enjoying the fuck out of it.
* * *
‘Shut up.’
‘What do you mean shut up?’
‘I mean,’ the internal dialog continues. ‘Shut the fuck up! There’s a hardon! What the fuck does it matter whether we actually treat this one like all the others or not.’
‘It matters,’ the other voice says. ‘There’s a reputation to uphold. There’s no fucking tenderness to fucking. Fuck! Dump cum! Go!’
‘That’s the encounters that are written about,’ the voice points out. ‘What about all the breedings that don’t get an entry.’
‘Some of them are pretty brutal.’
‘And some of them are not.’
A new voice enters: ‘How about all of you shut the fuck up!’
* * *
His skin feels like silk and that tongue — fucking hell, that tongue! I can’t wait to feel it on my body. He’s not wearing any underwear.
With our pants down around our knees, he kneels to begin sucking. I can now feel the full talent of his tongue across the entire based of my throbbing seven inches. He looks up at me, his deep brown eyes look up wanting… something. His mouth open. His oval face staring up and seeming to ask for a kind of approval. I just put my hand gently into his soft curls and guide him onto my cock.
I close my eyes and lose myself a moment, just concentrating on the sensation of him, his mouth, it’s motion up and down on my cock. He’s pretty good. Blowjobs generally lack a je ne sais quoi about them and cannot get me off. I try to find something remarkable about his. I mean, his tongue is longer than most and he’s doing a better than average job. But it’s just not all that great. But I love feeling his hair in my right hand.
* * *
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’
‘Huh?’
‘You’re actually noticing how his hair feels?’ the voice says. ‘How gay is that?’
‘Shut up.’
‘You’re getting soft in your old age.’
‘Shut the fuck up!’
* * *
I lifted him up and we kissed a moment before pushing him down to a doggie position. That’s when his ass opened up to me and I saw the brownish gray pucker for the first time.
His ass overall was graced with peach fuzz hair in a light brown. Interestingly, it seemed as if someone had groomed the little hair follicles perfectly as they lay in a starburst pattern around his hole. I didn’t approach with my normal caution.
With most bottoms, you wonder if he might be clean. Even if you know he’s washed up, you wonder just how well. But with him, my tongue went lapping at his hole and only tasted the sweetness of his flesh.
His hand began slapping the leatherette mattress in this dimly lit sex den and he moaned.
The hairs of his ass were so very soft, as if he’d conditioned them. I’d never licked hairs so soft. Hairs below the waist can be wiry and stiff. But his were like cashmere yarn. As I ran my fingertips along his crack and pried him open more for my tongue to dart into the damp hole, I continued exploring to find the fine hairs of his balls and pubes were equally fine and soft.
I smelled him and found the scent undeniable.
* * *
‘You’re a fucking moron.’
‘What?’
‘He smells good?’ the voice toys. ‘What next? China patterns?’
‘Fuck off,’ the other voice responds. ‘It’s fun.’
‘Fun?’ the voice slaps back. ‘You’re going to be pussy whipped.’
* * *
With enough ass eating, it’s so juicy that I know my cock will slide inside. So I stand. He slips off his shoes and pants. I remove my pants too, finding some poppers in the pockets for him, tossing it beside his outstretched hand where’s it’s continued to slap the mattress. Soon we’re both naked and I’m slicking up my cock with more of my spit. I put it at his hole and push.
He takes a hit off the poppers. The head of my cock is soon inside him.
He’s breathing hard. But his ass is backing up. And my cock slides further inside. Until all of it is inside him.
“You wanted that ass,” he says.
“You bet I did,” I respond.
I begin fucking in earnest. I twist my hips and arch my back. I change my pace. I find angles. I want him to enjoy it as well.
* * *
‘Why the fuck does he need to enjoy it?’ the voice says.
‘So he’ll come back for more.’
‘Why the fuck does that matter?’
‘Because,’ the other voice says, ‘I want this ass again.’
‘It’s not like there aren’t other asses out there,’ the voice says. ‘Younger, tighter asses.’
‘But this is different.’
‘No. It isn’t.’
* * *
“I want you to breed my ass,” he says, breaking my introspection.
“You want my load?” I can’t deny his ass is fucking fantastic. I really don’t need poppers to pop one off. But poppers do make it feel so much better. As I fuck him, sliding into his silky hole, feeling it grip my cock, he occasionally squeezes it.
Oh I want to unload.
“Yes,” he says, practically breathless.
“Or do you want this to last?”
“Cum whenever you want,” he responds. “Just make sure I get your load.”
I keep fucking, focusing on the sensation of his ass. Occasionally I run my hands along his lithe body, his smooth skin. Perfect. A body of perfection.
I’ve fucked a lot of beautiful men in my life. Muscular. Models. But this one. Something was different.
I had to stop thinking, stop intellectualizing and focus on the task at hand:
Breeding ass.
As I looked down at the dim light, I could see my spit-lubed cock sliding in and out of that pucker. And I just couldn’t hold back any longer. I reached for the poppers, found them and took a huge snort.
“Want my load?”
“Yessss!”
I picked up the pace.
“Tell me you want it!”
“Please breed my hole!”
I could feel his hole twitch at the words and the pinpoint of the poppers began to drive me toward my orgasm.
Another pump into his ass, his raw ring around my cock, sensing every little bit of it touching me. Feeling his urging me on, backing up into my thrusts, begging for it now.
“Please give me your cum.”
I was grunting now, going into that place where I disappear and only my cock lives. My cock and cum. Boiling. Reaching that fever pitch that would bring it in a surge, breaking through a barrier. I could feel it like a tsunami inside, bursting though some plug. This was one of those loads. I’d obviously built it up over time and somewhere along its pipeline path, it met resistance and now was bursting through. I felt both pain and pleasure at once.
His ass clenched. I think I am screaming. Or grunting. Or making some sort of noise.
My cum is slamming into his ass walls, surging out of my cock. The pain is a distant memory and now all I feel is relief.
I remember to move a little as my cock throbs in his ass. I want to make sure he knows I’m painting the inside of his ass with my cum. My DNA. That this perfect little specimen of a man will know his perfection has been ruined by this geek.
But I’m still recovering from the intensity of the initial moments. The cum is still flooding out. I can feel it around the head of my cock and down the sides. I fuck a little and the sensation of a “squish” comes.
The popper blindness recedes and I’m breathing hard.
That was one of the most intense orgasms ever.
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Forty-Five Random List…
…for Mark Bentson’s Forty-Fifth Year (Part 2 of 3)
You can catch up by reading part one.
30. I need a protégé.
It’s something I have wanted for a long while. A paduwan. Someone to take under my wing, nurture and teach the secrets of fucking. I’m not going so far as to suggest I’m the bottom whisperer or anything, but I do have a talent for reading men and finding a way into their pants and eventually their asses. Of course, getting into their asses means I fuck them raw.
I want a willing, dedicated participant who wants to learn. So many folks take the first bit of advice and then move on, thinking they’ve got the key. But learning is a process that takes a little time.
So I still await someone with endurance and patience.
29. Make some fantasies cum true
Believe it or not, I still have a few fantasies in the darkest corners of my mind. These twisted little flights of my sexual imagination require that protégé or someone like him to become synchronized with me and be willing to waltz into the lion’s den where it’s not a controlled environment, like a dungeon or a bedroom. It requires quick thought on your feet, persuasion and a certain Joie de vivre.
28. Spread my seed farther, wider, deeper
Travel isn’t the only reason to spread my seed. Implanting my DNA in men just is my mission, my passion, the reason for fucking. And I find as I can reach more men farther afield from home — whether that’s literally geographic or figuratively in some other means like culture, age, financial status or otherwise — I find it more of a turn on.
27. Negotiate Middle East Peace
Short of that, I want to fuck more straight and bi ass.
26. Take one down, pass it around…
Where is the Gran Marnier?
25. Breed on my birthday
Any Atlanta asses want to volunteer to take my load?
24. Speaking of birthdays…
My wish list remains open at Amazon. Anyone wishing to send along something nice is always welcome to do so. It’s welcomed.
23. More strippers please
I don’t mind putting dollar bills in armbands or socks and paying for a lap dance. In fact, there’s a little bit of a turn on. That’s why one of my favorite places to visit in Atlanta happens to be Swinging Richards.
As I travel more places, I wish there were similar clubs worth my time and attention. For example, in San Francisco, I’d hoped that the Nob Hill Theatre might be the perfect cross between a Swinging Richards and a gloryhole destination. It’s far from it (I’ll get around to offering my review soon). And I’d thought Sin City might offer me a few options. But no. Women naked, yes. Men (for men), no.
I know Canada is known for some good strip clubs and a few in South Florida, but are there any more in the U.S.? Come on guys, let me know!
22. I’ve converted
Long-time readers will know my affinity for Diet Coke. When I wrote the impossible fantasy, The Company, Diet Coke features prominently in the story, as it’s provided to my character (I know, lots of you want me to continue the story and I appreciate that; read the next entry).
Well, folks, Coke Zero now features prominently among my beverage consumption as well. In fact, I drink it much more than Diet Coke and much prefer it.
Truth is, who the fuck cares? But writing 45 things about yourself can become daunting halfway in.
21. Finish it
I have a tendency to start a lot of projects but never finish them. I love watching those hoarding shows on A&E or TLC and sometimes those mentally ill folk have the same ideas but with physical world items. And the hoard overtakes their storage.
Good thing my hoard is virtual and on a computer. And good thing I don’t grow emotionally attached and can let them go. I’ve still got goals but I just can’t seem to find an opportunity to finish the books or the online projects. And often money is a barrier. It’s like The Company, which apparently had a few people enthralled. I know where the story goes and where it ends, but I just couldn’t get around to finishing it. I need to finish things more often.
20. I still want to write and direct a porn movie
Recently, I noticed the fine folks at Treasure Island Media posted its first attempts at stealthing. In the end, I believe someone felt it “too controversial” to go on the DVD, but having watched the scene, it simply lacked the spark.
When Hollywood does big films about the Navy, they bring in technical advisers from (get this) the Navy. Part of the problem I saw was bottom could easily tell the top clumsily took the condom off. The fucking went on. It didn’t “read” like a legit stealthing.
That, among other controversial themes, are things I might explore. Should someone ever give me a chance.
19. I have no tolerance for stupid questions
For some reason of late, I’ve been getting more and more visitors who find this whole “blog” thing foreign to them. Among the young men in Las Vegas who said he might be interested in being my bottom, he liked my “page” but started asking a dozen questions about me. This here blog contains more information about me than you’d ever want to know. I referred him back to the blog, for which he said he did not want to invest the time in reading.
In fact, the little prick sent just one tiny faceless pic (as you can see) then responded with the following: “Thanks for the website and the warnings, but I did not really get to see what you look like or what your stats are. After hunting around the website for about 20 minutes I came across a few stats that could be you or someone you described as 6ft and 180lbs.”
Okay, as a little help, dumbass. In the future, look at the top of EVERY FUCKING PAGE and you’ll see something called navigation. It happens to have an entry called “About Me.” If you click it, you might find that for which you’re looking.
18. Despite how it reads sometimes, I’m a nice guy
Yes, I can be an asshole. But most would attest I am a nice guy. Anyone? Bueller? Please post your “yes Mark is a nice guy” in the comments if you’ve met me.
17. Fuck it
I know this is a little offensive, but occasionally fucking the younger folk less than half my age makes for fun and, well, makes me feel a little flattered. On the other hand, people closer to my age aren’t quite as flattering, no matter how good their shape.
16. How am I going to figure out 15 more?
I’m struggling for 30. What the fuck am I going to write for the next 15. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow, my birthday, when I turn 45. Maybe early Alzheimer’s will set in and I’ll just repeat myself.
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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.
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Travel Diary: Introducing My Las Vegas ‘Catfish’
It is without a doubt among my biggest thrills to meet (and occasionally seed) those who read my blog. I get “fan” mail often. A lot of people ask inane questions. Others engage me in conversation. With the exception of those who I get to fuck (and with their permission), I’ll write my experiences on these virtual pages.
Then there’s those who lie.
If you’ve ever seen the documentary movie, “Catfish,” you begin to unravel the kind of delusions some people develop. They build a life of a lie and they double-down on it. They exist within this lie and develop it so much further. It’s a cocoon of lies around them so deep, so interwoven and so swollen with guilt, sex and altered reality, you can’t quite find your way to the truth.
This has happened to me before.
It was a sixty-something woman pretending to be a young gay man — quite convincingly. She was a manager at a major retailer and would take photos of her young, hot, male employees — sometimes not even 18 years old — to lure in unsuspecting multiple men. As most people tend to do, she neglected to pay attention to the background of images and her store information including awards were plainly visible in these pics she sent.
Eventually, a group of men made sure she stopped and the major retailer was none-too-pleased by the publicity it received.
I would have let it go myself had it not been for the fact one photo I knew was a 17-year-old employee who turned out to be quite straight. But that, my friends, doesn’t get to our Las Vegas Liar.
An Introduction to ‘Mike’
I am generally not a vengeful person. And I expect a certain degree of, shall we say, stretching the truth. Your first name is likely different and you’re probably a little older, a little heavier and the photo you originally sent is a few years in the past when you were on that great diet or taken from an angle that just looked especially good.
But overall, it’s you.
A young man who had been chatting with me for a while lived in Vegas. I’ll speak honestly. We did share some affinity for certain sexual proclivities that I rather enjoy. As with any of my early correspondence, I’d asked for a photo exchange, in which he reluctantly obliged. That always makes me a bit suspicious, so here we already had a problem because he always seemed to be at work and unable to send me photos of himself — even G-rated ones. Yet our conversations would venture into clearly XXX-rated territory.
On occasion, I neglect to tell the poor idiots who use “work phones” and “work computers” without photos that their explicit messaging is just as much a problem for them if the workplace monitors IP traffic. If their nasty text messages or IMs are making it through, so can some photos.
Eventually, photos arrived, in which he claimed to be Person #1 in the images shown here, composed of three photos: Two nude and one just shirtless but showing his face originally.
As the conversation deepened, he then mentioned his boyfriend, who he eventually introduced as Person #2 and pointed to an Adam4Adam.com profile, “VegasNewHotBoi.” He also mentioned that his boyfriend wanted to join in the bareback fun.
I realized the photos were a little off (but not as off as I’ll explain in a moment) but I let it go and we chatted more.
Fast Forward Several Months
Several months later, I got word that I needed to travel to Las Vegas for a week. I saw it as an opportunity to see Mike and use his ass. We began to explore what might become an interesting adventure between the two of us. He would line up men for me to fuck, along with volunteering to get fucked. As he was versatile, we would tag team and it would be quite a round of fucking.
In the course of the conversation, we ended up trading photos again, largely because he wanted to see me. I asked for more of him.
This is where it gets interesting.
When he sent photos of himself to me, this time he sent me photos of Person #2.
As we chatted, his stats changed from his original 5-foot-8, dirty blond at 24 years old to a 30-year-old, 6-foot tall guy.
Fresh, new photos were not to be had. He used a “work phone.” Even as he texted me his exploits of giving blowjobs and getting fucked raw in Excalibur Resort bathrooms (according to him, they’re quite cruisy), he couldn’t seem to point the iPhone at the mirror to snap even a G-rated photo. Again, this excuse of it’s a “work phone.” Yet he could send texts all about the huge cock that just shot a cumload into his raw ass.
Suspicions mounted.
In all this time, this “boyfriend” of months past no longer was mentioned. In fact, it seemed as if he had no such man in his life as he existed to get cum. Every night, he basically told me of his search for cum and how he got it. I played along, also discussing how we might meet up.
Arrival in Sin City
I didn’t find it odd that “Mike” went silent the few days before my arrival. Despite being online (something he would later attribute to his computer going to “sleep,” but something I know also forces his G-Talk status to “not available” or even “off line,” neither of which occurred), Mike never responded to IMs or e-mails until I sent the first one from my hotel room.
“I’m here,” was all it said.
“In Vegas?” he responded. “Where?”
“In my room,” I answered.
“Okay,” he messaged back. “When do you leave?”
Now I found this an odd question. I just got here and he’s asking when I’m leaving? Beside the fact I’d been talking about being in town a whole week and using bottoms for that period of time (he was a blog reader, after all), I usually see the “when do you leave” question from people who postpone sex until it’s too late to have it. In other words, they never had the intention to fuck.
I remained silent to this little turn of events.
“I got suck flu,” he wrote, finally breaking the silence. “Two days ago. It seems to be going away. Feeling better. I haven’t had the flu like this in years.”
I’d remained stoically silent until finally typing, “Uh huh.”
“Can we meet tomorrow?” he now asked. “Anytime! Off work until Tuesday.”
I’m guessing that the flu was indeed improving. Further, he knew that tomorrow, that Monday, I had a little event planned. I’d advertised on BarebackRT.com for gathering to occur. He’d asked if he could attend via the site and I’d confirmed him.
In the last few hours prior to the party, he disappeared off line. IMs on G-Talk and messages on G-Mail and BBRT went unanswered.
He would be “bummed” at missing the party (which turned out to be great fun with some hot, hot, hot guys). I began asking about responses I’d expected from him and he’d deny ever receiving such messages. Even when I sent screenshots from BBRT showing the messages, he’d send others back showing such messages didn’t exist. As if someone wiped them away completely.
As I tried to nail down a time and place to meet, it became apparent it would not actually occur. Whoever this person happened to be, he would not let me pin him into the snare he’d created for himself. So allow me to share with all of you in Vegas what you’re up against.
Confronting a Catfish
I began by pointing out the confusion of who he really was. His response proved to be denial. He and his boyfriend (who re-emerged in a convenient heartbeat) often pretended to be one another. It just wasn’t a big deal. They did it all the time. Since at the initial time they were both planning on having sex with me, he didn’t think it was all that big of a deal to play a switcharoo.
In his words, “I may have misled you a little. I really didn’t lie. You were going to be able to fuck me. You were going to be able to fuck the guys in the photos. The only question was who really was me.”
Well, that my friends leads us to a more interesting question as to who these photos might be because I do not believe the folks in the face photos match the images that are naked.
CSI: Photo Flesh XXX
Consider the three photos presented as Person #1. Images #1A and #1B were clearly taken of the same person and in sequence. However, we begin to plot the inconsistencies:
- The camera device varies between 1A/1B and 1C
- Room and background setting varies significantly between 1A/1B and 1C
- Clothing represented is significantly different between 1A/1B and 1C.
- The man in 1A/1B is much more thin and less muscularly defined that the man in 1C.
- The man in 1A/1B is much more tan carries a significantly different skin-tone than the man in 1C.
- The man in 1A/1B has much more chest hair naturally occurring than the man in 1C.
- As outlined in the blow-up images below image #1A, the nipple shapes vary significantly.
- As outlines in the blow-up images below image #1B, the person in 1A/1B has a shoulder tattoo on his left tattoooo. The person in 1C clearly does not.
We have a similar situation in Person #2.
The two color photos provided — image #2A and #2B — clearly show a largely smooth guy, tall and thin, with a delightful bush restricted to just above his cock. While the man in image #2C, presents with rather hairy legs and a bush that extends to the inner thighs.
Clearly, again, we have two people. One in photos #2A and #2B; another person is in photo #2C.
Why Bother?
I bother because I care. Ha. Not really.
I honestly don’t give a shit if the fucker who’s been communicating with me was some old fart sitting at home stroking his cock for the umpteenth time in this little fantasy world. What bothers me is, when confronted with the truth, this delusional bastard tried to stick to the lie. I got excuse after excuse for hair, for inconsistencies and for obvious problems. Seriously, you’re just going to shave the sides of your bush but not the bush itself?
Whoever is in these photos might be innocent (that’s why the faces are blurred) but someone is guilty. So gentlemen, keep an eye out for the following people:
- OutInVegas on BarebackRT
- LVSuckNSwallow@Gmail.com and LVSuckNSwallow on G-Talk
- OutinVegas@Gmail.com and OutinVegas on G-Talk
- VegasNewHotBoi@Yahoo.com or VegasNewHotBoi on Yahoo! Messenger
- VegasNewHotBoi on Adam4Adam
Of course, these are just the ones I know about.
You make your own judgment. I’ve made mine.
P.S. If you run across who’s really in these photos, please let me know. I know there’s an asshole on Manhunt in Boston using my photo.
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Q&A: Can’t a Top Feel It When He Goes Raw?
Yesterday, I went to get fucked by a guy and he insisted on wearing a condom.
I’m a pig bottom and always follow commands so I brought some old condoms with me. I sucked him hard, washed his orbs and rimmed his ass good which got him rock hard. He handed me the condom so I duitifully slid it over his 7-inch cock and assumed my possition bent over the bed.
No lube, the horny little fuck just mounted my ass and dry-fucked my hole. After about 5 minutes, he pushed me up on the bed and mounted me doggie. Again, no lube or spit, he just started pushing it in and I heard a POP. Right away I knew what had happened: The condom broke. I didn’t say a fucking word, as I prefer bareback to wrapped any day of the week.
With the condom busted, he just kept right on fucking my hole like there was no tomorrow. I was loving it because his precum started lubing my fuck hole and the painfulness of the dry condom was gone.
He just kept on riding me until he unloaded a huge nutt in my hole. Since he was still hard, I tried to get him to keep going and drop another load in my pig hole because now with his nutt lubing me up I was really enjoying the ride.
He pulled out and was supprised the condom had broke but let me suck another load out of him before I pulled my jock up over my dripping ass and left.
So here’s the question: How the fuck does the top not know that the damn condom broke?
How could he not know? Of course he knew unless he’s a complete dumb-ass!
You know as well as I do that we ALL prefer it bareback. The more the ass-wipe, condom Nazis deny it, the more it’s clear they really, really want it raw. You could hear the POP? He could FEEL it. But he could also feel how good your ass felt and, godalmighty, he didn’t want to stop. So pretend like it wasn’t happening.
We call that plausible deniability.
Some of us want to suspend belief in reality so we can think we’re safe long enough to get our nuts off — in this case, twice.
When I stealth, I know some of the guys recognize I’ve slipped off the condom but they want to suspend their belief for a moment and pretend like the condom is on. There’s this one Latin at the adult book store I frequent. He always puts a condom on me. I always take it off mid-fuck. I always blow a load in his ass. He always takes it. Then he acts all indiginant .
I’ve fucked him dozens of times. He comes back for more despite the fact he KNOWS he will get it raw. He always puts a condom on me. I always take it off.
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