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Deceptive Practices

Stealthing, Stealth, Stealth Fucking
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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 Opens a new window from this blog 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 Opens a new window from this blog. Interestingly enough, some posts by contributors Opens a new window from this blog  that are clearly designated Opens a new window from this blog have been attributed to me by condom Nazi Link Opens in a New Window 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 Opens a new window from this blog but they won’t get listed by name at all.)

Although I write a lot about stealthing, what it is and isn’t Opens a new window from this blog, how to do it Opens a new window from this blog and I’ve even debated it with other barebackers Opens a new window from this blog, 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 Link Opens in a New Window is meant to be experienced.

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Travel Diary: The Bisexual Booty… But Basically Bad

bad-fuck
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One of my favorite ads (and one of the most popular to get responses on Craigslist) is one calling for “room service” in my hotel room. It sets up an anonymous fuck scene that, for some reason, seems to attract some hot ass and, in many cases, bisexuals who don’t want locals to know they crave the dick.

On my recent travels out West, the ad worked its charm and I got several responses. But despite a very hot (gay) 23-year-old, I chose the bisexual 35-year-old who was sneaking around on his girlfriend. As I’ve outlined of late, I’ve got a couple of things that can really bug me: Men who smoke and men who send fake photos.

My top choice sent hot, hot, hot photos and promised he was a non-smoker.

The room service scene keeps the lights off. The victim… err… bottom comes in, disrobes, sucks me hard and then lays flat on the bed for me to fuck them until I cum. The bottom is then supposed to suit up and leave.

The bisexual arrived a little late, but still followed directions. As he sucked my cock, I got a whiff of that all-too-familiar but all-too-unpleasant scent.

Smoker.

Damn it.

Then the dude broke the rules and climbed on board. His dragon breath exhaling down on me. But like a fucking V8 piston, he rode me so quick, it kept me hard enough. Lucky for him.

But in the dim light of the crappy hotel room light, I could see him. In detail.

If this guy was 35-years-old, I looked 10 years younger than him. His photo that he sent definitely wasn’t him — at least not the face one. Gaunt and wrinkled, he had to be 10 years older than me.

Two rules broken.

I warned him I was close to cumming, not that I was. His ass didn’t feel bad but breaking one rule I might forgive but two didn’t deserve a load. I faked a cum shot, not even bothering with the poppers.

He left, thinking he’d satisfied. I got back online to see if the 23-year-old was still awake.

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I Faked It With You

bad-fuck
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If you’ve ever wondered why…

  • … your fuck never showed up on this blog.
  • … I didn’t call you back for a second fuck.
  • … you didn’t notice a lot of (or any) cum in your ass.
  • … I didn’t say “thanks” or give you a thumbs up.
  • … I pulled out, zipped up and walked away.

It’s probably because I faked it.

Like women, men can fake it too. It’s not like porn. I’m not pulling out for the money shot. A little Kegel work and you can learn to make your cock throb. Truth is, I can even inject a decent amount a precum if I want.

But often, I’ll just pick up the pace, breath a little heavy and get it done cause your ass isn’t worth the trouble.

Yes. I fake it.

No all the time, mind you. I’m pretty good at sniffing out bad ass. And sometimes it’s just that. Bad ass often smells bad. I’m not just talking the smell of shit, which can be fucking horrible.

Every once in a while, I get to fuck a piece of prime top ass. Tops, as I can attest both as one and one who has fucked many, do not have the know-how or experience to clean properly.

As I like to occasionally say, if you’re going to fuck ass, you’re going to have to put up with a little shit every once in a while.

But bad ass has another kind of stink to it. It’s an overused stench of ass juices, soured cum, unwashed dildos, diarrhea and vomit.

Not all bad ass stinks literally. Sometimes, the ass just stinks proverbially.

How can I explain this? Look, I’ve fucked men who are pigs with a loose asses. I’ve fucked tight asses on men. When you bareback, the connection between men is deeper. We’re skin-to-skin and that means you can’t always put up a barrier.

I’m not saying it’s some sort of “strings attached” fuck. But sometimes, you’ve got to tie a shoelace or two with the thought it’s going to get untied a little later.

Oh, and just to make a point, if you suck at sucking cock and don’t get to fucking quickly… well, that’s a problem too.

 

 

Behind Dead Eyes (Part One)

The Hottest Man
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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.

On to Part Two

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

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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.

I hate it when someone who thinks he’s good-looking, young and full-of-himself somehow thinks himself special enough for me to mindmeld and figure out what the fuck he wants from me. He kept insisting I send him a variety of photos of myself and he would consider going bare, as he was usually a safe sex Nazi.

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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