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

3-2-1-blast-off

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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Travel Diary: Introducing My Las Vegas ‘Catfish’

las-vegas

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:

  1. The camera device varies between 1A/1B and 1C
  2. Room and background setting varies significantly between 1A/1B and 1C
  3. Clothing represented is significantly different between 1A/1B and 1C.
  4. The man in 1A/1B is much more thin and less muscularly defined that the man in 1C.
  5. The man in 1A/1B is much more tan carries a significantly different skin-tone than the man in 1C.
  6. The man in 1A/1B has much more chest hair naturally occurring than the man in 1C.
  7. As outlined in the blow-up images below image #1A, the nipple shapes vary significantly.
  8. 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.
For all these reasons, I believe that there are two people depicted here. One in photos #1A and #1B; another person in photo #1C.

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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A Dozen Resolutions for 2012 & A Dozen Reasons Why 2012 Will Be Better Than 2011

2012

12. Porn Star Fuck…

Surely 2012 is finally my year to get some porn star ass, don’t you think? Hint hint porn stars. You know who you are. And I know you read me. So offer it up to me.

11. Meet My Meat

Looks like I’ll be doing my share of traveling in 2012, not just to Northern California. While I’m around, I want so make sure some of the people out there who read me (and who I read or follow) meet my meat. No particular number. Just a goal to make sure that I spread my DNA wide and far.

10. More Asian Invasions

I love Asians. Well, let me be specific. I love fucking Asians. I want to fuck more Asians. My goal is to make that happen. More. A lot more.

Here’s the thing… if I’m lucky, I could get resolution 12, 11 and 10 in one shot. But I doubt it. I only know one half-Asian porn star. But I’d fuck and breed him twice to make it count.

9. Shape It Up

I’ve been doing good but I need to get started back at the gym. I will. More work to do. More muscles to gain.

8. Something Kinky

I need to shock myself. If anyone can come up with something that will shock me (and in the process, turn me the fuck on), hit me up.

7. Tattoo Time

I know, I promised myself last year. But the tattoo I want requires a good artist. Okay, not just a good artist. A great one. And someone with that talent isn’t just someone you find at the corner shot. You have to find the right one. I hope I find him or her this year.

6. Curb the Curmudgeon

Perhaps a reader has a point. I know there’s exceptions to every rule. Fuck, I know straight men take cock. I need to start believing more men. So maybe they will drive to meet me.

Interestingly enough, I like to consider this part of myself a pragmatist and not a curmudgeon or pessimist. I’ve been told I was a pessimist, most recently by an 18-year-old who really, really was just curious to know my age. This Grindr cutie claimed he would still very much be interested in me, no matter my age. Of course, the oldest man he’d ever dated was two years my youth — and a doctor.

We’ll see if he follows through in the new year. Okay, so in curbing… I HOPE he follows through…

5. Roll on them Rollercoasters

I have a passion for rollercoasters but the past few years has kept me away from amusement parks. Not this year. I’m hitting them and going for a ride.

4. Occupy the Obvious

The Occupy moment had its moment and, at times, my support. Not always. As the movement said they were the 99 percent, I suggested that I was the 9 percent — the 9 percent unemployed who simply couldn’t find a job.

That story goes further. I could find the most basic work. Even Target or other hourly positions turned me down. I just wanted a chance. I finally got that chance and got a job. I got two job offers.

However, one job offer came with stipulations. It came with a three-month trial to determine whether or not I was “compatible with the culture” in the company.

With both companies, I’d been forth coming about my sexuality — not in an obvious way, but inquiring about support of same-gender partner benefits. One answered my questions professionally and neutrally. The other — well — needed time to figure it out. Then questioned whether I would “fit with the corporate culture.”

This was later in the process, so as not to look homophobic. But it didn’t fool me.

Fuck fit.

I didn’t occupy the job, especially when I left them know that I recognized their homophobia, no matter the subtly. I called them out on it.

They backpedaled and tried to get me to take the job, but emotionally, I just knew I couldn’t commit myself there. Which leads me to my next resolution.

rage3. Punch Back

Look, as much as we like to suggest, IT DOES NOT GET BETTER. We just learn to deal with the crap better. And after the last couple of years, with “FAG” carved into the side of my car, my shit stolen, bullied at work and eventually fired by a homophobic boss and the hatred I confront from the Gay community, I’m done being Mr. Passive.

I’m punching first, asking for clarification later.

2. Mentoring a Man-Boy

I have hoped for a while to find someone worthy of learning what I know. Occasionally I find someone who has promise and I begin speaking with him. But as with most of these young’uns, they fall off the planet when it means a little work. This includes the Seattle bottom who’s cheating on his boyfriend and learning to be a cum-loving slut, the Midwest Asian frat boy who thinks he’s not all that hot but he breaks all the molds with a big cock and the big-dicked black Florida Military boy who keeps skipping around on me like a fairy.

If you’re worthy and will truly dedicated yourself without being a flake, hit me up: iblastinside@gmail.com. And include a fucking photo.

1. Connect

Vague as it sounds, I know what it means. I have been sans a best bud, a wing man, a co-conspirator for a little more than a year now. I have good friends but when friendship is tested, few pass the test. I wouldn’t mind it if someone just starts out and we don’t test anything other than whether we can get a good drink on together and travel some.

I’ve even had buds who have been straight and with whom I’ve never fucked. Used to go with one to pro hockey games, getting drunk before and after. He’d check the girls, I’d check the guys and we’d fucking scream our heads off at the checks on the ice.

Miss that.

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On My 11 Resolutions of 2011…

2011-sucka

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

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

 

11. Quiet Moments, Yoga or Some Shit Like That

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

 

10. Fuck a Porn Star

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

 

9. Indulge My Photography Bug.

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

 

8. Lose Inches on My Waist.

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

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

I’m 1 for 4.

7. Get Me Another Pair of Diesel Jeans.

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

 

6. Stress Less by Fucking More.

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

That puts me 2 for 5.

 

5. Tattoo Time…

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

 

4. Getting Friends Back or Getting New Ones.

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

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

 

3. Vacation.

Done. Had a good one. 3 for 8.

 

2. Write a Damn Book.

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

 

1. Get a Job I Love.

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

 

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

 

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Travel Diary, Day #4: The Party that Wasn’t

Capture

I thought to improve my chances at a bareback lay required something a bit more creative. A party, surely, would attract a few more men and make it worth their while to drive two miles off Interstate 880. Right?

Fuck no.

I posted it and got about seven responses, but two were abortions too far away to really count (or just not in my field of dreams). The remaining five made the grade and I accepted them. I’d hoped for more tops but, alas, that didn’t seem to be the case.

I sent an e-mail with instructions and my location and followed up with a request to confirm. Shortly after that message, I started to get responses:

sorry. you are pretty far from me...about 30 minutes...so I
am going to pass...thought you were closer...have fun

Okay, so BBRT does indeed show his city and mine and approximate distance. Had he checked, he’d seen a bridge needed to be crossed and a 30-minute drive.

Next one:

new to the area and don't have idea where you are. sorry bud.

Guess what, dumb ass? When I told you the hotel, there’s this really amazing thing called the fucking Internet. USE IT.

sorry, but bbrt normally emails me when i have a message and
it didn't tonight. hope you have fun. sorry i couldnt make
it.

Well, I invited you to a party at 9 p.m. and accepted you. What the fuck do you think would happen? The one night BBRT doesn’t work right. HMMMM… suspicious.

And finally, the guy who begged me all week to fuck him but wouldn’t come over unless I found another top to fuck him:

I'm not gonna attend.  Someone I blocked is going.....have a
great time man

Well fuck.

Everyone else, just a no show.

I’m back in January. Maybe I’ll have better luck.

 

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