Category Archives: curiosity

Stealthing, Stealth, Stealth Fucking

Q&A: Just Pozzed Out and My Viral Load Is High. Should I Continue to Stealth?

Occasionally, I get e-mails from my readers asking questions. With permission, I answer them here.


QuestionI love your blog and your stories. I’m a versatile and sometimes get fucked and sometimes do the fucking. I since I’ve hit 30, I just really couldn’t stand using the condoms any more. But some guys insisted.

Then I found your blog. And read all about the whole stealth thing.

I get your point. You wrote about it as a warning to guys but you know, a lot of people are dumb and all. I had to get the cum in my ass and I needed to breed too. I made lots of condoms with pinprick holes. I always had condoms on me. Fuck, I even had friends ask me and I gave them away. I’ve left them around sleazy gay bars.

I finally got a poz test, which doesn’t bother me at all. Barebacking is a hotter experience now. Now I really think I’m breeding a guy and it’s taking hold.

My viral load is high. Man, I’m toxic, with millions swimming in me. I’m trying to decide if I want to go on meds or just continue to fuck my way through the world for a while.

But I’m having second thoughts about stealthing or slipping one of my special condoms on a top fucking me.

What would you do?


AThe question is where you meet these potential fucks.

There’s this hideous gasp among some fags that an anonymous hook-up should be an honest exchange of information and despite the numerous dishonest exchange about age, weight, etc. prior to someone’s dick going in someone else’s mouth, it’s some sort of cardinal sin if a condom isn’t used.

Never mind how we kill ourselves with crystal meth, smoking and booze.

But those choices are addictions and diseases while bareback fucking is wrong, wrong, wrong!

In my opinion, you should go on meds. Anything to keep more bareback fuckers fucking, I’m in favor. It’s between you and your doctor how aggressive  you want to be with the millions of friends you’ve got swimming around inside you now.

(And for any chasers, let me know who you are and I’ll consider sharing my toxic buddy’s info with you — with his permission — share his with you. You might want to include a pic.)

When I stealth, it’s usually a place like an adult bookstore or sex club. I was just there the other day and the fucking bottom I slipped my cock into pulled me out and insisted I wear a condom.

He didn’t provide one, mind you. I needed one.

I provided one. And he got a nice ride out of it and I got what I wanted. Interestingly enough, he kept checking to see if the condom was on, so I couldn’t rip it off. I didn’t need to do so because the fucker missed the point.

You want to be “safe,” you control the scene.

I brought my own “condoms,”  which in the darkened room he couldn’t see each one lacked the full tip (not just the pinhole prick you use).

Guess what fucker? You were loaded!

Now this little tweaker, who was in a darkroom and never saw me or anyone else who fucked his hole. If I know what goes down in these dastardly places, I also wasn’t the only one to stealth that day.

Let’s discuss the logistics of the whole thing.

The guy I fucked was a slut. And while there’s plenty of DNA evidence in his ass, who’s to say the condom didn’t fail or, despite my words here, he didn’t give me a condom that was broken and I was the one duped. As we both know, that’s a possibility as well.

If you’re inviting men over to your place and fucking them at your house… well, that’s just another story. I’d personally never use the broken condom bit in private one-on-one condom bit.

Spike-ItThat said, I have (on occasion) not honored the request to “pull out” in a timely manner. If the bottom is stupid to let me inside to play, I’m going to finish the game and score the touchdown. Truth is, most of the time they end up begging for it there anyway.

I’d also be a little careful about distributing sabotaged condoms. Anyone to simply pickup free condoms and expect them to work are stupid, but your fingerprints are probably on them and, well, I’d hate for some vengeful faggot to track you down (and in your city, they would).

After all this chatter, let’s boil it down:

Yes, Do…

  • Fuck raw. If the opportunity presents itself, fuck raw.
  • Go on meds. 
  • While you’re toxic, seek out chasers and gift. 
  • Stealth in sleazy places where bareback sex is the norm.
  • Stealth as a bottom.

No, Don’t…

  • Distribute sabotaged condoms anymore anywhere. 
  • Stealth as a top in one-on-one hook-ups

Best of luck and enjoy your new status. And don’t let the Aryan bastards get you down.


I love the occasional questions, so please send them along to

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Hate (1 of 3)

Hate (1 of 3)

Whenever you hear someone say, “I’m not racist,” they’re about to spout something racist. And so I believe when folks say they’re not judgmental.

Of late, a quiet storm of hate — you can attempt to call it disapproval, dismay or other such terms, but it truly boils down to hate — has spread to the corners of the Internet. It’s generated a kind of peer pressure, not unlike the vocal Tea Party. A small minority within the majority. And those people, the squeaky wheels, have created a disproportionate voice among the many to silence a voice that had finally begun to rise.

Barebacking is not an activity of the minority of positive men who are about to die anyway. Recent scientific surveys revealed about half of gay men engage in raw sex. And that outrages the conservative wing of the gay vocals.

This, along with the rise of the Bareback Brotherhood Open-New-Window-External, my blog, Raw Top’s blog Open-New-Window-External, Open-New-Window-External, Treasure Island Media Open-New-Window-External, porn performers going raw Opens new window of a page on this blog and other such events coming to light makes for nothing short of radicalization by some.

It’s in quiet corners but it’s having an impact. I’m going to share what’s happening over the next couple of entries. I’ve written about some things Opens new window of a page on this blog. And to many who claim not to be judgmental, those folks seem to enjoy calling me and others brutal names and attempting at humor to blunt something nothing less than radical right hatred.

Explaining Myself

I do want to thank those who write me small notes of encouragement when they see, hear and read the attacks.

My blog is about me and all the dichotomies I embody and, without reading everything, some choose to select entries and judge me based on those. But I choose to believe we all struggle with our place on the planet and, no matter how sincere that sounds, someone’s going to twist that into me sounding something other than sincere.

I understand that I fuck my way through man after man, sometimes through a gloryhole Open-New-Window-External, and that “intimate” act could seem anything but intimate. Some of my friends consider fucking as friendly as “hello” and the most intimate act being a French kiss. I’ve put myself into the handler space and attempted a little pup play, but that just never floated my boat. It’s not my place to attack those choices if one chooses to belittle another.

Perhaps my occasional need to have the opportunity to use a hole comes from being used myself as a molested child Opens new window of a page on this blog and unusual urges that wanted it to happen sometimes Opens new window of a page on this blog. Perhaps I’m just an asshole that way.

However, I never force anyone to back their ass up to a gloryhole Opens new window of a page on this blog. I don’t have a leash or a whip. No one’s been trained or chained.

I started this blog as an exploration of my sexual being and my life. It’s become much more than that. I’m not apologizing for my humanity. And the explanation of who I am isn’t over. The day the blog ends is the day that explanation is over.

I have a feeling it’s the day I die.

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Beware the Haunting of Gay Ghosts

Beware the Haunting of Gay Ghosts

These Gay Ghosts… The Continuing Bullshit over Photos, Honesty and Me

Of late, I’ve been so lucky to engage with some interesting conversations. The introduction of Kik Opens a new window from this blog as an option to get in touch with me produced many more inquiries along with the normal production of e-mails and other messaging. Generally, I’m grateful.

But yet again, I get a message that just sends me over the edge. It seems to be a frequent of late.

“How old are you?”

Visiting my blog (where you are right this very moment unless you’re reading a feed), just click the About Me Opens a new window from this blog page in the navigation. All my basics appear there. My age and stats. None inflated or improved to make me seem younger, weigh less or more athletic or hung than I actually am. The cock pics are mine. The avatar pic on Twitter is me.

It’s so fucking easy.

However, because I put myself out there, so many people expect that I shall continue to give and give and give with no expectation of anything in return. As people get in touch, many begin with a barrage of questions (again, some available answers online) but mostly with an expectation that I shall give them a personal rendition of everything about me.

No fucking way.

Even as I get to know people, we’ll exchange a little and I’ll mention things like my next post about my last hook-up has gone online. I’ll get a response inquiring about what happened. I’ll let them know it’s ONLINE.

“I know, but I’d rather hear it from you.” Or, my favorite. “I just don’t want to open my browser.”

What? You’re too fucking lazy to open your browser and type, “”?

I even get asked for people to send them a link.


I actually enjoy meeting the people who read my stuff and getting to know them. But if it just doesn’t chap my ass (and currently, my ass is chapped Opens a new window from this blog thanks to one hook-up) that people won’t share a single iota of themselves back. Or they share just enough.

I’m not exactly your everyday porn producer and I don’t have the backing of any major studio. I do this myself. I’ve had death-threats from what I’ve posted — some may be legitimate and some possibly not serious. Over time, I’ve used my gut to weed out the liars.

But in the last couple of years, the sophistication of those who develop online personas has indeed risen to a level worthy of any fictional novel.

I wrote of my Catfish in Las Vegas Opens a new window from this blog (you need to see the documentary “Catfish”  Link Opens in a New Window to truly get the reference, spoiler alert if you click the link), but he hasn’t been the only one to fool me. A retired woman in late 2009 and early 2010 provided quite an elaborate scheme, duping me and several others, using photographs and the voice of an underaged employee to assist in the con. I had several entries a while back but took them down since they exposed the young man and the woman’s family including her grandchildren.

Many others have come along and I’ve rejected outright.

As I’ve written about hot or not photography Opens a new window from this blog and the lies men tell Opens a new window from this blog, I’ve got a strong bullshit meter now.

Fuck if it’s not going off all the fucking time now.

The excuses are a lot of the same and some new ones. The new one that just gets me — coming from youthful (but legal) 19-year-olds to 25-year-olds: I have anxiety about taking my own photo.

Take a Xanax.

I’ve been chatting with this one hottie via Kik in Chicago. Or he says he’s in Chi-town. He sends me photos of people he fucks. Photos of his roommate. Of his roommate’s half brother. But when it came to sending a photo of himself, fuck if suddenly he had an anxiety attack and couldn’t send.

For another guy, this one in D.C., I get a limited number of photos. Three maximum. Then he become indignant about providing more, being insulted if I ask for additional images as if I am somehow asking for them to send me $1,000.
These guys haven’t hesitated to send me photos of with whom they fuck around. In some cases, the images will have come from amateur websites, blogs or Twitter accounts. Of course, my own photos are being used by others. We cannot stop that. There’s a guy in Pennsylvania who uses my cock pic in his Manhunt profile and, quite frankly, short of driving to Manhunt and whipping it out, there’s no way of proving it’s mine.

They lie and speak of others stealing their identity.

How to prove it?

It’s like a family whose loved one has keep kidnapped. I need “proof of life,” so I generally ask for an unusual photo that they might not have handy. For example, get me a photo of yourself in your underwear, showing both nipples, shooting a bird with your left hand in your bathroom mirror.

The only problem is if they’ve got another source for photos — meaning another guy on the hook like you — they can get you one quick from him. Your best bet is to establish where they or are some interesting fact prior to the photo — like the kind or color of underwear they’re wearing.

For one of mine, the underwear changed color

Still, those aren’t the only excuses one gets. Today, I received one of the most unusual: I can’t send or receive photos or visit your website until after 5 p.m.

Seriously, what the fuck?

He claimed to know nothing about me so it was “fair” for us to discuss everything because we both knew nothing about the other.

Even if his little story were true, as soon as the clock struck 5, he’d be able to find a whole shit lot about me.

Another bottom told me yesterday that his Grindr wouldn’t allow him to upload photos. I mentioned e-mail probably worked. He didn’t think about that. But no volunteer to send since he was “discreet.” I could drive 20 miles to his place and see his offer and, if I didn’t like, I could leave.

I met a local the other day for coffee who had a similar situation. The gentleman invited him over and he drove (get this) 42 miles one way. When he arrived, the man opened the door: Unshaven, unbathed and in a bathrobe.

That wasn’t the worst part.

The man unfortunately had some medical condition that forced him to use a colostomy bag Link Opens in a New Window. All of these were issues neglected to be mentioned. And the fucking asshole hoped that the bad medical condition would call out for a pity fuck. He didn’t get one.

I call bullshit on people without pictures.

Bullshit about viruses eating all your images is just that — bullshit. Your computer crashing and taking everything, same thing.

You’re talking to someone who knows enough to know a lie.

You don’t know how to attach and send an image? GET THE FUCK OFF THE INTERNET.

As for using a work phone or someone monitoring your phone, um, don’t be a damn idiot about that too. You’re e-mailing or messaging me on it. And just keep in mind, I now have the number. I could call or message at inopportune times and tell whoever answers what’s going on with you.

If you’re going to give excuses, then expect to be getting fucked some other way by me.

Moreover, the clear text messages or e-mails from that same damn phone will get you into a whole lot more trouble than sending G-rated images of yourself.

For all the gay ghosts, the fakes who love to trick me, there are those who are real and don’t mind being on the up and up. Like this Midwestern guy who’s just plain slutty and doesn’t mind letting me know it. We shoot the shit, Skype, text, whatever. And someday I’ll fuck him. Breed him. Put him into my camp of those carrying around my DNA.

Do you have to be 19 years old and a twink? No. He’s not. And every time I talk with him, he gets hotter. He doesn’t have to make shit up. He can tell me about his fucked up hook up or he can show me the video of his really hot breeding.

I’m not summoning a spirit with him. He’s real.


There will be a follow-up piece Opens a new window from this blog for my little Chicago friend and just for him. 

I’m Curious About You

It’s been a while since I asked you, dear reader, a few questions. So I thought I’d do a little catching up with a few questions. Please take the time to answer. I’d truly appreciate it.

Mark's Signature in White

P.S. If you are reading this somewhere else other than, please visit to complete all the questions. I know a lot of places take my RSS feed, which is cool. But I’d really like to get a better understanding of who you happened to be.

What Interests You

What entries on iBLASTinside do you LIKE? (Select up to three)

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What entries on iBLASTinside do you DISLIKE? (Select up to three)

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Among the fuck stories, which topics do you find the HOTTEST? (Select just one)

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How often do you read

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About Your Sexual Habits

Do you bareback?

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Where do you fit?

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Do you take loads? (Select up to three answers)

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How do you give loads? (Select only one)

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About Your Demographics

What's your status?

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What's your position?

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How old are you?

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What "type" and ethnicity would you categorize yourself? (Choose up to three)

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Are you a member of the Bareback Brotherhood (#BBBH)?

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If you could, would you get fucked by Mark Bentson?

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I Wish This Blog… Comments?

If you have any wishes or comments, please use the comments area below. Thanks! I truly appreciate it.

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Go Go Go… Well, I Went to BJ Roosters

Go Go Go… Well, I Went to BJ Roosters

Ventured out this week to Atlanta’s go-go boy dancer bar, BJ Roosters. It’s my first time to check the place out. The review is now posted Opens a new window from this blog.

three-and-a-half-stars out of five rating

The bar ended up earning 3½ stars, loosing points for it’s extremely smoky (and not ventilated) interior, the sleazy and not-very-clean interior (especially the bathrooms) and a general poor space planning. On the plus side, the bar lacks the stuck up attitude of the only in-town competition of Swinging Richards, dancers are just as good looking and much more relaxed without the fear of fines and the overbearing thought/action police at the fully nude bar, the dancer diversity is greater for much more selection and it can be a little more fun.

Comparisons between the two places is inevitable. Both places have basically the same dancers, in fact. But BJ Roosters will take in a more diverse selection for people like me who enjoy the more exotic choices.

With the club’s move to a larger space rumored, I’m inclined especially to go back once my lungs recovered, especially since I don’t have to wait as long for my wallet to recover.

Again, don’t miss the review!

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