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Georgia Gay Cub Reporters Write Cute Newspaper Article About Me & Pal

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link Georgia Boys Founders of Gay Men’s ‘Bareback Brotherhood’

 

So the above appeared in the GA Voice back in June 2013.  It’s the Gay rag for the Atlanta area. I’d say Georgia and I image a few people pick some up in Savannah and maybe Augusta (where these fine reporters probably haven’t noticed that two of three major Georgia hubs host huge bareback orgies once a month).

I’m glad that two of the three of the founders of the Bareback Brotherhood or #BBBH qualify as “boys.”

Fuck that.

I don’t know about @GaPozAthens, but last time I checked, I am a MAN.

Further, did you know you don’t have to be Gay to be in the Bareback Brotherhood?

That’s right. Ding ding ding!

You just have to be a guy to be a part of a brotherhood. Duh.

Bareback as a bi, as a straight or even just curious. Doesn’t matter.

Just fuck raw.

 

 

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Tina, That Evil Bitch

meth
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I don’t like meth bottoms.

Sure, they’re insatiable bottoms. Sure, they want my cum. Sure, they beg for it. Sure, they can take a fucking.

They chew. They move too much. They’re just plain a fucking mess.

No matter how much I tell the fuckers I’m not into the Tina queens, they’ll show up.

I’m traveling again and I had a beefy fiftysomething man with some nice nips on BarebackRT. My profile on BBRT clearly states “hell no” on drug use. And for some reason, I think on a Tuesday night with a mature man, I’m safe.

The smacking begins as soon as he’s naked (and he’s stopped sucking).

Maybe he took his teeth out.

I can’t stand the shit.

I pretend to cum quickly and send him home.

Yes, I fake orgasms.

I go to bed unsatisfied.

If I wanted drugs to fuck me over, I’d use them.

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We Started at a Glory Hole

gloryhole-glow
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For some reason, Inserection proved to be a little busy that day. I’d been sucked by a few men. None stood out. He’d been running a little late. But eventually showed up and we secured a glory hole across from one another.

He sucked me some then slid his ass onto my hard cock through the hole.

The initial entry can always be different. Has he been fucked prior and opened up? That can be a very smooth, easy entry. If the cock was huge, then we’re talking about hot dog down a hallway smooth. Sometimes I don’t get enough friction to get off.

Then there’s the ones who are tighter than an unfucked preteen before the priest molestation. That can be painful, especially because my cock stands rock-hard and I can allow someone that tight to slide onto it.

With his, he’d messaged I’d be churning up a load already deposited a couple of hours earlier. That said, he’d be tightened up.

But his ass started with that resistance to entrance then began to open enough to allow my head to pop inside. His ass hugged my cock. Tight. And like a velvet wrap of warmth with the cum-soaked interior, I felt him back onto my cock.

After he had enough time to adjust, I began my assault on his ass. But it felt just too good to let myself cum too quickly. And I just wanted to get a little deeper. When he came off me and I felt a tap on my cock.

I pulled out and bent over, thinking he’d invite me to his booth.

“Want to go to the darkroom?”

The darkroom was just that… a darkened room with some sofas around the edge of the room. One couldn’t see very well in the space, just shadows, really. Since Inserection had decided to lock the rooms upstairs and charge for their use, the darkroom gained in popularity.

Unfortunately, some asshole will occasionally come in and turn on their cell phones to get a glimpse of what’s going on. Once, a man even punched someone for it. But I was fucking someone and didn’t bother to pay attention much.

I went in behind him, my pants barely cinched up around my hardon. Interestingly enough, he didn’t go far into the room. Right in the doorway, with the best of all possible views (with the light that filtered in), he dropped his pants and climbed onto the semi-sofa and presented his ass.

I opened my pants and aimed for his hole.

The entry this time was perfect. Just enough resistance for perfection in pleasure.

And I began fucking in earnest. Slowing down some. Speeding up. Pacing myself.

A crowd formed around us. I felt hands on my ass, even around my asshole. But no one dared step behind me, lest it dampen what little light came in.

Occasionally a hand would venture down to check and see whether I was wearing a condom. Of course I wasn’t.

I bent over, he arched up.

“You want my load?” I asked.

“Breed my negative ass,” he responded.

An odd response. This bottom hadn’t bothered to discuss status.

“You want my jizz, no matter what?”

“Give it to me!”

“You got it.”

I stood and began really fucking him, pounding him into that sofa. He started breathing harder.

“Here’s my fucking load,” I growled as I felt my balls tighten up.

As I normally do unless I’m stealthing, I plunged in and completely stopped moving for the initial pulse of my cock.

My cockhead swelled in his tight hole. As it did, he inhaled and gasped. My taint muscles then let loose the first giant pulse and my cum jetted into his guts. He started to practically scream.

I resumed my fucking, feeling my cum mix in the creamy Santorum already mucked up in this bottom’s ass. The crowd surged closer and one old troll lost his load on the floor.

Obviously, the bottom shot all over the sofa thing. He would tell me later he’d never felt anything like it.

“That’s why I’m called, ‘iBLASTinside.’”

Other men pulled at me to fuck them but, for the moment, I was satisfied. I left, headed home before the traffic got too bad.

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Ongoing Fucking

Gloryhole cock shoots a load in Jarod's ass
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While I have not been able to post it, I have bred. And often. My Chicago trip saw three receive my juice, which I still intend to record here about two as both were worth the marking — one a loaded Latin, as I mentioned in an earlier post. The other a cheating cub, away from his hubby on business and taking loads from strangers.

I’ve bred four or five others during the blur of my travels. Most are anonymous. Some know who I am but most don’t and I don’t give a fuck one way or another. My notorious blog does give way to allowing me access to ass, which I appreciate.

I’ve also had the lovely honor of loading up an escort who’s decided to try out Atlanta for a time. This adorable (and honestly sweet) young man offers up his ass and appreciates a good fucking.

If you’re in Atlanta or the northern side of town, hit up SubBtmEscort on BarebackRT.com. I hope to get him to open up for one of my more detailed conversations as a bareback escort.

And if you hire him, please mention me. In fact, just say “hi” thanks to me.

I’ve also fucked at Inserection at Cheshire Bridge, the adult bookstore with some of Atlanta’s best gloryholes. The comments on my Inserection page are correct: The place now charges for the rooms upstairs.

I find this is a good thing. Too many meth-head asswipes were abusing the open rooms and flopping upstairs, sleeping off their highs. Now you find sex happening downstairs and more fucking. I’ve bred more thanks to this push downstairs, especially through gloryholes.

Just yesterday, I actually ended up in a booth with a former Marine — at least I am guessing he was former. Gosh, more than any other branch of the service, those guys just love getting it up the ass. And this one did too, taking my load with gusto.

All this said…

While I’ve written all this, I do think things will need to shift or change.

I haven’t figured out exactly how. Do I mean I’m settling down? Not at all. I can’t. I need to spread my seed. I always will.

But I also need a better resource of ass. And although I’ve craved to help pass on the skills I’ve learned, I still haven’t found someone dedicated enough to mentor.

I pass the time. Waiting.

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#CloseGhosts and My Recent Travels

#CloseGhost
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You can’t see them. You can’t touch them. You just knew that one moment they were there and the next, they were gone. Is it a mystery? Some phenomenon worthy of Bigfoot, the Bermuda Triangle and what pills Paula Abdul takes before going on air?

Probably not.

I call them #CloseGhosts. And I’ve recently had close encounters of the plentiful kind them on recent travels.

With the conviction of a serial killer who proclaims his innocence, these lovely bottoms in far away cities and town lurk upon websites (like BarebackRT.com or this blog), Twitter or other online hook-up destinations, assuring traveling a top when he arrives in their town, city or other geographic region that an ass will be ready to fuck at his demand.

Alas, a phenomenon occurs when that top arrives and is in close proximity to the bottom. The cum dump vanishes into thin air, often with some wispy excuse similar to “the dog ate my homework” or “the check is in the mail.”

Case #1: London Twitter Twink & the Quickening

london-postcardWe all know that London is notoriously known for all the ghosts that wander its streets and waterways, its old buildings and strange little alleys. However, having had men upon men beg me for my load for years, I figured one might be legit among them.

My BBRT exploded. I had more than 300 messages at one time and maintaining control of it via my iPhone came close to impossible. One gentleman who seemed legit got pissy because I’d not responded to him immediately upon arrival in town, so he crossed himself off the list. The rest where the normal lot. I waded through them all, trying to invite someone over for a breeding to my centrally located hotel near the West End, not far from Trafalgar Square.

Too far. Apparently, Londoners go to bed early on Bank Holidays and weren’t interested as I attempted to find someone to fuck about 21:00 to 22:00 (that’s 9 p.m. to 10 p.m. for us bloody Americans).

Then a tweet came in from a twink. How’s London, he asked. I replied. It became a conversation of sorts that moved to direct messages and a bit more privacy when I mentioned my trip would be so much better if I had an ass to breed.

“I can help you out there,” he said. “I’d love for you to load my ass. Big fan of your blog.”

He asked when I was leaving. Told him this was my last night. I asked where he was. He said, “Covent Gardens.”

Boom. That’s the neighborhood I’m in. I’m over at the… I listed the hotel.

Pause. Double pause.

“Oh, it’s too bad I’m not at home tonight. I’m staying with a friend in the country.”

Poof.

Case #2: The Early Alabama Bird Misses the Juicy Worm

greetings-from-Birmingham-Alabama

I’d started on BBRT with this hottie and turned to text messaging. We were getting ready for some good fun, all planned out in Alabama. I’d let him know that it would be a late arrival for me and he’d told me we’d have “several hours” of play.

I’d even arranged a nice corner room, away from everyone in the hotel, because I had a feeling this fuck might get a bit out of control.

I don’t usually trust bottoms. Bottoms in general are not trustworthy. But I’d grown to trust this one.

I arrived just after 9 p.m. and texted. No response. Another text. No response. Around 9:30, I get a response saying he’d fallen asleep. Then, “he didn’t know I was going to be so late.”

Late? It’s 9:30!

We’d been setting this up for a month.

The shitty little cocktease went on to berate me for almost an hour about being “late.” Of course the little fucker didn’t get off so easily in this from me.

Obviously, he loved the chase, but actually fucking… well, I’m guessing his balls hadn’t quite dropped yet. My timing was never the issue.

POOF

Cases 3 & 4: The Revolutionary Missing Men

Bareback top visiting New HampshireIn this history-rich part of America just north of Boston, finding fuckable asses aren’t easy. I knew this. I planned for it with a backup ass. I found them both and, as it turned out, both claimed to want it.

One said he’d be online on BBRT. Te other asked me to text. My #1 choice, the textable ass, got a text.

We pinged a bit before I asked him to come over.

Pause. He then, for some reason, told me his actual location. In Maine. And invited me over.

Baffled, I asked what was up.

“I don’t have a car,” was his response.

Now it wasn’t as if both of us were in downtown Boston. This little hottie claimed in the middle of bumfuck Maine, he had no transportation, after knowing I was visiting from out of town.

WTF and POOF

Back-up plan into action. Logged onto BBRT. Sure enough, he was there. Message. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait longer. And more. I’m tired. Just go to fucking bed.

POOF.

This ghost responded when I was no longer close, in Boston, about to fly home.

Just the Four?

No. I have so many more stories. But these are the four most recent. I did debate divulging Twitter names, BBRT handles showing a photo or two, but I’m going to leave it alone. After all, these #CloseGhosts could be #Catfish for all I know.

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