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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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The Brotherhood of the Traveling Fucks

Fuck Fuck Fuck
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I’ve been traveling a lot. And it doesn’t look like it will let up anytime soon. And I’ve been fucking lucky.

Literally.

The ass in each city ends up being hot, hot, hot.

If I tried to write about every ass and each encounter, you’d all love it — I know. But I don’t have time. I’m just that busy.

Allow me to summarize some of the highlights.

Mid-Atlantic Tropical Hot Ass

I usually advertise my arrival in advance of my arrival. My ads usually announce that a top blogger is coming to town, looking for some bottom inspiration. I require some basic information from those who want to learn about the blog, since a vast majority of people just want the jerk off material.

I don’t mind. But I want to get a glimpse of who’s going to see it.

Occasionally, some people know who it is. Or they figure it out quickly. These are my fan fuck plans. Some people can be dedicated fans, who read up on me in great details. Others are just the guys who read me when it’s time to jerk off.

This young, very tan man hits me up and begins begging.

Now you have to understand. The younger the bottom, the less reliable. Young men in their twenties are notorious unreliable. I’ve made plans with hem in cities only to end up with a dry dick in hand.

This one really seemed genuine.

And not to bore you with details, he worked out well considering that this time, I ended up running late. He arrived after I finally got into my hotel room. Without hesitation, he worked into an embrace and kiss.

A good kiss.

His sucking worked at getting me hard. But when I finally got into his hairy ass, the fucking tight ass proved to be phenomenal.

Too phenomenal.

It’s been a while since I’ve bred someone three times in a row. But this little fucker kept me hard through all three. I never really slowed down. Of course, I’d been saving up a little. His exotic mixture of Latin and native tropics. A little hair on his chest and these juicy nipples.

His ass never truly loosened up.

If I ever slipped out, this bottom would let out an exasperated plea to put it back in.

I never went soft. His talent seemed unending to keep me hard. He’d read about where to touch me, how to keep me interested and what to do to arouse me.

He is someone who will be fucked again.

University City Slut

It’s summertime, so most of the college kids are at home, screwing around there and not at school. Just my luck I get to go to the midwest and a town that’s pretty much nothing but a university-supported town.

There’s a small contingency of college kids around — too many of them catfish (fakes who claim to want fucking). I’d just about given up.

I’d messaged a guy on BarebackRT.com before my arrival and, well, he pops back online. I invite him over and, 30 minutes later, this thirtysomething is sucking my cock on my hotel room bed.

We went into fuck mode and his neg hole is just begging me to squirt my load inside him a coat his insides fulls of my DNA.

I do.

All you have to do is beg. And this bottom does.

It’s after all the fucking, with us winded on such an intense session, that he admits to having known who I was, loving my blog and basically wanting to find out if he could really feel it “blast inside.”

(Yes, he could feel it.)

He’d gone to dinner with friends and ditched them between the restaurant and the club to swing by and get fucked by me. But we’d promised for a more extensive session next time.

My Boyfriend Doesn’t Know I’m a Slutty Bottom

Occasionally, one of those 20-year-old guys with an impossibly smooth body e-mails me. I figure the photo has been Photoshopped until there’s not a freckle, not a blemish and no stray hairs.

I’m in Texas and on BarebackRT.com when this little fucker e-mails me, volunteering to come take my load. I tell him the hotel. He asks the room. I give it. He says 15 minutes.

And in 17 minutes, there’s a knock at my door. A gorgeous boy walks in, lithe, tall, Latin and beautiful. His shirt is coming off as he steps into the room. He isn’t hesitating.

His chest is perfect. Just barely definition but no imperfections. Anywhere.

The lights are down low because I fucking hate the harsh lighting of hotels. He flips an end-table light on, its florescent yellow blinking into cold existence. But this boy’s skin is still perfect, reflecting the seamless skin with just a peach fuzz of hair that tingles as I run my fingers over it.

He’s naked now and grabbing for my pants.

He sucks me. I was already hard. He slobbers all over my cock. He thumbs his huge uncut cock a little as he comes up and kisses me with the perfect thick lips and then turns around and lines up my cock with his perfect little pucker.

And he pushes.

I’m inside him.

This insatiable boy just begins to ride. But I can’t be a passive top. I move him into a few positions and I pummel him.

He begs for my cum. He says he wants it bad. Please give it to him. I do. I load him up deep.

I lay in the glow afterward, letting my fingertips run over this perfect boy’s skin.

As we talk, it turns out I’m the fourth load in him tonight, although he’d cleaned out for me — I jokingly scold him for doing that. He assures me I’m the first of many loads as he leaves me for a few more.

His boyfriend is working tonight. He’s out for as many loads as possible. And he takes all loads. Doesn’t matter. Oh, he’s a little picky. Hard cocks only.

Never heard of my blog. Couldn’t care less. He just wanted my cum. He just wanted me to blast inside.

Straight Boy and Gay Bottom

In a southern city, I’ve chosen a ginger to fuck. He finally arrives. When he walks in, I recognize him immediately.

He’s straight. He’s a straight bottom. (Yes, they exist.)

He walks in and basically gets to sucking me. Nothing nice about it. He’s not very good, but it’s enough to harden me up. I step behind him and slick my cock up when he mentioned he has a condom.

I don’t protest. I put it on. At least, that’s what he sees. He lines it up with his hole, feeling the condom on it but after it goes in his hole, I pull it out and pull off the condom in a single motion and slide back inside. As soon as I’m in him bare I feel it.

His asshole is throbbing.

Damn inexperienced bottoms.

He’s shooting his load all over my bed.

Pisses me off a little, but I’ve been inside him raw and he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and that’s why he shot off so quick.

He liked it raw.

He’s out the door and I’m on the prowl again. I don’t find another taker until the next day… this a gay guy who just had this terrific body. I didn’t see a face. I get a little concerned when I don’t see a face at all.

He walks in an angel, with these stunning eyes.

We get to the act quickly, although I wanted to take my time. And we fuck for longer than I intended because I want to give him the best I can.

He enjoys it.

We finally kiss as he leaves a load lighter and a load heavier.

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That Was a Bust (or How Not to Host an Orgy)

That was a bust or how not to host an orgy
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Caligula would be disappointed.

The Roman Emperor rumored to host debaucherous orgies during his reign would be so disappointed at the scheduled orgy I attended yesterday. As I mentioned in my post Opens new window of a page on this blog, I thought I’d hit up my favorite local adult bookstore Opens new window of a page on this blog where a top had posted on BarebackRT.com Open-New-Window-External he was hosting an orgy at noon. Lunchtime on Fridays is a good time in Atlanta to find cum Opens new window of a page on this blog. I was optimistic.

That said, I also had my doubts.

The online party had 33 invited. I knew a few of the confirmed. When I texted a fellow top to check whether we’d be able to finally share a bottom together, his response: “Oh… I thought it was later. Sorry.”

I did think the host had made it clear it was at 12 noon, although the original posting on BBRT might have made it a little vague between 12 p.m. (noon) and 12 a.m. (midnight). The e-mails from the host did state “noon.”

However, the host’s e-mails weren’t clear about what was going on. After my prompting, he finally sent out this message:

poztopnow-orgy-email

I’d also suggested he included a link to my guide and review to Inserection Opens new window of a page on this blog (the correct spelling) for the folks coming out of town (the guest list included men coming from as far away as Birmingham, AL). You can see from my guide’s layout that upstairs includes four hook-up rooms. PozTopAtlanta, the host, never said anything further regarding the play area. He never unlocked his pics (at least to me) so I knew who he was.

The (Open Air Quotes) “Orgy” (Close Air Quotes)

I arrived at 12:06 p.m. The parking lot was packed so I had to park at the adjacent taco restaurant (you won’t get towed from there, it’s allowed). Paid my fee and went in.

Men were cruising like crazy downstairs. The sun had been particularly bright so I needed a moment for my eyes to adjust to the rather dark interior. After my half-hour drive, I also wanted to hit the bathroom.

I was upstairs by 12:10. All four rooms were occupied, doors closed and locked. Now surely I didn’t miss the “orgy.”

I’ve checked the definition of the word orgy Open-New-Window-External and, indeed, it means multiple people engaged in sex together.

Over the next two-and-a-half hours during my attendance, the men exiting the hook-up rooms were always in pairs. The doors were locked. I checked the darkroom downstairs.

I used the geolocation feature on BBRT to discover a few people there and messaged them but both were not at Inserection but lived nearby. Both Scruff and Grindr didn’t net me much of interest.

Eventually, I went into my usual cruising mode. I actually saw one of my bottom buds (who originally came for the orgy also but, like me, found nothing). He’d just committed to another top but promised to catch me a bit later. I occupied myself finding what I could.

The place turned out to be a bit top heavy. I ended up in booths across from tops three times (one I did suck for a bit; he was cute and had a great cock). After a bit, my bottom bud became free.

After our fuck, we compared notes.

He couldn’t find PozTopAtlanta either (he’d been hoping for a fuck) and, despite being a cute 23-year-old, couldn’t seem to find tops who would go bareback.

I headed on and he went off to grab a drink since the lunchtime crowd had died down.

Postscript

I’d hear from someone who missed the orgy that PozTopAtlanta, who’s profile lists himself as a top (obviously), actually got fucked and took 10 loads. I’m not sure where that happened. Perhaps that was his goal all along was to take all the tops and loads for himself and, if I’d arrived on time, I’d been in line to be load 11 or so.

Too bad for the bottoms.

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Travel Diary: Face of an Angel, Body Built for Sin

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I’ve started posting some photos over at http://barebacking.tumblr.com. More or less, it’s an outlet of some fun photography I run across on occasion and now that I have a little time on my hands, I’m able to post more. Today, I was able to put up twenty-one examples of men I can only say meet with a kind of perfection with the face of an angel but a body built for sin.

Occasionally, I even get to fuck one of these heavenly creatures.

I’m not stupid enough to think someone in their youthful twenties would find me attractive, so when a 22-year-old student said he would come by for a fuck, I found it highly improbable, especially seeing his body photograph. I’d never seen his face photo, but his body proved one of immense beauty. On some beach splayed across a blanket, his tanned six-foot-four frame stretched with a kind of grace not usually found among such youth. You could just make out the goatee.

His chest developed with slight pecs and massive nipples seemed to just beg to be chewed. The only hair trickled down the middle and built in a cascade to the ties for his overwhelming board shorts.

After giving him my hotel room, I never expected his arrival. I waited, half hoping for about 30 minutes but then went about my business, checking for more ads and seeing if a Monday night might bring me any more hope. Usually Monday night ads never worked out.

Late, as I prepared for bed, a knock came at the door that almost startled me. I opened it to see him.

His face proved to be stunning. Standing taller than me — a feat not so easy considering my six-foot-three size — he stepped into the room, apologizing and muttering something about his brother and class.

Dark wavy hair and an ivory smooth face blinded me. I closed the door, wondering if he’d actually stay. Not only my age but the sheer beauty of this man made it unlikely to get anything off him. But he pulled his jacket off, turned around and motioned at my pants. I unbuckled and opened as my cock began to rise immediately.

He knelt and began a blowjob that defied his youthful years. It’s not often I can say someone blows well. I think most men are just grateful to have a mouth on their cock, especially the semi-straight/hetero-flexible who get the occasional oral relief from a “genderless” mouth. But I find it rare indeed to find a man who knows how to deliver fellatio of sufficient quality that it will arouse me beyond a certain point.

This young man could make me cum.

No teeth, as if he only had gums, although I’d seen his perfect smile (obviously, he wasn’t long out of braces). He’d bury his nose into my bush and relax his throat so even though my cock still stood upright, his oral cavity proved cavernous enough to accommodate my seven incher. Plus, he exercised enough control to flex his throat and tongue to provide stimulation.

Now came a moment I debated.

Was I getting a pity blowjob. Did the boy mean to go through with this little act to get me off and get himself off the hook for the fuck? Or was it a prelude and was he waiting for my move? Or, if it was a pity blowjob, could I even turn it into a pity fuck?

At this point, I just wanted to see this angel naked.

I reached down and lifted him up. He came with a little resistance but still he stood. His eyes closed. We moved toward kissing and he accepted my prying to get his shirt and pants off.

His chest turned into more perfection but less tan than the photo. Obviously, he’d worked out. But the photo failed to capture the bulging veins in his arms and the incredible guns he’d worked on. As he lifted off his undershirt, the wisps of pit hair, dark against his ivory skin seemed like puberty had only began in the last month for him. Of course his hairy muscular legs betrayed his age. And once his boxers were off, his bush covered almost all of what might have been any cock whatsoever.

Maybe a grower, I imagined.

He sucked me more and we made out. But his eyes remained closed. He was locked in a fantasy world in which I would be someone else. I knew I would need to find the key to unlocking what this man needed. He seemed perfectly content servicing me — and for fuck’s sake, I enjoyed the hell out of it — I knew I could sneak under the door of this man’s weakness and awaken something.

As I went to work orally on him, I discovered what would make him stir. My beard. If I would scrape against the most sensitive spots — his neck, his cheek, his underarms, the inside of his elbows, across his nipples — he would inhale deeply and suddenly. My gentle prodding began to take on some rough and tumble moments, where I would surprise him. His skin glistening, wet from my spit, entirely electrified by my soft attention, would suddenly be attacked and scratched by the hairs of my chin, nibbled at by my teeth, bitten and scraped. His cock head appeared finally from the dark shadows of his pubes, but I ignored it, instead focusing of his almost bald taint, giving it similar treatment and heading for the hole.

After massive tongue lashing and opening it up, watching it wink at me, giving it so much spit and love with fingers and lips and licking of all sorts, his sphincter seemed to throb.

I pulled away and looked at the circular perfection. Even this seemed just beautiful on this man.

Without warning, I closed my mouth and plunged in, woolly hairs standing on end. I attacked his hole, now ready for a soft moment, with the bristles like nothing else, with the prickles across my face, spreading his cheeks and coating my face with the spit I’d soaked him in.

His moans filled the room.

My attack continued and abruptly ended and I moved to where I was face to face with him, my face coated in spit-ass juice.

Green EyesHis green eyes stared at me, open wider than ever before.

He kissed me, his eyes remained open, looking at me like he’d never seen me before.

My hard, dripping cock, poised at his red, raw hole. And as we kissed, I felt a hand grab my cock, position it at his hole and push it just inside. We continued the kiss as I entered into him, and I never thought his eyes could open wider. They did, the emerald pools expanding so I could see the eternity of his brief but difficult life within them. He bit my tongue inside his mouth, sucked it deeper, and we kissed more. Soon I was buried. And a moment in time turned into minutes.

We would kiss and fuck and talk, literally for two hours. My cock would never leave his hole except for repositioning. We talked about our lives and I learned more about this man’s 22 years, his girlfriend, his brother, the accident and his years of school. Moments that actually would make me want to take him from this life and take his brokenness to another place and show him that outside this world in which he lived, a whole other world existed where he would be adored. But my cock inside him, I could feel how his life was tied to his home, how he could never leave the place and would never, ever take the risk to step away.

While I never said it to him, his brother would be his unrequited love of his life. When he spoke of the mysterious man, his eyes would sparkle. No other man would capture this man’s soul and heart like his brother, who had sheltered him and cared for him through such times that poured forth from him. When he dared speak of his girlfriend, it was more obligatory rather than anything else. But his brother would actually bring a twinge to his ass and give my cock a shock.

When we finally realized the time, we fucked in earnest, my cock in his ass. He rode me, seeming to add juices to his ass, the friction getting tighter and but the chute getting smoother. Like the question of barebacking, I didn’t mention I was about to cum. He just looked at me with those jewel eyes and he could see my pleasure and moment coming. As I climaxed, pushing myself into him, adding just a bit of myself to him, he took the opportunity to spray himself onto me and across himself. His cock, now at about five inches, seemed small. But his body just perfection didn’t deny the beauty of every inch of his being. And the load flew everywhere.

When he collapsed on me, my cock remained inside him and his juices were meshed between us. I managed to scoop a little and put it on my tongue to remember it, the metallic flavor muted by a hint of bitter sweet. He then looked into my eyes, those evergreen irises even in the iridescent lights of a hotel room. In post-ejaculatory moments, he didn’t even seem to mess him up. His perfection would not be denied by a little cum and sex mess.

After not wanting to look at me for so long, he now stared for a while and his large hands brushed against my rough face. He whispered his thanks, kissed me again and let my cock pull out of his ass.

He clothed himself slowly and silently. He left with a kiss.

I don’t expect ever being able to fuck him again. And even within all he did not tell me, I know more than he chose not to share.

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Travel Diary: Like Ships Passing…

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A rarity indeed to find a man taller than I. His arrival had become doubtful after more than an hour had passed since our last communication, but when his knock came and I opened the door, all hesitation dropped. At 23, his broad shoulders defied his lanky frame. A dichotomy of beefy arms but thin basketball fingers. An age so young but a mouth so talented as he sucked my cock deeply as if he’d been trained in some southern Asian massage house.

His shyness gave way with prying from me as I wanted to see his chest, which proved worth while. Large round nipples with a dusting a dark hair but this perfection of a treasure trail from mid-pecs to pubes, inside which hid his cock. A grower, I wondered. But I let him suck me more. He seemed service-oriented and who be I to deny him his hunger?

But after a while, I did. I turned him onto his back and finally kissed him, the bitter starkness of the mixture of Crest and my own crotch seemed odd against my beard and his goatee. Yet a sweetness came through. We kissed a long while. Odd, since he seemed uninterested. His eyes stayed closed so I let him keep his fantasy of whatever man or creature he imagined he might be fucking. Here I spent my time enjoying the details of his being and taking in those nipples and that treasure trail. I lingered to find his limpness, but it did no good. He never hardened. So I moved on and tongued his balls only to work my way lower.

No resistance.

When my tongue first tickled his hole, his mouth opened and released a noise — not loud, mind you, but it was the first one uttered from his mouth other than the sloppy tones of sucking my cock. As my tongue darted into the folds of his skin and penetrated into that puckered darkness, more utterances escaped. So I began adding spit. Enough to make sure I would be able to do what I planned next.

When I came up for air was when I noticed his cock had risen as well. Not full-mast mind you. But it peaked from the dark thatch. As I kissed him, my cock found his spit-soaked hole and, without resistance, slipped just inside. Not all the way in, mind you. Just inside.

His eyes opened. Chocolate brown irises stared at me. He didn’t come off my cock. He didn’t move. So I applied a little more pressure and my cock slipped past that place of tightness into him. His eyes widened and then I knew.

He no longer fantasized about anyone else fucking him.

Into him more deeply, my cock penetrated and I fucked with a slow passion, only the spit between us. Kissing. Faster. Slower. I never slammed him. He was never that kind of fuck. We even talked a long while, my cock hard inside him. We liked how it felt to be connected.

When I came, he rode me. When he came, he rode me. Our moments criss-crossed within seconds of one another. No excuses, no discussions, we knew we were the proverbial ships passing in the night.