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The Plea of ‘Please Fuck Me’

rainbow-fuck
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I turned 46 this year. Apparently, it’s one of those watershed moments in a gay man’s sexual career.

I’ve had them before. When I turned 31, it happened. Suddenly, the immature men in their youthful twenties weren’t interested in IMing me on AOL — hey folks, this is before the wide open world of the Internet. I know most of you kiddos missed that whole world where we didn’t hook up without hook-up sites, apps and Craigslist.

It occurred again at 36 when I no longer met the 19-35 threshold.

And now I’ve skipped beyond 45 and suddenly, everything ancient is new.

We’re into begging territory.

Daddies aren’t asking me to fuck him. Grandpa is. I get more pleas of “please fuck me” from men in their sixties than ever before. It’s not that I won’t fuck a man born in the 1940s. I will. But let’s get a few things out of the way.

  1. Don’t ask if you don’t mean it. Begging me to fuck you when you’re 100-plus miles away doesn’t do shit for either one of us. I’m pretty much tired of the message when there’s no fucking way you’re coming to Atlanta and I’m surely not dragging my ass to Timbuktu, South Africa. My answer now is just to ignore the dumb fuck or answer, “Okay. Come on over.”
  2. Don’t lie. Recently I did choose to fuck a child of the 1940s, but he lied, lied and lied again. He sent a bogus photograph (granted of another man in his early sixties) who had an incredible cock and a decent body. But he also said he didn’t smoke and, bingo, dumb ass, I smelled it the moment he walked in. I also enjoyed the fresher smell as he left the building.
  3. Don’t let this give you hope. If you’re old, chances are I won’t fuck you. Look, I know I’m fucking old. That’s the thing… we’re both old. But I’d much rather fuck down than fuck up. Since this is a top world, I get to pick where I plant my seed and it’s still in a tight young ass. Speaking of which, I’ve got some advice for you old farts.
  4. Gravity is not your friend. Look sweetie, if you’re going to take a picture of your saggy ass, I appreciate the honesty in advertising that you shoot that shot with you standing up. But when those ass cheeks look like they’re swinging at the back of your knees, we’ve got a problem Houston. Lie down and hire a professional photographer to re-position those cheeks into place.
  5. HemorroidsHemorrhoids do not build character. Maybe you do want to show off that cumload spilling out your ass, but three loads spilling out do not make up for the bulges around your pucker that look like you’ve had out-of-control Botox injections. Tuck that shit inside or simply don’t send me those photos.
  6. Grooming costs money, but it’s worth it. Look, at 46, I can tell you I’ve got hair growing out of places I never thought I’d have hair. I fucking hate that my stylist doubles as the waxer for my earlobes. But my cute, young thing earns an extra twenty for ripping that shit out. And that strange pubic puff at the small of my back? Well, let’s just say, no one has to see that, even though the only people seeing my back are massage therapists.

All that said, stop the madness. You want fucked by me, be honest, upfront and nearby.

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Older than a 40-Year-Old Virgin

rotten-cherries
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When I post on Craigslist, I’ll often get messages from virgins. Generally, that doesn’t bother me. Popping a cherry can be enjoyable in more ways than one.

More often than not, I’ll be the “first” to break a hole in bareback. True that I don’t believe this. While I’m out about my stealthing Opens a new window from this blog, I believe many more tops do it and don’t confess their sin (and I’ve heard from them).

Among the weirdest requests I’ll receive: Break in my 50-year-old virgin ass.

I got such a request today.

First, I cannot fathom someone denying themselves the urge to fill their carnal desires for what amounts to 36 or so years (depending when puberty really kicked in). There’s a societal norm that urges men toward marrying a woman and fucking her pussy, but if you’re a bottom (or a top), I just can’t see keeping your ass (or dick) dry all that time and not experiencing it.

Second, denying yourself that urge through your teens, twenties, thirties and forties to end up in your fifties and beyond, when your ass sags just seems wrong (FYI, my ass is starting to sag, so don’t give me shit about saying that). There’s something mentally deranged about now, in your fifties, thinking, “I’m ready to get fucked.”

Third, do you think I’d think you’re serious after denying those urges for so long that now you’re really going to let some anonymous Craigslist hookup breed your ass? Some guys tend to respond to almost everything. And after a minute, I recognize them so much, I employ filters to weed out their replies. One such replier I did today. He was in his mid-forties, asking for his first fucking. Over the past few years, he’d replied to my ads over a dozen times. I’ve engaged him a few only for him to disappear.

While he might not be into barebacking, between 2009 and today, he’d likely found someone in the Atlanta area to fuck him. He’s not a virgin (unless he’s pretending). I think it’s more likely he’s jerking off to the fantasy of being fucked and not going through with it.

In the end, I have a policy on men older than 40 asking for their rotten cherries to be popped: Hire a hooker. I’m not available to teach you.

It’s nothing to do with being ageist. As I’ve indicated, I’m an equal opportunity fucker Opens a new window from this blog  and, if you match my basics Opens a new window from this blog, I’ll breed you. However, I don’t want to teach old men how to take cock because at their beyond ripe years, they’re probably not serious about it. The only way to prove seriousness — pay for it.

               

I do have one unusual note here. I knew a man who waited until his wife and kids were dead before starting his Gay life. In his seventies, we called him the “lizard man” because of the lizard boots he wore. He had the most horrible smell since he smoked so much. How he made it so long, we never knew. We also never quite figured out what happened that his kids were dead before him.

Nonetheless, the lesson here… don’t wait. Fuck now.

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Get Fucking Sleazy in Atlanta…

Where all the cum is in Atlanta
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When people visit Atlanta — or even those who live here — I’ll get an e-mail asking about getting cum. When can I get it? Where is best tonight? How can I get the most cum in my ass? Where’s the ass?

It’s always difficult to say when and where to give and get it in Atlanta. This town is about as fickle as a dill pickle. However, I did sit down and tried to capture it in a chart (that you can see above). If the place is open, it’s got color. If it’s closed (or closing down), it’s black. If I know it to be full of cum, you’ll see it cum white.

I’ve also created a new page, added to my Sleazy Guide to Atlanta Opens a new window from this blog. The Where to Find Cum When in Atlanta Opens a new window from this blog includes the chart but also offers some advice including a weekend suggestion of how a bottom can get the most loads. Of course, if you’re a bottom coming into town, let me know Opens a new window from this blog and I can help make any additional suggestions and might add to the mix you get.

I’ve also added the known fuck hotels and hook-up clubs to the Sleazy Atlanta Guide.

All in service of the cum freaks out there.

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Behind Dead Eyes… A Return to Breed a Third Load

The Hottest Man
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The text message appeared: “I’m horny.”

Let’s admit that I did like the bottom in my entries from Behind Dead Eyes Opens a new window from this blog. Perhaps that creeped him out a little or the fact he never liked that I implied he had “dead eyes.” Instead, it’s a metaphor for the protective wall he builds around himself and that inner being.

After our time of debauchery at the bookstore Opens a new window from this blog, we’d texted a bit but not met up again.

“I am too,” I responded.

“I want cum,” he wrote.

“I’ll give you some,” I typed back.

As it turned out, I was downtown and would be glad to hit the bookstore yet again. A few more of his coy questions and my to-the-bone answers.

I had an appointment but once it was over, I wanted to fuck him. That was the only reason to drive over and pay the $11 admission. Once I admitted to having my good poppers Opens a new window from this blog, I got the green light. I made a left instead of a right and headed toward one of the best asses ever.

And I mean best asses.

It’s usual for me to really look forward to seeing someone. I’ll admit my crush on this boy. There’s chemistry there, even if he can’t admit there’s any. And we fuck well.

I arrived, whipping into a parking place. I plunged into the darkness and throbbing environment of sexual scents, Pine Sol and satellite radio.

He stood along the edge of one of the banks of booths on the basement floor, not far from the entrance. Approaching him, he spoke under his breath, “You have to act like you don’t know me.”

My anticipation fluttered a little. I missed a beat, but I recovered and made the walk upstairs to the rooms.

Within moments, he joined me.

He wore a strange combination of a stretched out tank under a button down. This flashback to the Flash Dance 1980s look seemed strange to me since I recalled the original look. Here I am in jeans and a t-shirt and he appeared so perfectly coiffed. He walked past me into a room. I followed.

He started removing his clothing immediately and I did the same, inquiring whether I should lock the door. He shrugged, a hallmark of his usual indecision. But I didn’t care.

He stripped completely naked and went to sucking my cock, getting it hard. His oral skills undeniably good. Then he crouched on the mattress, ass in the air.

As I did before, I went in for food. I ate his ass, spreading my meal wide. Oh how delicious his hole proved to be. So good! I’ve ate many asses in my day. His just perfection, just lovely, just nice. The soft hairs never wiry and adding to the opening up, never detracting from the effort to open the hole.

With a little more spit as I pushed my tongue into his pucker and deep pink, I stood and began to push my cock into him.

I’d handed him the poppers earlier and he’d been sniffing them already, but now he really snorted them as my seven inches invaded his interior.

Oh my fucking God, how his ass was so damn tight and molded perfectly around my cock. In a way, it felt as if I was pushing my cock into clay.

He moaned. I pushed. I’d pull back a little and push farther in.

Soon, I made it all the way.

I looked down to see this almost perfect hourglass shape. His smooth body. His back and upper chest wide, his waist going smaller and then that ass, the widest of all. Not fat, but perfect. And as I plunged inside it, just wonderful.

And in a way, I just hit paydirt.

Pumping in him deep once, I felt something. Oh so warm. Oh. This was a new sensation. Like I’d popped through to a new place, this warmth began to trickle down past my cockhead and tickle my balls, some dripping off and some running down my legs.

I inquired to be sure and disappointingly discovered I was the first to be fucking his ass, so all I felt was water. Knowing this bottom’s routine, I knew it was clean and nothing to worry about. No scents or anything other than the unusual sensation that enthused me a little. If only I’d been squishing around a little extra cum as well.

The door to the room opened. I’d not locked in.

In walked an older white man and not at all attractive followed by an older African American who turned out to be a little fat. I didn’t mind the audience. He urged me on, wanting to eat the cum out of the bottom’s ass after I was done.

As I fucked more, the little trickle of water turned more into a gush of water and I really enjoyed that sensation of warm water along my balls that now cooled in the air. I borrowed the poppers and took a sniff.

I fucked harder. More gusto.

“You want my load?”

“Give it to me!” he said. “Give me your load.”

The trolls agreed.

And I went into a place where my cock and the bottom’s ass  just existed together. The water now emptied out, I replaced it with my flood into his guts with my cum. I throbbed. I buried to the hilt and stood still, letting my cock deposit all my seed into his ass. I pushed it in as deep as I could and then pulled it out as his ass sealed up behind my extracting rod.

My bottom friend objected to the trolls even touching him and we kicked them out, now the festivities were over. And he turned horrified at the splattered water on the mattress, not to mention me. Even with my promise that I enjoyed it, he just couldn’t believe how much came out.

I kissed him for the first time as he began putting on his clothes. Oh, how well he kissed.

“I’ll see you later,” I said.

“You’re leaving?”

“I came here just to fuck you,” I replied.

“Really?”

“Really,” I said. “Take care.”

And I left.

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Hot or Not? Can’t Fucking Tell!

Hot or Not? Why do gay men fuck around with you on photos?
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I’m getting frustrated with online hook-ups.

Look, I get some fucking hot ass on occasion. But truth be told, it doesn’t have to be the bomb-diggity to make me happy Opens a new window from this blog. I’ll fuck you if you don’t smoke, your ass is clean with decent hygiene and we’re somewhere around height-weight proportional (and I’ll allow for a few extra pounds, but my cock just ain’t big enough for the junk-in-the-trunk chubs.

The rash of crappy photographs has me just fucking pissed.

A bottom makes me promise to send my face pic to him if he sends his. I agree. His face pic arrives. This is it. I didn’t need to blur anything. This is it in 100% glory:

Sunglasses and it’s fucking tiny. Sure, he looks like he’s got a decent body. Technically, he did send me his face pic. But what the fuck?

I actually purposely sent him a photo of someone else. But it was a face pic. I just didn’t say whose face pic I would send. I did fulfill my promise.

Speaking of great bodies, here’s one that arrived from a bottom asking to get fucked.

Now sweet as hell that looks. Muscular and perky. Great legs and back. Who wouldn’t want to fuck that?

But is it him? A few e-mails later, here’s the front side at a more appropriate size (I’ve blurred his face):

Now he’s not horrible looking but the legs are too thin and the waist too wide and obviously it’s not him in the original photo. What did he think? He could fool me? Or anyone?

Here’s the other kind of photos that are driving me fuck-nuts bonkers:

Can you see a fucking thing? Use a flash! Turn on some lights! Take the photo again. Of course, this disabled fucktard didn’t know how. I took care of it for him.

A little more work and I could have make it look a little more natural but you can see this hairy bear well enough to know whether or not he’s worth your time.

Finally, here’s one of my favorites. This one arrived also…

Um, too good to be true, right? Yup. I’ll tell you a secret: Did you know you could search by image? Took me two seconds to discover the commercial porn site this came from. Pretty much you can take any image and see if it’s posted somewhere out there or if someone is using it.

Stop fucking around with me. I’m tired of the bullshit. Be who you are or jerk off somewhere else (hey, this blog is a great place to do it, but I’d rather you click one of the ads).

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