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Behind Dead Eyes (Part One)

behind-dead-eyes

The throb of the satellite radio caused the lights to move to beat. I topped the stairs and could see his tall, lithe body as a shadow. We closed the gap, hesitated for a moment to see each other and then began to kiss.

His lips were supple, almost betraying by how little real estate they occupied his face. But his tongue had a lizard-like quality. Darting into the recesses of my mouth and finding everything that I hid there. I swallowed my gum before he could scoop it up.

I pulled his body close to mine. Despite its thinness, I felt almost no bone. It had a sinew quality, almost snake-like.

While I was not in the Garden of Eden. Far from it. I was in an adult bookstore in Atlanta. I felt almost as if this were my temptation to take a bite of the apple.

Wait a moment.

I’d already bitten. To me, there would be no doubt. This temptation was too great. I wanted this man or devil or whatever mystery he held.

I cupped his incredible ass through the tight jeans and knew that this would be a fuck never to forget.

We found a vacant room and closed the door and locked it.

Our kissing resumed and, in something as close to romantic as I get, we slowly undressed. I felt every inch of his smooth skin. His short, curly brown hair provided enough length to grab it in a fist but something prevented me.

What the fuck?

Was I losing my edge?

I mean, this little fucker wanted to be used by me. We’d met on BarebackRT.com and he knew exactly what a twisted mindfuck I’d provide, as he’d found this blog first then sought me out on that hook-up site. Yet here I am, tenderly kissing a little slut and enjoying the fuck out of it.

* * *

‘Shut up.’

‘What do you mean shut up?’

‘I mean,’ the internal dialog continues. ‘Shut the fuck up! There’s a hardon! What the fuck does it matter whether we actually treat this one like all the others or not.’

‘It matters,’ the other voice says. ‘There’s a reputation to uphold. There’s no fucking tenderness to fucking. Fuck! Dump cum! Go!’

‘That’s the encounters that are written about,’ the voice points out. ‘What about all the breedings that don’t get an entry.’

‘Some of them are pretty brutal.’

‘And some of them are not.’

A new voice enters: ‘How about all of you shut the fuck up!’

* * *

His skin feels like silk and that tongue — fucking hell, that tongue! I can’t wait to feel it on my body. He’s not wearing any underwear.

With our pants down around our knees, he kneels to begin sucking. I can now feel the full talent of his tongue across the entire based of my throbbing seven inches. He looks up at me, his deep brown eyes look up wanting… something. His mouth open. His oval face staring up and seeming to ask for a kind of approval. I just put my hand gently into his soft curls and guide him onto my cock.

I close my eyes and lose myself a moment, just concentrating on the sensation of him, his mouth, it’s motion up and down on my cock. He’s pretty good. Blowjobs generally lack a je ne sais quoi about them and cannot get me off. I try to find something remarkable about his. I mean, his tongue is longer than most and he’s doing a better than average job. But it’s just not all that great. But I love feeling his hair in my right hand.

* * *

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘Huh?’

‘You’re actually noticing how his hair feels?’ the voice says. ‘How gay is that?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You’re getting soft in your old age.’

‘Shut the fuck up!’

* * *

I lifted him up and we kissed a moment before pushing him down to a doggie position. That’s when his ass opened up to me and I saw the brownish gray pucker for the first time.

His ass overall was graced with peach fuzz hair in a light brown. Interestingly, it seemed as if someone had groomed the little hair follicles perfectly as they lay in a starburst pattern around his hole. I didn’t approach with my normal caution.

With most bottoms, you wonder if he might be clean. Even if you know he’s washed up, you wonder just how well. But with him, my tongue went lapping at his hole and only tasted the sweetness of his flesh.

His hand began slapping the leatherette mattress in this dimly lit sex den and he moaned.

The hairs of his ass were so very soft, as if he’d conditioned them. I’d never licked hairs so soft. Hairs below the waist can be wiry and stiff. But his were like cashmere yarn. As I ran my fingertips along his crack and pried him open more for my tongue to dart into the damp hole, I continued exploring to find the fine hairs of his balls and pubes were equally fine and soft.

I smelled him and found the scent undeniable.

* * *

‘You’re a fucking moron.’

‘What?’

‘He smells good?’ the voice toys. ‘What next? China patterns?’

‘Fuck off,’ the other voice responds. ‘It’s fun.’

‘Fun?’ the voice slaps back. ‘You’re going to be pussy whipped.’

* * *

With enough ass eating, it’s so juicy that I know my cock will slide inside. So I stand. He slips off his shoes and pants. I remove my pants too, finding some poppers in the pockets for him, tossing it beside his outstretched hand where’s it’s continued to slap the mattress. Soon we’re both naked and I’m slicking up my cock with more of my spit. I put it at his hole and push.

He takes a hit off the poppers. The head of my cock is soon inside him.

He’s breathing hard. But his ass is backing up. And my cock slides further inside. Until all of it is inside him.

“You wanted that ass,” he says.

“You bet I did,” I respond.

I begin fucking in earnest. I twist my hips and arch my back. I change my pace. I find angles. I want him to enjoy it as well.

* * *

‘Why the fuck does he need to enjoy it?’ the voice says.

‘So he’ll come back for more.’

‘Why the fuck does that matter?’

‘Because,’ the other voice says, ‘I want this ass again.’

‘It’s not like there aren’t other asses out there,’ the voice says. ‘Younger, tighter asses.’

‘But this is different.’

‘No. It isn’t.’

* * *

“I want you to breed my ass,” he says, breaking my introspection.

“You want my load?” I can’t deny his ass is fucking fantastic. I really don’t need poppers to pop one off. But poppers do make it feel so much better. As I fuck him, sliding into his silky hole, feeling it grip my cock, he occasionally squeezes it.

Oh I want to unload.

“Yes,” he says, practically breathless.

“Or do you want this to last?”

“Cum whenever you want,” he responds. “Just make sure I get your load.”

I keep fucking, focusing on the sensation of his ass. Occasionally I run my hands along his lithe body, his smooth skin.  Perfect. A body of perfection.

I’ve fucked a lot of beautiful men in my life. Muscular. Models. But this one. Something was different.

I had to stop thinking, stop intellectualizing and focus on the task at hand:

Breeding ass.

As I looked down at the dim light, I could see my spit-lubed cock sliding in and out of that pucker. And I just couldn’t hold back any longer. I reached for the poppers, found them and took a huge snort.

“Want my load?”

“Yessss!”

I picked up the pace.

“Tell me you want it!”

“Please breed my hole!”

I could feel his hole twitch at the words and the pinpoint of the poppers began to drive me toward my orgasm.

Another pump into his ass, his raw ring around my cock, sensing every little bit of it touching me. Feeling his urging me on, backing up into my thrusts, begging for it now.

“Please give me your cum.”

I was grunting now, going into that place where I disappear and only my cock lives. My cock and cum. Boiling. Reaching that fever pitch that would bring it in a surge, breaking through a barrier. I could feel it like a tsunami inside, bursting though some plug. This was one of those loads. I’d obviously built it up over time and somewhere along its pipeline path, it met resistance and now was bursting through. I felt both pain and pleasure at once.

His ass clenched. I think I am screaming. Or grunting. Or making some sort of noise.

My cum is slamming into his ass walls, surging out of my cock. The pain is a distant memory and now all I feel is relief.

I remember to move a little as my cock throbs in his ass. I want to make sure he knows I’m painting the inside of his ass with my cum. My DNA. That this perfect little specimen of a man will know his perfection has been ruined by this geek.

But I’m still recovering from the intensity of the initial moments. The cum is still flooding out. I can feel it around the head of my cock and down the sides. I fuck a little and the sensation of a “squish” comes.

The popper blindness recedes and I’m breathing hard.

That was one of the most intense orgasms ever.

On to Part Two

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Travel Diary: Anonymous Bottom in the Dark

Las-Vegas-Strip

We “met” on BarebactRT and got down to business quickly, just the kind of fuck sometimes I really like.

anonymous bareback bottomHis request was simple. He wanted to arrive at my hotel, find my room unlocked, step in and room would be completely dark. He would strip naked then walk to find me naked on the bed. He’d lick and suck me hard. Then he’d climb on board.

That’s practically exactly what happened.

The one thing about totally dark rooms is how difficult it is to create totally dark. Light creeps in through odd spaces and, after a moment in the dark, your eyes adjust and you can see just fine.  This is especially true on the 24th floor in Las Vegas with giant windows that with curtains that allow the lights of the Strip to bleed around all the edges and give the room an eerie glow.

As his small frame approached, I had the advantage, as my eyes had already adjusted to the lowered light. Although hunched a bit, he probably stood five-foot-six-inches and no more than 130 pounds. His alabaster skin included a fine coating of dark hairs over it — chest, arms, legs and, as I’d find out, ass. He reached out in front trying to find the bed and then me. Touching my left leg first, he followed it up to my cock and began sucking it.

His mouth music ranked somewhere in there between a decent pop-anthem and an alternative rock song with everyday sucking ability that included some decent variety but nothing off the charts. I’d popped pretty hard anyway knowing I’d be fucking a guy who was a foot shorter and almost 100 pounds lighter.

He came off my cock, crawled up and we kissed. His oral skills improved in this department, pushing him toward a multi-platinum rock star. And as he positioned his ass, he lowered himself onto my cock.

The initial push in is always the best. That warmth. The sensation of breaking a virtual hymen of hourly virginity. How tight does that sphincter come back to? How hard is it to get it to open up? And once inside, what do those colon muscles do? How do they hug and love the cock invading its space.

This fucker opened up a little at a time and eased, his ass muscles greeting the prick invader.

He rode my bucking bronco for quite a while. In fact, it proved to be his favorite position. And indeed, I enjoyed it as well. He seemed almost weightless, as if I had my own personal Fleshlight to pleasure myself.

So I did. And the more I moved him, the more he helped. He was sort of like a self-propelled vacuum cleaner.

Pretty soon, he was begging for my cum so I snorted some poppers to get ready to give it. We worked into a bit of a frenzy. I then pushed him over onto his stomach and pounded him like tomorrow would never come. I pounded him like I might not cum. Truth was, after a week of shooting load into load into man after man, I felt like I was running a little low.

So to inspire me, I fucked harder, I grunted more, I urged myself on and I insisted he keep begging.

I completely covered the frame beneath me. I used him more,  almost like an inflatable sex doll. But soon, I released my load into his hole. Deep. I plunged in and found that place where my balls gave up holding back and let go the cum boiling up inside.

With force, it jetted from my balls and through my prostate, taint and out my pee hole into his warm, gushy ass walls. I’d been tearing him up my hard seven inches. Although I’d paused as my cock throbbed, I pumped some more to make sure my cum really went inside him deep and worked into him on a cellular level.

Shortly after I rolled off, my cock was still hard. He climbed up and rode it, making sure the cum really coated and dried on his walls, worked into the nooks and crannies of his ass skin, into any breaks  or tears that might have occurred during my hard pounding. And with a few jerks, sent a nice load flying across my belly.

I stuck my finger into it and got a nice, thick dollop, jamming it into my mouth for a sample. Then we kissed.

He climbed off and put on his clothes. Soon he was out the door and into the Vegas night.

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Virtual Words and a Vibration

iphone-in-a-pocket

Nothing more than the feel of vibration. The notion of an arrival of a text message. Your stomach gets a little knot. Could it be? Is it from?

No. Just a friend checking in.

Returning your iPhone to your pocket, it vibrates once. It’s just an e-mail. You relax. But then you think, it could be an e-mail from him. Naw. He’d text me. Not e-mail.

Still, it bugs the back of your mind until you check it later.

Finally, on a bathroom break, you send the obligatory, “How’s your day going?” message.

Not much communication during the day. Sporadic bursts of intense messages with long delays in between. Then that night-time, battery-draining flurry.

The night-time. That’s what you live for. That’s what you wait for. That’s what you wish for. That’s what you hope won’t stop.

For the day the vibration stops is the day you’re afraid he’s moved on to something more real. Something that’s not virtual. Something that won’t fit into a pocket. Something not cold, metal and plastic and glass.

Something flesh, warm and pliable.

And even then you’re afraid he’ll return to the promise of the other choices that are virtual and vibrational. The things not connected to you.

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3… 2… 1… BLASTOFF! It’s My Fucking Birthday! (3 of 3)

3-2-1-blast-off

The Last 15 of My List of 45 Random Things

Celebrating the 45th Anniversary of the Last Time I Touched a Vagina

Today is the big day! If you’re wondering about the previous parts of this list, please check out 45 to 31 and 30 to 16.

15. The closest I’ve gotten to a female vagina was children’s clay

If you think I’m joking about it being 45 years since I physically touched a female vagina, I’m not. In fact, I might not have touched the vagina since there’s a chance I was a C-Section baby (don’t know for sure; I’m adopted).

When I turned 30, some straight friends of mine were teasing me about the clam and decided I needed to learn more about it. So grabbing what was handy, they took some children’s clay, molding the inner and outer lips along with the clitoris to try and explain to me how to perform cunnilingus.

Funny thing. They didn’t want to hear how to give a good blowjob.

14. Monogamy isn’t a part of me

Choosing to be with one person is a social construct. It’s not instinctual. Watch Jerry Springer to figure out human nature at it’s most basic is to run wild and fuck everything (and to occasionally get a nice blowjob from a tranny). Okay, so Jerry Springer might not speak to social norms but I know it’s not normal for me to be with just one person.

13. Unlucky?

What’s luck got to do with it? In a way, I don’t believe in luck, fate or otherwise. But still there’s this cosmic fate in our lives. It seems every once in a while we deserve a slap-down for something or another. Sounds a little too philosophical, right?

12. What to do with the BBBH.org site.

Believe me, I am pumped by the overall success of the Bareback Brotherhood and very proud to be one of the cofounders of the BBBH movement. But I’ve invested as much money as I can into the site and the next step is virtual servers and rebuilding the site completely on another platform to get it to function more quickly. I can’t do it on my own (and even with the help of the other dedicated cofounders, we don’t have the resources).

11. More bottoms need to learn to be service oriented

I find more and more that bottoms are rather demanding. Isn’t that the top’s job? More often than not, the bottom wants it this way or that.

It’s so funny to hear a bottom proclaim, “I really like a selfish top.”

Then as I declare myself one, the real selfish one comes forward. “You need to come over,” he’ll demand. “And I need to sit on it first. And don’t get any lube on my sheets.”

10. Is it me or is Grindr biased against older men?

If I put “top” in my profile, I get censored. Hell, in less than six hours, my profile is down even if I hint at my position. If I even put anything remotely humorous or sexual, Grindr slams me. But I see dozens of younger men who put “top” or “bottom” in their profile and Grindr leaves it up without a problem.  Grindr leaves all kinds of shit up with young men.

But not with older men. Not at all. If you’re past 40, you can’t get away with it.

9. Gloryholes are fucking hot

I love them.

8. Gummy bears are the bomb

I like them better than chocolate.

7. Lucky!

So far this year in 2012, it’s been a good one.

6. Someday, if I’m a big executive, I want to sexually harass without consequence

I’ve always wanted that kind of assistant. I promise that I’d make sure he was well compensated.

5. I embrace being a geek

Gotta admit, I don’t mind it any more. When I was younger, it was difficult to admit I was intelligent. But now, I love being a geek.

4. I have to admit now. Forty-five is getting old.

And don’t give me “it’s just a number” bullshit. Half-way to 90. And 90 is pushing it for being really old. I kind of doubt that’s the maximum age potential. I mean, if I were to turn 90, it would be May 1, 2057. Bristol Palin could be president. Who wants to be alive for that?

3. I don’t watch live TV except in hotels

Thank goodness for TiVo. Someone should invent a kind of DVR for hotels. Or someone needs to put high-definition Apple TVs and Hulu in every room.

2. I fucked on my birthday

A muscle bear (blond at that) got a load from me today.

1. Even if I am over the hill, I fuck damn well

Time breeds experience. My experience breeds ass fucking so damn good.

You ought to try me out if you haven’t… BBRT or HMU.

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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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