All posts in BBRT

Official Endorsement: DeepHole4Loads in DC

deephole4loads
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broken-virginity-seal-of-approvalThe latest addition to my very small list of “Broken Virginity Seal of Approval” is officially DeepHole4Loads.

After my initial encounter which I wrote about this Velvet Vice, I got another opportunity to breed this remarkable bottom.

It’s rare for words to fail me.

There’s conflicting evidence if you search for it on the web, but some sources indicate there’s more than 4,000 nerve endings in the male penis (scientists are still figuring out what each does).

Truth is, however hundreds or thousands there are, this bottom has an ass that can overwhelm every single one.

As I fucked him the second time with five loads already deep in his ass, his hole felt honestly fresh. His sinewy muscles moved deftly under my touch and he knew exactly which way I wanted to go. I never had to do more than slightly move one direction or another before he anticipated my need and responded.

His intuition was on point and ready.

When I fucked his ass deeply with my cock, the smoothness of his hole glided open and closed around my rock hard cock… no matter the pace of my fuck. Hard or soft, easy or rough.

And he kept his ass positioned ready for me. He didn’t back up or try to derive more pleasure from me. He knew it was about giving me pleasure. So he focused on what would bring me easily to another massive load in his hole.

I did. I buried a huge fucking load in his ass.

My cock throbbed for an eternity and his pulse quickened, enjoying the feel of my sperm splattering the insides and mixing with the other men’s juice already deep in his guts.

Later, I would get a message from another top on BarebackRT.com how he breeds DeepHole4Loads regularly. After a little exchange, I’d churned up his load among the five in his guts.

When two tops agree a hole is great, it’s great.

I’ve bred him twice. I would breed him again. And that’s unusual for me. I’m a hit-it-and-quit-it sort of top.

This is an ass I’d never quit.

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The #BBBH Belongs to No One

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Some of you don’t give a shit about this internal raging debate. I wish I didn’t need to write this posting.

The Bareback Brotherhood is a movement formed out of the necessity of confusion. What does it mean to be a barebacker? Can one be a serosorting, monogamous-only cum-hound? Or does being a barebacker mean bug-chasing, stealth-advocating, anonymous fuckers only?

The answer is yes. And no.

To bareback means both, all of the above and none of it. Whatever one thinks about barebacking, you’ve limited yourself.

When we formed the Bareback Brotherhood and I coined the hashtag #BBBH and phrase, we did so with the understanding that it was for the freedom of that very sense of what it means to be a barebacker. For far too long, the safe sex Nazis had defined fucking as a plastic barrier between men.

We needed to remove the barrier and show that men could choose another path. That choice was one that men could make. It says so on our website: “We agree on one thing — sex between men without barriers is natural and a legitimate choice. As consenting adults, skin-to-skin intimacy should be a choice that is not demonized or marginalized.”

The Attacks of RawTop

RawTop runs the website BreedingZone.com, which has carried an RSS feed of my blog and many other bareback bloggers. If you visit BreedingZone or RawTop’s blog, one is bombarded with porn advertisements, which he says are a convenience.

On Sunday, RawTop e-mailed me and told me he’d purchased BBBH.com and planned to build a hook-up website to compete with BarebackRT.com. In exchange for my (and other BBBH cofounders endorsement), we’d get free “recognition and enhanced memberships” on the site along with t-shirts.

I entertained the notion. I’ve made no secret that the cyber attacks have continued on this and the BBBH website has cost me time and money I  simply do not have.

At the same time, though, RawTop posted on BreedingZone that I’m “so focused on stealthing” that it’s tainted the BBBH brand. He told me he’d need to write very clearly on his hook-up site that stealthing it was a position he did not advocate, he didn’t like and that he would separate himself and the “brand” from me.

While I couldn’t give a shit about what RawTop thinks about me, what I didn’t like was how he would take the #BBBH and begin to define it.

In other words, RawTop would begin to restrict what it meant to be in the #BBBH movement. Despite his own BreedingZone includes strings of conversation in “The Backroom” for gift-giving and bug-chasing that includes a lot of stealthing content.

Some Barebackers Will Not Be Welcome at BBBH.com

Would RawTop prevent bug-chasers or gift-givers fr0m joining? The answer is yes.

I suggested that RawTop turn BreedingZone.com into a hook-up site rather than attempting to take over the #BBBH brand.

He wrote me: “All the bug chasing discussion on Breeding Zone turns off a lot of people. It’s a bit tainted in that way – too many people don’t want to be associated with bug chasing so Breeding Zone can’t effectively be turned into a hookup site.”

In other words, if you advocate certain positions, you will not be welcomed at BBBH.com.

That directly opposes the founding principals of the #BBBH.

It is for this reason I cannot advocate, endorse and, in fact, I must oppose the development of this website. The #BBBH is all encompassing when it comes to skin-to-skin contact.

What next? No Poz barebackers allowed? Would one be required to submit proof of one’s status on the new and improved BBBH.com to have an enhanced profile? Maybe only neg guys could see other neg guys?

Perhaps RawTop could connect directly with local labs and get a CD4 and viral load count so Undetectables won’t mix with Poz. Maybe we’ll check your meds.

RawTop Wants Your Money

“To be clear – I make my money off the bareback community,” he wrote me.

To be clear, I don’t make any money off the bareback community. If you’ve logged onto BBBH.me, you’ll notice I’ve got a complete hands-off approach. I also don’t write about stealthing there. There’s no ads there.

The Bareback Brotherhood is one without restrictions, without plastic, without barriers. And RawTop is putting them in place. He is saying that certain people will not be welcomed on his new site, although I imagine his greed will eventually allow him to accept the funds from them before he kicks them to the curb.

The #BBBH Cannot Belong to Him

As I explained to RawTop, BBBH is a movement like Occupy Wall Street. It has custodians, sure. We are here to make sure no one profits from the movement.

A porn company recently contacted me, asking if they could do a video named #BBBH. I explained to the producers, each of them could be members of the #BBBH, as could the actors. We’d welcome that. But a video of that name would prove limiting to the ideals for which the Brotherhood stands.

The producers respected that and did not name the video.

This is just one example of many to set a precedence that the #BBBH cannot become the solely owned hook-up domain of RawTop.

I Did Not Want This

This is where I supposedly “threatened” a lawsuit. I just suggested that he might do better to invest in a different effort, not taking the brand built by so many brothers using our hashtag.

RawTop moved this debate into the public forum. I didn’t. I do not relish this battle. No one wins when the bareback community battles. Just because I don’t want the #BBBH to back a commercial venture against BarebackRT.com seems bizarre.

I can hope that RawTop steps back and thinks carefully about his impact on the overall community rather than how to line his pockets with more.

As he said, “To be clear – I make my money off the bareback community.”

To be clear, I don’t.

What do you think about this?

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  • Who the fuck cares? (60%, 3 Votes)
  • RawTop is right (0%, 2 Votes)

Total Voters: 5

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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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Travel Diary: Bottoms Blah Blah Blah

Bareback top visiting New Hampshire
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Flakes are universal, along with fakes and catfish Open-New-Window-External. This I know.

But when it comes to superstar flaking out, New Hampshire takes the fucking cake. In fact, my visit to Concord might take the bakery.

Allow me to explain.

I always post future destinations in my travel plans on my BarebackRT.com profile Open-New-Window-External. I notify readers here Open-New-Window-External that I’m visiting. Of course, all this is tweeted Follow on Twitter and ends up on my Facebook Open-New-Window-External.

To enhance it all further, I post on Craigslist an add that looks something like the following:

TOP blogger visiting looking for bottom writing inspiration – m4m (Concord Area)

I’m a blogger who writes about my sexual experiences on the road with bottoms I encounter… My blog is read by thousands every single day, reproduced on several sites and even some entries end up on a famous porn studio’s website.

Perhaps you might like to be the inspiration for a piece when I slide into town next week?

I don’t identify the bottoms I fuck, just write about the experience…

Hit me up with your info — a pic, stats, etc. I’ll respond with my blog details so you can check it out. We’ll go from there.

The site contains a lot of information beyond my fucks. And if you happen to be a top, we can tag team or maybe you’d like to try sitting on my cock… it’s a perfect 7 inches cut.

Thanks!

P.S. The only major requirement (other than bottoming for me) is that you don’t smoke.

From all this, I do get a lot of inquiries. Most of them are lurkers who never intend to meet. This I get. It’s also an opportunity to find new people to read my blog since not all barebackers have found the Bareback Brotherhood or my blog.

With many there’s the “I just fuck safe,” and then more than half switch their story.  But some don’t. Yet, with my blog, it becomes a jerk-off destination for many.

When I do finally arrive, I e-mail the best back to see if they’re still up for that fuck.

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Arriving in Concord

My arrival in Concord allowed me to long in locally to BarebackRT.com, Grindr, Scruff and Manhunt.net, all of which use a geographic tool to notify one who’s closest. I also posted to Craigslist.

Two men of the many interested e-mailed me back saying they were still up for the fuck, but one 4 p.m. pump-and-dump session became a no-show with regrets arriving several hours later because he was “stuck somewhere.”

Flake.

All of my online activity netted me a lot of interest. A lot. I was fresh meat in a town that didn’t see a lot. Of course, I got the usuals…

People just wanting to collect photos, see my cock or face.

I had one prospect on BarebackRT… he was a fucking hot dude in his late twenties… seemed like a good one. But here’s where we begin one issue that baffled me for Concord.

He had no vehicle.

I needed to come to him and pick him up, bring him back to my hotel to fuck and then take him home.

Now please check out the map.

Concord is not a major city. It’s 1½ hours north of Boston. It’s not a walking city. How can you not have a car and survive, especially when you’re not in college?

This turned into a theme of the night. No car. No transportation. My car is in the shop. My car is in the shop due to the storm. I don’t have a car.

By the way, none of these bottoms ever asked where I was staying to see if I happened to be within walking distance.

I don’t guess Northeastern tops teach bottoms they’re the ones who need to make the effort Opens new window of a page on this blog.

While some of them were hot enough for me to go and fetch them, it turns out I didn’t rent the car but a colleague did. I simply wasn’t an option.

Then came the other morons.

I also get a collection of those who want to postpone. These guys appear in every city, without fail. I wonder if they ever fuck. All conversations go something like this.

THEM: “How long you in town?”

ME: Just tonight (no matter how long I’m in town, I always say I’m here “just tonight”)

THEM: “Damn! It’s getting late tonight.”

ME: It’s just 9:30.

THEM: “I know but I have to get up early. I wish you were here…” fill in the blank with “tomorrow night” or “this weekend”

In other words, they can never come over now or today.

Proximity Alert

My first promising opportunity looked like a threesome, which I won’t get into too much detail on. In his early thirties and a scruffy blond, wanted to know if I wanted to fuck both him and another guy, in his early twenties — both online at the same time. As if on cue, the younger one sends me a message.

The younger one asks if I’ve got poppers, which of course I do.

Then he asks if I’ve got anything “more fun.”

WTF.

“Dude,” I respond back. “You’re well aware I’ve come into town. That means I flew. That means I went through security. At an airport. Are you fucking kidding me? Why would I have any drugs?”

He responds, “Oh yea, I guess you’re right. But I still want to fuck.”

Anyway, the vibe is off and the duo then go even more weird. The young one claims the old one is stalking him. The old one claims they’re “together.”

I don’t want to get into the shit. Kick them both to the curb.

Right Downstairs

One last opportunity happens as a guy indicates he’s in a hotel. I ask which one and it turns out he’s in the same one as I am.

Bingo.

He won’t disclose his room, so I give him mine, knowing my colleague isn’t on that floor. He tells me he needs 10 minutes to shower and get cleaned up.

Those 10 minutes pass. Then another 10. Another 10. Yet another 10. And at 45 minutes, I finally message him.

He apologizes, saying it’s taking him longer than he thought to clean out his ass.

Whatever, I say, just get his ass to my room.

Then he says come to his.

I tell him I don’t have his room number.

He says okay, he’s now putting on his clothes.

At an hour after we started this exchange, he says he’s on his way.

Then I get a text asking me if I’ll suck his dick too.

I’m baffled. I just ask, “What?”

Then he writes, “I need to run by the front desk real quick.”

Fuck that.

This fucker is just playing me.

“Forget it.”

He gets all bent out of shape. Says he won’t go by the front desk. Blah blah blah.

After some back and forth, I say he can some to my room, but he has three minutes to get there.

He says he doesn’t like my attitude.

I tell him to fuck off.

The next morning, he begs me to come to his room to fuck him.

I tell him I’m not disturbing  guests actually staying in the hotel.

Postscript

Perhaps the little fucker actually was staying in the hotel or maybe he was one of the guys I’d e-mailed earlier and said I was in town and knew the hotel from that. I’ll never know. I’m proud I never knocked on anyone’s door. That shit pisses me off. He probably kept delaying things to try and get someone else to come over and knock on my door but, like me, couldn’t find anyone to do it.

My luck is your luck, fucker.

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When Anonymous Hook-Ups Don’t Work Out: Atlanta Tops Need to Beware of This Catfish

Catfish Uncovered, Fake Profiles Online
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Let’s be honest that there’s plenty of flakes and fakes out there. The Manti Te’o case Opens new window of a page on this blog brought a lot more attention to the plight and scourge of catfish Open-New-Window-External and it’s been a theme on this website Opens new window of a page on this blog.

I tend to expose the assholes stupid enough to use photos of convicts Opens new window of a page on this blog, porn stars Opens new window of a page on this blog or others.

This one is different.

The Ass of a CatfishIn late September 2012, I began communicating with a person who wanted me to stop by his house and breed his ass. We began via e-mail. On the particular day, the person had a particular window of time, wanting to arrive home. As it turned out, it would be after I would drive past where his house happened to be on my journey home.

Through the course of our correspondence, in which we traded photos and eventually phone numbers to text, we would finally settle on one afternoon where the timing worked out. He gave me his address again (so I’ve received his address both via e-mail and text). I drive to the location.

It’s October 8, 2012.

The sun is dipping behind the fall leaves and there’s a coolness to the air. Pumpkins already sit out on the portico of this lovely brick home in an upscale neighborhood far outside the Perimeter (Atlanta’s interstate loop around the city). I’ve diverted my normal route home in order to hit a few extra red lights and visit this man’s home.

It doesn’t look like he’s gay. It appears he might be married with kids. This home is too large for a single man and this community just doesn’t have a signature of young couples. The house has to be five or six bedrooms at least.

I’m awaiting a text from him to say come inside, the front door is unlocked. He’s had me waiting in my car, in the driveway for way too long. I already know something is a little up.

I’m scanning the windows, which all have wooden blinds shut tight. Likely, he’d checked me here, but I never saw one move.

I walk to the door like I belong here and push the doorknob to open it.

It’s locked.

I text and knock.

He says he forgot to unlock the door. He’ll be down in a minute to unlock it.

Of course, that never happens.

Then, in the next few minutes, he gives me a brand new ZIP code. Says I got it all wrong.

Now remember that I’ve received his address twice. I check it both places and he’s clearly given the ZIP code to this place correctly.

As it turns out, there is another street with the same name but it’s several miles away in another suburb. For example, there’s Holly Bank Court in Norcross and Holly Bank Circle in Atlanta.

I’m not stupid. I’m not criss-crossing Atlanta.

That Brings Us to Today

These kinds of wild goose chases happen. I usually can weed out the fakes, but this guy was in for the long con. In a way, I’ve got to give him some respect for the play, keeping me on the hook and playing me for a few weeks until he was able to reel me in. I wonder how many men in Atlanta followed through on this process only to end up visiting two addresses and getting no response or meeting some folks who never expected these strange men to show up on their doorstep.

Not cool.

As is normal for me, I’m hanging on BarebackRT.com Open-New-Window-External this morning and I get a message from BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External. In the course of going back and forth, he wants a load and, based on what I see, it doesn’t look bad.

Now I see a lot of ass. Visually, I don’t catalog every ass photo I see.

BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External is only 13 miles from my house and, in the scheme of things for Atlanta and my normal travels to get some, that’s not bad. I ask for his location.

It’s the address of his house that I recognize. A nice cul de sac in an upscale neighborhood halfway between my home and my former place of employment.

I search my e-mail and there it is too. And then I check out the photos, which some are the same.

First, I do a screen capture of his profile (turns out to be a good thing). Then, I e-mail BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External letting him know I’ve visited his home before.

At first, he denies we’d ever chatted and that people had sent people to his home.

Then I send him his e-mail address. FYI, if you ever have an e-mail conversation with clemsonscott1993@gmail.com, don’t trust it. He’s another catfish and the same as BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External.

He blocks me.

Busted.

BtmCatcherATL or clemsonscott1993@gmail.com's profile on BBRT

PostScript

I do have his face photo (which you can sort of see but I purposely didn’t highlight in the profile above). I have a huge version from the e-mail exchange. However, I’m not convinced it’s the person who’s sending the e-mails. As for ass photos, I don’t know and they’re not identifiable.

I just want my top friends in Atlanta to beware of this man.

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