All posts in Weekend Confessional

3… 2… 1… BLAST-OFF! The Countdown to iBLASTinside’s Birthday (2 of 3)

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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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Loading Zone: Bareback Virgin Top Experiences Bare Ass

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This message arrived yesterday, October 21, from a reader. With his permission, I’m posting his story. This adventure happened a couple of weeks ago. My new friend assures me this will happen again.

Want to tell your story? The Loading Zone is a feature of stories from readers of my blog. Just contact me Opens a new window from this blog and let me know what you’re interested in writing.

Bareback Bliss for Raw Virgin

Yo. I’ve never read your blog before yesterday but felt like I had to give you the thumbs up for your uncompromising perspective. I wanted to relate a short story about how I opened up to the world of bareback sex my very first time.

iBLASTinside's Bareback Loading ZoneGrowing up religious and conflicted about my sexuality, I didn’t start looking into hooking up until my early 20s. I had never even kissed a guy and didn’t know how far I really wanted to go with some anonymous hookup. One night, though, a two-hour conversation on a hookup site led from one innuendo to another until I felt like my balls were going to explode. A hasty agreement was made and I drove over to meet another young college-age guy at his nearby apartment (stopping to buy condoms along the way, just in case).

When I got there he wasted no time at all, moving in to kiss me. I was apprehensive before his lips touched me, but once I felt his body against mine I knew I needed to fuck him. We lay together in his darkened bedroom, jerking each other off.

I have to admit he was so good at it that he had me exploding all over myself before I could even protest or work up the nerve to propose getting it inside him. He didn’t seem disappointed, but instead took it as a challenge to quickly get me hard again (unlike you, I can’t keep a hardon after cumming) and fuck my cock.

He was a foreplay master and although I was drained from the first orgasm, he got me hard again. The problem was, as I went to slip the condom on, my cock just wouldn’t stay up — blame a lack of stamina and the unfamiliarity, I suppose.

He had clearly noted my obvious difficulty as he said “Forget that. Let’s jerk off together some more” and rubbed lube on my uncovered cock as we pleasured ourselves.

After a few minutes I was rock hard again and he was begging me to rub it up against his hole. At this point, I was still a safe sex adherent, but I wasn’t going to say no to that kind of request, so I watched him turn over and started sliding my cock up and down his ass cheeks, rubbing the shaft and cockhead against his hole.

You probably know what this bottom was up to. He just wanted cock and cum in his ass. As I’m sitting there up against him, he calls me by name for the first time that night and tells me he wants me inside him. And thoughtlessly, without reaching for the condoms on the side table, at this first insistence I angle my cock a little and slid it right in, like there were no risks and as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

We had both listed an interest in “safe sex” on the site we met up, and here I was deep inside him raw, with him ordering me not to stop. As a kind of last-ditch formality, as I felt our instincts controlling us toward our climaxes, I breathlessly asked him where he wanted me to cum, to give him an out, to let him make the decision and restore saner sex practices for us.

His answer?

“I want it right where you are.”

That was it for me. I pumped a few more times as I felt all thoughts leave my brain. The only thing I knew was the absolutely amazing sensation of cum welling up out of my balls, shooting inside him as we clung together in ecstasy.

We didn’t talk about the bareback sex afterwards, but I stayed in his bed up against him, with no remorse or regrets over fucking him raw. If I had been physically capable of getting another hardon at that moment, I would have slid it in his ass raw again in a second to recapture that bliss.

I guess he thought he had to “trick” me into being up against his ass raw in order for me to slide it in and let my load loose inside him. Maybe he did. I certainly came around to his way of thinking quickly enough. All I know is the next time I go over to his apartment, I won’t even bring condoms. Both my loads are going in his ass, where they belong.

 

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Dark Passenger: The Return of Rage

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I need to admit the truth. After all, I occasionally run a Confessional here and this is a space for me to be myself.

When I heard of the impending death of my molester, I felt something not unfamiliar: Rage.

For a moment, time stood still, I heard my heart and the moments of my abuse — the pleasurable and the horrible — all came together. That evening, as I wrote, pouring the adrenalin rush into the typing, I wanted desperately to fuck out the bad feeling. I needed a bottom to abuse back. Someone to pummel.

Truth is, when I fuck, it is rare for me to lose  control. I control every movement. Very few men have ever experienced me unleashed. No. Unleashed is the wrong word. The word is unhinged.

If you are a bottom, you may be thinking how hot it would be to experience what might be a Rage Fuck from me. Knowing that physically, I am without the physical prowess to bench-press much or chin-up myself . I don’t have abs or pecs or guns or anything like that. I am not muscular. You’re thinking it wouldn’t be a big deal, especially if indeed you are muscular yourself.

But with almost 30 years of pent-up Rage, if I allowed that to pour out, my system would be overloaded with chemicals that would blind me. Wikipedia remarks that a person experiencing rage “is capable of doing things that may normally seem physically impossible. Those experiencing rage usually feel the effects of high adrenaline levels in the body. This increase in adrenal output raises the physical strength and endurance levels of the person. One’s senses become extremely acute due to the high amounts of adrenaline in the body, and, on the opposite end, this also reduces one’s sensation of pain. People in rage may also experience events in a sort of slow motion. An explanation of this ‘time dilation’ effect is that instead of actually slowing our perception of time, high levels of adrenaline increase our ability to recall specific minutae of an event after it occurs. Since humans gauge time based on the amount of things they can remember, high-adrenaline events such as those experienced during periods of rage seem to unfold more slowly.”

My Rage did not emerge. I did not fuck. I have not released my cum and likely, I won’t let myself release it except in controlled amounts.

I can smell my rage right now. It’s a smell. I can see blood pulse through my eyeballs. It’s returned now. It’s here. Now.

A blog on Men and Rage says, “Rage is commonly brought on by fear a threat to some part of yourself. When you are threatened, your brain instantly reacts with a fight, flight, or freeze response. Rage can also be a reaction to protect deep, deep shame.”

Maybe all of that is true. Maybe I am shamed. Does my shame come from the fact I want to dance on this fucker’s grave?

Confession, Good for the Soul…

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That time again. What have you done?

You should confess those things you’ve done, those things you’ve told no one else. No matter what they are. Just look for the “comments” link above (or click this) to leave your confessions. Begin 2011 with a clean slate by telling all the readers what you have done. Unburden your soul.

I did this on occasion on the old Blogspot blog of mine… and it proved popular, for those of you who recall (when I moved the blog over here, not all the “confessions” made it).

Use a fake e-mail unless you just want people to be able to e-mail you about your confession.

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Curiosity: Santa’s Lap, Now Seating

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A while back, a little experiment asked readers to provide confessions of those acts that they had done. The Weekend Confessional allowed readers to anonymously post things from their past — some sexy, some not. With 140 responses and growing, it continues to draw more confessions.

In a similar vein, you’re invited to sit on Santa’s lap and tell good ole Saint Nick what you’d like for Christmas, be it naughty or nice. It doesn’t matter! Ask for the latest Blu Ray player with Treasure Island Media’s complete collection of barebacking videos or ask to star in a production.

Similarly, please post these Christmas wishes anonymously, as Santa will know which belongs to whom.

Please make sure your comment is anonymous. To do so, when you click on the Comment link, use the drop-down after “Comment As:” and select the last option, “Anonymous” (as shown below).