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He was drunk.

Barely 6 o’clock in the afternoon, and his body reeked of the alcohol he’d likely been pouring into it since noon or even earlier. Surprising he could stand upright. Cute enough, in the dim lights of the upstairs area of the adult bookstore, he looked rather young. Now up close, my suspicions were confirmed. At 24 or 25, he stood a little over 5-foot-8. His skin was dark, but he wasn’t African American.

I’d only been here a few minutes and hadn’t had enough time for my eyes to adjust to the interior when we were already in a room. My nice 7 inches standing up and his curved 5 inches uncut cock.

“What do you get into?” he asked. His breath was heavy with vodka.

“I’m a top,” I said. “What about you?”

“I like to get fucked.”

“Good.”

That’s all it took. He never sucked me. He just dropped his pants lower and bent over.

His ass was smooth and dark as well. Tan? No. I felt his perfect little ass. A nice amount of meat on it. When I found the pucker, the lube and possibly previous loads there. I lined my cock up and pushed in.

He didn’t make a sound. I just fucked. I fucked hard. I fucked soft. I moved passionately. I motioned with purpose. And then I started getting toward the point where I was finally getting close. But this bending over shit wouldn’t work.

Despite the awkward nature of our pants around our ankles, I told him to move up on the room’s platform mattress and lay down. He wasn’t playing with himself. He just let me do the work. So I mounted him and began to really fuck with purpose.

After a snort of poppers, I went into a zone where my cock just slid in and out of his ass. He had a good amount of friction and it led me to that point of no return. Soon I was grunting. And I began to shoot into his ass. I let it all go. All my cum. I didn’t ask whether he wanted it. I just simply unloaded.

I took a moment to recover. He remained quiet and still.

I unmounted, the cock coming out of his ass. I stood. He scrambled up behind me.

“Thank you very much,” he smiled, his white teeth glistening.

“Where are you from,” I asked.

“India,” he responded.

“Nice,” I said. “My first Indian.”

“Huh?” he said.

“Never mind,” I responded.

I left him. He probably looked for more cock, but I headed home.

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Be sure to read Part One and Part Two

We left the room, his ass richly seeded with two of my loads planted deep. He was hot in pursuit of more cum.

Over the course of the next hour, we would bump into one another. A semi-straight man pulled him into a room and bred him, degrading his “faggot ass” and filling his pussy full of cum. It only got him hotter. And when we encountered each other and he recounted the story, I wanted to see him get bred again.

The Wednesday night crowd at the adult bookstore just didn’t seem to be living up to the promise, I was about to give up. But something magical started happening.

Within about 10 minutes of one another, two bottoms got naked and just sat in open rooms waiting for cock.

I’m standing upstairs watching one and then the other. Both are respectable, although one is a muscular black man and quite attractive.

My friend comes upstairs and shortly following him is a tall black man. They make a bee-line for an open room and I’m invited in.

The black top isn’t real happy I’m there, so I’m relegated to watching and jacking my cock some. As the latte-skinned top peals off his clothes, he reveals massive pecs and a perfection of a body. When his shorts come off, the cock that springs forth is one of those massive ones you see in porn.

My friend’s eyes widen.

He  kneels naked and goes to sucking on this huge arm that, for all the trite “baby arm” references, I’m guessing it’s larger than that.

As my friend, now with three loads in his ass, sucks, the black top pushes his head deeper onto that humongous appendage. He’s choking. The width alone cannot fit down any throat, no matter how much anyone relaxes.

The top bends over to feel my friend’s ass. It’s a hint.

Eventually, after sucking a while, my friend glances at me and I mouth, “Offer your ass.”

After choking for too long on the monster, now covered with a thick spit, and the top playing with a slightly out of reach ass, the bottom lays on his back and his ankles float naturally toward the ceiling.

The top jerks his slicked cock and slaps it against the hole. The bottom is so thin and his hole was tight for me. I’m wondering how it will accommodate this elephantine cock.

The top stops slapping the ass, pauses and turns around. He grabs his pants.

Fuck.

I’m hoping he’s searching for lube. Maybe poppers.

The top is trying to find the right pocket and then pulls it out. A Magnum condom.

He hurls it at the bottom.

If only I’d had time to train my friend. Bottoms can sabotage condoms easily. But I’d never had the chance to teach him any techniques. Dumbfounded, he holds the condom and then hands it back to the top, who rips it open and, like a porn star, puts the shiny plastic over his cock.

Some spit follows and, luckily, the previous loads aren’t all dried out. The top positions it at the opening of this tiny bottom’s hole and, with his massive muscles, pushes in.

The bottom’s eyes open wider than ever, his mouth gapes and… well… he’s screaming, “OH FUCK!”

It slides into him. Some how. It seems physically impossible. But it is.

The bottom tries to control his massive black man’s pace. He attempts to stop the onslaught. But he can’t. And the black man begins to own the little bitch bottom the way he wants.

As he fucks him, rolling his hips, I can watch the muscles in his well-defined back, ass and legs move with precision and rhythm. There’s a musicality to it. It’s not a simple in and out. There’s a pumping and side to side, up and down, circular. It’s a dimensional fuck.

He’s got a technique that’s exquisite to watch.

“I want you to cum inside me,” the bottom says. “I don’t think I can take this cock much longer.”

I’m imagining the top has heard this before. So he grunts an approval and then speeds up and, quite frankly, proceeds to fucking with some force.

I’m surprised my friend survives this onslaught as I watch the strain of how the top’s muscular arms pull the bottom’s legs toward him at the same time the top’s hips force forward. It’s a collision of the black’s thighs to the white’s ass.

“I’m cumming,” the gutteral grunts.

And he fucks even harder, if that’s possible. Slamming with force. I can see my friend’s cock swinging flaccid. Yet, he seems content in a weird way.

Then he pulls out and pulls off the condom, tossing it in the small trash can in the room. My friend is on his knees, sucking the remaining cum off the cock.

“I usually pull out to cum,” the top says. “I don’t usually do that.”

Neither of us say anything.

I’ve only got my pants open, so I zip up. As the top begins to put his clothes on, he explains how he prefers one-on-one and not three-ways. This is the first time anyone has ever watched him fuck. We all make small take.

I think my bottom friend and I are thinking the same thing.

Finally he leaves and we close the door behind him. I neglect to lock it, although it does no good because the other two bottoms are out there giving free fucks. We aren’t disturbed.

My friend’s pants are down soon and I’m fishing around the trash for the condom. I find it. Pull it out.

It’s so huge. I could never really get it on me inside out. I try though. But the tip where all that white juiciness is located would never be exposed. And the condom is so stretched out now. So I take my fingers on the inside-out condom and push it inside his raw hole.

I know he’s really raw inside his ass. As I’m adding the fourth load to his mix, I push in deep and along the edges. I want to make sure that the DNA contributors from these three men bond with this bottom boy. That we all become a part of him and he know it. That he feels this.

As I push the condom in and out, the slimy goodness disappears more and more and now there’s just a film of ass juices on the condom.

My cock is hard. I want to fuck him some but I know he’s sore.

“I need to cum,” he says.

He flips over and I play with his ass while he jerks his cock. Soon he’s shooting his load.

As we clean up and get ready to go, I admit there’s something about him that attracts me. Something deeper than his looks. Something more than his twisted sexual nature. And as I look into those brown eyes and again get lost in the limbo, there’s a recognition there.

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Don’t miss Part One

I stayed inside him a little longer before pulling out. Then pressed my fingers against his hole. It was very wet. Not just from spit but from cum.

I’d buried a huge load.

There are times when I impress even myself. I always cum a goodly amount if I get to fuck an ass. But sometimes, it’s massive. Based on the sensation, this was massive.

I prodded my finger inside his perfect little pucker and made sure some of the load made it along the inside of his hole.

I have devious thoughts and now I had them. As I’m pushing my gooey cum inside him, it would just take a little scratch from a fingernail to make sure my DNA is completely absorbed inside him.

But I don’t.

I pull my fingers out and go in for a lick. I can’t resist that hole. Generally, I don’t like the taste of my own cum. Anyone else’s is delicious but my own just isn’t that tasty.

I pull him up and kiss him deeply so he can savor my cum and his ass. He goes in for some cocksucking too and we kiss some more.

I’m usually pulling on my pants by now but I just want to… um… what is that shit called when you kind of hug on someone for a little while? Huddle? No that’s a football thing. Oh, it’s cuddle.

No, I don’t want to cuddle.

As we sit in this dimly lit room and I continue to touch his body, we talk. We discuss a little sex and I probe to try and get details on his life.

Not really happening. He shields himself.

And that’s when I notice.

For all his perfection. From the perfect body and gorgeous silky smooth skin. His high-priced haircut and designer jeans. The perfection of everything. For all that, I look into his gorgeous brown eyes and I see…

Nothing.

You’ve heard people say they could get lost in someone’s eyes. In his, I could get hopelessly lost in a kind of limbo. It’s not a good place to be.

This body of perfection had perfected a way to hide everything… even his soul.

* * *

‘He’s still really hot.’

‘Just put your pants on and get the fuck out,’ the other voice says.

‘No,’ the first responds. ‘He’s hot. In a minute, we can fuck again.’

‘Can’t you see, he’s not even interested.’

‘Well I am.’

‘No you’re not!’

* * *

I’ve always had a way of looking at people and piercing beyond that initial layer of protection. With some men, if they’ll look at me, there comes a moment when I can see into who they are and know their desire. They will know that I know. I know they love cock. I will know they desire men.

That’s fucking scary to the closeted men. And the South is covered up with them.

It’s also exhilarating. It gives me an advantage. I can go places that aren’t technically cruising spots and find ass. I have to work for it. But I can get it.

But with him, piercing through the first layer finds nothing to plunge into. It’s as if I’ve entered blackness. A hopeless space. I have no advantage. He holds the cards.

In this place, I am lost how to proceed. As the voices inside me argue as to how to proceed, I stumble through some small talk. I can usually charm men and manipulate them. Him, I cannot foresee how to capture my goal.

* * *

‘What’s your fucking goal? You already bred him!’

‘I want him again. And again. And again.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t do boyfriends!’

‘Who says we don’t?’

‘You do!’

* * *

He expressed a desire for more cock and cum, but as much as I wanted to just swing the door open and let anyone in, the challenge became regulating just who would fuck him. While a slut for sure, this boy did have some level of taste and wanted to be a little picky about who fucked him.

As we began putting clothes on, he stood and bent over. His ass in my face. I couldn’t resist and went in for a kiss. Then a lick. And then, before I knew it, my cock was inside him again, fucking.

This time, I shut down the voices and just concentrated on the fucking. If I were to muster a second load in such a short period, I would need concentration.

Concentration and poppers.

I got them and took a big huff waiting for the effect to take hold. And then I closed my eyes.

When I fuck guys, something I just focus on the sensation. Sometimes I visualize fucking other guys so I can cum.

I just thought about who I was fucking and it happened again.

The boiling in my balls, but this time, the surge came without the pain and a bit less intensity. And less volume since I didn’t give it enough time to recover.

“Fuck!” I said. “There’s load number two!”

He moaned and I pulled out, my cock slicked with two loads of cum now. He greedily licked them off and we got back to dressing.

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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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I’ve never truly believed in bisexuals. Okay, I believe people can be bisexual, but I don’t think men teeter-totter in the center between straight and gay.

As I wrote when I broke down the male population, Kinsey’s scale creates the only perfect spot in the middle of purely heterosexual (a zero) and purely homosexual (a six) if you place it at 3½. Most men will end up at a 3 or a 4, not directly in the middle.

Alas, that brings me to the spot I am now with a young man with whom I am debating. He so much wants to be used and abused as a bottom on his gay side yet maintain his use of women on his straight. He likes to think he can teeter-totter between the two worlds.

Or better yet, he thinks he can make a choice and then abide by it.

It’s as if someone who enjoys both pizza and cheeseburgers when, one day, he chooses to only eat cheeseburgers and avoid pizza for the rest of his life. Can he truly make such a transition?

Of course not.

I mean, bisexuals are pigs. There’s nothing hotter than a bi boy begging for your load — unless it’s a straight boy. But somehow fooling yourself into thinking you’ll actually join our club full-time is bullshit.

Now why am I not coming down hard on this little fucker and claiming he’s just another closet case who needs to get honest? Cause the honest truth is he’s fucked 10 times more girls than guys who have fucked him. It’s disappointing. If I had easy access, I’d try to train him into a cum-craving bottom like he should be.

But my best talent is a good read. And what I read is someone in conflict who won’t go quietly into a full-time life as a Kinsey 6.

This one, we lose.

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

His 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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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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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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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.

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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