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#CloseGhosts and My Recent Travels

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.”


Case #2: The Early Alabama Bird Misses the Juicy Worm


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.


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.


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.


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: A Repeat Customer

Travel Diary: A Repeat Customer

My job takes me to Birmingham, Alabama, several times a year. On my travels here, I’ve found this town can be a little unreliable with a larger selection of flakes responding to ads. But along with that, I’ve found a segment of more reliable bottoms.

This guy definitely falls into that category.

I found — and fucked — him last visit. He apparently had a good time so when my ad appeared this time, he dropped me a note correctly identifying my hotel. I invited him over.

As usual, the room was dark. I was naked when he arrived. He stripped down quickly and found my cock. In general, I enjoy cocksucking but it doesn’t do much for me other than getting me hard. Well, this 25-year-old turned out to be incredibly talented. He used his oral talents both to work my shaft and then dropped to my balls, lightly sucking them into his warm mouth and extending his tongue toward my taint. That little tickle set off plenty of precum, which I’m sure he sampled more than once based on his “mmmmm” sounds.

After a respectable amount of time, he came up for air and worked his way until we were deeply kissing. His long tongue probing my mouth, I could feel his hard, little cock against my stomach. But it wasn’t long until he was straddling me. My cock poised at his lubed hole.

He climbed off and assumed the position, ass up and ready. He inhaled poppers and I felt his ass muscles open up immediately. I was inside in a swift movement and he started groaning immediately. He needed no time to adjust.

So I fucked. Eventually he was flat on his stomach, I was on top of him, sliding my cock in and out of his raw ass. He twisted his face around so we could kiss. I liked kissing this guy, so I pulled out and flipped him onto his back. I slid back in as he took another popper hit.

I really pummeled his ass for a while, slowing down and leaning in to kiss him. But I was ready — already late for dinner plans — and I took my snort of poppers to begin the warming sensation and boiling in my balls.

“You want my load?” was the first words uttered.

“Fucking breed me man!” he reached down and opened his ass.

Pretty soon I was letting my cum go deep into his guts. He didn’t cum but the noises he made was like he’d had an orgasm as well — a satisfaction for this bottom to have cum in his ass.

When he got ready to leave, we embraced with another deep kiss. He was as tall as me at 6-foot-3. Maybe next time, I need to fuck him standing up.