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47 Is a Prime Number

47 Is a Prime Number

I am turning 47 and that is fucking scary.

I’m on that downward slope to 50. My fucking isn’t on a downward slope, though.greetings-from-north-carolina-nc-postcard

Sure, I can’t cum in an ass 12 times a night. I made it four times about a year ago (he was a special bottom). But when I shoot, I still shoot plenty. Not too long ago, a massage therapist was jerking me off and I stopped him just in time.

A massive amount of what I can only call “pre-cum” came spilling out.arkansas-postcard

Before I actually shoot, I always have a this massive shot of spooge. Sometimes I time it right, shoot it and allow it to be my lube for a time before injecting my actual load.

My massage therapist is brand new and I’m learning he loves my cum. He’s always amazed at how much I shoot and now I was teaching him how my body reacts to stimulus.

maryland-postcard Over the next 10 minutes, I let him edge me. He was fascinated as the white stuff just continued to spill forth from my cock.

Then I went for my load, which added to the gunk already massed in my belly hair and shot even further on.texas-postcard

It’s rare that I see my loads any more. I always inject them in some hole. This new therapist is giving me an opportunity to train him on the best ways to please me. He’s doing well.

Nevada

I know it satisfies bottoms. I hear from them all the time how much I shot. It disturbs me a little when they tell me it’s running down their leg as they drive home. Even when I bottom, I have the awareness and control to keep the DNA inside me and maintain it until it’s gone — absorbed by my body, so that the man who I allowed to fuck me is forever integrated with me.

I enjoy the fucking. It’s getting better all the time.

What I’m disappointed in seeing among the bottoms is a lack of dedication to the craft.

Cleaning up (and out) isn’t all one must do.

I get some of the most satisfying cums from a massage and that’s because the guy knows how to hit my buttons.

I wish bottoms would attempt to satisfy a top that way. Sure, offering up an ass is great. But working at finding each spot that turns a top on is perfect too.

It’s rare to find a bottom who doesn’t do the porn scenario. Suck cock, spit on hand, lube ass, sit on cock.

Lick my balls? How about my ass?

I still stand amazed at my boy in Philadelphia who could suck my cock and lick my balls at the same time. His tongue was so long, he could almost tickle my asshole.

He wanted me to be satisfied and feel good. He WORKED at it.

Yes, I know you bottoms who want the top to take control. But I like bottoms who anticipate my needs and goes for it.

I’m 47.

I’m not dead.

It’s official. I’m in my prime.

Bottoms. I am starting a national tour. In the next three months, I am visiting the above states. Get ready.

This prime number wants to fuck some ass.

 

 

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#CloseGhost

#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.”

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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The Bareback Side of Chicago: The Beefy Ass Welcome

The Bareback Side of Chicago: The Beefy Ass Welcome

If you’re reading this day of publishing, I’m still in Chicago and looking for ass. Hit me up on BBRT (iBLASTinside) or via e-mail (iblastinside@gmail.com) and don’t make me beg for your pics. 

Red Star   Red Star   Red Star   Red Star   Red Star

It’s strange I’ve never made it here — at least that I recall. I’m sitting looking out my hotel window, trying to drown out the din of the streets below.

Chicago-AssThis is one fucking loud city. I’m 15 stories up and the noise is still deafening. I could have been on a higher floor, but I got this one because I wanted a king bed.

Fucking is always easier on a king bed rather than two doubles. I always prefer king beds.

Prior to my arrival, I set up my posting as being in Chicago and BarebackRT.com lit up. In fact, I made the front page of BBRT as a most-viewed profile.

It grew impossible for me to keep up with everyone pinging me with OINKs along with other questions. Please fuck me. Breed me.

Shit like that.

It still amazes me the number of people begging to be bred. Too many of these backwash assholes offer crappy profiles with blurry photos from 15 years ago, yet they’re still unflattering.

Me, breed your ass?

Naw, I’m good man.

I even saw one guy send me a pic of cum and shit leaking out of his ass. Not a good combination. Now I’m someone who believes if you’re going to fuck an ass raw, there’s bound to be some shit every once in a while.

But never on purpose.

Somehow, in the midst of all the fucking noise, I did manage the connection with the ass shown in this entry. I texted him when I landed and shortly after checking into my hotel, he arrived. With a kiss, he stripped and went to sucking my cock.

Slut.

Just the kind of bottom I like.

Before long, I was fucking him. I flipped him over and rode him until I shot a huge load into his ass. If he told it accurately, his fourth of the evening.

When I rolled off, he stuck a finger up his ass, pulled it out and tasted it.

“MMMM,” he  said.

He then sucked my cock clean. We had a nice deep kiss and off he went into the night.

Now I’m looking for ass number two. I’m thinking something a little tighter, smaller… not so beefy.

 

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Fuck Fuck Fuck

The Brotherhood of the Traveling Fucks

I’ve been traveling a lot. And it doesn’t look like it will let up anytime soon. And I’ve been fucking lucky.

Literally.

The ass in each city ends up being hot, hot, hot.

If I tried to write about every ass and each encounter, you’d all love it — I know. But I don’t have time. I’m just that busy.

Allow me to summarize some of the highlights.

Mid-Atlantic Tropical Hot Ass

I usually advertise my arrival in advance of my arrival. My ads usually announce that a top blogger is coming to town, looking for some bottom inspiration. I require some basic information from those who want to learn about the blog, since a vast majority of people just want the jerk off material.

I don’t mind. But I want to get a glimpse of who’s going to see it.

Occasionally, some people know who it is. Or they figure it out quickly. These are my fan fuck plans. Some people can be dedicated fans, who read up on me in great details. Others are just the guys who read me when it’s time to jerk off.

This young, very tan man hits me up and begins begging.

Now you have to understand. The younger the bottom, the less reliable. Young men in their twenties are notorious unreliable. I’ve made plans with hem in cities only to end up with a dry dick in hand.

This one really seemed genuine.

And not to bore you with details, he worked out well considering that this time, I ended up running late. He arrived after I finally got into my hotel room. Without hesitation, he worked into an embrace and kiss.

A good kiss.

His sucking worked at getting me hard. But when I finally got into his hairy ass, the fucking tight ass proved to be phenomenal.

Too phenomenal.

It’s been a while since I’ve bred someone three times in a row. But this little fucker kept me hard through all three. I never really slowed down. Of course, I’d been saving up a little. His exotic mixture of Latin and native tropics. A little hair on his chest and these juicy nipples.

His ass never truly loosened up.

If I ever slipped out, this bottom would let out an exasperated plea to put it back in.

I never went soft. His talent seemed unending to keep me hard. He’d read about where to touch me, how to keep me interested and what to do to arouse me.

He is someone who will be fucked again.

University City Slut

It’s summertime, so most of the college kids are at home, screwing around there and not at school. Just my luck I get to go to the midwest and a town that’s pretty much nothing but a university-supported town.

There’s a small contingency of college kids around — too many of them catfish (fakes who claim to want fucking). I’d just about given up.

I’d messaged a guy on BarebackRT.com before my arrival and, well, he pops back online. I invite him over and, 30 minutes later, this thirtysomething is sucking my cock on my hotel room bed.

We went into fuck mode and his neg hole is just begging me to squirt my load inside him a coat his insides fulls of my DNA.

I do.

All you have to do is beg. And this bottom does.

It’s after all the fucking, with us winded on such an intense session, that he admits to having known who I was, loving my blog and basically wanting to find out if he could really feel it “blast inside.”

(Yes, he could feel it.)

He’d gone to dinner with friends and ditched them between the restaurant and the club to swing by and get fucked by me. But we’d promised for a more extensive session next time.

My Boyfriend Doesn’t Know I’m a Slutty Bottom

Occasionally, one of those 20-year-old guys with an impossibly smooth body e-mails me. I figure the photo has been Photoshopped until there’s not a freckle, not a blemish and no stray hairs.

I’m in Texas and on BarebackRT.com when this little fucker e-mails me, volunteering to come take my load. I tell him the hotel. He asks the room. I give it. He says 15 minutes.

And in 17 minutes, there’s a knock at my door. A gorgeous boy walks in, lithe, tall, Latin and beautiful. His shirt is coming off as he steps into the room. He isn’t hesitating.

His chest is perfect. Just barely definition but no imperfections. Anywhere.

The lights are down low because I fucking hate the harsh lighting of hotels. He flips an end-table light on, its florescent yellow blinking into cold existence. But this boy’s skin is still perfect, reflecting the seamless skin with just a peach fuzz of hair that tingles as I run my fingers over it.

He’s naked now and grabbing for my pants.

He sucks me. I was already hard. He slobbers all over my cock. He thumbs his huge uncut cock a little as he comes up and kisses me with the perfect thick lips and then turns around and lines up my cock with his perfect little pucker.

And he pushes.

I’m inside him.

This insatiable boy just begins to ride. But I can’t be a passive top. I move him into a few positions and I pummel him.

He begs for my cum. He says he wants it bad. Please give it to him. I do. I load him up deep.

I lay in the glow afterward, letting my fingertips run over this perfect boy’s skin.

As we talk, it turns out I’m the fourth load in him tonight, although he’d cleaned out for me — I jokingly scold him for doing that. He assures me I’m the first of many loads as he leaves me for a few more.

His boyfriend is working tonight. He’s out for as many loads as possible. And he takes all loads. Doesn’t matter. Oh, he’s a little picky. Hard cocks only.

Never heard of my blog. Couldn’t care less. He just wanted my cum. He just wanted me to blast inside.

Straight Boy and Gay Bottom

In a southern city, I’ve chosen a ginger to fuck. He finally arrives. When he walks in, I recognize him immediately.

He’s straight. He’s a straight bottom. (Yes, they exist.)

He walks in and basically gets to sucking me. Nothing nice about it. He’s not very good, but it’s enough to harden me up. I step behind him and slick my cock up when he mentioned he has a condom.

I don’t protest. I put it on. At least, that’s what he sees. He lines it up with his hole, feeling the condom on it but after it goes in his hole, I pull it out and pull off the condom in a single motion and slide back inside. As soon as I’m in him bare I feel it.

His asshole is throbbing.

Damn inexperienced bottoms.

He’s shooting his load all over my bed.

Pisses me off a little, but I’ve been inside him raw and he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and that’s why he shot off so quick.

He liked it raw.

He’s out the door and I’m on the prowl again. I don’t find another taker until the next day… this a gay guy who just had this terrific body. I didn’t see a face. I get a little concerned when I don’t see a face at all.

He walks in an angel, with these stunning eyes.

We get to the act quickly, although I wanted to take my time. And we fuck for longer than I intended because I want to give him the best I can.

He enjoys it.

We finally kiss as he leaves a load lighter and a load heavier.

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Q&A: Is Jizzjoy Real? YES! Would I Be Less Uptight If I Went Raw? YES!

Q&A: Is Jizzjoy Real? YES! Would I Be Less Uptight If I Went Raw? YES!

A “conversation” of comments recently broke out on a post Opens new window of a page on this blog that needed a little more oomph, so I’m bringing it over to its own post when Mikey asked the following:

QuestionOn a less serious (or maybe I am serious…) note I wonder what you or Robert (or anyone else for that matter) think about whether I’d feel better and less uptight generally if I went raw. Is jizzjoy real ? And does it maybe have lasting benefits?

AnswerAllow me to address the jizzjoy Open-New-Window-External issue. The answer is a definitive, “Yes.” I think even you answered the question, but I’ll start with other folks and we’ll come back to you in a moment.

A poor straight surgeon lost his job over a scientific study where he found that sperm contained “mood enhancers” when injected into a woman’s vagina. His colleagues — especially the women — got their douched twats in a twist over the whole thing and he went down Opens new window of a page on this blog like a cocksucker in a gay rugby team’s locker room.

I’ve also witnessed jizzjoy more than once, the most compelling being a young hairy beast Opens new window of a page on this blog who quivered and shook at my cum entering his ass.

What I’ve never written about is fucking him a second time, when I didn’t cum as much as the first time. I’d bred someone the night before and, well, if you want extra juice from me, you’ve got a little work to do. We didn’t have time for him to do it. When I shot, his reaction proved to be significantly muted.

I didn’t tell him I shot less. I didn’t indicate I’d fucked another raw ass the night before. I’d showered in between so he couldn’t have guessed.

His body just didn’t shudder like it did the first time when he got several days of built up cum flooding his cunt.

Not even a week ago, I fucked and bred a slut who’s had so many men, he’d rival my totals —although he’d never heard of me. He’s enjoyed the explosive warmth filling his guts numerous times.

As I let my cum go, he described the sensation like a “tree suddenly branching out and exploding into blossoms throughout his body.” He said he could feel it everywhere, from the curls in his toes to the tingling in his fingertips to the tip of his tongue.

a_me_cumI’m illustrating this, in a way, not to brag but to say some people may have more of the therapeutic sperm with the natural mood enhancers than others because when I breed, people seem to walk away feeling better.

Are there a lasting benefits?

When it comes to mood enhancers like Prozac or Zoloft, one must take them daily. Heck, for the full effect on some people, one must take the pharmaceuticals twice a day or extra large doses.

No mood enhancer stays in a patient’s system for an extended period of time.

If you choose to go with sperm therapy, I recommend regular breedings — once or twice a day. Of course, if you receive a massive overdose on the weekends, sometimes you can make it as far as Wednesday, but by Thursday, your mood will dictate a need for more.

Once you go bare, you’ll always be aware when a cock is wrapped in plastic. You’ll get little to no satisfaction with something between you and the man fucking you.

Uptight Condom Nazi Who Wants a Breeding

You wrote this response in our correspondence: “And we both know if he did stealth me I’d scream with pleasure.” Opens new window of a page on this blog

I don’t think I suggested you’re uptight. You did.

And you’ve divulged your true desire.

I don’t know why you haven’t gone ahead and took a load. You should. I don’t know why. Maybe the hesitation could be explained to me.

Further, I think you’ve discovered your true nature as a bareback bottom, but you just deny it. You can’t face it. Why not?