Tag Archives: being

Reasons Not to Bareback: ‘I’m Not Stupid’

You’re not that smart either.

Sex doesn’t kill. This perception that shoving a cock in an ass suddenly will poison and kill you is just plain stupid. It’s among those misconceptions that needs to be obliterated immediately.

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2009 Deaths in the U.S.

  • HIV/AIDS: 17,000
  • Heart Disease: 599,000
  • Cancer: 468,000
  • Smoking: 430,000
  • Gunshots: 298,000
  • Stroke: 129,000
  • Alcohol/Drinking: 85,000
  • Alzheimer’s Disease: 79,000
  • Diabetes: 71,300
  • Flu and Pneumonia: 53,700
  • Suicide: 34,000
  • Vehicle Accidents: 33,800
  • Murder: 15,200


[/alert]Let me be perfectly clear that HIV is a chronic disease, along with arthritis, asthma, cancer, COPD and diabetes Link Opens in a New Window. And like all those other diseases, treatments assist in the symptoms but no cure exists.

Yet the stigma of HIV/AIDS persists and this thought that a raw cock and the cum just drips with disease also persists.

It doesn’t.

You’re stupid if you believe that you can suck a cock and not get a disease. You’re stupid if you think safe sex exists. You’re stupid if you think raw sex equals death.

Get off your high and mighty. If you choose not to bareback, own it. Say you’re not barebacking because you’re chicken shit. Smoke and get one of the other eight leading killers. Eat processed foods and let cancer or diabetes or obesity destroy the last years of your life worse than HIV. Drive too fast, drink too much, jaywalk, own a gun, don’t wear a seat belt, golf in a lightning storm, enjoy your friend Tina or whatever the fuck you think protects you from all the death and destruction in the world.

But when you find yourself just moments before your impending death, think about all the sex, all the cock, all the ass and all the men you loved and loved you and how you never felt their cock or ass raw. That the hetero-fascist agenda kept you from experiencing jizzjoy or passing your DNA along to another human being.

That your most intimate moments were behind plastic.

Then say again, “I’m not stupid.”

Behind Dead Eyes… A Return to Breed a Third Load

Behind Dead Eyes… A Return to Breed a Third Load

The text message appeared: “I’m horny.”

Let’s admit that I did like the bottom in my entries from Behind Dead Eyes Opens a new window from this blog. Perhaps that creeped him out a little or the fact he never liked that I implied he had “dead eyes.” Instead, it’s a metaphor for the protective wall he builds around himself and that inner being.

After our time of debauchery at the bookstore Opens a new window from this blog, we’d texted a bit but not met up again.

“I am too,” I responded.

“I want cum,” he wrote.

“I’ll give you some,” I typed back.

As it turned out, I was downtown and would be glad to hit the bookstore yet again. A few more of his coy questions and my to-the-bone answers.

I had an appointment but once it was over, I wanted to fuck him. That was the only reason to drive over and pay the $11 admission. Once I admitted to having my good poppers Opens a new window from this blog, I got the green light. I made a left instead of a right and headed toward one of the best asses ever.

And I mean best asses.

It’s usual for me to really look forward to seeing someone. I’ll admit my crush on this boy. There’s chemistry there, even if he can’t admit there’s any. And we fuck well.

I arrived, whipping into a parking place. I plunged into the darkness and throbbing environment of sexual scents, Pine Sol and satellite radio.

He stood along the edge of one of the banks of booths on the basement floor, not far from the entrance. Approaching him, he spoke under his breath, “You have to act like you don’t know me.”

My anticipation fluttered a little. I missed a beat, but I recovered and made the walk upstairs to the rooms.

Within moments, he joined me.

He wore a strange combination of a stretched out tank under a button down. This flashback to the Flash Dance 1980s look seemed strange to me since I recalled the original look. Here I am in jeans and a t-shirt and he appeared so perfectly coiffed. He walked past me into a room. I followed.

He started removing his clothing immediately and I did the same, inquiring whether I should lock the door. He shrugged, a hallmark of his usual indecision. But I didn’t care.

He stripped completely naked and went to sucking my cock, getting it hard. His oral skills undeniably good. Then he crouched on the mattress, ass in the air.

As I did before, I went in for food. I ate his ass, spreading my meal wide. Oh how delicious his hole proved to be. So good! I’ve ate many asses in my day. His just perfection, just lovely, just nice. The soft hairs never wiry and adding to the opening up, never detracting from the effort to open the hole.

With a little more spit as I pushed my tongue into his pucker and deep pink, I stood and began to push my cock into him.

I’d handed him the poppers earlier and he’d been sniffing them already, but now he really snorted them as my seven inches invaded his interior.

Oh my fucking God, how his ass was so damn tight and molded perfectly around my cock. In a way, it felt as if I was pushing my cock into clay.

He moaned. I pushed. I’d pull back a little and push farther in.

Soon, I made it all the way.

I looked down to see this almost perfect hourglass shape. His smooth body. His back and upper chest wide, his waist going smaller and then that ass, the widest of all. Not fat, but perfect. And as I plunged inside it, just wonderful.

And in a way, I just hit paydirt.

Pumping in him deep once, I felt something. Oh so warm. Oh. This was a new sensation. Like I’d popped through to a new place, this warmth began to trickle down past my cockhead and tickle my balls, some dripping off and some running down my legs.

I inquired to be sure and disappointingly discovered I was the first to be fucking his ass, so all I felt was water. Knowing this bottom’s routine, I knew it was clean and nothing to worry about. No scents or anything other than the unusual sensation that enthused me a little. If only I’d been squishing around a little extra cum as well.

The door to the room opened. I’d not locked in.

In walked an older white man and not at all attractive followed by an older African American who turned out to be a little fat. I didn’t mind the audience. He urged me on, wanting to eat the cum out of the bottom’s ass after I was done.

As I fucked more, the little trickle of water turned more into a gush of water and I really enjoyed that sensation of warm water along my balls that now cooled in the air. I borrowed the poppers and took a sniff.

I fucked harder. More gusto.

“You want my load?”

“Give it to me!” he said. “Give me your load.”

The trolls agreed.

And I went into a place where my cock and the bottom’s ass  just existed together. The water now emptied out, I replaced it with my flood into his guts with my cum. I throbbed. I buried to the hilt and stood still, letting my cock deposit all my seed into his ass. I pushed it in as deep as I could and then pulled it out as his ass sealed up behind my extracting rod.

My bottom friend objected to the trolls even touching him and we kicked them out, now the festivities were over. And he turned horrified at the splattered water on the mattress, not to mention me. Even with my promise that I enjoyed it, he just couldn’t believe how much came out.

I kissed him for the first time as he began putting on his clothes. Oh, how well he kissed.

“I’ll see you later,” I said.

“You’re leaving?”

“I came here just to fuck you,” I replied.


“Really,” I said. “Take care.”

And I left.

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Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: Nothing Lost in Exploration

When I chose to begin writing this blog and to explore my so-called Dark Passengers, I knew it would be enlightening to myself. Remember that the Deceptively Fun posts come from 2003, posted to the original date when posted on Nifty.org.

You need to read those posts to enjoy the twisted nature of my exploration and from whence I came. That time in my sexual and personality development proved to be pivotal — as influential as the molestation.

Now a recent post in response to an inquiry from a reader regarding the breaking of condoms allowed me a connection between these many watersheds.

When originally molested, I found it both repulsive and alluring, all at once. A time in my life when my sexual being dawned to a man who took advantage of me. I made sure to put myself into the grasp of this man.

My revenge for those acts: Stealthing Opens a new window from this blog.

Someone took away my choice and I, in turn, took away someone else’s. And, by the same token, I put myself in a situation as did each of the bottoms. My trust (and especially that of my Mother) was placed in the hands of a man who betrayed it, even with my own conflicted desire to have myself ravaged.

I now see these parallels more clearly than ever before.

In all the criticism and rage that emerged from the stealthing posts, no one bothered to ask whether I currently stealth… not that it matters. The assumptions some readers so deftly make won’t be altered with the truth.



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Dark Passengers Series

My Dark Passengers

I debate what should be revealed here. Certainly, by posting the old series, I’ve exposed a part of my psycho-sexual history that’s probably a wet dream to any therapist. Of course, this is a sex blog and not my normal blog.

Correction: I don’t have a normal blog. However, other outlets for the writing beasts inside have a place to occupy.

Back to my considerations of unleashing the other beasts of my past explorations. Those explorations — in particular two such thought-provoking time periods — begin to form the mosaic of my sexual being.

The first is a topic that, surprisingly, was unearthed by a female Dominant — although she has considered herself a switch. Her blog, Making Boys Blush, provides for an interesting read. For me, it’s the submissive straight or bi men in her life. She herself admits I’m a little more ingrained in a “sick twisted-ness” that she finds fascinating.

That brings me to my past when I too indulged in a bit of the BDSM lifestyle. Actually, it was more than a bit. I spent a little more than a year immersed in it with full force. I explored some elements of myself still disturbing to this day. And I wonder the impact it had. Yes, that photo is me in some rubber gear in a dungeon.

As I have mentioned, my appearance is now and always has been unassuming. Back when I lived in D.C., I used to frequent the Eagle, the only leather bar in town (as it seems to be with every city). I think the Eagle is gone now, but in its day, I found it enjoyable. This somewhat lanky, awkward guy in black jeans, a black t and black boots walked through the door with the only thing that seemed to betray him was the bookish glasses, neat haircut and pale white skin.

The leather community proved to be a place where I found respect. In a leather bar, your status had nothing to do with the size of paycheck or biceps and your status in the overall gay community had little sway. In fact, the true nature of a leather bar could be found deep within the community itself, only hinted at among the drag queens (those who dressed as butch as possible but hardly anything was butch about them) and curious frat twinks.

I recall one night I was standing next to a boy I knew and we were chatting. One of his friends stopped by and ignored me mostly to chat up his friend. The boy attempted to introduce me, but the friend had no interest. Again, I blend into the woodwork — or in this case, the black-painted walls.

The friend spilled his guts, telling the boy who he was about to depart with for some fun. And he turned to walk away when the boy called out, “This is…” followed by my online name at the time.

The interrupting guy stopped dead in his tracks. You could see something probably akin to a chill run up his spine. He turned around, nervous, glancing at me and then the boy.

“That’s… him?” he stuttered.

The boy nodded.

“One… could you both wait here a moment?” he said and pushed his way into the crowd.

I shrugged and continued my beer. A moment later, he was back, apologizing and shaking my hand.

I did not fuck him that night and I didn’t the next. In fact, for the next few weeks, he courted me as I allowed it. In fact, I even had him procure me a fuck before I allowed him to serve me. Among that community and in that moment of time, I was infamous — at least in a small circle.

So I debate how much of that to share here. How much of that exploration advised the place I am now.

The second Dark Passenger I am considering is even further back in time. One of deep places in my psyche that I’ve began unearthing of late.

Around the age of 9 or 10, I was molested. As horrible as it sounds, many times I chose to allow myself to have sex with this much older man — up until I was 17 — right about the time I found the gay community in the nearby city and could drive there on my own for the sexual curiosities. Even then, I was used (and knew I was being used).

Yes, I love the show Dexter on Showtime. But when he speaks of his Dark Passenger, I actually see Dark Passengers for me. I see more than one. And I am thinking of introducing them to you. There will be more hot stories and a few not so hot.

You tell me. Comment back. Should I?