All posts tagged center

Hanging Chad

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Chad-Massage-TherapistI’ve pissed off the massage therapist blond Chad Opens new window of a page on this blog.

First, I enjoyed myself. I wanted to hit him up again for another session.

Second, I’d gotten a few e-mails from folks asking if the hottie ever would entertain barebacking.

Chad had written me a nice note thanking me for the review shortly after it appeared. I’d e-mailed it to him.

Apparently he forgot it.

For all the nice things I wrote, he focused on one section:

I’d like to say he’s a little down on his luck, but his attitude seems so cheerful as he’s figuring out where he wants to go. Or maybe he’s just a wandering gypsy nowadays. … since his hotel room is so damn small, he can’t really accommodate a massage table.

After a little exchange where he seemed confused after thanking me for my review, he sent me this:

I am by no means down on my luck, or a nomad. I know exactly what I want out of life. I still have no idea where the bareback thing came from.

I’m not really worried about what people say about me online. I put myself out there so I expect a certain amount of bitterness. You can’t please everyone.

I got another response.

I’m actually a very happy person. I make tons of money and work at my own pace. No I do not bb.

Let me explain my reasoning. Perhaps Chad is just frugal. I don’t mean to assign anyone’s particular motivations to their choice of accommodations. But when it comes to cheap chain hotels, Chad at least stepped it up from one that didn’t leave the light on for him. However, the $39.99 a night on the nearby interstate didn’t help making it seem a little low-end.

I usually respect people and a certain degree of their privacy. When I wrote that his room was small, it was tiny. Moreover, Chad’s belongings were crammed and stacked — neatly — into absolutely every single space. The path from the door (by the bathroom door) went to the end of the bed. Both sides of the bed were crammed full.

I don’t doubt he’s about as “happy” as he could be — or at least he’s got a great attitude. And I know some people are nomadic, enjoying traveling the planet. Hell, if I were young and hot, I think I’d do it.

No bitterness was intended. I always explain the space where the therapist works. Is it a tidy, tranquil, dedicated massage space, the messy dorm-like room or are you afraid a teetering mountain of belongings stacked to the ceiling might tip over and fall upon you? I believe that this is important information for a client to consider.

I like Chad. I still do. But he’s extra sensitive, snaps back fast and can’t take the reviews he’s going to be subject to in his profession.

I’m not going to drop his rating. I still want you all to support him when he visits. But keep in mind, he’s got ‘tude.

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Want to be included in my massage therapist or escort review list?

If you would like to be reviewed, feel free to contact Mark Bentson at his contact page Opens a new window from this blog or via e-mail iblastinside@gmail.com . These entries are at the discretion of Mark Bentson and in no way would any services provided to Mark guarantee or indicate any review (positive or negative) may or may not appear on these pages Opens new window of a page on this blog.

Also, while I travel, keep in mind I don’t mind rentboys, gay/bi/straight massage therapists or other kinds of outcall servicers while visiting cities like Indianapolis or Concord, NH Opens new window of a page on this blog.

Reviews of male escorts, companions and massage therapists in the Atlanta area are included here. Mark also provides training to those escorts, companions and massage therapists as well as marketing services such as web, e-mail, blog and social media advice for compensation and barter. Mark can maximize the financial intake you receive by teaching you basics Opens a new window from this blog  as well as advanced techniques.

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The Not-So-Sleazy Information on Atlanta

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I’m often asked where to stay or information on what else there is to do in Atlanta. Well, folks, God made Google for a reason. I’m not your concierge.

That said, I don’t want to leave you completely in the dark when it comes to visiting Atlanta. I know how much it sucks to try and figure out what the hell is going on, where in Waldo am I and how can I get people to fuck me or get me some people to fuck.

Allow me to help you out a little.

An Overall View of Atlanta

Atlanta-Overall

Atlanta was burned during the Civil War. While that may have little to do with what’s going on with you coming to town, that actually means something. Unlike Boston, New York or other northeastern major cities, Atlanta’s rebuilding came at a time when streets were widened for carriages and, not too long after, cars. This is a city for cars and practically everyone has one.

Unlike Washington, D.C., San Francisco or other such major cities, Atlanta’s public transportation system (known as MARTA) has not adapted well to the sprawling metropolis. The working public may take it for their 9-to-5 jobs, but only if it’s convenient and — for much of Atlanta’s population — MARTA is not convenient.

Because practically nothing is within walking distance and because Atlanta is a city of cars, our areas are largely little islands that MARTA does not connect. Other than the Tourist Center area, the sidewalks will mostly fold up after 6 p.m. unless you happen to be lucky enough to be staying next to a chain restaurant.

Taxi cabs aren’t cheap because, more than likely, you’ll be traveling dozens of miles to your location. Keep in mind when you see someone on Grindr or Scruff, it’s plotting the location as the bird flies. If you actually get an address, you’ll route it to find it two to three times the distance in driving. Therefore, something that seems like 13 miles — infinitely not that far — turns into a 45-minute drive.

Above, I’ve highlighted a few locations the map missed.

OTP and ITP

In Atlanta, we call the interstate around the city, “The Perimeter.” It’s also known as I-285. For short, people live either OTP or ITP, which stands for “outside the Perimeter” or “inside the Perimeter.”

Just as in other cities, there’s a bias by those who live ITP to those who live OTP. I live OTP. ITP bottoms think I have to drag my cock to them all the time. Oh well, there’s plenty of ass OTP too.

Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport and Fuck, I’m Lost, Which Way Is This Damn Subway Train Going?

They say when you die, whether you’re going to heaven, hell or purgatory, you’ll connect through the Atlanta airport.

I think Hartsfield-Jackson probably is purgatory.

I’ve traveled enough that maneuvering through ATL is easy for me and I don’t even pay attention much any more, but I know it’s confusing as hell. But I wanted you to see on the map just how fucking far the airport is from Downtown, Midtown, Buckhead or any place else you might be staying.

If you have any hint that you might take the MARTA train to some station then grab a bus or some such, don’t do it. Either rent a car (there’s a new fabulous rental terminal connected by above-ground train to the main domestic terminal near baggage claim) or get a car service. It’s worth the $20 to $30 you will pay because you will be traveling through some of the worse neighborhoods in Atlanta to get to your destination.

A Fuzzy Feeling About Peaches

Georgia is the Peach State and, even though South Carolina rivals in production of the fruit, Georgias take love the luscious flesh seriously. Don’t let some asshole tell you to go to “Peachtree” as if there’s only one such street. There’s more than 200 streets and roads with “peachtree” in the name in the Atlanta area. You’re seriously fucked.

Slut-Town

Let’s get it out of the way. Not everything slutty, sleazy and fun is located here but a fuck-ton is. You’re going to find Inserection Opens a new window from this blog, BJ Roosters Opens a new window from this blog, Bliss Opens a new window from this blog, Eros Opens a new window from this blog, Manifest Opens a new window from this blog, the Heretic Opens a new window from this blog and all the Hookup Hotels Opens a new window from this blog.

And these are the places I’ll go.

You will discover there’s other places you might like around there, although who knows. I’ve explored, but some parts of the underbelly I don’t have access to because (1) I don’t do drugs and (2) I’m not a minority.

Downtown

Atlanta-hotels-downtownIf you’re attending a conference, chances are you’ll end up in one of these four hotels. However, if you have a choice, do not stay in the Marriott Marquis, Hyatt Regency, Westin Peachtree Plaza or the W Hotel.

None of these have decent parking for your visiting fucks.

You’ll also pay a lot of cash per night for parking if you have a rental.

If you’re on the company expense account, I personally love the W. Well, any of the W Hotels are great. But unless it’s someone I really know already, I will not come down to meet someone because I generally believe there’s a 50-50 chance someone’s lying about who he is or where he’s located.

While there seems to be a lot to do around here and it thrives during the day, at night, it’s a ghost-town.

Just as a public service information, these hotels are the best in the city with the exception of the Four Seasons, Ritz-Carlton and Omni. This is also about the closest to the Flex Opens a new window from this blog bathhouse.

Tourist Center

Atlanta-hotels-tourist-centerThe only part of town that seems to come alive at night is around this section of Atlanta surrounding Centennial Olympic Park, the centerpiece of the 1996 Atlanta Olympics (what a clusterfuck). If you’re coming to town for a convention and you register early enough, you won’t be stuck in the Downtown hotels west of here and end up in the lovely Omni or perhaps the Embassy Suites.

Don’t miss the World of Coke and Georgia Aquarium (you can do them both in an afternoon) and the CNN Tour is great as well (CNN Center is adjacent to the Omni). The Falcons play at the Georgia Dome (although they just approved to build a new stadium). Americas Mart is nearby as well.

Buckhead

Buckhead has been trendy since I was a kid so, fuck, it really can’t be trendy. Yet it seems to always keep up. Likely you’ll be near Atlanta’s first mall, Lenox Square, which is catty-cornered across from the upscale Phipps Plaza.

Good news staying here: Lenox Road provides a straight shot to (and basically turns into) Cheshire Bridge Road, the main strip in Slut-Town. Therefore, if you want to stay Slut-Town adjacent, stay near Lenox Square in Buckhead.

Cumberland/Galleria

Reaching out into the suburbs but not quite getting there are another two malls, Cumberland and the Galleria, across the streets from each other and at the intersections of I-75 and I-285. At the border of Atlanta, Marietta and Smyrna, several businesses find this as a hub, so if you’re coming to town on a company, you might end up staying here.

There’s a Renaissance and a Marriott here at the top tier then a few others down to the Days Inn and a Red Roof. If there’s a fuck-and-go situation and someone isn’t staying on the east side of town, they’re likely over here, usually on Windy Hill Road. These are never as successful as the others in Slut-Town at the Hookup Hotels, but I find them more convenient.

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San Francisco, Here I Cum!

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Watch out San Francisco!

This weekend will be the first time I’ll be wandering around the city since I was in my twenties.

Mark Bentson in his twenties is significantly different than Mark Bentson in his forties. Yes, I barebacked then. But then, I tended not to be “out” about it. And, well, a little bashful.

When I was there, it was only a few hours. I fucked this guy for about two hours, breeding him three times. We went to dinner with some of his friends then I went to a hotel near the airport where I bred someone else. The next morning I went home.

I’m not sure what I’ll be up to while I’m in town this weekend, but I’ll probably do something touristy. Cross the Golden Gate. Hit the Fish Market. Fuck someone. If you want to be a host, let me know…

Fucking is touristy, right?

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Getting in touch with Mark is easy. Just visit the Contact page or check out the links on the top right of every page on this site…

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Worth a Thousand Words

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I am on vacation. Of course the holidays provide time off from work, but I’ve successfully wrapped up a majority of my familial and social requirements so I’m at loose ends so to speak. So I thought some writing might be in order. Thing is, I’m not finding inspiration. Not all of my writing comes from fucking an ass, although a lot of it does. So I’m looking for ideas.

Most of the posts come and then I go on a search for a fitting photograph to “enhance” the online experience. I’ll do some Google search and crop some photo or generate it myself. It gets a bit old. To that end, I’d like to encourage my readers to provide me with inspiration.

I’d prefer you not use professional models or well-circulated images. In fact, take out your cell phone and snap away. I can’t say where your image will catapult my twisted sense of reality, but we’ll end up somewhere together.

Take for example the photos posted here. Don’t ask me why the composition of these images tweak me in a way that makes me store them on my personal hard drive. And you will notice not all of them are sexual or even male focused.

Snap away. I could post a few hundred more images that provide interest, but I want to see what you come up with. And don’t just try to recreate the images here or send me your current cock shot. That’s not going to cut it. I know, we all think our cocks are the center of the universe. Just not so for me.

Send away. My e-mail address accepts everything. You can also tweet me at @iblastinside or send links.

I look forward to seeing what pops up.

Dark Passenger: Volunteering for Molestation

Dark Passengers Series
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Not until December 19, 1985, would I actually utter the words, “I am gay.” Interestingly enough, I’d be considered an “adult” at that time, just barely 18.

Between 15 and 18 years old, I plunged into the world of sex. My classmates spent their time experimenting with alcohol and weed, neither of which I even attempted at the time. Sex turned out to be my drug of choice.

Shoving my cock under stalls in bathrooms provided some satisfaction, but I am an analytical sort and I needed to understand what drove me into these situations. Satan? The Devil did actually turn out to be a leading contender.

You see, around this time, MTV came on the air. My father absolutely forbade cable television from ever coming into our home. But MTV did provide one good quality. For my parents, Satan moved from FM radio to MTV. I finally got my first clock radio.

In the years prior, the only music I was allowed on the JC Penney piece-of-shit my parents called a “stereo” was Barry Manilow and Christian music (including Christmas albums). I distinctly recall having to return the vinyl of Billy Joel to K-mart because my parents felt it as “inappropriate.” I did successfully get an Air Supply and Alan Parsons Project album in there somewhere.

In other words, my parents were very, very restrictive on my options.

The Internet didn’t exist. Deep within the thick white pages of our phone book, I did find the Gay and Lesbian Center of Atlanta. I would occasionally call and hang up. Eventually, I would speak with the “youth counselor” there.

I recall he was the first person to explain the mechanics of gay sex, including what a “blowjob” was. I didn’t understand where “blow” came from. Told you I was analytical.

In the end, this fucking pervert drove his nasty ass out to near my house. I biked to his location. How we found each other without cell phones still amazes me (then again, I lived just east of bumfuck in the middle of nowhere).

We walked into the woods and, I would say, he was probably the first man I officially fucked. Yes. If you were the “youth counselor” for the Atlanta Gay and Lesbian Center in 1982 or 1983, I was the kid who fucked you.

In his mind, it was all about “educating” me. He explained cleaning out and expelling the cum after it was shot in your hole. Condoms were never discussed.

My next experience with with a man in a black van. Yes. I crawled into a van with a man I’d just met in a Sears bathroom. I’d gotten his phone number off the bathroom wall.

I recall his cock as being huge. He had a lover and lived in downtown Atlanta. Somehow, I got out of the house one weekend and (as a 16 year old) drove to a store to meet him. He took me the rest of the way downtown.

After a dinner, we ended up at his place and I fucked his lover. I’ll never forget him in his jock, his legs behind his ears, begging for my cock. I was so much smaller than the black van man, who had a thick and long but a little limp 9 inches.

As I look back, I know it was stupid to put my trust into these men I never really knew. But my only method to find people was the phone book and bathroom wall.

Those two strangers probably define my memories from that time. One good (van guy) and one weird (counselor). As a teenager, too young to comprehend and too horny to stop myself, I continued to put myself into situations where older men would have sex with me.

 

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