Tag Archives: conversations

Gloryhole cock shoots a load in Jarod's ass

Ongoing Fucking

While I have not been able to post it, I have bred. And often. My Chicago trip saw three receive my juice, which I still intend to record here about two as both were worth the marking — one a loaded Latin, as I mentioned in an earlier post. The other a cheating cub, away from his hubby on business and taking loads from strangers.

I’ve bred four or five others during the blur of my travels. Most are anonymous. Some know who I am but most don’t and I don’t give a fuck one way or another. My notorious blog does give way to allowing me access to ass, which I appreciate.

I’ve also had the lovely honor of loading up an escort who’s decided to try out Atlanta for a time. This adorable (and honestly sweet) young man offers up his ass and appreciates a good fucking.

If you’re in Atlanta or the northern side of town, hit up SubBtmEscort on BarebackRT.com. I hope to get him to open up for one of my more detailed conversations as a bareback escort.

And if you hire him, please mention me. In fact, just say “hi” thanks to me.

I’ve also fucked at Inserection at Cheshire Bridge, the adult bookstore with some of Atlanta’s best gloryholes. The comments on my Inserection page are correct: The place now charges for the rooms upstairs.

I find this is a good thing. Too many meth-head asswipes were abusing the open rooms and flopping upstairs, sleeping off their highs. Now you find sex happening downstairs and more fucking. I’ve bred more thanks to this push downstairs, especially through gloryholes.

Just yesterday, I actually ended up in a booth with a former Marine — at least I am guessing he was former. Gosh, more than any other branch of the service, those guys just love getting it up the ass. And this one did too, taking my load with gusto.

All this said…

While I’ve written all this, I do think things will need to shift or change.

I haven’t figured out exactly how. Do I mean I’m settling down? Not at all. I can’t. I need to spread my seed. I always will.

But I also need a better resource of ass. And although I’ve craved to help pass on the skills I’ve learned, I still haven’t found someone dedicated enough to mentor.

I pass the time. Waiting.

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Bareback top visiting New Hampshire

Travel Diary: Bottoms Blah Blah Blah

Flakes are universal, along with fakes and catfish Open-New-Window-External. This I know.

But when it comes to superstar flaking out, New Hampshire takes the fucking cake. In fact, my visit to Concord might take the bakery.

Allow me to explain.

I always post future destinations in my travel plans on my BarebackRT.com profile Open-New-Window-External. I notify readers here Open-New-Window-External that I’m visiting. Of course, all this is tweeted Follow on Twitter and ends up on my Facebook Open-New-Window-External.

To enhance it all further, I post on Craigslist an add that looks something like the following:

TOP blogger visiting looking for bottom writing inspiration – m4m (Concord Area)

I’m a blogger who writes about my sexual experiences on the road with bottoms I encounter… My blog is read by thousands every single day, reproduced on several sites and even some entries end up on a famous porn studio’s website.

Perhaps you might like to be the inspiration for a piece when I slide into town next week?

I don’t identify the bottoms I fuck, just write about the experience…

Hit me up with your info — a pic, stats, etc. I’ll respond with my blog details so you can check it out. We’ll go from there.

The site contains a lot of information beyond my fucks. And if you happen to be a top, we can tag team or maybe you’d like to try sitting on my cock… it’s a perfect 7 inches cut.

Thanks!

P.S. The only major requirement (other than bottoming for me) is that you don’t smoke.

From all this, I do get a lot of inquiries. Most of them are lurkers who never intend to meet. This I get. It’s also an opportunity to find new people to read my blog since not all barebackers have found the Bareback Brotherhood or my blog.

With many there’s the “I just fuck safe,” and then more than half switch their story.  But some don’t. Yet, with my blog, it becomes a jerk-off destination for many.

When I do finally arrive, I e-mail the best back to see if they’re still up for that fuck.

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Arriving in Concord

My arrival in Concord allowed me to long in locally to BarebackRT.com, Grindr, Scruff and Manhunt.net, all of which use a geographic tool to notify one who’s closest. I also posted to Craigslist.

Two men of the many interested e-mailed me back saying they were still up for the fuck, but one 4 p.m. pump-and-dump session became a no-show with regrets arriving several hours later because he was “stuck somewhere.”

Flake.

All of my online activity netted me a lot of interest. A lot. I was fresh meat in a town that didn’t see a lot. Of course, I got the usuals…

People just wanting to collect photos, see my cock or face.

I had one prospect on BarebackRT… he was a fucking hot dude in his late twenties… seemed like a good one. But here’s where we begin one issue that baffled me for Concord.

He had no vehicle.

I needed to come to him and pick him up, bring him back to my hotel to fuck and then take him home.

Now please check out the map.

Concord is not a major city. It’s 1½ hours north of Boston. It’s not a walking city. How can you not have a car and survive, especially when you’re not in college?

This turned into a theme of the night. No car. No transportation. My car is in the shop. My car is in the shop due to the storm. I don’t have a car.

By the way, none of these bottoms ever asked where I was staying to see if I happened to be within walking distance.

I don’t guess Northeastern tops teach bottoms they’re the ones who need to make the effort Opens new window of a page on this blog.

While some of them were hot enough for me to go and fetch them, it turns out I didn’t rent the car but a colleague did. I simply wasn’t an option.

Then came the other morons.

I also get a collection of those who want to postpone. These guys appear in every city, without fail. I wonder if they ever fuck. All conversations go something like this.

THEM: “How long you in town?”

ME: Just tonight (no matter how long I’m in town, I always say I’m here “just tonight”)

THEM: “Damn! It’s getting late tonight.”

ME: It’s just 9:30.

THEM: “I know but I have to get up early. I wish you were here…” fill in the blank with “tomorrow night” or “this weekend”

In other words, they can never come over now or today.

Proximity Alert

My first promising opportunity looked like a threesome, which I won’t get into too much detail on. In his early thirties and a scruffy blond, wanted to know if I wanted to fuck both him and another guy, in his early twenties — both online at the same time. As if on cue, the younger one sends me a message.

The younger one asks if I’ve got poppers, which of course I do.

Then he asks if I’ve got anything “more fun.”

WTF.

“Dude,” I respond back. “You’re well aware I’ve come into town. That means I flew. That means I went through security. At an airport. Are you fucking kidding me? Why would I have any drugs?”

He responds, “Oh yea, I guess you’re right. But I still want to fuck.”

Anyway, the vibe is off and the duo then go even more weird. The young one claims the old one is stalking him. The old one claims they’re “together.”

I don’t want to get into the shit. Kick them both to the curb.

Right Downstairs

One last opportunity happens as a guy indicates he’s in a hotel. I ask which one and it turns out he’s in the same one as I am.

Bingo.

He won’t disclose his room, so I give him mine, knowing my colleague isn’t on that floor. He tells me he needs 10 minutes to shower and get cleaned up.

Those 10 minutes pass. Then another 10. Another 10. Yet another 10. And at 45 minutes, I finally message him.

He apologizes, saying it’s taking him longer than he thought to clean out his ass.

Whatever, I say, just get his ass to my room.

Then he says come to his.

I tell him I don’t have his room number.

He says okay, he’s now putting on his clothes.

At an hour after we started this exchange, he says he’s on his way.

Then I get a text asking me if I’ll suck his dick too.

I’m baffled. I just ask, “What?”

Then he writes, “I need to run by the front desk real quick.”

Fuck that.

This fucker is just playing me.

“Forget it.”

He gets all bent out of shape. Says he won’t go by the front desk. Blah blah blah.

After some back and forth, I say he can some to my room, but he has three minutes to get there.

He says he doesn’t like my attitude.

I tell him to fuck off.

The next morning, he begs me to come to his room to fuck him.

I tell him I’m not disturbing  guests actually staying in the hotel.

Postscript

Perhaps the little fucker actually was staying in the hotel or maybe he was one of the guys I’d e-mailed earlier and said I was in town and knew the hotel from that. I’ll never know. I’m proud I never knocked on anyone’s door. That shit pisses me off. He probably kept delaying things to try and get someone else to come over and knock on my door but, like me, couldn’t find anyone to do it.

My luck is your luck, fucker.

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Stealthing, Stealth, Stealth Fucking

The Fucking Point

I appreciate the correspondence — messages, comments, etc. Some people have asked what brought me to this point where fucking isn’t the point in my life.

Well sit your ass down and drill this into your large and small heads. Fucking never really was the point. As much as I went for ass, I never really fucked for anything other than the conquest and fun of it. My pleasure, not yours. And never the bottom’s pleasure.

Among my conversations recently, a top spoke of his prowess to make bottoms pop their loads, fucking it out of them with his hard eight inches — oh, bigger if he really liked you. If I were someone who enjoyed the fuck, then I might do that. I’m not that kind of top. Oh, I enjoy the fuck. The sensation of the fuck for me. Not the bottom. The only ways that I’m a giving top is the fact I’m putting my cock inside someone and that I’ll give them my load. That’s about it.

I think that might be why I stealthed for a while. Just tricking the bottoms and then, having them come back for more even after they shit out a load. I found that amazing. But they did. Every time. I stopped stealthing, not because of morality but because it was too easy. I didn’t need the condom. Men would take my cock bare. Fuck, I could tell them.

A few months ago, I was fucking this Latin guy. Raw of course. He’s protesting about it being raw, how he doesn’t fuck that way. He’s also upset because it’s too big. I’m not so happy cause the chulo didn’t bother to clean his brown cunt out. When I changed position, he protested and finally pulled off, insisting on a condom. Instead of doing my normal act, I went opposite.

“Did you bother to bring a fucking condom?”

He looked up at me shocked, “No.”

“Well I don’t fucking have one and I don’t want one,” I spoke with an even tone. I didn’t yell. “If you’re the one who wanted one, why the fuck didn’t you bring it with you?”

He looked at me silently, “I don’t know.”

“You can leave now,” I told him, the wood leaving my cock.

Could I have convinced him to take me and my load? Yes. But why deal with the whiny little bitch? I didn’t want him to run home to his wife (yes, he was married) all satisfied. I decided, in that instant, rattled and still horny was better.

Fucking hasn’t been the point. It’s always been the conquest of the bottom, taking his ass, making it mine and marking my spot by leaving that DNA inside. Yea, it’s like I’m a dog pissing on a tree. It’s mine bitches. Whoever else comes into this hole will find it used later and this ass will always have a little of me left in it. And in the case of the chulo, well, I gave my deposit in a little precum and spit.

Every year I get older, the accomplishment would be to get younger ass. Is that really an accomplishment? No. There’s always a way to get ass. It’s easy for the willing. And every opportunity will allow one to exploit weakness and access that orifice for my pleasure.

I need my next destination. Is it physical? Geographical? Emotional? Spiritual? All of the above?

A few of you have reached out, inviting me to your town, to your homes. I’ve actually (finally) been invited on a few dates. No one local, mind you, and I have to fly myself across the country to different destinations in order to get a meal and a movie.†

So I’m still struggling with the fucking point.

Mid-life crisis…. keeps on rollin’.

So look, I’m not saying I won’t take anyone up on the three or four invitations I’ve received. I’m still trying to figure out who’s legit and who’s fake, as I’ve visited some destinations only to discover men who disappear (Birmingham, Dallas and Las Vegas, you all know who you are).

So you might be appalled to discover that I wrote about things here, thinking I wouldn’t dare write about you, but I’m a blogger so I write about a lot of shit in my life. But if you carefully read what I wrote, I never bothered to identify who you were.