All posts tagged diet

Tweak, Tweak… The Mating Call of Tina’s Friend

Hot Guy, or he was... before Tina became his best friend.
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Thursday I am horny and frustrated. This is a combination that, for me, is not good. I’m in one of those moods where I want to fuck anything that gets in my way. I’m on the look out for a sure thing.

When it finally arrives, it’s someone I recognize. He’s an extremely muscular massage therapist who provides not too bad bodywork. Where he’s located isn’t the most convenient. But he has a great body and this time he just wants to get fucked.

Allow me to be more specific. He had a great body.

The photos he sends are from a year back from when I last saw him. I’ll explain.

Our exchange Opens a new window from this blog on how to get to his place is brief and he says to come right in — not to even knock. I let him know I’m 20 minutes away. And right at 20 minutes, I’m at his door, pushing. It’s locked. I knock.

Shuffling begins inside.

“Wait up guy,” I hear. “Got to let the dogs out.”

In a few seconds, the door opens and it’s not dogs I see.

It’s three men. Just beyond the jocked muscle guy I’m expecting is a beefy bearish guy pulling up his pants, putting on a baseball cap and exiting out the door behind me. The second is a short, dorky, tattooed guy who sort of looks like Ian on Big Brother season 14. And he’s just in a pair of boxers.

I’m confused.

Then muscleman and I are alone as “Ian” is in the bedroom and the bear is gone out the door.

Muscleman has been on a diet. A radical one. He’s lost at least 50 pounds. I whip out my cock, not thinking too much, and slide it inside him. I’d been anticipating fucking him. His ass is slick already with cum. If bear had finished up, maybe muscleman was sucking him clean. Don’t know. Don’t care.

We’re fucking on his massage table and, let’s just say, it’s not working out. I can’t enter him deeply enough. He’s thinner but fuck if his asshole just isn’t positioned correctly.

And something is off about him. Something just isn’t right. This isn’t like the last time. Of course, the fuck occurred after a good rubdown, but I’m not getting something. He’s face down, of course. My suspicious rise.

I climb off about to leave when he’s up and on his knees, his mouth wrapped around my cock. It’s like he knows something is up. And I’ll admit, his sucking is primo. He even goes for my balls.

I finally decide I need to cum. If I go home in this condition, someone will get hurt until I can bust a load.

“Is anyone else coming over?” I ask.

“Nope,” he says between sucks.

I pull off my clothes.

He gets the signal.

“We need a bed,” he says.

And then we walk into the room where “Ian” is laying on half of the bed.

Now I hesitate, but he motions me in. “Ian” barely looks up as muscleman lays on the other half of the bed, ass up. This room is brightly lit, compared to the living room, which was dark.

I shrug. I’m naked, in an apartment, with a hardon and precum leaking out of my cock. I’m wondering if this is the beginning of a three-way.

Um… it turns out… no, it wasn’t.

Although “Ian” has removed his boxers and is laying on the bed naked with a softy, he spends the entire time texting. I crawl on muscleman. And through our fuck, I notice the signs. The fidgeting. And he’s at least a little smart about another thing. Since I’m flat on top of him, wherever my head is, he turns his head away to prevent noticing he’s chewing gum — an attempt not to grind his teeth.

His weight loss and all the symptoms point to Tina.

Fuck.

So my hard dick is up this tight, warm chute that’s preloaded and, despite the weight loss, he’s still got a good body. I wish “Ian” would get off his fucking phone and play with my balls but that’s not going to happen. And I’m frustrated and horny.

I fucking hate tweakers Opens a new window from this blog. Actually, I don’t hate them. I hate the kind of person who results from using too much Crystal Meth. But I still fuck them. I even had this severe crush on a guy a few years ago who had an addiction but he moved to Minneapolis. I fucked him plenty but actually wanted a real date and wanted to get to know him. He refused all my advances. But when he was high, he’d let me fuck him. And I’d let it happen.

I revised that policy with another man I met locally who wanted me to fuck him before going off to rehab. I didn’t. There are some bottoms I want to crave me when they’re wholly cognizant of what’s going on.

But at this moment, the dick is winning. There’s a little conflict in my head, but I know how to shut that up.

I snort some poppers.

The conflict ends and like a laser, my pleasure center kicks in to focus exclusively on my cock and how it feels inside that tight, cummy hole.

“You want my cum?”

“Yes please,” he says. “Please breed my ass.”

That’s all it takes. Soon I’m letting loose a torrent of DNA inside his ass.

After a moment of recover, I’m off and putting on my clothes.

“Ian” doesn’t seem to notice. Muscleman offers me water and invites me back anytime.

I’m being nice, but I won’t come back. This is one mating call I’ll ignore.

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3… 2… 1… BLAST-OFF! The Countdown to iBLASTinside’s Birthday (2 of 3)

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Forty-Five Random List…

…for Mark Bentson’s Forty-Fifth Year (Part 2 of 3)

You can catch up by reading part one.

30. I need a protégé.

It’s something I have wanted for a long while. A paduwan.  Someone to take under my wing, nurture and teach the secrets of fucking. I’m not going so far as to suggest I’m the bottom whisperer or anything, but I do have a talent for reading men and finding a way into their pants and eventually their asses. Of course, getting into their asses means I fuck them raw.

I want a willing, dedicated participant who wants to learn. So many folks take the first bit of advice and then move on, thinking they’ve got the key. But learning is a process that takes a little time.

So I still await someone with endurance and patience.

29. Make some fantasies cum true

Believe it or not, I still have a few fantasies in the darkest corners of my mind. These twisted little flights of my sexual imagination require that protégé or someone like him to become synchronized with me and be willing to waltz into the lion’s den where it’s not a controlled environment, like a dungeon or a bedroom. It requires quick thought on your feet, persuasion and a certain Joie de vivre.

28. Spread my seed farther, wider, deeper

Travel isn’t the only reason to spread my seed. Implanting my DNA in men just is my mission, my passion, the reason for fucking. And I find as I can reach more men farther afield from home — whether that’s literally geographic or figuratively in some other means like culture, age, financial status or otherwise — I find it more of a turn on.

27. Negotiate Middle East Peace

Short of that, I want to fuck more straight and bi ass.

26. Take one down, pass it around…

Where is the Gran Marnier?

25. Breed on my birthday

Any Atlanta asses want to volunteer to take my load?

24. Speaking of birthdays…

My wish list remains open at Amazon. Anyone wishing to send along something nice is always welcome to do so. It’s welcomed.

23. More strippers please

I don’t mind putting dollar bills in armbands or socks and paying for a lap dance. In fact, there’s a little bit of a turn on. That’s why one of my favorite places to visit in Atlanta happens to be Swinging Richards.

As I travel more places, I wish there were similar clubs worth my time and attention. For example, in San Francisco, I’d hoped that the Nob Hill Theatre might be the perfect cross between a Swinging Richards and a gloryhole destination. It’s far from it (I’ll get around to offering my review soon). And I’d thought Sin City might offer me a few options. But no. Women naked, yes. Men (for men), no.

I know Canada is known for some good strip clubs and a few in South Florida, but are there any more in the U.S.? Come on guys, let me know!

22. I’ve converted

Long-time readers will know my affinity for Diet Coke. When I wrote the impossible fantasy, The Company, Diet Coke features prominently in the story, as it’s provided to my character (I know, lots of you want me to continue the story and I appreciate that; read the next entry).

Well, folks, Coke Zero now features prominently among my beverage consumption as well. In fact, I drink it much more than Diet Coke and much prefer it.

Truth is, who the fuck cares? But writing 45 things about yourself can become daunting halfway in.

21. Finish it

I have a tendency to start a lot of projects but never finish them. I love watching those hoarding shows on A&E or TLC and sometimes those mentally ill folk have the same ideas but with physical world items. And the hoard overtakes their storage.

Good thing my hoard is virtual and on a computer. And good thing I don’t grow emotionally attached and can let them go. I’ve still got goals but I just can’t seem to find an opportunity to finish the books or the online projects. And often money is a barrier. It’s like The Company, which apparently had a few people enthralled. I know where the story goes and where it ends, but I just couldn’t get around to finishing it. I need to finish things more often.

20. I still want to write and direct a porn movie

Recently, I noticed the fine folks at Treasure Island Media posted its first attempts at stealthing. In the end, I believe someone felt it “too controversial” to go on the DVD, but having watched the scene, it simply lacked the spark.

When Hollywood does big films about the Navy, they bring in technical advisers from (get this) the Navy. Part of the problem I saw was bottom could easily tell the top clumsily took the condom off. The fucking went on. It didn’t “read” like a legit stealthing.

That, among other controversial themes, are things I might explore. Should someone ever give me a chance.

19. I have no tolerance for stupid questions

For some reason of late, I’ve been getting more and more visitors who find this whole “blog” thing foreign to them. Among the young men in Las Vegas who said he might be interested in being my bottom, he liked my “page” but started asking a dozen questions about me. This here blog contains more information about me than you’d ever want to know. I referred him back to the blog, for which he said he did not want to invest the time in reading.

In fact, the little prick sent just one tiny faceless pic (as you can see) then responded with the following: “Thanks for the website and the warnings, but I did not really get to see what you look like or what your stats are. After hunting around the website for about 20 minutes I came across a few stats that could be you or someone you described as 6ft and 180lbs.”

Okay, as a little help, dumbass. In the future, look at the top of EVERY FUCKING PAGE and you’ll see something called navigation. It happens to have an entry called “About Me.” If you click it, you might find that for which you’re looking.

I hate it when someone who thinks he’s good-looking, young and full-of-himself somehow thinks himself special enough for me to mindmeld and figure out what the fuck he wants from me. He kept insisting I send him a variety of photos of myself and he would consider going bare, as he was usually a safe sex Nazi.

18. Despite how it reads sometimes, I’m a nice guy

Yes, I can be an asshole. But most would attest I am a nice guy. Anyone? Bueller? Please post your “yes Mark is a nice guy” in the comments if you’ve met me.

17. Fuck it

I know this is a little offensive, but occasionally fucking the younger folk less than half my age makes for fun and, well, makes me feel a little flattered. On the other hand, people closer to my age aren’t quite as flattering, no matter how good their shape.

16. How am I going to figure out 15 more?

I’m struggling for 30. What the fuck am I going to write for the next 15. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow, my birthday, when I turn 45. Maybe early Alzheimer’s will set in and I’ll just repeat myself.

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I Needed a Massage. I Bred Instead.

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I’ve begun a workout regiment with a personal trainer. A tragically straight personal trainer — an incredibly hot, massively gorgeous, muscled bodied, young and delectable personal trainer with military training who could kill me if I made a Gay move on him. Add to that I’m making significant lifestyle changes including diet changes (long-time readers will know my affinity for Diet Coke; I’m down to two or less per day).

Beside the fact I leave workouts panting from intense desire to rub my sweaty body against my trainer’s, he also fucks me up by actually making me work and work very hard. So my recovery day in between workouts is harsh. He kills me on squats. And the other day, he did.

I found it almost impossible to walk up the stairs but to walk down? Forget it! I don’t think I’d ever experienced soreness like this. I needed a massage.

I love a good massage. Atlanta has proven to be a tough town for me to find a good, solid, reliable massage therapist with that extra little bonus. I’ve had a good straight therapist, a sketchy bi one and then a string of others. My Asian therapist (from here) dropped off the map a long time ago. With my financial situation tight, I’ve not had the luxury of a massage in a good long while. However, I scrounged up enough for one since my legs needed it so badly.

He was cute and tall, 26 and thin but not too thin. But when I opened the door, despite providing my photo, I could see the disappointment in his eyes. I’d gone for the cheaper option and I’d end up disappointed too, as his massage lacked the enthusiasm he showed when I opened the door. Further, even those who get training, some just don’t have the aptitude. He didn’t.

Still, he had a lovely, smooth body that I couldn’t help but admire. When I flipped over and he eventually got to my cock, he did seem to appreciate it. His cock stood out quite rigidly and, at between four and five inches, may not have been the biggest but seemed to be shaped perfectly.

I fondled him a bit as he massaged oil into my cock, expecting a jerk off. I moved my hand around to his ass, smooth and bubblish. I touched it, lightly and just a little before he suddenly straddled me. Interestingly enough, he jerked his own cock and moved his ass just over my cock.

He reached behind him and positioned my cock so it pressed against his tight pucker. And with each movement, he pushed down further on my raw cock into his hole. Using only the small amount of oil on my cock, it strained a little to push inside. But my hard cock squeezed inside.

With a steady pace, he rode my cock. Within moments, I just relaxed and let my cum inject into his ass. I didn’t make a noise. He kept riding and soon let out a sigh, spurting his cum all over me. He pulled off, wiped me off, I paid my fee and he left.

While my legs didn’t feel much better, my balls sure did.

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Q1: Barebacking Introduction

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Q. How long have you been into BB? From your blog, you’re a master. I’d love to know how you got so regular and confident with it.

A. Let’s back up a moment and remove the inherent “evil” perception that has built up regarding sexually transmitted diseases or infections. Go to an gay bar and you’ll observe an absolutely massive amount of so-called “unhealthy” behavior.

Smoking, which we know leads to cancer. Excessive drinking that contributes liver disease — among other things. Drug use which results in a long list of physical issues. Look outside and see the people in cars without seat belts. Hell, it’s risky to get out of bed.

And we all know the truth about “safe sex.” The only truly “safe sex” is masturbation.

So many things in our world are unhealthy for us. Diet drinks, regular drinks, processed foods, the air we breathe, the water we drink, the violence we witness. The list goes on.

Life is dangerous.

So you have to decide what is your threshold of supposed “danger.”

I once fooled around with a very hot guy in my early 20s. He ended up jerking me off. That’s it. I just loved touching his body and I didn’t complain much. Anyway, later that day he called to make sure I was clean because he’d discovered a paper cut on the OTHER hand — the one he didn’t use to touch my cock.

He was freaked out that he might have gotten something from me a hand job.

I don’t smoke. I rarely drink. I don’t do drugs (other than poppers). Nope, I’ve not even tried pot. I drink a little too much caffeine diet drinks. I always wear my seat belt. And I bareback ass. Those are my “risk factors.” I’ve decided that it’s an acceptable risk for the sensation of touching another man in the most intimate way possible.

You make your choices. I make mine. I won’t judge yours. Do me the same courtesy.