Tag Archives: disbelief

Three Abortions

Three Abortions: Zero for Three in My Attempts to Pop a Load

When am I not horny? Probably the immediate moment after I shoot a load into a boy, but I recover quickly. Really, that’s not true. Part of me still wants to make sure my territory is marked.

At work one day, I happened to be particularly horny. I posted on Craigslist (through my iPhone, duh) and hoped for the best. Two potentials showed up for a lunchtime pump and dump. I chose the closer of the two although the second happened to be an Asian.

Abortion #1: Druggie/Serial KillerLuckily, I thought as I left the office and headed over, these two actually read the post and got the word that I wanted a quick fuck. We’d not had a lot of back-and-forth. Not the usual bullshit of e-mails and more pics and negotiations of what was on the table and off the table.

I plugged the address into the GPS and drove over, listening to the radio and blissfully ready for my balls to unload.

Driving through a well-established neighborhood with well-manicured lawns and maintained middle-class homes, my GPS announced my arrival up on the right. Like a sore thumb, the home sat on a hill, overgrown lawn. With gutters falling off and a crumbling front porch, I already seemed wary of where I was comparatively. This wasn’t a married man cheating on his wife or a gay man’s home.

I knocked since the doorbell had been punched in at some point and collapsed in on itself.

The door opened and the smell of dog, cigarettes and just plain stink hit me. In in plain white t-shirt, a do-rag and boxers with sunken, heroine eyes, overly thin leg with open sores and an emotionless, hopeless expression, he invited me in.

“Thanks man,” I said. “I’m good.”

I assessed my situation quickly and turned around. At one point, he’d been straight, probably a straight bottom. But the years of drug abuse beginning with crystal meth led him to this place. My gut instinct wanted me to run, but it was a beautiful sunny day in a well-populated neighborhood. Maybe I’d just served a subpoena, just walking up to the door and leaving.

In the car, I punched in the Asian’s address and found it only 12 minutes away. I e-mailed him to say I was on my way.

Now Asian ass is prime and the pic he’d e-mailed me looked pretty good. As I near the place, again I turn into a decent neighborhood, although not quite as nice as the last one. Still, the lawns are nice with grown trees and middle-class houses. When I find the house number I’m looking for, I drive past and turn around in disbelief.

This time, the lawn is cut. Well, what lawn there is. The gnomes, globes, frogs, buddhas and literally hundreds of other ceramic figures lining a koi pond keeps most of the grass at bay. As I’d notified my fuck that I arrived, he steps outside to direct me where to park.

I do.

I try not to judge because I begin to figure out he’s a tenant in this home, as he invites me around to the back. But he’s lied about his age. He’s not 30. This guy’s face looks 50. Luckily when we step inside the basement apartment, he begins stripping and his chest and ass say 30. Asians sure maintain a body.

Abortion #2: Asian with jacked up face who cums too quickly Maybe I can keep it together. Maybe I can ignore the white-washed decor and the fact that he actually turns the television to “Family Feud” for our fuck time. Nothing like Steve Harvey saying, “Survey says!?” to make you want to cum, right?

He tries to suck me, but I’m “too big.” I play with his ass a little. He wants to kiss, but the fucker has lied about being a smoker and I’m not kissing. I urge on to the fucking. He pulls out petroleum jelly, slathers some on my cock and his hole and begins to sit on it.

Within two minutes, as I’m about a third of the way into his hole, he announces he’s cumming.

I pull away, his cum still shooting on my belly. I pull the towel from beneath us and wipe off my cock and his cum. I put my clothes on and head out to find some food and go back to work.

Surely, though, this cannot be how I end my day. I need to shoot.

There’s been this “sensual” massage therapist I’ve been meaning to try. He’s relatively inexpensive and, based on his pics, fucking hot. I message him. He’s available just after work.

To me, a sensual massage builds slowly to that moment that you cum. It’s a tease under the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing.

Of course, I had to try someone new.

This fucker had no idea what he was doing. Even though I’d asked whether he was a CMT (certified massage therapist), he lied also. He wasn’t. He didn’t know the muscle groups. He wiped oil on me and went for the spots he thought might turn me on.

Abortion #3: Hot Latino who doesn't know what he's doingOh I got hard. But when he flipped me over, he just jerked my cock. That won’t make me cum on its own. It’s like putting a pot on simmer. You’re not going to bring me to boil without playing with my balls and touching me sensually elsewhere.

That or sitting on my cock.

Now let me explain this guy was six-foot-four of Latino hotness. Smooth with the exception of a nice pube triangle and some light dusting on his ass. His crack also showed a lot of potential. And his body was like Michael Phelps, with long arms. His cock was a thick, uncut beauty.

But the guy couldn’t bring Latin heat if I handed him a bottle of extra hot salsa and a Gloria Estefan CD.

For the second time today, I grabbed a towel, insisting he step away.

“Are you not going to cum?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “It’s not going to happen.”

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“I expected it to be more sensual,” I said.

“I’ve rubbed up against you,” he said. “I thought it was pretty sensual.”

I didn’t respond.

I paid him the minimum, without a tip, and left.

The next man I fuck will get three loads worth of cum: The one he earned plus two more… one meant for an Asian and one intended for a Latin. Any volunteers?

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Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: A Funeral I Did Not Attend

I did not go to a funeral this weekend.

My molester finally kicked the bucket and finds himself in descent to hell or whatever suffering in afterlife the asshole deserves. Truth is, I’m not sure I believe in much of an afterlife anymore. But nonetheless, he’s gone.

The funeral was yesterday and family friends attempted to pressure both me and my sister to attend.

Now you must realize most people do not know what this man did to us — more especially, what he did to me,

Today I was speaking with a friend who said he was “floored” by what my sister told him about this wonderful outstanding citizen of the community. My sister refused to attend the funeral because of inappropriate touching of her. This came from the friend as to scold me for not attending the funeral, not in an understanding way.

I then went ahead and gave a brief overview of my abuse. At first, there was disbelief, but I think the margarine incident clinched it.

He broke down into tears and asked me to stop talking. And I was forgiven for not attending the funeral.

But tell me why I cannot sleep tonight. Tell me why it is on my mind?

 

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