Tag Archives: Georgia

Georgia Gay Cub Reporters Write Cute Newspaper Article About Me & Pal

link Georgia Boys Founders of Gay Men’s ‘Bareback Brotherhood’

 

So the above appeared in the GA Voice back in June 2013.  It’s the Gay rag for the Atlanta area. I’d say Georgia and I image a few people pick some up in Savannah and maybe Augusta (where these fine reporters probably haven’t noticed that two of three major Georgia hubs host huge bareback orgies once a month).

I’m glad that two of the three of the founders of the Bareback Brotherhood or #BBBH qualify as “boys.”

Fuck that.

I don’t know about @GaPozAthens, but last time I checked, I am a MAN.

Further, did you know you don’t have to be Gay to be in the Bareback Brotherhood?

That’s right. Ding ding ding!

You just have to be a guy to be a part of a brotherhood. Duh.

Bareback as a bi, as a straight or even just curious. Doesn’t matter.

Just fuck raw.

 

 

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Hate (3 of 3)

Hate (3 of 3)

A blind leading the blind mentality seems to permeate the world. We don’t want our children to be taught about sex or they might have it. Yet we all have cocks and vaginas and asshole and clits.

Then there’s this thing called the Internet and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which goes where. Before you know it, little honors student and Christian Jessica Jane Lister is pregnant with football quarterback Cody Wall’s baby and they’ve both got genital warts.

We want our schools to teach creationism but not evolution but we don’t want our churches to support science. Hell, the Georgia Legislature is trying to pass a law that citizens have a right to carry guns into their churches, so we can kill the preacher if he says something blasphemous (like Jesus turned water into wine; wrong! Jesus turned water into grape juice).

It stands to reason that a lot of the hate I’ve garnered causing people to protest against Str8Cam Jeff Opens new window of a page on this blog and others steams from a misunderstanding of my most controversial posts about stealthing.

I know a lot of my readers think stealthing is hot, hot, hot. You jerk off to it. It’s the forbidden fruit. All of us have fantasies we all enjoy, just beyond the borders of what we’d really do.

Then again, it might be something we do.

In the barebacking world, there’s bug-chasing and gift-giving along with a Russian roulette of who-the-fuck-cares breeds us.

But I am known for stealthing, for giving the world the top 10 tips for stealthing Opens new window of a page on this blog, for explaining barebacking in meaningful ways that there’s no denying what’s really happening.

I have been deceptive. And that’s not explaining all my motivations.

The Entire Truth

Whenever I watch a magician — even someone like Lance Burton or David Copperfield — it’s become second nature for me to figure out how the trick is done. It’s not really hard to do. I can’t stand to watch “America’s Got Talent” and to see Howie Mandel be amazed at a relatively simple trick and to say, “I don’t know how you did that!”

I can tell you.

When I began the entries on busting condoms, taking condoms off and other forms of sabotage, the outrage was palpable. Most hated it. Many thought I’d broken some sacred contract.

How, I have no idea. Anonymous sex is just that. Why they have this higher-than-mighty sense one must adhere to a code when fucking someone who you don’t even know their first name, I don’t comprehend. Why? And especially why when one knows the other person isn’t put into any harm.

The mighty think that the stealther has some puss-filled cock shooting out disease upon infection and reigning some destruction upon the other.

Nonetheless, until I started writing about it, no one was.

I don’t count myself as some savior. I don’t. But I do see some of what I wrote as an education.

I do explain if you’re stupid enough to want to fuck in places where you’re not going to know your top or bottom, how one might protect oneself. How to bring your own condoms, monitor the use of the condoms and maintain your own safety.

You are accountable for your own safety. No one else.

Welcome to Real Life

It’s so very odd how some consider this bond of sex sacred even though you’re fucking with a stranger. For example, if a journalist is speaking to a source and the source wants to go “off the record” — meaning the content to follow is not to be published or broadcast — the journalist must agree to do so verbally as well. It must be stated so and both parties have to make an agreement.

Pulling out a condom just with the assumption someone will wear it doesn’t work that way.

I’m not saying this stuff just to piss people off. I’m trying to get reality to sink in. This is how the world works. Assuming an asshole top who wants to get off raw or a bottom who wants a load is going to fuck according to some honor code is just plain stupid.

 

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Bareback-Friendly Destinations

Bareback-Friendly Bathhouses, Sex Clubs and Resorts

These destinations are known to be friendly or indifferent to gay bareback sex occurring at its location.

Do you have a destination that should be included? If you are a business owner or if the business sponsors or allows bareback events to occur at its location, we will include it here. If raw fucking is pervasive at the location, it may also be included — but only if multiple barebackers nominate the location. Please e-mail Mark Bentson mailbox_full or contact him Opens new window of a page on this blog with your suggestion.

AZ | CA | COGA | FL | IN | IL | LA | MO | NV | OH | PA | RI | TX | WA | WI
Canada

 

Arizona

Phoenix
Flex Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

California

Berkeley
Steamworks Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

Cathedral City
Cathedral City Boys Club (CCBC) Open-New-Window-External Resort yelp

Hollywood
Hollywood Spa Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp
Melrose Spa Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

Los Angeles
Flex Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse
Midtowne Spa Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp
Slammer Sex Club Open-New-Window-External Sex Club yelp

 

North Hollywood
North Hollywood Spa Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

Palm Springs
Cathedral City Boys Club (CCBC) Open-New-Window-External Resort yelp
     NOTE: The Palm Springs CumUnion meets at this location.
Helios Resort Open-New-Window-External Resort yelp

San Diego
Club San Diego Open-New-Window-External Sex Club yelp
     NOTE: Due to the large military presence in the area, this club does not accept credit cards and does not check IDs.

San Francisco
Playspace yelp Sex club

Wilmington
1350 Club Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

Colorado

Denver
Midtowne Spa Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

Georgia

Atlanta
Club Eros Open-New-Window-External Sex club Review by Mark Opens new window of a page on this blog
Flex Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp Sleazy Guide to Atlanta Opens new window of a page on this blog
Inserection Opens new window of a page on this blog Adult book store yelp Review by Mark Opens new window of a page on this blog
Manifest Open-New-Window-External Sex club yelp Review by Mark Opens new window of a page on this blog

Augusta
Parliament House Resort Open-New-Window-External Resort yelp

TOP Return to Top

Florida

Fort Lauderdale
Club Fort Lauderdale Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp
Windamar Beach Resort Open-New-Window-External Resort yelp

Orlando
Club Orlando Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

Tampa/St. Petersburg
Ybor Resort & Spa Open-New-Window-External Resort yelp

TOP Return to Top

Indiana

Indianapolis
Club Indianapolis Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

Illinois

Chicago
Steamworks Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

Louisiana

New Orleans
Club New Orleans Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

Missouri

St. Louis
Club St. Louis Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

Nevada

Las Vegas
Hawks Gym Open-New-Window-External Sex club yelp

TOP Return to Top

Ohio

Cleveland
Flex Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

Columbus
Club Columbus Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

Oregon

Portland
Hawks Portland Open-New-Window-External Sex club yelp

TOP Return to Top

Pennsylvania

Philadelphia
Club Body Center II Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp
Sansom Street Cinema yelp Cinema

TOP Return to Top

Rhode Island

Providence
Club Body Center Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse 

TOP Return to Top

Texas

Austin
Midtowne Spa Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

Dallas
Club Dallas Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp
Midtowne Spa Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

Houston
Club Houston Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp
Midtowne Spa Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

San Antonio
ACI Opens new window of a page on this blog Sex club yelp

TOP Return to Top

Washington

Seattle
Steamworks Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

Wisconsin

Milwaukee
Midtowne Spa Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

Canada

Toronto
Steamworks Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

Vancouver
Steamworks Open-New-Window-External Bathhouse yelp

TOP Return to Top

bullet Updated March 8 with yelp connections and seven more destinations including Wisconsin and Colorado.
bullet Updated March 16. Southern California local helped provide updates to that area’s listings (thanks Dave).

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The Missing Post: The Death of My Mother

The Missing Post: The Death of My Mother

This entry isn’t sexy at all. You might want to skip it entirely.

I scolded someone today about missing a post regarding the death of my Mother and, when I went back to find it, realized it wasn’t there myself. I apologize to that reader since several places throughout my blog, I do refer to my Mother’s death but the recount of it seems to be missing.

I had debated writing about it when it happened in January of 2010. In fact, the gap of my posts seem almost invisible now looking back, covered up by Q&A posts that seemed popular at the time. Truth is, I probably did post something but along the way to this platform or in some cleaning frenzy, I deleted it as too overly sentimental or not sexy enough.

Yet that incident has significant bearing on two things in my reportour of posts these days: My extraordinary dislike of smoking Opens new window of a page on this blog and my intense disdain of catfish Open-New-Window-External.

By the way, the photo included here is actually a real photo I told of me holding my Mother’s hand one long and painful night and texted it to the catfish.

flower_white          flower_white          flower_white          flower_white

A Second Hospital Visit

My job at the time had me travel throughout December through March. I’d returned home in January after another string of visits and my uncle, who’d just left, suggested I go immediately to see my Mother, as she wasn’t feeling well.

About six years earlier, I’d moved back to Georgia from Washington, D.C., to help care for my elderly parents. My father had passed in 2005, all of us by his side. But he was at home in hospice care. I’d been his primary caretaker during his final two weeks, administering the painkilling medicine that eased his discomfort and helped him ultimately make the transition as easily as possible.

To be honest, his passing was almost one of a miracle, as we’d talked about a month before about his wishes at his funeral. As he breathed his last breath, all of the family around him, hugging him, crying and saying good-bye, the television began playing the one song he’d asked to be played at his funeral.

Compared the the gentle but stoic nature of my Father was the truly steel magnolia Machiavellian matriarch that was my Mother. I loved her dearly. But at 78 years old, she would ignore every doctor’s advice (and my orders) and do as she wished.

From almost 42 years of smoking, her chronic obstructed pulmonary disorder made the most simple tasks brutal. Yet she would insist on housework, fixing dinner, driving herself places, and more, her little portable oxygen tank in tow. And I’d drive her all over the family gatherings, with her often upset when I deviated from the old routes to take quicker, new highways.

I’d been travelling all over the country — three cities this last nine-day tour — and I wanted to sleep and rest because the next week I would be off for two more cities. But instead, I dragged my fat ass over to see Mom.

She’d been sleeping on the sofa across from the hospital bed I’d had in her home for the last six months but she refused to use because there wasn’t a lamp close enough to it.

More petite and frail, her hands and arms dotted with bruising from whenever she’d bump up against anything, she insisted “something was wrong.”

I struck a bargain with her: We’d go to the hospital but when she came home, she’d have to learn to do what I said. After all, I reminded her how she bossed around her Mother (my Grandmother) for 10 years before her passing. I told her she needed me let me get a little bossing in.

Now that I look back, she agreed too quickly.

It was the second time I took her to the hospital but the first time she would be admitted.

Nothing Out of the Ordinary

Mother had bronchitis. When I moved home, I went to the doctors with both of my parents and spent time with their primary care and any specialist, learning as much as I could about their chronic conditions. I also learned what to expect when the time would come.

For Mother, it would be a series of lung infections that would get steadily worse over time until essentially, she could not get enough oxygen and would suffocate.

“The process is beginning,” I told myself.

When I moved home, Mother’s lung capacity was at 23 percent of normal. Even though she’d quit smoking about five years before I came back to Georgia, her lungs would never heal. That’s one of the myths about smokers. If you quit, your lungs don’t get better. Actually, they continue to deteriorate — just at a much slower pace.

Each year, Mother would lose between 1 and 2 percent of capacity. She currently hovered around 17 percent.

She began making a rebound quickly with the antibiotics and everything seemed fine. But one afternoon, she told me something was wrong.

“What is it, Mom?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

My Mother’s eyes contained sheer terror in them. I noticed the her oxygen saturation in her blood on the monitor suddenly dropping. I hit the nurse call button.

In the next 30 minutes, we were in the Intensive Care Unit. The doctors wanted to intubate my Mother — that is, put a tube into her lungs to breathe for her. And in her fear, my Mother consented. But I overruled her, pulling out my power of attorney. One of the healthcare directives she’s insisted upon in it was to never be intubated and the doctors agreed, saying if we did, she’d likely never be able to be taken off since her lungs would never be strong enough.

She was put onto a machine that strapped an oxygen mask onto her face so tight, it made bruises all over her face. It would force her to breath.

She cried through the night, hating that machine. I was there the whole time, holding her hand. She asked constantly for it to be taken off. But I asked her to bear with me just a little longer to see if it would help.

But in 24 hours, her condition didn’t improve.

My only companion other than some family and friends who would stop by was a words at the other end of texting. The person was comforting in so many ways. And I was at my most vulnerable, here, next to my dying Mother, feeling the most alone in the world.

The reassurance of his care and love for me seemingly helped. But later, I would discover it was all a lie. He didn’t exist. And I’ll be honest — what that person did, the betrayal just reaches so deep into places where I’m still scarred and hurting that I can’t even begin to explain or even discuss it. It’s actually easier to talk about my Mother.

Relief at Last

With no improvement and really no hope, I spoke to all the doctors the next day to assure that switching to palliative care would be the right choice. I wasn’t prepared for this decision so early. I’d expected to take Mother home and have a few more hospital visits before this event. But that wasn’t to be.

I then spoke to my sister and my aunt to make sure they agreed. Turns out I was the late one to the decision, but I had to be there. It was time for me to talk to Mother.

We turned that horrible machine off and took it away. My Mother was so relieved it wasn’t working on her now and she could breathe at whatever pace she wanted. I went and sat down, alone, next to her, put my hand in hers, feeling the warmth and the knotted knuckles from the arthritis. Her poor body was just so battered and bruised, but through it all I could see that beautiful woman who cared for me through all my years, kissed my boo-boos. She guided me kindly and occasionally spanked me. I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed it, feeling that rough skin that still contained a softness. I brushed back her gray hair from her bruised forehead and looked into the dimming brown eyes.

“Mother,” I said in a quiet tone, managing to keep it together.

“Yes,” she said.

“We had a choice and I want to know what you think,” I said. “I know you hate that machine but it’s your only hope of getting any better.”

I paused, as I could see the recognition come across her face.

“We can put you back on it and try to make you ask comfortable as possible,” I continued. “Or we can leave you off of it and you can go see Daddy.”

A single tear streamed down my left cheek.

She didn’t answer immediately. But she did finally speak.

“I think I’d rather go see Daddy. I really miss him.”

My Mother and Father were married 53 years before he passed away. Of course she missed him.

I hugged her.

The Rebound

Over the next few hours, Mom seemed to feel better than ever, visited with so many people. It’s one of those miraculous gifts we get before we die and we get to say goodbye. I have a precious video of her time with my nephew that just would tear anyone apart to watch.

She laughed so much. I was so glad to see that. I hadn’t seen her with that much joy in so long.

It was then I began to realize just how sick she’d been.

And if on schedule, as the final people left and the last prayers were uttered, she slipped into a silent, fitful sleep. With all the paperwork signed, I had the nurses begin to add morphine and other calming drugs to make her sleep more restful.

Just after midnight, she stopped breathing in this world. But she got a lung-full of air somewhere else.

I screamed, not in pain, but at the top of my lungs, “She can finally breathe!”

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I’m Pulled in So Many Directions…

I’m Pulled in So Many Directions…

Coming off a vacation of week-long proportions that brought me more than just rest and relaxation. I have much to convey, oh loyal readers. Yet my first day back on the job puts me back onto the plane and off to Boston for work.

From Key West Conch to Georgia Peach to Boston Beantown.

As I sat at home scrolling through the TiVo selections to decide what to watch and rubbing lotion into my right leg now suffering the trauma of a new tattoo. Fuck me for believing in the phrase “go big or go home”; in Key West, I apparently interpreted it as “go big then go home” as my leg is a little swollen, red and angry at what I put it through. Yes, it puts the lotion on the skin or it gets the needle again.

My impressions of Key West will take a long time to extract and get out here, plus there’s a couple of encounters to write about — one a fan fuck, one a plain fuck. Both with qualities worth writing about. That said, I don’t want to wait too long to give a few impressions….

  • Big Ruby’s Guesthouse: Contrary to popular belief, I am not all sex all the time, which is the reputation of Island House. I actually went on this vacation to relax and enjoy myself. Big Ruby’s offered a great room, nice pool, hot tub and delicious breakfast every morning plus very nice employees.
  • Bourbon Street Pub: When it came to a go-go-boy bar, this has got to be impressive. Hot, hot, hot were these men. I was surprised to say the least for such a destination to find men, some hotter than what I can find in Atlanta.
  • Seven Fish: Make reservations and go eat here. It’s two blocks off Duval but the fish is incredibly fresh and always a unique twist.
  • Blu Q Gay Excursion: If you want to snorkel the coral reefs or anything like that, this is way too much fun to head out on this clothing-optional adventure. Don’t miss this fun time with Captain Steve and, if you’re lucky, First Mate Ryan.

I’m off to pack for Boston. Let’s look forward to that Yankee ass.