All posts tagged goatee

Abortion Tales #2: The Tweaker and the Tittie Twins

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I’m getting too fucking old for this.

As I mentioned (and no one seems to want to read Opens a new window from this blog since the stats show only a few people have checked it out) I’ve been focusing on getting out of my job situation, so my attention has been focused elsewhere. However, I decided Wednesday evening since I’d be downtown for an appointment that it would be a convenient time to hit the adult bookstore Inserection and get a load out of my system.

Now, I was especially frustrated because I’d had a massage from a fucking hottie. He was naked. I was naked. He teased me for the hour, bushing against my balls and cock and all my erotic spots. When it gets to that moment for the happy ending, the massage ends abruptly.

I didn’t get off. He didn’t get a tip.

I knew Wednesday nights were not ideal at Inserection Opens a new window from this blog but usually I can find some ass. Since I would be in Atlanta anyway (I live in the far northern suburbs), I figured it would be worth a shot.

To improve my chances of ass, I always post an ad or two to Craigslist and BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window to let bottoms know a top will be at Inserection. Sometimes it works Opens a new window from this blog. And often with these posts, I’ll get messages from people asking that I skip Inserection and come to their place instead.

Sent away by a bottom

I get the usual assortment of messages. The old, ugly and overly used (Grade F Asses Opens a new window from this blog). A few interesting ones do show up, including one from a 28-year-old bottom. We get to texting and he invites me over.

He mentions he’ll be on his back deck.

It’s early evening and not quite dark. I expect though it’s an enclosed deck and he’ll be ass up and waiting.

I drive the three miles and pull up to the house, pulling into the driveway. I can clearly see the back deck where a man — obviously in his mid-40s — is standing. He’s not horrible looking or anything. I get out of the car and there’s that awkward moment. He comes down off the deck. As the awkwardness continues, I finally say, “Am I at the wrong place?”

“Yes, you are,” he says.

“Sorry about that,” I say, knowing I’m at the only home with this address with a man with an iPhone texting from a back deck.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says as he shakes my hand.

Attempts at the adult bookstore

I get in my car and drive to Inserection adult bookstore, pay the $11 admission and begin cruising.

The crowd appeared thin and a few too many familiar faces walked among the groups. Also one of the worst cruisers is there: A man who slaps on a little makeup, a cheap wig, a bad blouse, panties, pantyhose and high heels.  I hesitate to call it a drag queen or a cross-dresser due to the horrible effort put into looking decent. There’s no effort. I don’t mind it’s a slut. Some guys are into it. That’s cool. But not me and it’s too aggressive.

Anyway, as I’m walking around, I eye an older man who’s big and bulky with big muscles wearing a tight t-shirt with protruding nipples. (Oh, and he’s got a wedding band.) He reads to me as a bottom. His cock is obviously small. He’s not going for any gloryholes. He wants his nips worked over.

With guys like this, their nips are the gateway to their ass, I know.

We hit a booth together. His shirt was up as I went to work. I’m great at nipple work; it’s one of my specialties. I had a boyfriend years ago who could cum just from my nip work. Within moments, I’ve got his four-inch cock rock hard. He’s groaning from all my nip nibbling, chewing, flicking, licking, twisting, contortion, punching, teasing, tickling, pulling, brushing, pinching and other manipulations…  both hard and soft. He’s got a bit of stink to him, which really isn’t my thing.

I’m moving my hands (when they’re free) to his ass. I am finding his asshole, which is dry but puffy. He either has hemorrhoids or he’s been fucked plenty. But he hasn’t been fucked today. As I poke and prod, he moves his ass away to prevent too much work.

Seems like this one isn’t going to work out.

He bends down to suck me. He does well, but not so irresistibly that I feel like I could cum from his blowjob. I thank him for his work and zip up.

About then, I get a text message from the supposedly 28-year-old bottom.

“ETA,” he asks, which means, “Estimated time of arrival.”

You can see our exchange on my iPhone.

I’d sent him a photo of my cock which barely showed my goatee. And my stats clearly stated in my ad that I was clean-shaven. But he’d ignored that.

I didn’t bother to point out that he obviously wasn’t 28 years old.

As we texted back and forth, him begging me to come over, me looking for ass among the dregs of humanity at the adult bookstore, soon a balding Asian began eyeing me.

Now we all know I have a little something for the more exotic among us.

As I stood upstairs by a vacant room, the Asian passed me and closed the door. But it didn’t lock. An unusual technique. Normally men step into the room with the door open and eye their object of interest.

I opened the door. He stood in the dim light, playing with his nipples through his shirt. I stepped into the room. He pulled up his shirt. His alabaster, perfect skin revealed, delightfully smooth with very nice pecs and nickle-sized nips just protruding out. But as soon as I flicked them, they stood erect.

His cock, a respectable five inches, never really got so hard. And his ass, so nice and smooth and bubbly. I stepped behind him while still working his nips. I felt his asshole, his pucker perfectly dry. He didn’t pull away. I spit on my cock and aimed it at his hole.

He was much smaller than I was. I took again his nipples in my fingertips. This man preferred the light touch and I knew how to really work them that way too. I did it in a way he’d enjoy. All I needed him to do was arch his back a little so his asshole would line up better with my cock.

As I continued, with my wet cock tickling his sphincter and pleasuring his nips, his ass never moved. But he jerked intensely and he breathed heavily.

He was getting close.

Fuck that. I wasn’t going to get someone else off if I wasn’t getting what I wanted.

I dropped everything. Pulled up my pants and was out the locked door. He didn’t even have time to pull down his shirt or pull up his pants. He stood there exposed, wide-mouthed as I walked out, the door wide open.

He recovered after a couple of beats and closed the door.

The texting continued with the bottom. He wanted to know when I shaved the beard off (I’m interviewing for jobs, so I was told to shave it off by a few recruiters; plus it just looks nicer during the summer).

I wonder around and get a couple of attempted blowjobs but no ass action. One guy even asked me to piss in his mouth, but no ass.

Back to the bottom

Finally I decide to head back over to fuck and breed the bottom who earlier turned me away.

I drive up and this time, he’s a bit more welcoming. He meets me and we step up onto the deck, but go inside the house.

It is between now and the next 20 minutes that I should have left because it’s that long before we start doing a fucking thing. He first has to prepare a daybed. It’s got something like 30 pillows on it. Then he can’t find the remote to turn off “The Voice,” which is blaring on the television. He keeps searching his closet for something — for what, I’m not sure. He also refreshes his drink.

Then he gets lube — petroleum jelly — an unusual choice.

Finally he’s ready.

All through this, he’s chomping gum. And I mean CHOMPING it. I’m suspecting Tina use, but maybe it is just gum. But he is darting around his place like a crystal meth user cleaning. But I also noticed that drink is a pretty strong alcohol, so I’m guessing he’s a little buzzed.

When he finally gets on the bed to suck me, he takes breaks to work his jaw.

No gum.

He’s tweaked out of his gourd.

He can’t suck for than a few seconds without pausing in order to work his jaw. I’m afraid he’s going to bite my cock off. That fear drives me to take control.

I put him on his back. He puts some petroleum jelly on my hard cock.

“That’s a big one,” he says. “I’m not sure I can take it.”

I’m rubbing some jelly into his ass. I probe it a little. As my fingertip works past the sphincter, I touch the tip of something. I touch the tip of a small turd. Yes, a turd.

“I’m really going to need you to use a condom,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some condoms.”

Now he’s saying this as I am touching a turd and using petroleum jelly.

This guy must know he’s not clean but he’s also a complete idiot since petroleum jelly breaks down a condom Opens a new window from this blog.

But I’m horny. I’m fucked sloppy holes. At least his isn’t nasty.

I position him up, putting his legs over my shoulders. I don’t ask. I just put my cock at his hole and put it in. It breaks in.

It’s not pleasant.

The small, hard turd moves toward his prostate and becomes a rough rock scratching against the underside of my cock.  He’s trying to resist me, but I keep pressing forward.

“What are you doing?” he says.

“Fucking you,” I say.

“I’ve been nothing but nice to you,” he says. “You don’t have to be mean.”

“You’ve done nothing but jerk me around all day,” I say.

I begin fucking in earnest. I try to aim down to get that turd out of my way. But that little hard piece of shit won’t move and I’m more and more afraid it’s actually going to scratch my cock and add fecal matter into a wound on my cock.

I can’t focus on fucking. He’s chomping a lot. He’s jerking. He’s moving too much, squirmy even. It’s all not working for me. As horny as I am, that’s all I can do. I’m not going to be able to cum even though I’ve got something like two weeks worth of blue balls.

I pull out.

“This isn’t going to work,” I say.

“Huh?”

I begin putting on my clothes.

“Oh,” he says. “This is revenge for me turning you away earlier.”

“No man,” I say. “You’re not clean.”

Then the dude does the craziest thing ever. He sticks his finger in his ass, pulls it out and sniffs it.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Believe me,” I say. “You’re not.”

He disappears into another room. In a couple of seconds, he returns with a white towel, wiping his ass.

“See,” he shows me a clean white towel. “My ass is perfectly clean.”

“Look,” I say. “You’ve got a small, hard turd right up against your prostate. It’s scratching my cock and making it uncomfortable to fuck you. Beside that, your working your jaw on Tina is driving me fucking crazy. I hate fucking with tweakers. You have a nice one.”

He stands there shocked and naked as I walk out the door.

I go home. Blue balls. Still.

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Travel Diary: My First Scruff Fuck

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Despite the promise of these new smart phone applications, neither Scruff nor Grindr net me much ass. Generally, I find them somewhere between mildly entertaining and irritating, as the guys on there generally want photos, photos and more photos. One bottom near me in Georgia can’t seem to recall what I look like despite the fucking full-frontal face pic on the front of my profile.

For some reason, one day in Vegas, my Scruff was simply blowing up. Grindr also worked, although what I got was a cute lady-boy escort (in male drag) hinting he wanted “dinner and conversation.” I declined. The pancake makeup with the petroleum jelly lens effect on his photo was just too much. If I wanted to fuck a girl, I’d fuck a girl. I don’t.

So on Scruff, which seems a less twinkie place, presented a Montana man for me, I got the urge to merge.

He stood on the beefy side of things, which proved fine by me. He was just a couple of hotels over — still a hike in Vegas, but close enough — with wavy brown hair and a goatee, standing tall as me but with wider shoulders.

We shook hands then proceeded to kiss and strip quickly. Right down to business. I imagine the men at home in the mountains were just as quick to fuck.

He laid on the edge of the bed, his head over it and positioned my cock to fuck his face. I was already hard so no problem there. I worked my knob down his throat but he never even made a gagging noise and, after the first few penetrations, his throat opened up like a charm.

After slobbering all over, I pulled completely out and he got the message, flipping over and presenting his ass. I lubed up just enough and entered his slowly, as his ass was very tight. We’d not discussed condoms, safe sex or anything else.

As I rode his ass, he grunted in pleasure. He enjoyed it.

“Damn that feels so good!” he said. “Fuck it as long as you want!”

“I will.”

“Just make sure I get what I came here for,” he said.

“And what’s that?” I asked.

“A big load in my ass,” he said.

Now that made my cock jump too.

“You want my load?” I asked.

“Oh yea!” he said. “Please breed my fucking hole!”

Of course that begging puts me on a path and before long, I was arching my back and plunging my back into his tenderloin mounds, giving him a marination of my massive DNA like no other cowboy from his parts had gotten.

“Oh fuck!”

I added several more thrusts to assure my juices penetrated deep before pulling out. And he headed home to his corral, feeling okay.

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Becoming…

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A muscle god, I shall never be. Let’s admit it. I am 44 years old with hair that’s now growing in odd places no matter how much I pluck and shave. However, I am changing.

After nine months out of work, I needed to force more changes upon my life. So for the past month, I’ve shifted my focus from professional to personal development.

After all the effort to give the professional folks what they expected, I decided to switch to being more myself. The goatee is back and a faux-hawk hairstyle is in place. I’ve been going to the gym and working out with a personal trainer rather than spending money on websites like LinkedIn.com and TheLadders.com. Because my extraordinarily hot but tragically straight trainer is also a nutritionist, he’s got me on a diet. It’s not the easiest diet, but it’s working and my body is transforming more quickly than I even expected.

This past month hasn’t seen a lot of weight loss as my fat is converting over to muscle. I’ve leaned out and my strength growth impresses even me. My jerk-off arm started so much stronger so a benchpress proved almost impossible when I started, so we began with dumbbells. Fifteen pounds each seemed too tough for three full sets my first time but now I’m up to 45 pounds each arm. I hate squats, yet I’m successfully pushing through them as well.

And I have biceps. They’re hidden under a layer of fat, but you can feel them.

I may not have a job. But for once, I am finding some satisfaction and seeing results underneath something of which I have control.

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Travel Diary: Face of an Angel, Body Built for Sin

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I’ve started posting some photos over at http://barebacking.tumblr.com. More or less, it’s an outlet of some fun photography I run across on occasion and now that I have a little time on my hands, I’m able to post more. Today, I was able to put up twenty-one examples of men I can only say meet with a kind of perfection with the face of an angel but a body built for sin.

Occasionally, I even get to fuck one of these heavenly creatures.

I’m not stupid enough to think someone in their youthful twenties would find me attractive, so when a 22-year-old student said he would come by for a fuck, I found it highly improbable, especially seeing his body photograph. I’d never seen his face photo, but his body proved one of immense beauty. On some beach splayed across a blanket, his tanned six-foot-four frame stretched with a kind of grace not usually found among such youth. You could just make out the goatee.

His chest developed with slight pecs and massive nipples seemed to just beg to be chewed. The only hair trickled down the middle and built in a cascade to the ties for his overwhelming board shorts.

After giving him my hotel room, I never expected his arrival. I waited, half hoping for about 30 minutes but then went about my business, checking for more ads and seeing if a Monday night might bring me any more hope. Usually Monday night ads never worked out.

Late, as I prepared for bed, a knock came at the door that almost startled me. I opened it to see him.

His face proved to be stunning. Standing taller than me — a feat not so easy considering my six-foot-three size — he stepped into the room, apologizing and muttering something about his brother and class.

Dark wavy hair and an ivory smooth face blinded me. I closed the door, wondering if he’d actually stay. Not only my age but the sheer beauty of this man made it unlikely to get anything off him. But he pulled his jacket off, turned around and motioned at my pants. I unbuckled and opened as my cock began to rise immediately.

He knelt and began a blowjob that defied his youthful years. It’s not often I can say someone blows well. I think most men are just grateful to have a mouth on their cock, especially the semi-straight/hetero-flexible who get the occasional oral relief from a “genderless” mouth. But I find it rare indeed to find a man who knows how to deliver fellatio of sufficient quality that it will arouse me beyond a certain point.

This young man could make me cum.

No teeth, as if he only had gums, although I’d seen his perfect smile (obviously, he wasn’t long out of braces). He’d bury his nose into my bush and relax his throat so even though my cock still stood upright, his oral cavity proved cavernous enough to accommodate my seven incher. Plus, he exercised enough control to flex his throat and tongue to provide stimulation.

Now came a moment I debated.

Was I getting a pity blowjob. Did the boy mean to go through with this little act to get me off and get himself off the hook for the fuck? Or was it a prelude and was he waiting for my move? Or, if it was a pity blowjob, could I even turn it into a pity fuck?

At this point, I just wanted to see this angel naked.

I reached down and lifted him up. He came with a little resistance but still he stood. His eyes closed. We moved toward kissing and he accepted my prying to get his shirt and pants off.

His chest turned into more perfection but less tan than the photo. Obviously, he’d worked out. But the photo failed to capture the bulging veins in his arms and the incredible guns he’d worked on. As he lifted off his undershirt, the wisps of pit hair, dark against his ivory skin seemed like puberty had only began in the last month for him. Of course his hairy muscular legs betrayed his age. And once his boxers were off, his bush covered almost all of what might have been any cock whatsoever.

Maybe a grower, I imagined.

He sucked me more and we made out. But his eyes remained closed. He was locked in a fantasy world in which I would be someone else. I knew I would need to find the key to unlocking what this man needed. He seemed perfectly content servicing me — and for fuck’s sake, I enjoyed the hell out of it — I knew I could sneak under the door of this man’s weakness and awaken something.

As I went to work orally on him, I discovered what would make him stir. My beard. If I would scrape against the most sensitive spots — his neck, his cheek, his underarms, the inside of his elbows, across his nipples — he would inhale deeply and suddenly. My gentle prodding began to take on some rough and tumble moments, where I would surprise him. His skin glistening, wet from my spit, entirely electrified by my soft attention, would suddenly be attacked and scratched by the hairs of my chin, nibbled at by my teeth, bitten and scraped. His cock head appeared finally from the dark shadows of his pubes, but I ignored it, instead focusing of his almost bald taint, giving it similar treatment and heading for the hole.

After massive tongue lashing and opening it up, watching it wink at me, giving it so much spit and love with fingers and lips and licking of all sorts, his sphincter seemed to throb.

I pulled away and looked at the circular perfection. Even this seemed just beautiful on this man.

Without warning, I closed my mouth and plunged in, woolly hairs standing on end. I attacked his hole, now ready for a soft moment, with the bristles like nothing else, with the prickles across my face, spreading his cheeks and coating my face with the spit I’d soaked him in.

His moans filled the room.

My attack continued and abruptly ended and I moved to where I was face to face with him, my face coated in spit-ass juice.

Green EyesHis green eyes stared at me, open wider than ever before.

He kissed me, his eyes remained open, looking at me like he’d never seen me before.

My hard, dripping cock, poised at his red, raw hole. And as we kissed, I felt a hand grab my cock, position it at his hole and push it just inside. We continued the kiss as I entered into him, and I never thought his eyes could open wider. They did, the emerald pools expanding so I could see the eternity of his brief but difficult life within them. He bit my tongue inside his mouth, sucked it deeper, and we kissed more. Soon I was buried. And a moment in time turned into minutes.

We would kiss and fuck and talk, literally for two hours. My cock would never leave his hole except for repositioning. We talked about our lives and I learned more about this man’s 22 years, his girlfriend, his brother, the accident and his years of school. Moments that actually would make me want to take him from this life and take his brokenness to another place and show him that outside this world in which he lived, a whole other world existed where he would be adored. But my cock inside him, I could feel how his life was tied to his home, how he could never leave the place and would never, ever take the risk to step away.

While I never said it to him, his brother would be his unrequited love of his life. When he spoke of the mysterious man, his eyes would sparkle. No other man would capture this man’s soul and heart like his brother, who had sheltered him and cared for him through such times that poured forth from him. When he dared speak of his girlfriend, it was more obligatory rather than anything else. But his brother would actually bring a twinge to his ass and give my cock a shock.

When we finally realized the time, we fucked in earnest, my cock in his ass. He rode me, seeming to add juices to his ass, the friction getting tighter and but the chute getting smoother. Like the question of barebacking, I didn’t mention I was about to cum. He just looked at me with those jewel eyes and he could see my pleasure and moment coming. As I climaxed, pushing myself into him, adding just a bit of myself to him, he took the opportunity to spray himself onto me and across himself. His cock, now at about five inches, seemed small. But his body just perfection didn’t deny the beauty of every inch of his being. And the load flew everywhere.

When he collapsed on me, my cock remained inside him and his juices were meshed between us. I managed to scoop a little and put it on my tongue to remember it, the metallic flavor muted by a hint of bitter sweet. He then looked into my eyes, those evergreen irises even in the iridescent lights of a hotel room. In post-ejaculatory moments, he didn’t even seem to mess him up. His perfection would not be denied by a little cum and sex mess.

After not wanting to look at me for so long, he now stared for a while and his large hands brushed against my rough face. He whispered his thanks, kissed me again and let my cock pull out of his ass.

He clothed himself slowly and silently. He left with a kiss.

I don’t expect ever being able to fuck him again. And even within all he did not tell me, I know more than he chose not to share.

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Travel Diary: Like Ships Passing…

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A rarity indeed to find a man taller than I. His arrival had become doubtful after more than an hour had passed since our last communication, but when his knock came and I opened the door, all hesitation dropped. At 23, his broad shoulders defied his lanky frame. A dichotomy of beefy arms but thin basketball fingers. An age so young but a mouth so talented as he sucked my cock deeply as if he’d been trained in some southern Asian massage house.

His shyness gave way with prying from me as I wanted to see his chest, which proved worth while. Large round nipples with a dusting a dark hair but this perfection of a treasure trail from mid-pecs to pubes, inside which hid his cock. A grower, I wondered. But I let him suck me more. He seemed service-oriented and who be I to deny him his hunger?

But after a while, I did. I turned him onto his back and finally kissed him, the bitter starkness of the mixture of Crest and my own crotch seemed odd against my beard and his goatee. Yet a sweetness came through. We kissed a long while. Odd, since he seemed uninterested. His eyes stayed closed so I let him keep his fantasy of whatever man or creature he imagined he might be fucking. Here I spent my time enjoying the details of his being and taking in those nipples and that treasure trail. I lingered to find his limpness, but it did no good. He never hardened. So I moved on and tongued his balls only to work my way lower.

No resistance.

When my tongue first tickled his hole, his mouth opened and released a noise — not loud, mind you, but it was the first one uttered from his mouth other than the sloppy tones of sucking my cock. As my tongue darted into the folds of his skin and penetrated into that puckered darkness, more utterances escaped. So I began adding spit. Enough to make sure I would be able to do what I planned next.

When I came up for air was when I noticed his cock had risen as well. Not full-mast mind you. But it peaked from the dark thatch. As I kissed him, my cock found his spit-soaked hole and, without resistance, slipped just inside. Not all the way in, mind you. Just inside.

His eyes opened. Chocolate brown irises stared at me. He didn’t come off my cock. He didn’t move. So I applied a little more pressure and my cock slipped past that place of tightness into him. His eyes widened and then I knew.

He no longer fantasized about anyone else fucking him.

Into him more deeply, my cock penetrated and I fucked with a slow passion, only the spit between us. Kissing. Faster. Slower. I never slammed him. He was never that kind of fuck. We even talked a long while, my cock hard inside him. We liked how it felt to be connected.

When I came, he rode me. When he came, he rode me. Our moments criss-crossed within seconds of one another. No excuses, no discussions, we knew we were the proverbial ships passing in the night.