All posts tagged Hate

Q&A: Just Pozzed Out and My Viral Load Is High. Should I Continue to Stealth?

Stealthing, Stealth, Stealth Fucking
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Occasionally, I get e-mails from my readers asking questions. With permission, I answer them here.

 

QuestionI love your blog and your stories. I’m a versatile and sometimes get fucked and sometimes do the fucking. I since I’ve hit 30, I just really couldn’t stand using the condoms any more. But some guys insisted.

Then I found your blog. And read all about the whole stealth thing.

I get your point. You wrote about it as a warning to guys but you know, a lot of people are dumb and all. I had to get the cum in my ass and I needed to breed too. I made lots of condoms with pinprick holes. I always had condoms on me. Fuck, I even had friends ask me and I gave them away. I’ve left them around sleazy gay bars.

I finally got a poz test, which doesn’t bother me at all. Barebacking is a hotter experience now. Now I really think I’m breeding a guy and it’s taking hold.

My viral load is high. Man, I’m toxic, with millions swimming in me. I’m trying to decide if I want to go on meds or just continue to fuck my way through the world for a while.

But I’m having second thoughts about stealthing or slipping one of my special condoms on a top fucking me.

What would you do?

 

AThe question is where you meet these potential fucks.

There’s this hideous gasp among some fags that an anonymous hook-up should be an honest exchange of information and despite the numerous dishonest exchange about age, weight, etc. prior to someone’s dick going in someone else’s mouth, it’s some sort of cardinal sin if a condom isn’t used.

Never mind how we kill ourselves with crystal meth, smoking and booze.

But those choices are addictions and diseases while bareback fucking is wrong, wrong, wrong!

In my opinion, you should go on meds. Anything to keep more bareback fuckers fucking, I’m in favor. It’s between you and your doctor how aggressive  you want to be with the millions of friends you’ve got swimming around inside you now.

(And for any chasers, let me know who you are and I’ll consider sharing my toxic buddy’s info with you — with his permission — share his with you. You might want to include a pic.)

When I stealth, it’s usually a place like an adult bookstore or sex club. I was just there the other day and the fucking bottom I slipped my cock into pulled me out and insisted I wear a condom.

He didn’t provide one, mind you. I needed one.

I provided one. And he got a nice ride out of it and I got what I wanted. Interestingly enough, he kept checking to see if the condom was on, so I couldn’t rip it off. I didn’t need to do so because the fucker missed the point.

You want to be “safe,” you control the scene.

I brought my own “condoms,”  which in the darkened room he couldn’t see each one lacked the full tip (not just the pinhole prick you use).

Guess what fucker? You were loaded!

Now this little tweaker, who was in a darkroom and never saw me or anyone else who fucked his hole. If I know what goes down in these dastardly places, I also wasn’t the only one to stealth that day.

Let’s discuss the logistics of the whole thing.

The guy I fucked was a slut. And while there’s plenty of DNA evidence in his ass, who’s to say the condom didn’t fail or, despite my words here, he didn’t give me a condom that was broken and I was the one duped. As we both know, that’s a possibility as well.

If you’re inviting men over to your place and fucking them at your house… well, that’s just another story. I’d personally never use the broken condom bit in private one-on-one condom bit.

Spike-ItThat said, I have (on occasion) not honored the request to “pull out” in a timely manner. If the bottom is stupid to let me inside to play, I’m going to finish the game and score the touchdown. Truth is, most of the time they end up begging for it there anyway.

I’d also be a little careful about distributing sabotaged condoms. Anyone to simply pickup free condoms and expect them to work are stupid, but your fingerprints are probably on them and, well, I’d hate for some vengeful faggot to track you down (and in your city, they would).

After all this chatter, let’s boil it down:

Yes, Do…

  • Fuck raw. If the opportunity presents itself, fuck raw.
  • Go on meds. 
  • While you’re toxic, seek out chasers and gift. 
  • Stealth in sleazy places where bareback sex is the norm.
  • Stealth as a bottom.

No, Don’t…

  • Distribute sabotaged condoms anymore anywhere. 
  • Stealth as a top in one-on-one hook-ups

Best of luck and enjoy your new status. And don’t let the Aryan bastards get you down.

 

I love the occasional questions, so please send them along to iblastinside@gmail.com.

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The Plea of ‘Please Fuck Me’

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I turned 46 this year. Apparently, it’s one of those watershed moments in a gay man’s sexual career.

I’ve had them before. When I turned 31, it happened. Suddenly, the immature men in their youthful twenties weren’t interested in IMing me on AOL — hey folks, this is before the wide open world of the Internet. I know most of you kiddos missed that whole world where we didn’t hook up without hook-up sites, apps and Craigslist.

It occurred again at 36 when I no longer met the 19-35 threshold.

And now I’ve skipped beyond 45 and suddenly, everything ancient is new.

We’re into begging territory.

Daddies aren’t asking me to fuck him. Grandpa is. I get more pleas of “please fuck me” from men in their sixties than ever before. It’s not that I won’t fuck a man born in the 1940s. I will. But let’s get a few things out of the way.

  1. Don’t ask if you don’t mean it. Begging me to fuck you when you’re 100-plus miles away doesn’t do shit for either one of us. I’m pretty much tired of the message when there’s no fucking way you’re coming to Atlanta and I’m surely not dragging my ass to Timbuktu, South Africa. My answer now is just to ignore the dumb fuck or answer, “Okay. Come on over.”
  2. Don’t lie. Recently I did choose to fuck a child of the 1940s, but he lied, lied and lied again. He sent a bogus photograph (granted of another man in his early sixties) who had an incredible cock and a decent body. But he also said he didn’t smoke and, bingo, dumb ass, I smelled it the moment he walked in. I also enjoyed the fresher smell as he left the building.
  3. Don’t let this give you hope. If you’re old, chances are I won’t fuck you. Look, I know I’m fucking old. That’s the thing… we’re both old. But I’d much rather fuck down than fuck up. Since this is a top world, I get to pick where I plant my seed and it’s still in a tight young ass. Speaking of which, I’ve got some advice for you old farts.
  4. Gravity is not your friend. Look sweetie, if you’re going to take a picture of your saggy ass, I appreciate the honesty in advertising that you shoot that shot with you standing up. But when those ass cheeks look like they’re swinging at the back of your knees, we’ve got a problem Houston. Lie down and hire a professional photographer to re-position those cheeks into place.
  5. HemorroidsHemorrhoids do not build character. Maybe you do want to show off that cumload spilling out your ass, but three loads spilling out do not make up for the bulges around your pucker that look like you’ve had out-of-control Botox injections. Tuck that shit inside or simply don’t send me those photos.
  6. Grooming costs money, but it’s worth it. Look, at 46, I can tell you I’ve got hair growing out of places I never thought I’d have hair. I fucking hate that my stylist doubles as the waxer for my earlobes. But my cute, young thing earns an extra twenty for ripping that shit out. And that strange pubic puff at the small of my back? Well, let’s just say, no one has to see that, even though the only people seeing my back are massage therapists.

All that said, stop the madness. You want fucked by me, be honest, upfront and nearby.

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Hate (2 of 3)

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This post comes with a heavy heart because I write it about someone I considered a friend. In a way, we were loosely business partners, as I supported his products on my website. Business changed in the last couple of years and, growing vocal protests over me, forced my friend into an untenable position.

Or so it’s conveyed to me.

Look, I know there’s a bunch of flakes online and I’m all about exposing catfish Open-New-Window-External. And people lie. You can’t tell liars via e-mail or Twitter. But I have no reason to believe Jeff is telling a fib, as this issue has developed. I sort of feel sorry for the guy.

I’m also sorry Jeff couldn’t find the strength to stand up.

Exif_JPEG_PICTURE

Those of you online, especially on Twitter, will recognize Jeff as Str8Cam. He’s a hot, muscular straight guy who jacks off online to what was once thousands of horny admirers.

Those numbers have dwindled since the rise of Xtube.com, Tumblr.com and other free sources of porn. Jeff needed another source of income and since his gay-for-pay philosophy extended only so far as jerking off, he landed on a potential gold mine in the form of a lubricant that looked like, felt like and smelled like cum.

Jeff began marketing it at Str8Cam Lube.

Now Jeff isn’t the first to come up with such a thing. Bad-Dragon.com Open-New-Window-External, which offers unusually shaped dildos, also offers its own CumLube (even before Jeff). I’d ordered from them. But Jeff — being directly supportive of a the gay community despite his own disappointing heterosexuality — caused me to switch it up.

Being that I’m a barebacker (and many of my readers are fans of the raw sex and like some spunk), Jeff created a fan base for his product, which he started a second line called SpunkLube to attract a straighter audience.

In the course of my writings, I explain how Jeff’s product might be used as a tool in deceptive practices. By the way, I’ve also discussed the use of many other brand name products including Durex Rainbow Colored CondomsDurex Rainbow Condoms, Vaseline, etc., in similar methods.

Jeff didn’t know I included him. Neither did Bad Dragon nor Durex.

When Jeff started getting harassed, it was brought to his attention. He e-mailed me and I added a statement to the “offending” page Opens new window of a page on this blog.

Threats continued against Jeff and his products. Even though his products are condom safe (and plenty of lube makers create condom-unfriendly lubricants), Jeff is being punished for something I’ve written.

Jeff has asked me to take my posts down. He’s asked me to remove reference to his products. I won’t.

What I am doing is explaining to you all, dear readers, how someone has been unfairly maligned for something that they have no right to be.

Jeff-Str8CamJeff is a public figure and he gets naked and jerks off on camera practically daily. And while I may be suggesting his product be misused, it’s no different than someone not following the recipe on the back of a Duncan Hines cake box or playing Monopoly with my own set of rules.

Why people have chosen to single-out Jeff, I have no idea. It makes me wonder if there’s some retribution because Jeff, in his non-judgmental approach to all gays — even barebackers. He chats with us all on Twitter.

While I don’t make a dime from this, allow me to suggest you all still support Jeff. But please, do not purchase Str8Cam Lube Open-New-Window-External or SpunkLube Open-New-Window-External from a store. Purchase it directly from Jeff’s websites. And if you’re really feeling generous, join his jerk-off website at Str8Cam.com Open-New-Window-External.

If it upsets you a little too much, consider purchasing Bad Dragon’s CumLube Open-New-Window-External instead. It’s practically the same thing.

And if you’re one of the bullies fucking around with this muscleman’s wallet, fucking stop it.

Postscript

Show Jeff some love. Follow him on Twitter and tell him you support him, his products and his right to sell to whomever he pleases. And if you’re a barebacker, let him know that too. His Twitter name is @Str8Cam Follow on Twitter.

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Hate (1 of 3)

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Whenever you hear someone say, “I’m not racist,” they’re about to spout something racist. And so I believe when folks say they’re not judgmental.

Of late, a quiet storm of hate — you can attempt to call it disapproval, dismay or other such terms, but it truly boils down to hate — has spread to the corners of the Internet. It’s generated a kind of peer pressure, not unlike the vocal Tea Party. A small minority within the majority. And those people, the squeaky wheels, have created a disproportionate voice among the many to silence a voice that had finally begun to rise.

Barebacking is not an activity of the minority of positive men who are about to die anyway. Recent scientific surveys revealed about half of gay men engage in raw sex. And that outrages the conservative wing of the gay vocals.

This, along with the rise of the Bareback Brotherhood Open-New-Window-External, my blog, Raw Top’s blog Open-New-Window-External, BarebackRT.com Open-New-Window-External, Treasure Island Media Open-New-Window-External, porn performers going raw Opens new window of a page on this blog and other such events coming to light makes for nothing short of radicalization by some.

It’s in quiet corners but it’s having an impact. I’m going to share what’s happening over the next couple of entries. I’ve written about some things Opens new window of a page on this blog. And to many who claim not to be judgmental, those folks seem to enjoy calling me and others brutal names and attempting at humor to blunt something nothing less than radical right hatred.

Explaining Myself

I do want to thank those who write me small notes of encouragement when they see, hear and read the attacks.

My blog is about me and all the dichotomies I embody and, without reading everything, some choose to select entries and judge me based on those. But I choose to believe we all struggle with our place on the planet and, no matter how sincere that sounds, someone’s going to twist that into me sounding something other than sincere.

I understand that I fuck my way through man after man, sometimes through a gloryhole Open-New-Window-External, and that “intimate” act could seem anything but intimate. Some of my friends consider fucking as friendly as “hello” and the most intimate act being a French kiss. I’ve put myself into the handler space and attempted a little pup play, but that just never floated my boat. It’s not my place to attack those choices if one chooses to belittle another.

Perhaps my occasional need to have the opportunity to use a hole comes from being used myself as a molested child Opens new window of a page on this blog and unusual urges that wanted it to happen sometimes Opens new window of a page on this blog. Perhaps I’m just an asshole that way.

However, I never force anyone to back their ass up to a gloryhole Opens new window of a page on this blog. I don’t have a leash or a whip. No one’s been trained or chained.

I started this blog as an exploration of my sexual being and my life. It’s become much more than that. I’m not apologizing for my humanity. And the explanation of who I am isn’t over. The day the blog ends is the day that explanation is over.

I have a feeling it’s the day I die.

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Condom Versus Bareback Sex

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I’ve received a couple of e-mails just today from men confronting a crossroads on which path to take. I’m going to share what each had to write.

Being gay is one thing. You are already different and somewhat an outcast for that.

Then if you are into older guys and not guys your own age it’s another thing and another form of alienation.

Oh and then there is leather if you are into kinks and being subservient and being someone’s slave or boy and wearing a collar people thing you are strange.

And add barebacking to the mix and you are basically a fucking alien.

I’d say the only thing you could do more then that is becoming poz then good luck ever finding acceptance.

This young man in his twenties experienced first hand the hatred coming from the gay community for being a barebacker. Unfortunately, someone discovered his enjoyment at raw cock and, poof, all his acceptance in his circle of friends dissipated so quickly, he felt abandoned and forced into burying his urge to go raw. Now, with animosity and a regret, he wrote me thinking I would reject him too because he no longer barebacked.

Peer pressure. What an odd thing.

The other man, in his mid-thirties, wrote to express his newness to fucking raw.

It took me a long time to get to the point of taking raw cock on purpose.  Haven’t moved to all-bare all the time yet.

I still remember the first loads I took.  Was really nervous about it.  But now, I crave my buddies’ loads.  Sometimes I really want to be a cum dump and take all loads.  Haven’t got to that point though.

My Own Journey

In the late 1980s and early 1990s as the AIDS epidemic brought more and more death upon the gay community, I happened to be a fledgling twentysomething myself in South Florida. I lived far away from the big cities and worked way too hard to get to date men, as at the time I thought a Prince Charming still existed on my horizon would come and take me to new heights of love and sex.

You can read of my own sexual exposures by my molester in the Dark Passenger Opens a new window from this blog entries, which at the time, I’d confronted but didn’t face head on as this blog allowed in the years since. Yet as a young journalist at a small newspaper in the heat of the Florida sun, I got to see the worst that can happen to humanity:

  • A 13-year-old middle school student stabbed, snipped and raped (after death)
  • A 19-year-old motorcyclist with his brain scattered a few hundred feet — now I know why they call it “gray matter”
  • Countless shootings and stabbings of people, often for no reason or for some drug deal gone bad
  • Lightning strikes of golfers, kids playing outside or just random people
  • Skinheads and KKK recruiting in the local high schools
  • Vagrants and drunks falling asleep on train tracks to have the locomotive run them over and sever off some body part
  • Whole families driving off roads into ditches and drowning, never exiting the minivan
  • Beach drownings and backyard pool drownings of old and young, accidental or otherwise
  • Wrecks where the jaws of life pried open bloody mangled messes of metal and human fused together
  • Coaches molesting his female players on his championship team
  • And an honors student and latchkey kid, sniffing a spray can protectant, getting high, barfing and dying his backyard

These were not odd occurrences. This happened daily. Sometimes twice or three times. Over the weekend. For more than two years, I watched this carnage and human destruction up close and personal. No college professor prepared me for real blood and body parts and coroners and victim tears and invading people’s privacy to get a few precious words for a quote.

In the midst of all this, I began my own medical issues. My doctor, at the time, asked me if I’d ever been tested for the virus that causes AIDS. I’d developed some odd rash and he had no idea why.

No cocktails existed. As I recall, AZT was even experimental. People I knew who had AIDS would suddenly disappear only to have their obituary appear later due to suicide or some other “illness.” And if my life, just starting out, began with a doctor suggesting that a fucking rash might be HIV.

The test in those days took more than a week to get the results. I worried the whole time. And the whole time I worried, I watched countless people drop dead around me from murder, accident, mayhem and more.

But I didn’t have HIV. I was fine. I would live!

Life seemed brighter. The world seemed better. I didn’t need to worry. Everything would be a-okay. I just needed to be careful. Right? No unsafe sex.

Fuck. I barely had sex anyway. The death and destruction at work kept making sure of that.

I would try to use a condom if sex ever popped up or just let a guy suck me off. And I tried to date. But something just seemed unsettling to me.

Fast-forward

I’d sampled raw sex from the beginning — my first fuck ever Opens a new window from this blog — and a few momentous subsequent fucks Opens a new window from this blog. As I turned over my new leaf following the savior of coming out negative, I found myself slipping up from time to time. Often, it would be someone I really liked (or lusted after).

scruff-go-rawBarebacking happens. Any gay man who hooks up will likely bareback. A recent example to the right. I’ll tell someone I only fuck raw and they’ll change their tune quick.

Recent studies found that about half of all gay men will admit to having bareback sex. But that’s the admission. I believe that number is much higher. The study I’m citing was from a judgmental safer sex education effort and didn’t go at the study neutrally. Someone asked like I did — as you see in this pic or in a way that makes people feel “safe” to answer they’re okay with barebacking — you’ll find more people will admit to going raw.

While the fuck listed here didn’t hesitate, sometimes the bottom will wait a while and come back later with an “all right, I’ll let you fuck me” or “if you promise you’re DDF, you can fuck me.” Sometimes, if I follow through with the fuck, I’ll be asked to pull out.

I pull out…. after I blast inside.

Everyone knows my name, my e-mail address and usually this blog. Why they sometimes miss that fact, I don’t quite get it.

In my experience, those who eventually admit and will allow me to bareback — based on my photos — and knowing my information is about seven out of 10. I believe if I had a photo of an athletic body, younger age and a slightly larger cock, I’d get closer to nine out of 10.

And if I were to bottom, it would be close to 99 percent with those looks.

pornI wrote recently Opens a new window from this blog about a porn star who visited Atlanta during 2012. This performer, who is rather famous and qualifies as a true porn star, would have cost me a big chunk of change. He stars in condom-only porn. He refused to get fucked raw but would gladly fuck raw and, even knowing me and my blog, would breed my ass.

The schedules never meshed and I’m not messing up his career or the opportunity for him to breed me should he return to the ATL.

I believe that some people think it’s more acceptable to be a bareback top.

The more young, the more athletic, the more “healthy” looking, the more likely a raw fuck will happen.

Back to My Story

As I matured and had my experiences with dating and hookups, I had sex both with and without condoms. It’s not like I didn’t know the difference. It’s not like I ignored the choice before me. And every six months or so, I’d endure the long wait to determine if I happened to be HIV positive, worrying about what would happen, what other discrimination might confront me along with the homophobic hatred that already confronted my life.

Medical changes were happening and treatments were improving. People living with HIV didn’t die immediately. I had boyfriends, then partners. And my life progressed. When I would try to use a condom, it wouldn’t always be the most successful experience.

The difference between bareback and condom sex is like standard- and high-definition television. Once you’ve watched high-def, you really can’t stand to go back to the low-definition again. It’s fuzzy. You don’t get as much out of the experience. The sensations aren’t all there. You’re missing a big chunk of the fun. The experience is extremely lacking.

You crave the high-definition. You want to full-on overload that you get from the sensory inputs of going raw.

Anyone who pretends it’s “just as hot” or whatever else is lying.

My two writers know this. And this is the conflict they’re struggling with right now.

To the Twentysomething

You are a barebacker and you know the risks that come with it. You might pretend for the sake of your so-called friends that you want to wrap it up. However, what kind of friends are they really?

Maintaining a little separation of your sex life and your professional life makes a great deal of sense. But your gay friends cannot all say they hate you because you bareback. If they do, they’re not truly your friends (and it’s time to find some new ones). Barebacking is a choice.

I will say if you choose to use a condom, it’s fine with me. If I know someone makes a logical choice based on the facts in front of them, then I can only respect their choices.

Further, allow me to say Atlanta isn’t the best choice for the Leather Community. It is a small community and the choices are limiting, unlike larger cities where Leather has a larger presence — Chicago for one. I’d suggest you broaden your circle of friends and you’ll find several barebacking members in within BDSM circles.

And should you ever become poz, I promise you won’t be alienated either. There’s a special bond between poz men (I’m sure some of them will speak out).

To the Thirtysomething

You too are coming into your own, now that you’ve seen the greener grasses of barebacking. Even with your limited experience, you know that the sensory experience of going raw just can’t compare with wrapping plastic around a cock and sliding it into a hole. That separation blurs the enjoyment.

Can you truly make that choice?

Why I Made the Choice

As I wrote earlier, I was unprepared for the death, destruction and hatred I would see on a day-to-day experience. Compound that with my molestation, and you come to a place where I struggled to find intimacy and connections with men that simply didn’t not transfer through the plastic barriers of a condom.

Why would I choose to live a life hidden from those sensations I craved and deny myself the thing I wanted? Why especially when I knew it all could be snatched away in a moment due to lightning, an accident, a gunshot, a stabbing or some other act of fate that would take thousands every year but somehow spare me?

One of the oddest occurrences that still baffles me is the person who writes me and wants me to fuck him — but insists I use a condom. Oh, he’s  read my blog. He knows I only fuck raw. He’s aware that “I blast inside.” But he considers himself cute enough, muscular enough, hung enough, young enough, funny enough or some other talent enough that he will be the exception to my rule to fuck raw. He is special enough that he will escape my raw breeding. I won’t stealth him either. I’ll be honorable and fuck safely.

No chance in hell.

And if you think a car accident, a home invasion, a stray bullet, a blood clot, a drowning or some other death or destruction element will miss you — that you’re special enough that God will spare you — then I spent two years in South Florida meeting the people who thought the same thing.

Life is meant to be lives in high definition. That’s where I live it.

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