Tag Archives: human

Fucking Draven Torres

Fantasy Fulfilled… Fucking Porn Performer Draven Torres

He messaged me.

Shocking, I know. After several years of hoping, wanting, even begging a porn performer or two to let me fuck and breed them, Draven Torres messages me out of the blue.

Now I’m not so presumptuous to think everyone knows me and he didn’t. He had no idea of this online persona. And, mind you, while this incredibly beautiful specimen of manliness does escort, he did not hit me up for cash.

He saw my cock and wanted fucked.

Hey, everyone gets horny.

I went over.

pornFirst, he is better looking in person. Now that’s odd to saw considering just how fucking hot he is in his photographs, but photos fail to relay how a smile can literally light up this guy’s face… or the room. He’s got a hint of deviousness with an underpinning of pure, smoldering masculinity.

Considering that I’m 6-foot-3 and he’s 5-foot-5, there’s a height difference but surely still he filled the room.

When we kissed — yes, I kissed him first — he proved to be incredibly talented there. His full lips knew how and where to move. He moved immediately to a blowjob, although I was already fully erect, with no hesitation to take my cockhead into his throat. Gag reflex? What the fuck was that? Silky and smooth, enough pressure, indeed this man was a pro.

He popped off my cock and asked a magic question: “Do you eat ass?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” I responded. And he presented me with his absolutely perfect mounds with the darker pucker.

I dove in, tasting the sweet perfection of his hole.

He began to groan.

I pushed my tongue deeper as his asshole began to grip at my hole, begging for it to move deeper. I sloppily dove in and made room, slobbering it up with my spit and making him open and ready.

Until I couldn’t wait any more. And I mounted up, positioning my cock at his hole, covering his deeply inked body with mine and beginning to insert my cock.

Draven knew how to work it. Tightening his sphincter and then relaxing, letting a little in. This proceeded until I was buried. He had twisted his head around and kissed me deeply, licking the taste of his ass off my tongue.

Over the course of the next hour, I would fuck his ass in a variety of positions, coming so close. Until we ended up in this position again… me mounting his back and thrusting inside him. This porn god begging for my cum and finally, in this tight hole, me unleashing a torrent of cum.

Draven Torres is one of my top 10 fucks in my life. Not because he was a porn star. That has absolutely nothing to do with it. His skills are well beyond porn performances.

He is a good human being. A great fuck. If you ever happen to catch him in your town, hire him.

Red Star      star_grey      star_green      Blue Star      gold star

Draven Torres on BBRT

Draven Torres on RentMen.com

Draven Torres on Twitter

Draven Torres on Facebook

 

 

 

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Hate (1 of 3)

Hate (1 of 3)

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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Abortion Tales #2: The Tweaker and the Tittie Twins

Abortion Tales #2: The Tweaker and the Tittie Twins

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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Guide to Men Providing Better Service (Especially Strippers, Go-Go Boys, Massage Therapists, Bartenders, Waiters, Retailers or Anyone in the Service Industry)

I tip well.

I always start at 20 percent for any service and it rises or falls based on what happens from that point forward. You can be a stripper or a hair stylist. You can be a runner at a restaurant or a bar-back — the people who aren’t normally tipped but get a share of the main worker tips. The service industry is about tips. I get that. And I tip expecting to be remembered, taken care of and provided with excellent service.

It takes more than a great body to lure in a lot of money.If you’re straight or gay, bisexual or flexible with your sexuality, it doesn’t matter. Most of these suggestions will help you increase your financial compensation from the likes of men like me. I’m not well-to-do by any means. But compared to a 23-year-old, I’m more settled and I have more disposable income that I’m willing to spend.

I’ve put these into an easy-to-remember mnemonic: HEFT. You must apply HEFT at your workplace and when you work. If you do, I promise that you will earn more money, gain more confidence and advance yourself down a path.

[alert style=”green”]

I am available for one-on-one training

This is something I enjoy teaching, especially young, attractive men. You want to learn this, I will tutor you how to make this system work for you. Just get in touch with me.

[/alert]

Hope

Always give the customer hope that you’re available to give him what he wants. Be coy, play a little hard to get, tease a little; but the moment you dash all hope is the moment the money train stops.

I’ll start this with the understanding that the stalkers and the creepy guys — anyone in your gut that says “run away” — is where to stop the hope. These are the people with whom you never want to give any opening as a possibility they can get something more from you. But the creeps and stalkers and crazies, while most memorable, are in the minority.

Everyone else, you give as much hope as possible. If you’re straight, the guy you’re talking to is the one guy you might try the gay thing with for the first time. If you’re gay, you’re open to dating older men.

Having a great body helps. Show it off.But never be that direct.

Hope has to be the goal for which the customer is always reaching but never quite achieves.

Hope is a tease, so provide the tease and do it on a schedule.

I had a beautiful, muscular, very straight trainer. I told him exactly what I needed. I never touched the man, but I told him I found him and his body and inspiration; he would need to use that to motivate me. As I advanced, he started and did well. He went from loose shirts to tighter, finally to an armless t-shirt.

Then it stopped.

Never shorts. Never tank tops. The teasing stopped and the loose shirts came back. I asked what happened and if I’d offended. I’d actually been paying him double his asking rate. Early in our agreement, he’d even text me encouragement. Now he stopped that too.

I lost interest and stopped going. I lost all hope.

I never expected to suck his dick or even see him naked. But the hope of it kept me engaged. In the end, I think his own discomfort with his sexuality might have stopped it. He’ll often post shirtless, flexing images of himself to Facebook, even when I was training with him. He couldn’t see what that would do to me.

 

Engage

You provide a service. I pay. We both know the reason we’re here. But you must make an effort to engage on another level in order to make that extra cash.

The absolute worst thing a hot dick dancer can do is walk up to me cold and say, “Would you like a lap dance?”

Suddenly, he’s ugly as sin.

Making someone laugh is a way to break down barriers He sees me as cash and sees himself as meat. Same with a waiter or a bartender. Do you know how much further a friendly smile, looking me right into the eyes and a, “Hello, how are you today? My name’s Andy.”

Suddenly, I don’t see you as meat for meat’s sake or someone who delivers me food or drink. I see a human being. I see someone who has a name, a life and who has meaning. And if you ask my name, someone who gives as fuck about me more than the cash in my pocket.

You start to care about me, I start to care about you, I’ll start giving you more money.

If a dick dancer takes five or 10 minutes to get to know me, he’ll get a lot more opportunity to get cash.

While I was in Key West recently, the go-go dancers and bartenders at Bourbon Street Pub were a perfect example. One dancer — a blond with an absolutely perfect body, beautiful pecs, an eight-pack, gorgeous face, etc. — walked by as I gave him a dollar. He never bothered looking down. He didn’t  kneel and say a word. He walked on by.

Another dancer — not quite as built, but still nice pecs — walked by. I gave him a dollar. He took a knee and asked my name, shook my hand and introduced himself. He smiled and looked me in the eye. Over the course of the evening, every time he walked by, I gave him at least another dollar and even purchased a lap dance from him.

What both dancers didn’t know was it was my first night of a week-long visit in Key West. I’d visit the bar many more times. The perfect body dancer got $1 out of me the whole trip. The great pec and wonderful personality dancer probably earned more than $350 from me.

I walked into a shop along Duval Street that sold absolutely wonderful products focusing on cocktails, wine and beer. As with every shop, the shit was expensive. The sourpuss shop owner never said a word, stood behind the counter and watched me like I was some sort of shoplifter. As I examined a ruby red slipper wine bottle holder I considered purchasing, I put it down and moved around the shop. The sourpuss darted over and adjusted the placement of the pump, assuring I’d done no damage (even though I’d handled it most carefully).

I left that shop quickly despite wanting to purchase a few things, I dared not make a single buy there to give the asshole owner any satisfaction.

At a jewelry shop down the street from there, I went looking for a pair of dangling earrings for my sister. The very nice shop owner greeted me warmly. Since he was British and wore a London Olympics t-shirt, we chatted a bit about that while I shopped and finally overpaid for a pair of shell earrings that looked like my sister. She loved them. And I felt all right about paying tourist prices.

The difference in all of this was engagement.

 

Flirt

While flirting provides hope and engages the customer, it takes things a step further. Flirting brings a customer back to you time and time again. It gets customers to ask for your section at a restaurant or call ahead to see if you’re working.

Girls are taught how to flirt. They’re taught how to dart their eyes, giggle a little, blink and appear shy. If you watched the movie “Legally Blonde,” the “bend and snap” scene in the salon is a great example of how women teach each other.

Men, on the other hand, are not taught these things. Moreover, if they’re taught anything, it’s not how to flirt with other men — especially how to flirt with the gay ones if you’re not gay.

Never, ever act girlish. Male-to-male flirting is much more subtle and it’s something a straight, bi and curious male will have to learn with which to get comfortable.

Flirting is all in the eyes

It begins with the eyes. Learn to stare deeply at another man without letting your eyes dart away. Look intensely but not with a leer. You stare just a beat longer than is comfortable and then blink and look away slowly. And never look down and away from the man. If you look down, go for his crotch or chest. Down and to the left means deception.

It’s even better if your glance is down at his crotch and then it returns to his eyes.

You can’t been too obvious as men have learned to do this dance over time and not be detected by their wives or girlfriends in the room. Even across a gay bar, a subtle flirtation can be happening.

Some of the best ways I’ve ever been worked is by strippers or other professionals giving a lap dance to someone else and working me across the room. I know they’re straight but they’ve got the eye fuck down and my cock doesn’t know the difference.

A gay man can see desire and will likely know a straight man based on his gaydar. I can see in a man’s eyes what he’s thinking. I’m empathetic, meaning I can usually sense what a person is feeling, but most especially men. There’s a vibe that comes off men that allows me to sense what’s going down.

I better get that you’re into me. The good ones find some element in each person they target to like. Whether it’s my glasses or shirt or even personality or the wonder of humanity. If you cannot find something to latch onto, something that you can show an attraction to, you might not get past first base with a potential customer. Consider it a kind of bromance that must be generated out of nothing.

If you are in a place where it is appropriate, flirting may mean showing some skin. You may be straight, but us gay men can appreciate beauty. We’ll drop the not too subtle hints of where you have tattoos or have you been working out crap to see your chest or other parts of your body.

This guy has a very defined Apollo's belt (but not much of a treasure trail)You can work it too. Picking up your shirt and rubbing your stomach showing off a treasure trail (that little line of hair down the middle of the belly Link Opens in a New Window) or Apollo’s belt (the iliac furrow below a six- or eight-pack near the hips Link Opens in a New Window). Yes, you can bend over and show off your ass, but make sure you have an ass to show off (as gay friends). Wear too tight clothes (if you work where that possible) and make it fashionable.

And remember that gay men have fetishes, especially older men. They will request odd things like smelling your shoes, socks or pits and touching your hair, biceps or pecs. Know what your limits might be and never react with judgment of something being rude, weird or bad.

Also understand that your actions in public may take you out of the running.

As I’ve outlined, I am not into smokers at all Opens a new window from this blog. If I see someone smoking, they’re out of the running for potential with me. I know bars in some towns can be smoker havens and some of you only smoke there, but these men with bodies of death puffing on cancer sticks still baffle me. I’d suggest that it limits your income if you do smoke. But I know an occasional whale (someone who will spend a lot of money) comes in offering to share his pack.

 

Touch

A little human contact goes a long way.

It’s long been found that waiters and waitresses who lightly touch their customers (usually the opposite gender) increase their tip amounts by at least 3 percent (a Cornell University from 1998 Link Opens in a New Window has often been cited for this). Remember that 3 percent is the minimum per tip increase.

You can get much more than 3 percent from me.

Shaking hands is always the first approach and the easiest to tell how receptive someone is to man-to-man contact. If possible, always hold the hand a beat longer than possible. Eye contact on the order of flirting always helps as well. A warm smile and a hesitation to release helps. You want the person to feel like you want to touch them.

Even staking out a place a little too close. Don’t invade their personal space too much. Just go into it enough.

If you’re sure someone is up for it, then go for the shoulder grab, especially when you’re stepping away. Make it very familiar feeling. “Hey Mark,” hand reaches out and grabs a shoulder. “I’m headed to the bar. Is there anything I can get for you?”

If your touch can get even more suggestive, it helps in the right circumstance. A brush of your crotch as you pass by, leaning against his shoulder, a hand around the waist, even holding his hand. Do the little movements that give you tingles up your spine. That does the same to him. Give him goosebumps. Make it memorable. There’s nothing wrong even if you’re having an intimate moment and you say to him, “How could I make this a night you won’t ever forget?”

 

HEFTY, HEFTY, HEFTY

If I had to add the last letter to my acronym, it would be “Y” for “Youth.” It normally is that thing that will bring in the trollish men with money. But the one thing I have to say about the most successful twentysomethings who’ve walked away with hundreds of dollars from me is how they’ve treated me and that’s with mature respect. And I’ve respected them back.

When I get a lap dance from someone new, I ask what I can and cannot do. I understand that $20 or $50 doesn’t buy me a fuck in the backroom of a bar and I’m never allowed to just shove my finger up an ass without permission.

I am paying for the fountain of youth, the tight body, the incredibly booty and the innocence no matter how many men have touched him.

I get great service, one must be a good customer. I try to do that.

A Note of Consideration

To anyone else who takes my ideas and runs with them: 

Ideas cannot be copyrighted. Hey, I know that. I didn’t put my ideas out there to make money (although that would be nice). But here’s the thing: Do you think I would be stupid enough to put all my ideas out there?

You’re always welcome just to go with what I suggest and adapt to your own business situation, but I’m a (get this) marketing professional who knows a thing or two. I’m available for consultation or even hiring 

But if you don’t want to do that, I understand. But perks always makes me happy. 

Yours,

Mark's Signature in White

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the lies men tell

The Lies Men Tell… Smokers (Part 1)

Have you ever watched the television show, “House”? Dr. House on the show offers up a kind of mantra or philosophy: “People lie.”

Occasionally, he adds to it: “All people lie.”

It’s true. Very true. As much as anyone wants to pretend that 100 percent of everything in their lives are true, lies might be the one constant that a human being can find and if you deny that, you’re simply lying to yourself. And that is the most powerful lie of all.

I find, more often than not, many people lie to me. Dishonesty is honestly the one thing I can count on more than anything else.

My favorite lie men like to tell me is the one that’s my own issue — and I admit as much.

It’s smoking.

I simply cannot fuck smokers. I know. Those of you who indulge this somehow think you don’t stink at all. Even without kissing me, I can smell it. It’s on your saliva and breath. No amount of toothpaste, mouthwash or gum can cover it up. It permeates your clothing and comes out of your pores as you sweat. Ask any man who’s tasted your cum. He knows the flavor of nicotine.

We all have that one thing and that’s mine. I’ll lose an erection so fast — if I’m lucky enough to manage to work one up.

I know when men lie about it. I know you’ve done your best to cover up your addiction. I don’t fault you for it. I simply won’t fuck you and send you on your way without calling you the liar you are when I asked about it. I usually do ask. Some men attempt to find out why I’m asking or the response I want.

Like that matters.

I know. I go with my gut. If you tell me you’ve quit recently, I know it’s bullshit.

So if you’re wondering why I’ve blocked you on BarebackRT.com or I didn’t hook up with you that time we met or the reason why we kissed only once then I came fast and left. It’s because I know the truth to this simple fact.

These are life’s speed bumps, things we just can’t get over. And this is mine.

On to Part Two, Photos… then Part Three, Test Results

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