Tag Archives: light

Celibacy: The Only Option

Celibacy: The Only Option

Dear Reader:

I’ve decided to try Celibacy on as an option.

I recently found the Apostolic Pentecostal Rectory of Internal Light on Forsyth Industrial Road in South Tucker, just outside Atlanta.

I’ve been learning about how it’s not God’s Will for those of us challenged with these sins of the flesh must turn away and, if we cannot convert, we must abstain.

So I am beginning my abstinence.

I apologize for all the harm I have caused in my time writing this blog. I hope that my time of personal reflection in the years to come will allow you all to forgive me.



Aveda Robert: More Substance than Technique

Aveda Robert: More Substance than Technique

More About the Product than Technique


Advertises on Craigslist.org in Therapeutic Services Open-New-Window-External


bullet White male, thirties, beefy, claims to be bisexual but married to a woman, Woodstock/Kennesaw/Marietta area of Atlanta’s Northwest Suburbs
bullet Massages fully clothed
bullet Swedish with some sports incorporated
bullet Massages on professional table, usually at your home
bullet Generally costs $150 or overpriced compared to others but does travel to the farther Northwestern Suburbs

Will provide awkward happy ending, roughly handling cock

robert-avedatwo-and-a-half-stars out of five stars rating

Robert loves his Aveda products. And you will hear all about him and Aveda. He always has something new from Aveda and will often brag about it. He will brag about all the work he does, who he massages. He won’t get into any specifics. After all, he’s in the “music biz.” But he knows people. And he claims they’ve experienced the best in massage from him.

If this is his best, then you’re not in for a treat.

Robert is truly a nice guy and maybe he believes his own bullshit, but it’s all that: Bullshit. Robert can, when he feels like it, deliver a good massage. I’ve engaged him three times (because he lives near me) and sometimes it’s damn good. But too often, it’s just okay. I’ve been left wanting, both from the happy ending and the massage. He gets so wrapped up in telling me just how good he is to actually be good.

He is married with a couple of kids, so if your fantasy is to get jerked off by a married guy, then all means, hire him. And Robert can talk a big game about getting fucked. But when it comes down to it, he doesn’t really want it. He’ll just provide a solid massage, ask you a few provocative questions and attempt to jerk you off. He’s not very skilled at the jerk off practice either.

It’s awkward.

I mean, it’s like he’s slapping a hot dog against a wall. I like a bit more fineness than that.

All the while, he’s telling you about the last hot chick he massaged and her wet pussy. Not really my cup of tea. But okay there. Maybe it’s yours.

What did you think of Robert’s massage?

If you had a massage by Robert, rate it on this page.

Also comment on this page at the bottom.

By a Cell Phone Light…

By a Cell Phone Light…

The choices in an adult bookstore — at least the adult bookstore here in Atlanta Opens a new window from this blog — includes gloryholes Opens a new window from this blog, private rooms and a darkroom. Those are one’s three choices to indulge in the hedonism.

The holiday season hadn’t invaded this place. Not even the music bothered to pulse with any musical beat beyond the normal dance jams with more urban tones. I’d made a couple of loops. My cock had been stroked and sucked through a gloryhole or two. The private rooms had been occupied a lot. I’d had enough time to find the men in whom I wanted to see my cock slide first.

Among them, a beefy Latino, wide chest, short and stout. Look like a good chest. But his favorite destination seemed to be the darkroom.

Now I don’t tend to favor the darkroom. It isn’t because I don’t enjoy darkrooms. However, trolls lurk there.

Some of you younger bucks may be asking, “What are trolls?”

Trolls tend to be older men (but can be of any age) who horn in on others having good sex and make it bad.

Age honestly has nothing to do with a troll, but trolls simply suck at sex (not in a good way) and they can’t figure out how to improve their sexual prowess. Yet they insist on entering into others’ fun and ruining it for all. In fact, trolls seem to delight in this.

No matter how ugly, how old, how black, how brown, how young or whatever one’s lot in life, your ass should be pink and juicy on the inside. Within certain constraints Opens a new window from this blog, I will fuck and breed you. But trolls are off limits.

I politely push them away. Some are more persistent than others. Those will ruin a fuck.

Back to the hot, stout Latino in the military haircut wearing the unfortunate white, striped sweater.

A little tip: If you’re going a place with a darkroom, choose dark clothes and don’t wear anything with a logo so people can recognize you.

I followed him into the room. As I entered, it took a moment for me to make out the shadows of the men. His was the shortest, of course, over near the corner and I moved toward him, brushing up against him. He responded in kind and reached for my crotch. I unbuttoned and before long he was down on his knees sucking.

His technique lacked focus and he couldn’t go deep, even with someone like me who didn’t really challenge anyone. My cock is just at seven inches, so my cockhead will just touch the back of most people’s throats. Sure, you’ll gag but it’s not like I’ll really stop you from breathing.

He kept his head bobbing shallow, supplementing with his hands and even licked my balls, which I loved. I completely dropped my trousers (all my valuables were locked in the car) so other men were feeling my ass and even one went down to share a lick on my balls. It wasn’t bad.

I tried to hint to my little guy I wanted ass, bending over and reaching into the gap in his jeans where his ass crack happened to be. I would touch his smooth ass. But he kept sucking.

In this darkness, I wasn’t the only one getting sucked. Darkness inspires whispers and silence for some reason. I’m a quiet guy anyway.

But there arose such a clatter, I snapped my head around to see what’s the matter.

A black man with an obviously large cock snapped on his cell phone to look down at his huge pipe entering the ass of a beefy white man wearing what looked like a black jockstrap.

“Yea, man, give me that fucking ass,” he exclaimed in a deep, gravely voice. A masculine man, the kind of downlow fucker you’d see on Sally Jesse Raphel and fucking this quiet white bottom raw. “This is a good fucking ass!”

It was across the room from me with four or five other men between me, so shadows would occasionally obscure what I could see. But the fuck noises were obvious. My little Latino continued to suck but I had my eyes firmly planted on what was going on across the room.

And I wanted that ass next.

The black fucker just got to pummeling that ass. The slapping of thighs to ass got louder and I pulled my cock away, bored by the half-hearted ministrations by the Latino. If he were smart, he’d stand, then bend over and drop his jeans.

He stood and continued to reach for my cock. I zipped up and moved toward the light of the door, but keeping an eye on the fucking.

The grunt and fuck noises just got louder. In the pale light, you could see the bottom now bracing himself against the wall and the top just letting the fucker have it.

“You’re going to get my nut!” the black man practically yelled. And then he did. “ARRRRRHHHHGGGGG!!!”

He let loose what had to be a torrent of cum into that white booty. He fucked it a few more times.

“Fuck man, I gotta sit down,” he said. “I’m fucking weak in the knees from that.”

The cell phone switched off at that moment but he sat down where the light from the doorway showed his cock, a thick nine inches, as the bottom turned around, hefted it up and sucked it clean.

By now, my Latino had moved next to me and was reaching inside my zipper. But I wanted that loaded ass.

Fortunately for me, afterward, the white bottom moved by me to go toward the corner I’d vacated. I reached out and brushed my hand against his ass and followed.

It proved enough to get his attention.

The Latino had kept my cock up if the action hadn’t. The bottom reached around and gave my cock a tug, recognizing another hard cock. He then lined it up with his hole.

I just fucking love cum sluts.

The entry was smooth and easy after that other monster had vacated. And I moaned. As that escaped my lips, a familiar light came on. The black top hadn’t left and now his cell phone illuminated my cock inside this white ass.

It wasn’t going to be a long fuck.

“That’s a nice ass, ain’t it man?” He egged me on.

Truth is, I’ve had better. I don’t mind loose asses. This one was just nondescript. And the bottom had never learned to flex his muscles. I had to do all the work. As I reached up to get a grip, I grabbed what I thought would be his jock.

T’weren’t no jock. It was some cheap, polyester lingerie garter belt. Fuck, I’m so not into men dressing as women. And this guy is totally not the type of guy who would.

But my cock is in an ass, raw, and I’m churning up cum.

“Dude,” the black man spoke. “You fucking push me again, I’m going to knock your goddamned head off! You fucking understand me?”

Troll alert.

“Stand back and let the dude nut in his butt and we all can fucking watch.”

That’s my cue.

I snort some poppers and I let it go. I know I’m not as turned on as I should be but I keep my hands on the fleshy cakes and I try to tune out the trolls, knowing that I’m protected for the time being. I focus on popping and mixing it up in this bottom’s ass. Picking up the pace, slamming harder, giving it to him, punishing him for being a pussy in women’s underwear.

I cascade over the side and grunt a few times as my Latino is there, tickling my balls. Yes, he still wants my dick.

I cum. I half cum really. I shoot a load but it’s not fulfilling. I give the audience a good performance, knowing that I am injecting into his ass but I beef it up making sure it seems good, although more understated than my black ally.

By the time I pop out, another hard dick is lined up and he’s shooting by the time I’ve zipped up and left.

A little disgusted with myself that my powers of perception probably hoped that it was a black jockstrap rather than a black garter belt. I make another loop and I fuck a guy’s face for a while. He won’t offer me his ass, even telling me he watched me fuck that guy and that I can fuck him any other place but here.

And I bump into the black guy as he comments, “That was a mighty fine ass, wasn’t it man?”

“Yea, man,” I nod in agreement, now completely lying to him. “You have a good one.”

I head out. Half satisfied.

Behind Dead Eyes… A Return to Breed a Third Load

Behind Dead Eyes… A Return to Breed a Third Load

The text message appeared: “I’m horny.”

Let’s admit that I did like the bottom in my entries from Behind Dead Eyes Opens a new window from this blog. Perhaps that creeped him out a little or the fact he never liked that I implied he had “dead eyes.” Instead, it’s a metaphor for the protective wall he builds around himself and that inner being.

After our time of debauchery at the bookstore Opens a new window from this blog, we’d texted a bit but not met up again.

“I am too,” I responded.

“I want cum,” he wrote.

“I’ll give you some,” I typed back.

As it turned out, I was downtown and would be glad to hit the bookstore yet again. A few more of his coy questions and my to-the-bone answers.

I had an appointment but once it was over, I wanted to fuck him. That was the only reason to drive over and pay the $11 admission. Once I admitted to having my good poppers Opens a new window from this blog, I got the green light. I made a left instead of a right and headed toward one of the best asses ever.

And I mean best asses.

It’s usual for me to really look forward to seeing someone. I’ll admit my crush on this boy. There’s chemistry there, even if he can’t admit there’s any. And we fuck well.

I arrived, whipping into a parking place. I plunged into the darkness and throbbing environment of sexual scents, Pine Sol and satellite radio.

He stood along the edge of one of the banks of booths on the basement floor, not far from the entrance. Approaching him, he spoke under his breath, “You have to act like you don’t know me.”

My anticipation fluttered a little. I missed a beat, but I recovered and made the walk upstairs to the rooms.

Within moments, he joined me.

He wore a strange combination of a stretched out tank under a button down. This flashback to the Flash Dance 1980s look seemed strange to me since I recalled the original look. Here I am in jeans and a t-shirt and he appeared so perfectly coiffed. He walked past me into a room. I followed.

He started removing his clothing immediately and I did the same, inquiring whether I should lock the door. He shrugged, a hallmark of his usual indecision. But I didn’t care.

He stripped completely naked and went to sucking my cock, getting it hard. His oral skills undeniably good. Then he crouched on the mattress, ass in the air.

As I did before, I went in for food. I ate his ass, spreading my meal wide. Oh how delicious his hole proved to be. So good! I’ve ate many asses in my day. His just perfection, just lovely, just nice. The soft hairs never wiry and adding to the opening up, never detracting from the effort to open the hole.

With a little more spit as I pushed my tongue into his pucker and deep pink, I stood and began to push my cock into him.

I’d handed him the poppers earlier and he’d been sniffing them already, but now he really snorted them as my seven inches invaded his interior.

Oh my fucking God, how his ass was so damn tight and molded perfectly around my cock. In a way, it felt as if I was pushing my cock into clay.

He moaned. I pushed. I’d pull back a little and push farther in.

Soon, I made it all the way.

I looked down to see this almost perfect hourglass shape. His smooth body. His back and upper chest wide, his waist going smaller and then that ass, the widest of all. Not fat, but perfect. And as I plunged inside it, just wonderful.

And in a way, I just hit paydirt.

Pumping in him deep once, I felt something. Oh so warm. Oh. This was a new sensation. Like I’d popped through to a new place, this warmth began to trickle down past my cockhead and tickle my balls, some dripping off and some running down my legs.

I inquired to be sure and disappointingly discovered I was the first to be fucking his ass, so all I felt was water. Knowing this bottom’s routine, I knew it was clean and nothing to worry about. No scents or anything other than the unusual sensation that enthused me a little. If only I’d been squishing around a little extra cum as well.

The door to the room opened. I’d not locked in.

In walked an older white man and not at all attractive followed by an older African American who turned out to be a little fat. I didn’t mind the audience. He urged me on, wanting to eat the cum out of the bottom’s ass after I was done.

As I fucked more, the little trickle of water turned more into a gush of water and I really enjoyed that sensation of warm water along my balls that now cooled in the air. I borrowed the poppers and took a sniff.

I fucked harder. More gusto.

“You want my load?”

“Give it to me!” he said. “Give me your load.”

The trolls agreed.

And I went into a place where my cock and the bottom’s ass  just existed together. The water now emptied out, I replaced it with my flood into his guts with my cum. I throbbed. I buried to the hilt and stood still, letting my cock deposit all my seed into his ass. I pushed it in as deep as I could and then pulled it out as his ass sealed up behind my extracting rod.

My bottom friend objected to the trolls even touching him and we kicked them out, now the festivities were over. And he turned horrified at the splattered water on the mattress, not to mention me. Even with my promise that I enjoyed it, he just couldn’t believe how much came out.

I kissed him for the first time as he began putting on his clothes. Oh, how well he kissed.

“I’ll see you later,” I said.

“You’re leaving?”

“I came here just to fuck you,” I replied.


“Really,” I said. “Take care.”

And I left.

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To Stealth or Not to Stealth

To Stealth or Not to Stealth

For what he did not know did not hurt him, but I found great pleasure in taking what I felt was mine.

He had handed me a condom — no words were spoken. He simply handed me the prophylaxis still contained in it’s wrapper. He bent over, presenting his ass to me, like a female baboon presents to the alpha male. I made no agreement.

He hands me a condom. By this act, is it suddenly my obligation to have safer sex? Is there some quixotic power that requires me to abide by the rules he sets? Yet he’s turned his back, presented his ass and isn’t looking at me, confirming I’m even tearing the packet open.

I took his ass. I never bothered to put on the condom.

I never knew his name. Fuck, I couldn’t recall his face if I tried. I might remember his ass, perhaps if my raw cock entered him again. The sensation of his chute ,exquisite in its tightness and the slight curve up. Soft and delicate. Warm and moist. I don’t think I was the first man to enter him that evening.

Did I have some obligation? By handing me a condom, am I to compromise my choice never to use plastic to cover my cock and deny me the sensation of my genetic material entering a man’s ass? He never asked me. We never spoke. He never checked.

We were standing in the dusky light of an adult bookstore. I don’t care two shits about the man. He is a method by which I will relieve my need to release seed. I don’t even care whether he gets off. He’s slightly better than my right hand. I’ve not asked him whether he’s got any sexually transmitted infections either. He handed me a condom though. Perhaps that’s his hint there’s a bug lurking in his ass.

Who’s to say what’s lurking inside my ball sack as my sperm pumps inside him? As my bodily fluids flow into this ass, like thousands of others I’ve fucked before. I’ve told neither you, dear reader, nor the bottom I’m fucking if there’s a virus or anything unclean about me. Who’s to say I bring any harm to this man who so eagerly presents his ass to someone he’s met less than five minutes earlier.

What moral obligation do I have? Any? We made no contract. There’s no legally binding language between us. We stand on neutral ground in a place where both of us seek nothing more than a moment’s pleasure.

Take it just a step further.

What if I were at a gloryhole? What if he puts a condom on me then plants his ass against that hole in the wood between us? He’s sucked dozens of cocks, presented his ass to hard cocks all night long and now it’s my turn.

I slip the condom off. I fuck him raw. If he is a decent bottom, he should know the difference. It certainly feels like I’m not the first person to enter this hole raw from my view point.

A month later, six months later, a year later… he gets tested and the results are the same as before.

Have I committed some wrongdoing? If the tests are  different, how could this man who lets anyone and practically everyone fuck him in an adult bookstore know it was me or someone else?

Why do some people attempt to assign some sort of moral code to what’s right and what’s wrong with fucking?


The Debate that Just Won’t Fade Away

Bareback porn videographer Cristian Knox and I have debated this issue for some time. The porn company, Treasure Island Media, recently reproduced one of my blog entries from our debate from a while back. And Cristian went on a bit of a rant about it again just yesterday. Of course he derided my recent 10 tips on stealthing.

Cristian writes in his post on July 3:

A now mainstream, recognisable pornography company, in the business to make money, supporting the deceptive actions of a person advising his readers on how to potentially harm others against their will?  On top of this, making content that fetishises and revels in the depiction of misleading people during sex.  We don’t believe them for a second, but at least the big corporations have the humanity to PRETEND they could give a shit about other people.  Perhaps I am hoping for too much from my fellow gays/queers/humans, but something very desperate and sad is happening here.

I have to admit that Cristian might have finally taken that swan dive off the deep end. I’m so very sad to see it since, overall, I find him quite respectable and an upright person. I am left with these questions:

  1. When did Treasure Island Media ever become a mainstream pornography company?
  2. Wouldn’t barebacking itself be considered a way to “potentially harm others”?
  3. How am I doing anything “against their will”? I’m not holding a single person down.
  4. No offense, but pornography is all about misleading the viewer to enhance the fantasy, is it not?
  5. Please advise me which corporations in the UK are pretending to give a shit about people because I don’t think there’s that many in the US.

Stealthing was the hottest feature on iBLASTinside.comYou don’t have to agree with stealthing, Cristian. But you can’t suggest that TIM’s inclusion of my pieces really means all that much.

If the porn company is finally integrating stealthing into its movies, it’s about damn time. I’ve been advocating some bareback porn company do it (along with some other ideas I’ve got where gay porn needs to go). Cristian, in fact, says that the US division of TIM has gotten a bit stagnant.

I’d suggest it’s not just TIM but all porn. How many pizza deliveries, locker rooms and bathroom encounters do we need? Porn must evolve.

(Interestingly enough, I think it might find some success considering a recent survey of my blog readers find it the hottest among my fuck stories.)

Jeez, Treasure Island Media blazed the trail for bareback and reality porn in the first place, Cristian. I doubt you’d be doing what you do without it. Pushing the boundaries of the taboo finds a tradition in porn. Not too long ago, we’d be debating incest or piss.

Cristian knows good and well that TIM, as well as other porn companies, films for fantasy. That’s what produces money. We certainly know that the performers in TIM movies aren’t all seroconcordant. In fact, well-known top star Brad McGuire is HIV negative while the ultimate bottom Dawson is positive (in fact, McGuire’s in a serodiscordant relationship).

Would you say that Brad McGuire puts himself at risk? Isn’t he setting a bad example? If neg is fucking poz, could poz be fucking neg? And they don’t even pretend to put on a condom.


Next Time on Law & Order: HIV

This has never been a question of legality, as fellow bareback blogger Josh Landale Follow on Twitter suggested on Twitter when he linked to his piece on the legal questions of disclosing one’s HIV status.

I do not think it is a legal question. Rape didn’t occur. Whomever would be considered the victim would knowingly have to transmit a disease with the malicious intent of infecting the victim. I have no malicious intent. If I feel anything, it’s little more than indifference.

Figuring out it had to be me would first have to conclude that I have some disease, which I’ve not said I do. The bottom would also have to prove he’s disease free and his frequent visits to an adult bookstore assuredly didn’t get caused by any other encounter.

The so-called victim isn’t forced to have sex with me. He chooses to do so voluntarily. Any make no mistake: I never agree verbally or otherwise to wear a condom. I choose to take my own risk.

Finally, one must prove that what I am doing is ultimately dangerous to whom I am doing it and that what I do outweighs any danger I put myself in. I offer no proof and they offer no proof.

We are both in an adult establishment engaging in risky sexual behaviors with multiple partners and choosing to do so without discussion of any reasonable substance.  In the American justice system, I think we’re at a wash.


No Dough for You

Allow me to make a couple of points: While my pieces do occasionally appear on TreasureIslandBlog.com, I am not compensated in any way. Fuck, TIM hasn’t done so much as to send me a t-shirt or even let me watch a movie for free online.

If you can say anything, the only love I get is a little traffic from their site to mine. But I also send some to them.I wonder how many?

I’m trying a bit of advertising support for the blog and, gosh darn it, during a good month I earned $40.

Since I drive a hybrid, it’s enough to buy me one tank of gas with a little left over for a soda and a snack.

In other words, no one gives a shit whether I write this stuff or not. The fact is TIM’s TreasureIslandBlog.com and other sites like BreedingZone.com asked to use my content and I gave them permission. I don’t get compensated other than the reciprocal traffic that flows back and forth between our websites.

There are people who have actually met me — beyond the people who’ve ended up with my cock in their ass. They might speak up as to the type of person I am.

I’d like to say this blog is some sort of labor of love, but it’s more because I need the catharsis. It’s my release.

If you choose to just blindly hate me, go ahead. The line forms to the left. I’ve got plenty of folks who do. But take a moment to actually read what I’m saying and let it sink it. Ask yourself where this so-called moral line you draw actually exists.

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