Tag Archives: long time

I’m Pulled in So Many Directions…

I’m Pulled in So Many Directions…

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

From Key West Conch to Georgia Peach to Boston Beantown.

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

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

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

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

Travel Diary: The Man Who Would Be Paduwan

Travel Diary: The Man Who Would Be Paduwan

I hesitate to write this encounter for many reasons:

  1. Since it occurred over several hours, I will not accurately recall all the details of our sex.
  2. Some of what occurred is, frankly, some stuff I’m going to keep for my own private memories.
  3. This is one encounter that defies words in multiple moments (and for me to be wordless means something).

The bottom in question for this encounter wrote me a long time ago — at least three year. He proved to be memorable to me in many, many ways. When “fans” contact me (I use the term “fans” loosely), I generally find he’s read one or two pieces on this site. On occasion, maybe he’s even made it beyond a few.

This guy went well beyond that.

He claimed to have found my “Deceptively Fun” stories on Nifty.org erotic archive back in 2003 and started following me then. As our communication developed, I came to believe him. He made references that even caused me to struggle to recall my own references.

He told me he was in the Philadelphia.

We would occasionally connect electronically. He’d send photos and we’d talk about mutual interests, even beyond the fact I wanted to breed his ass deep.

Finally, it turned out I’d been in the City of Brotherly Love but just for a couple of nights.  As soon as an entry posted on my potential travel there, he e-mailed.

Now there’s always a little concern that someone might be a bit of a stalker, but it’s not like he was visiting me in my home city. It would be a hit-it-and-quit-it. But fuck, after hitting it, I sure as hell didn’t want to quit it.

We made arrangements and he followed through. He walked into my hotel room. A little shorter than I, his photos failed to do him justice. A little shaggy, brown hair, full beard but not a bear at all. Yet too handsome to be a cub. And not too hairy when his clothes came off. Just hairy enough. His hairy wasn’t wiry but soft. His kisses weren’t soft though. He had a tendency to bite down and make the kiss so deep, you thought he was trying to suck your brains out through your throat.

Not that it was a bad thing.

We were tumbling on the bed naked and quickly. We were intertwined and fighting for a kind of dominance. Was he going to be the bossy bottom getting what he wanted or was I going to be the top controlling the pace of what  was going to happen that night?

I liked him (at least up to this point) that I didn’t want him out of the room fast.

As a conquest, I knew I’d get his ass. He wanted it too bad and I came too far for him not to get it. But this boy had a fucking agenda.

When he went to sucking my cock, he went down deep and then I felt it… his tongue brushed across my balls. This continued. The little fucker had read my entry from Feb. 4, “He’d Always Wanted My Load,” where I described the first time someone deep-throated me and licked my balls at the same time. He would not be outdone.

My CockHis technique proved to be better anyway. And he moved to accommodate my cock (yes, that’s my cock in the photo) by approaching it from a 69 position. This allowed me to play with his ass some. But he insisted he was there to work my cock and to relax.

And he did.

When he would finally let me into his ass, it would be a little at a time as his ass flexed, letting me in just enough and then tightening around it. His ass accommodated me easily but tightly. And he’d been practicing, flexing and working it. This boy wanted to be a world-class bottom.

Compared to every other bottom I’d fucked. Of the thousands I’ve fucked, he indeed entered my top 10 fucks ever. Dare I say, he was among the top five.

The night blurred with intense fucking, passionate fucking, riding my cock, begging for my cum, kissing, sucking and pretty much everything.

We talked, laughed and had a session that lasted several hours.

When I would finally mount him, he begged for my load like I knew he would. He wanted my load inside him, anyway possible. Deep and hard, stay inside and to mark my territory. The hours of fucking meant I was in top mode, which meant I had to really pummel him. He took it. Begging for more. Begging for my load. Poz. Neg. Infected. Clean. It didn’t matter to him. He just wanted to sample my DNA inside him.

That’s the kind of cum slut I love.

And I gave it to him.

Deep. I shoved it in and paused as my cock throbbed and began to shoot out the warm spunk into his hot hole.

I stayed inside him for quite a while before finally slipping out and he licked what he could off, although most ended up within his ass.

Then I did something that totally surprised me. Something I’ve probably not done since my twenties or maybe even my teens.

I sucked him off.

Yea, I guess this wouldn’t have been a hit-it-and-quit-it situation. Maybe he’s not boyfriend material, but at least fuck-friends situation and I’d really love to take him out breed him or get him bred. We have mutual interests. But he’s in Philadelphia. And I am here.

But I have the memory. And I’ll just have to see if I can top it with someone else.

Any takers?

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Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: How Should I Feel?

Tonight I sit with a weird feeling creeping up my spine. I find myself reduced back to a boy, curled up in guilt and a little confused.

Long-time readers will know my story but I imagine most won’t, so I should set the stage with my original Dark Passenger. The man who launched the twisted fuck I would become. In a very real and unusually strange sense, that man indeed is the genesis of a myself, out and very comfortable and confident in my skin. While I would like to think I’d eventually maneuvered my way out of the closet, I doubt seriously if I’d ever become as tolerant of others or even admitted to myself or other what a barebacking sleaze I can be.

As a youth, I was molested by this man. Most of the entries regarding him and what he did can be found here, if you choose to read:

If you choose not, it’s fine. Know that from some point until around 18, I had sexual encounters with this man — a neighbor and trusted friend of my parents.

So the reason for my odd sensation is the call today to notify me that my molester is in hospice.

The call to me is not unusual, I guess, since he and his wife were friends of my parents and, now that both my parents are dead, the community feels as if someone in my family should be notified and, technically, I am the head of the family. The local community is not aware what this sleaze did to me or countless others.

I spoke on the phone in an even tone, thanking the person for the notification. It wasn’t a time to be emotional. But now that I sit alone with the thought of him dying, I feel something. Perhaps it is the last of my own childhood finally passing away with the man who stole it from me, since so much left me when my parents left in the last few years. Perhaps it’s a kind of happiness or vengeance, knowing the fucker is finally suffering and will befall his own fate he promised me — that one-way ticket to hell. Or maybe it’s my own fear that I might be closer to death as well.

Or is it the fear that I might become the molester like him. The other day, a 14-year-old on Twitter solicited me. Now he had been posing as a 23-year-old. And when he admitted to being 14, I blocked him. And as I wrote, I volunteered at times for my own molestation. I wonder if the world were wired when I was 14 what I might have done.

So I sit, quietly contemplating a big-dicked old man as he teeters at the edge of the abyss. And I wonder why I give a shit and I wonder why I even care.

 

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