Tag Archives: lurk


#CloseGhosts and My Recent Travels

You can’t see them. You can’t touch them. You just knew that one moment they were there and the next, they were gone. Is it a mystery? Some phenomenon worthy of Bigfoot, the Bermuda Triangle and what pills Paula Abdul takes before going on air?

Probably not.

I call them #CloseGhosts. And I’ve recently had close encounters of the plentiful kind them on recent travels.

With the conviction of a serial killer who proclaims his innocence, these lovely bottoms in far away cities and town lurk upon websites (like BarebackRT.com or this blog), Twitter or other online hook-up destinations, assuring traveling a top when he arrives in their town, city or other geographic region that an ass will be ready to fuck at his demand.

Alas, a phenomenon occurs when that top arrives and is in close proximity to the bottom. The cum dump vanishes into thin air, often with some wispy excuse similar to “the dog ate my homework” or “the check is in the mail.”

Case #1: London Twitter Twink & the Quickening

london-postcardWe all know that London is notoriously known for all the ghosts that wander its streets and waterways, its old buildings and strange little alleys. However, having had men upon men beg me for my load for years, I figured one might be legit among them.

My BBRT exploded. I had more than 300 messages at one time and maintaining control of it via my iPhone came close to impossible. One gentleman who seemed legit got pissy because I’d not responded to him immediately upon arrival in town, so he crossed himself off the list. The rest where the normal lot. I waded through them all, trying to invite someone over for a breeding to my centrally located hotel near the West End, not far from Trafalgar Square.

Too far. Apparently, Londoners go to bed early on Bank Holidays and weren’t interested as I attempted to find someone to fuck about 21:00 to 22:00 (that’s 9 p.m. to 10 p.m. for us bloody Americans).

Then a tweet came in from a twink. How’s London, he asked. I replied. It became a conversation of sorts that moved to direct messages and a bit more privacy when I mentioned my trip would be so much better if I had an ass to breed.

“I can help you out there,” he said. “I’d love for you to load my ass. Big fan of your blog.”

He asked when I was leaving. Told him this was my last night. I asked where he was. He said, “Covent Gardens.”

Boom. That’s the neighborhood I’m in. I’m over at the… I listed the hotel.

Pause. Double pause.

“Oh, it’s too bad I’m not at home tonight. I’m staying with a friend in the country.”


Case #2: The Early Alabama Bird Misses the Juicy Worm


I’d started on BBRT with this hottie and turned to text messaging. We were getting ready for some good fun, all planned out in Alabama. I’d let him know that it would be a late arrival for me and he’d told me we’d have “several hours” of play.

I’d even arranged a nice corner room, away from everyone in the hotel, because I had a feeling this fuck might get a bit out of control.

I don’t usually trust bottoms. Bottoms in general are not trustworthy. But I’d grown to trust this one.

I arrived just after 9 p.m. and texted. No response. Another text. No response. Around 9:30, I get a response saying he’d fallen asleep. Then, “he didn’t know I was going to be so late.”

Late? It’s 9:30!

We’d been setting this up for a month.

The shitty little cocktease went on to berate me for almost an hour about being “late.” Of course the little fucker didn’t get off so easily in this from me.

Obviously, he loved the chase, but actually fucking… well, I’m guessing his balls hadn’t quite dropped yet. My timing was never the issue.


Cases 3 & 4: The Revolutionary Missing Men

Bareback top visiting New HampshireIn this history-rich part of America just north of Boston, finding fuckable asses aren’t easy. I knew this. I planned for it with a backup ass. I found them both and, as it turned out, both claimed to want it.

One said he’d be online on BBRT. Te other asked me to text. My #1 choice, the textable ass, got a text.

We pinged a bit before I asked him to come over.

Pause. He then, for some reason, told me his actual location. In Maine. And invited me over.

Baffled, I asked what was up.

“I don’t have a car,” was his response.

Now it wasn’t as if both of us were in downtown Boston. This little hottie claimed in the middle of bumfuck Maine, he had no transportation, after knowing I was visiting from out of town.


Back-up plan into action. Logged onto BBRT. Sure enough, he was there. Message. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait longer. And more. I’m tired. Just go to fucking bed.


This ghost responded when I was no longer close, in Boston, about to fly home.

Just the Four?

No. I have so many more stories. But these are the four most recent. I did debate divulging Twitter names, BBRT handles showing a photo or two, but I’m going to leave it alone. After all, these #CloseGhosts could be #Catfish for all I know.

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Bareback top visiting New Hampshire

Travel Diary: Bottoms Blah Blah Blah

Flakes are universal, along with fakes and catfish Open-New-Window-External. This I know.

But when it comes to superstar flaking out, New Hampshire takes the fucking cake. In fact, my visit to Concord might take the bakery.

Allow me to explain.

I always post future destinations in my travel plans on my BarebackRT.com profile Open-New-Window-External. I notify readers here Open-New-Window-External that I’m visiting. Of course, all this is tweeted Follow on Twitter and ends up on my Facebook Open-New-Window-External.

To enhance it all further, I post on Craigslist an add that looks something like the following:

TOP blogger visiting looking for bottom writing inspiration – m4m (Concord Area)

I’m a blogger who writes about my sexual experiences on the road with bottoms I encounter… My blog is read by thousands every single day, reproduced on several sites and even some entries end up on a famous porn studio’s website.

Perhaps you might like to be the inspiration for a piece when I slide into town next week?

I don’t identify the bottoms I fuck, just write about the experience…

Hit me up with your info — a pic, stats, etc. I’ll respond with my blog details so you can check it out. We’ll go from there.

The site contains a lot of information beyond my fucks. And if you happen to be a top, we can tag team or maybe you’d like to try sitting on my cock… it’s a perfect 7 inches cut.


P.S. The only major requirement (other than bottoming for me) is that you don’t smoke.

From all this, I do get a lot of inquiries. Most of them are lurkers who never intend to meet. This I get. It’s also an opportunity to find new people to read my blog since not all barebackers have found the Bareback Brotherhood or my blog.

With many there’s the “I just fuck safe,” and then more than half switch their story.  But some don’t. Yet, with my blog, it becomes a jerk-off destination for many.

When I do finally arrive, I e-mail the best back to see if they’re still up for that fuck.

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Arriving in Concord

My arrival in Concord allowed me to long in locally to BarebackRT.com, Grindr, Scruff and Manhunt.net, all of which use a geographic tool to notify one who’s closest. I also posted to Craigslist.

Two men of the many interested e-mailed me back saying they were still up for the fuck, but one 4 p.m. pump-and-dump session became a no-show with regrets arriving several hours later because he was “stuck somewhere.”


All of my online activity netted me a lot of interest. A lot. I was fresh meat in a town that didn’t see a lot. Of course, I got the usuals…

People just wanting to collect photos, see my cock or face.

I had one prospect on BarebackRT… he was a fucking hot dude in his late twenties… seemed like a good one. But here’s where we begin one issue that baffled me for Concord.

He had no vehicle.

I needed to come to him and pick him up, bring him back to my hotel to fuck and then take him home.

Now please check out the map.

Concord is not a major city. It’s 1½ hours north of Boston. It’s not a walking city. How can you not have a car and survive, especially when you’re not in college?

This turned into a theme of the night. No car. No transportation. My car is in the shop. My car is in the shop due to the storm. I don’t have a car.

By the way, none of these bottoms ever asked where I was staying to see if I happened to be within walking distance.

I don’t guess Northeastern tops teach bottoms they’re the ones who need to make the effort Opens new window of a page on this blog.

While some of them were hot enough for me to go and fetch them, it turns out I didn’t rent the car but a colleague did. I simply wasn’t an option.

Then came the other morons.

I also get a collection of those who want to postpone. These guys appear in every city, without fail. I wonder if they ever fuck. All conversations go something like this.

THEM: “How long you in town?”

ME: Just tonight (no matter how long I’m in town, I always say I’m here “just tonight”)

THEM: “Damn! It’s getting late tonight.”

ME: It’s just 9:30.

THEM: “I know but I have to get up early. I wish you were here…” fill in the blank with “tomorrow night” or “this weekend”

In other words, they can never come over now or today.

Proximity Alert

My first promising opportunity looked like a threesome, which I won’t get into too much detail on. In his early thirties and a scruffy blond, wanted to know if I wanted to fuck both him and another guy, in his early twenties — both online at the same time. As if on cue, the younger one sends me a message.

The younger one asks if I’ve got poppers, which of course I do.

Then he asks if I’ve got anything “more fun.”


“Dude,” I respond back. “You’re well aware I’ve come into town. That means I flew. That means I went through security. At an airport. Are you fucking kidding me? Why would I have any drugs?”

He responds, “Oh yea, I guess you’re right. But I still want to fuck.”

Anyway, the vibe is off and the duo then go even more weird. The young one claims the old one is stalking him. The old one claims they’re “together.”

I don’t want to get into the shit. Kick them both to the curb.

Right Downstairs

One last opportunity happens as a guy indicates he’s in a hotel. I ask which one and it turns out he’s in the same one as I am.


He won’t disclose his room, so I give him mine, knowing my colleague isn’t on that floor. He tells me he needs 10 minutes to shower and get cleaned up.

Those 10 minutes pass. Then another 10. Another 10. Yet another 10. And at 45 minutes, I finally message him.

He apologizes, saying it’s taking him longer than he thought to clean out his ass.

Whatever, I say, just get his ass to my room.

Then he says come to his.

I tell him I don’t have his room number.

He says okay, he’s now putting on his clothes.

At an hour after we started this exchange, he says he’s on his way.

Then I get a text asking me if I’ll suck his dick too.

I’m baffled. I just ask, “What?”

Then he writes, “I need to run by the front desk real quick.”

Fuck that.

This fucker is just playing me.

“Forget it.”

He gets all bent out of shape. Says he won’t go by the front desk. Blah blah blah.

After some back and forth, I say he can some to my room, but he has three minutes to get there.

He says he doesn’t like my attitude.

I tell him to fuck off.

The next morning, he begs me to come to his room to fuck him.

I tell him I’m not disturbing  guests actually staying in the hotel.


Perhaps the little fucker actually was staying in the hotel or maybe he was one of the guys I’d e-mailed earlier and said I was in town and knew the hotel from that. I’ll never know. I’m proud I never knocked on anyone’s door. That shit pisses me off. He probably kept delaying things to try and get someone else to come over and knock on my door but, like me, couldn’t find anyone to do it.

My luck is your luck, fucker.

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Fucking Tweaker

Fucking Tweaker

Several sex clubs have been popping up all over the seedy part of town, so late one night, I’d exhausted my usual haunting grounds and decided to try something new. I wandered to the new place (I’ll leave it unnamed, as you’ll see why in a moment). As I wandered through the corners with shadows lurking, I found plenty of mouths to feed, but too few asses. All except this one tweaker who stalked me a little too much.

I don’t like tweakers in general. He was cute enough, but he staggered through the hallway throwing himself at anything under 40 and me (afterall, I’m not under 40). He’d scored at least two men I’d seen. But after a couple of hours of mediocre blowjobs and the only ass offered up turned out to be a too lubed fifty-something (come on guys, give me moderately lubed so I can pretend it’s somewhat tight) I needed to get some and get home.

I let the tweaker attempt a blowjob, but with the teethgrinding that comes from too much drugs, they want to chew, so I gave up. His teeth grated across my sensitive flesh too often so I went for what I wanted. Luckily, his ass felt like it only had one load in it, as I positioned it into place and poised my cock at the hole.

“You got poppers?” he muttered.

I handed him my bottle. He opened it and snorted. After a moment he stood upright. I pushed him back down. He stood back up.

“What kind of poppers are those?” he asked. I didn’t answer. Most questions from tweakers are rhetorical. They aren’t waiting for an answer. “Damn those are fucking strong. Too strong. I gotta get out of here.”

He stood up again. He made motions toward the latched plywood door but I pulled him back and pushed him back into position.

“Listen you little druggie fucker,” I growled low and into his ear. “You’ve been cockblocking me all fucking night, following me around. You want my cock? Now you’re going to get it. So bend the fuck over and take it!”

The beat of the music drown out most noise other than the loudest. He began to whimper. “I don’t think I can, man. That shit fucked me up.”

“No shithead, whatever you took before the poppers fucked you up,” I said.

I bent him over and found his hole and pushed my cock inside him. He tried to stand up but I pushed him back into place. Keeping him bent over, maneuvered his body into the corner. My thrusts keeping him there.

I used his hole. It was over in a few minutes, his ass responded well, opening up to my cock well, the cum inside acting as lubricant. I took a snort of the fine poppers to bring myself to climax, adding to the mix.

I pulled out, using his shirt tail to wipe my cock clean and zip up. He stood upright after a moment and wavered, looking at me through hazy eyes. “Are you done?”

“Take a cab home, man,” I said. “You shouldn’t drive.”

His pants around his ankles, his shirt wide open, I left him there.

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Travel Diary, Day 4: Unexpected Threesome

Travel Diary, Day 4: Unexpected Threesome

Bathhouses can be hot. They can also be disastrous.

Upon leaving my hotel with a friend, we hopped into the cab of a very cute Latino driver who chatted us up immediately. As we headed toward the gay strip in town, my bud asked about what places we could anticipate for fun tonight. The cabbie asked for what we were looking and my friend just mentioned fun.

“EXACTLY what kind of fun?” the cute Latino driver pressed.

I sat silently in the back seat as my friend rattled off ideas and finally settled on “where the hot men are tonight.”

The cabbie then listed the bars on the strip and a few other places in town before continuing: “If you’re looking for a bathhouse, I know where one is too.”

“Oh?” my friend asked. “REALLLLLLLLYYYY.”

We were dropped off in front of the “hot” bar in town where Latino men frequented. After a drink (and finding nothing much to look at) we wandered over to a couple of more places before finally hoofing it to the strip bar.

As someone lucky enough to be from the Atlanta area where fully nude dancers swing dick at Swinging Richards, I found it a little lame (and a little too well lit). Still, the drag queen behind the bar poured well and we spent the bulk of the evening enjoying ourselves before heading to the cab.

My friend surprisingly hopped into the warmth of the cab and ordered us to the one bathhouse the previous cabbie had mentioned.

Executive Health Club

402 Austin Street
San Antonio, TX 78215
(210) 299-1400

The look of the parking lot proved to be the first giveaway and I almost — unfortunately, almost — suggested we move on. But we went in and paid the fee.

Prices may have been executive but the place turned out to be less than impressive. First, the owners seemed very interested in the activities of the guest, seeming to wander the halls with flashlights. One always seemed to be mopping floors near the guests (what few there were) and ignoring the filthy state of other places (including my own room).

Provided lighting, when available, turned out to be fluorescent. Yes, bright and unforgiving. No space turned out of be dark and with the hosts wandering the halls with bright LED beams of light, we were soon deciding to leave.

Very soon. Three guests other than us — none appealing to either. We were soon out of our towels and back into street clothes.


827 East Elmira Street
San Antonio, TX 78212
(210) 223-2177 ‎

A quick Google check soon put us headed to a place called ACI and, just inside the door, we were decidedly happier with the opportunities available here. The lighting a much better option already, we were buzzed in and off to find our rooms in the maze.

And a maze it turned out to be. I don’t think I could retrace to even suggest a layout for how the ACI was organized. As we ventured into the shadowed places and hallways that twisted around the place, we noticed the men. Lots of men. Fat and skinny, smokers and non, young and old, normal and buff, hot and not.

A much, much better choice indeed.

We stripped down and head wandered off in separate directions after a brief float in a spa.

The first few rounds, I attempted to figure out my placement (and where potential hotties might lurk). My assessment of the hottie situation soon degraded into my understanding that this particular bathhouse turned out to be among the more complex mazes I’ve tried to solve.

But as I finally got my bearings a little, I soon discovered the shadows where men of all sizes lurked, many of them hot. In one room, wearing his boots and briefs, sat a man who obviously was military. He avoided my gaze, but I took in his six-foot-six frame, wide but smooth chest the rest of his exposed body. But I never ventured close enough to threaten him or even creep him out.

Among others, a lanky Latino with smooth body and a mohawk haircut, a shorter, thin athlete with a tiny cock jerked in the open for hopes of attracting something for his mouth. But I was on an ass-hunt.

I stopped in one playroom, built literally with four levels that would allow for three of the four users to have their cocks sucked comfortably. He approached me directly. At five-foot-six or so, his small frame certainly enticed me. There’s something about fucking a smaller man, watching my cock disappear into his tiny body.

He dropped his towel and reached for my cock. This gave me opportunity to brush my fingers down the small of his back and over his ample, plush ass. As I reached his hole, I tapped it with my middle finger. It was moist and twitched open as I touched it.

“You want to fuck me?” his first words to me, as he bent down to suck me.

“Yes,” I muttered back.

His head bobbed on my already hard cock. He paused, my cock in his grip: “You have a room?” And back to work, slicking my cock up.

“Yes,” again a one-word response, but I was enjoying this game.

When he paused next, he stood and we walked to my room. As we plodded down the darkened hallways, I got lost yet again but after he got the room number, he guided us ably. We approached the room and I passed in the hallway another vision of beauty. Perfectly muscled and about five-nine, an Asian man. A tattoo armband surrounded his bicep.

I stared into his eyes as we passed and reached the room. He turned around. While Latino stood on my right, Asian stood on my left. Both waiting for me to open the door. Soon it was open and we all three stepped into the room and closed it. Towels dropped. Asian muscle many laid down and I made the first move, diving to his cock.

I’d already sensed who Asian was. His type. A passive. One who arrived to be worshiped. One you laid back and would let anything happen. ANYTHING.

My Latin friend joined me in the cock worship and found the most unusual manscaping. From the top of his cock up to his bellybutton, he had a perfectly smooth but distinctly linear treasure trail. He’d shaved the rest. His chest was so smooth although the tanned roughness allowed me to see this man worshiped the sun.

I found his perk nipples, about a quarter radius and standing up like pointy cones. I nibbled and licked, crossing the muscular divide to find the other nipple. Then we kissed. Was aggressive, the one non-passive thing he did.

With my Latino working Asian’s cock I stood and walked around to behind him, looking at his smooth ass with just a touch of hair down the crack. I positioned my cock at his hole and he reached back, opening it wide to make it receptive.

Tonight, I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to eat his ass and the condom tucked under Latino’s taut armband didn’t make be pause. I found it and pushed inside him.

I slid inside with resistance… not from him but from a lubed ass that had opportunity to dry out some. But soon my cock slid in and out without any resistance. So I fucked and fucked hard. I could have popped at any moment but I waited.

Latino had done as I had hoped. After sucking Asian’s cock, he’d moved to his balls and ass. Asian’s legs were up and his ass exposed. I’d reached up and touched his moist hole, which opened up immediately.

So I pulled out and pushed Latin out of my way. I approached Asian who left his legs up and hole exposed. I simply put my cock head at his hole and pushed all the way in. one movement.

Asian grunted but never pulled away. He asked for the poppers, but his passive position stayed intact and I continued to use all my force to fuck his ass. It was tighter and without a doubt the hole I wanted more. The dear Latino tolerated the intensity between us, rubbing against me.

I took the poppers, snorted and did what I intended.

I bred him.

I just let my spunk fly on the sly into his hole. I never grunted or changed pace. I just bred him silently and quickly. Relishing it. Enjoying the feel of my cock covered with own on cum and ass juices mingling together in this muscle boy’s raw ass.

I would pull out and fuck the Latino some more, using my cum covered cock. When I finally pretended to cum, in his ass, Asian man stood up immediately and left. Latino boy lingered a while longer before he left.

One thought he got my load but didn’t. One thought he missed my load, but he got it.

Both were thoroughly fucked.

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