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Key West Postcard

Travel Diary: A Little Latin Spice to Make My Tropical Vacation Memorable

It’s funny how things don’t work out the way one plans.

I arrived in Key West on a Wednesday night. I expected a build up of ass to peak with a crescendo over the weekend and a tapering off until I left the following Wednesday.

Alas, that did not occur.

Not that I was hunting for hole. In a way, I expected it to find me. I had offers, but I decided to be a bit picky rather than accepting just any ass thrown my way. Interestingly, I think the whole relaxing and doing nothing actually calmed down my hormones and made me crave ass less. Plus I got my fill of naked boys and attention at clothing optional destinations including my B&B and the nightclubs I frequented.

After the weekend concluded and Monday inched along, that itch rose a bit and I realized I’d built a hefty load in my balls that needed to find a home — and soon.

Unfortunately, BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window showed little sign of life, with Scruff and Grindr not too far behind and Jack’d so far netted me nothing. I posted on Craigslist using a generic top looking for bottom post and lucked up with a few potentials. I’d been posting on CL for a while — mostly my “top blogger coming to town and looking for bottom inspiration” ads with little luck (except for the hot guy who’d blown me off).

I got a mixture of responses, a few of which were legit among the flakes. One caught my eye and it wasn’t just the fact he was 20 years old Latino visiting the island. He’d offered his phone number early in the exchange and we began texting almost immediately after when he asked, out of the blue: “Are you the top blogger?”

“Blogger?”

“I figured you were,” he answered, without a confirmation. “It’s really cool if you are.”

“What are my chances if I am?” I wrote back.

“I’d say your chances are really good.”

Within a few minutes, we were meeting on Duval Street and headed back to my B&B.

In shorts, flip-flops and a Hollister t-shirt, he looked like the vision of someone from an advertisement. Smooth with very few specks to even call freckles dotting his face, he was perfectly tan and his wavy black hair just cropped perfectly against his scalp. His deep hazel eyes glanced me over as I took his broad hand into mine and we shook. He was warm — not as much in demeanor as in physically, like he’d just crawled out of a tanning bed.

Our chit chat seemed almost about nothing important as we compared our lodging choices. Soon we were walking through the gate and into the courtyard. I gave a little tour of the property and we ended up in my room. With the enthusiasm of his age, he soon removed all his clothes.

His body proved to be one of those not-an-ounce-of-extra-fat-or-flesh perfection. A mixture of tan and olive, his smooth skin was blemished rarely by a freckle. He didn’t contain any extra muscle either, so he didn’t pack on huge pectorals. His legs were almost hairless and he’d shaved his pubes off. His balls, drawn tight up into his cock, looked hairless as well.

I moved in closer but he pushed me away.

“I don’t really kiss,” he said.

I tried not to seem disappointed, but I was. His fat lips seemed too inviting for me not to lick just a little.

“You still suck, don’t you?” I motioned toward my cock.

He didn’t answer, instead moving toward my half hardness and  moving his mouth over its delicate skin.

He needed more practice but not bad. He kept his lips and mouth frozen while the bobbing of his head provided all the friction to bring me up to full mast. Still, I didn’t care. I played with the hair on the top of his head and then pulled him up and moved toward his cock. All the while I let my fingertips dance across his body until my mouth found the tip of his cock.

Yes, I sucked his cock and he inflated to an impressive 8 inches. Much larger than I dared reach. And fuck if he wasn’t thick with a slight bend to the left. The impressive size seemed even more humongous thanks to all the missing hair. Honestly, this boy wasn’t too hairy or had been shaving for a long while as I didn’t sense any prickly around his cock base.

I went for the balls — a little rougher, mind you, but still very smooth. Youth, it seems, can be so very tasty. As I began to lift his legs, he didn’t stop me and I went in search of his hole by taste.

My tongue found a crevice but it didn’t seem right. I pulled back.

What I saw happened to be among the most unique sights ever.

Most people have a ring around the rosie, so to speak. The external sphincter’s fleshtone appears a little darker or lighter, depending on the man. Sometimes it’s a few rings.

Not him. His skin maintained its perfectly olive bronzed tone up until his asshole, which appeared as nothing more than tiny folds like a quarter-inch crucifix. I’d never seen an ass like his. I wondered if he had any sensitivity in his ass.

As I returned my tongue to his ass, I soon discovered my answer.

His thick 8-incher had been hard but very pliable — like a dildo. But as I went to work and the cross-shaped pucker widened, his cock became more rigid — more similar to a vibrator. Soon it grew even thicker and longer. It stood in place, attention as the most dedicated soldier.

As with any 20-year-old, he hadn’t quite learned to share attention, used to the men who lathered upon him kudos on his good-looks and great body. But he took the subtle direction well as I reached for some Spunklube Link Opens in a New Window and began to spread it on his asshole and use my fingertips to tease that holy hole open just a bit more.

I righted myself, proceeding to poke my cockhead against the hole.

“Mind if I sit on it?” he asked.

“Works for me,” I said, rolling off and onto my back.

My cock too was rigid and pointing at my belly button. A string of precum dangled off in anticipation as he maneuvered in front and slowly lowered himself. But he did so without hesitation, with ease and sat down completely to the hilt within moments.

He was a natural bottom.

We’d never discussed condoms and, as he’d read this blog, knew I’d bareback. He seemed at ease with the fucking and enjoyed it, but didn’t vocalize a lot. Truth is, I’m not very loud either.

His chute adhered to my cock so smoothly, it was a fuck never to forget. Like a key sliding into a slot with just enough space for a perfect fit, his ass walls just seemed to fold into every skin fold of my cock. At first, he would move a lot to try to give me pleasure — something I found humorous since the movement seemed almost robotic, just like his sucking. However, thanks to his perfectly pliable ass, it didn’t feel robotic as the skin’s friction would give way just perfectly.

I soon found myself losing control of my own choice of when to cum.

I suggested he relax and let me do the fucking. Interestingly, he’d read my 11 Commandments for a True Bottom Opens a new window from this blog and attempted to adhere to at least some of them, even asking permission to play with his own cock.

“Just don’t cum first,” I said. “I want to be sure I get to cum.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “The fucking isn’t over if I do cum.”

That made me want to test it out by having him cum on my cock then letting me fuck him with his cum, but I dare not risk not being able to load this boy up.

We settled into a leisurely pace and soon I put him on his stomach, staring at his hairless and smooth bubble butt before shoving my cock inside and mounting up for the breeding of his life. I snorted poppers and let myself lose control, asking him only once if he wanted it.

“Yes,” he said. “Give it to me.”

That one positive response was enough that I lost it in that perfect hole and began to flood it. And when I say flood, I mean flood. Since I hadn’t cum in about a week, I let loose a torrent out of my balls that soon lubricated that space between my cock and his ass walls. I pushed it in deeper.

“Just don’t cum inside me,” he said.

Oops, I’m thinking. It’s a little too late.

As I’d mentioned, we’d been fucking very quietly so I hadn’t really done the whole, “I’m cumming,” and grunting thing. I just generally don’t make a show of it. And here I am, pushing my cum deeper inside him and he’s asking me not to cum inside him.

I pretend like I’m having a build up to cum and I pull out and grunt, pretending to cum with my head on his back. As he knows about the truth now, he’s probably thinking “did I or did I not feel the splash of cum on my back?”

The funny thing: As I rolled off of him, he climbed right back into my cock and rode it until he squirted. And let me tell you, he squirted all over. Some went over my head, some landed on my cheek, my chest, etc. He looked away for a moment and I tasted it, just to sample some from the fountain of youth. He’d never know. After all, we weren’t kissing.

We chatted for a bit. Luckily he never put on his shirt until he left. I’d gladly have kept him there all night. But I sure as hell missed the kissing part. He asked if I would write about him and I expressed that I wanted to, knowing that I’d bred him and wondering if he’d really noticed.

He requested I withhold his home state and where he was staying as well as any photos he’d sent me, which I reluctantly agreed in order for you, dear reader, to read this. The rest is basically true, most especially the part about me breeding his ass when he asked me not to do so.

If he’d really been reading my blog, he’d know I always make a deposit. I don’t fuck with condoms and I don’t pull out. No matter how hot, how young or how great your ass is. As a matter of fact, the hotter, younger or better your ass, the more I can guarantee I’m going to breed it.

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Don't be a dick

Breaking the Silence: Seeking Sufficient ROI from My Friends

So where have I been?

Some of you might have seen me on Twitter with occasional posts. Not much elsewhere. As I’ve struggled over the last few months, exerting myself upon multiple fronts to find an occupation for myself, the results failed to be fruitful. Each provided a life lesson for me. And I sit upon the precipice and ponder the path I’ve taken.

I use people, most specifically bottoms for my own pleasure. As I have ventured a little further in recent times, I’ve opened myself up to a little more sensation but still, my intention is to mark my territory. I won’t settle for a condom, insisting that my cock slide raw into an ass and spray my DNA markers in that most intimate of places to say I was here.

I’ve never been delusional about how the world works as well. While lacking the literal fucking and breeding, I’ve been proverbially bent over and marked through my life in many ways. And I let it happen. Perhaps my own need to breed back is my response to how society decided to use my intelligence, creativity and good will.

Now approaching eight months of unemployment, struggling with comprehending why my talents are overqualified and too advanced for today’s workforce, I find myself questioning much. And then comes the sexual side of it all. The other night, I lay beneath a young man just making out. And a sensation came across like someone flipped on a switch I’d not felt in eons. Of course, we all feel it on occasion.

A lunch arrangement and then when the time comes, it’s postponed and finally cancelled with a stinging “it was a mistake” to even suggest meeting. A sudden flash of anger and hurt then returned to calm as I’ve been here before, kicked to the curb for dropping my guard and giving humanity hope for a moment.

If only I’d bred him when I had the chance. My territory went unmarked.

A realization came over me about the number of people who use me as well. My so-called friends who only use me for their benefit and return so little back. Karma?

Funny because I’ve been cutting some people out of my life. If I don’t see enough Return On Investment from my friends, well, they’re getting kicked to the curb as well.

As a result, I think Karma has kicked my ass-supply. I’ve found it dwindles some, of late. I’m sure some cum-hungry sluts find the ass use a mutually beneficial relationship, but my one-off, use your ass as a masturbation device doesn’t often work that well.

Part of me still hopes for a buddy in Atlanta who can fuck, hang out, bareback, etc. I don’t see it happening. And that occasional need for affinity comes and goes. But perhaps I should stick to an equation, a simple mathematical value of what I get for what I give.

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Making Music

Making Music

From Mark: This happened last week…

I wandered upstairs as the throbbing lights added to my headache. Despite the hint of impending headache hell, my blue balls ached for release. In fact, I knew partial cause of the pounding in my cranium might be due to a backlog of sperm. I needed relief. Satisfactory relief.

My last visit to this sanctuary of late had been disappointing as tops one after another expected service and I found bottoms being picky instead of accommodating to the crowd of hard cocks. I’d finally succumbed to a sucking, small-handed cutie who tried his best but his lightweight oral skills didn’t have enough to get me to pop, so I jerked onto his tongue. He seemed appreciative, but fucking hell if I didn’t leave all that satisfied.

Help make Mark’s Big Bareback Birthday Blast Bash a little better! Mark is looking for ideas and feedback. If you can’t come, help make the bash little better while he’s out of work with a donation. Learn more about the gift-giving effort.

I looked down a dead-end hall and saw a man on his knees sucking a nice-sized cock on a good-looking guy. I’m a polite guy and never invade action unless invited, so I stayed away, but I was disappointed a little. The good-looking guy let a troll suck his cock and that evening (at least it seemed to me) we were flush with better choices.

Sometimes, though, trolls are good at suck jobs. They know the score and understand that, on the hierarchy of the sex club, they rank at the bottom.

As I made the rounds, I ended up in a booth with a nice bearded man who did me the favor of getting me nice and hard so I could leave with a bulge. He’d bolted as soon as I’d reached my full seven inches for fear, I believe. He’d touched my cock with uncertainty through the gloryhole and I could feel his hand shake nervously. But even if he left because I didn’t meet his size-queen requirements, I didn’t care.

It’s always helpful to get inflated since some are not patient to bring me to full mast and now that I was there, I could proudly walk around and show off a bit. I didn’t bother zipping up but my loose jeans did well enough covering.

As I rounded through the downstairs, a few stares checked the bulge, just as I’d hoped, but no one offered and it seemed to be the common eye darts down then up. The nice beefy tank top guy ignored me completely, even though I knew later he’d be screaming someone’s name as he rode a cock on a gloryhole. So obviously a bottom but acting butch. He wanted a daddy to out butch him.

Hated that shit.

After a while of playing tag with a cute, young, married business man who couldn’t make up his mind, I wandered to the darkroom to hang out a bit. As I leaned against the wall and my eyes adjusted to the darkness, no one else was in the space. Within a few moments, two other men joined me — neither of particular interest and standing far away — then shortly after, the good-looking guy from the dead-end hallway showed up. He positioned himself near me.

Another guy showed up and went for one of the guys to my right. I shifted to the good-looking guy who moved toward me. Within moments, both our cocks out and in each others’ hands. A little longer than mine and tapered, I was thicker. Soon, the guy to the right was abandoned and stepped toward us with a larger, thicker cock. I had both cocks, jerking in sync before the crowd invaded and suddenly we were surrounded by too many men. Both the good-looking guy and I had the same thought and, fighting a little claustrophobia, tucked our cocks away, zipped up and left.

It took a bit, but we were eventually upstairs together in a room where he — interestingly enough — turned up the lights. As we jerked each others’ cocks with a delicate touch, he got on his knees first to suck mine. His technique proved quite good. Teeth far removed and lightly working me with instrumental flow and tongue action. When he stood, I would reach under his shirt to tug at his nipples, which were nicely tough. He offered absolutely no response, but in those moments, I noticed the mascot, high school name and the word “music” underneath.

A high school teacher — how naughty he was being.

As I knelt to suck him, I tickled his balls and worked back a bit to see if his asshole was accessible, but those buttcheeks were clamped tight. How disappointing. Still, something said to keep going, so I did and eventually stood in the surrounding silence and let him go back to sucking me with the skill of someone who knew breath control and how to use his lips and tongue.

When it was my turn to kneel this time, his cheeks were not so clamped and I could tickle his hole. While the sphincter seemed shut for good, I knew it was a good sign. As I knelt the third time, I licked my fingers and they were deep in his ass within moments.

I’d fuck this music man.

And when I stood, he didn’t even attempt to kneel. I shifted around and soon he reached into his pocket. No condoms but a nice tube of lube. Soon he had his hands on the bed frame, I had my hands on his hips and he was easing back on my bare cock.

The smooth entry felt as if the prelude to a symphony were beginning. And as I would fuck, the pace would pick up and slow down. I would snort my poppers and fuck at a nice pace. His inside chute heating up from the friction, the lube becoming almost watery. Never changing my pace, I let myself ride the wave of music in my head, as the cymbals crashed and the drums rumbled, I shot my cream into his ass, thick and gooey.

He seemed to feel it, but still turned around and spoke for the first time ever, “Just don’t cum in my ass.”

I wanted to say, “Too late.”

But I didn’t. I maintained the charade and about three minutes later, pretended to cum, pulling out and flinging Santorum onto the floor.

We zipped up in silence. I don’t know if he came. But for those moments, our duet made beautiful music.

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Travel Diary: Like Ships Passing…

Travel Diary: Like Ships Passing…

A rarity indeed to find a man taller than I. His arrival had become doubtful after more than an hour had passed since our last communication, but when his knock came and I opened the door, all hesitation dropped. At 23, his broad shoulders defied his lanky frame. A dichotomy of beefy arms but thin basketball fingers. An age so young but a mouth so talented as he sucked my cock deeply as if he’d been trained in some southern Asian massage house.

His shyness gave way with prying from me as I wanted to see his chest, which proved worth while. Large round nipples with a dusting a dark hair but this perfection of a treasure trail from mid-pecs to pubes, inside which hid his cock. A grower, I wondered. But I let him suck me more. He seemed service-oriented and who be I to deny him his hunger?

But after a while, I did. I turned him onto his back and finally kissed him, the bitter starkness of the mixture of Crest and my own crotch seemed odd against my beard and his goatee. Yet a sweetness came through. We kissed a long while. Odd, since he seemed uninterested. His eyes stayed closed so I let him keep his fantasy of whatever man or creature he imagined he might be fucking. Here I spent my time enjoying the details of his being and taking in those nipples and that treasure trail. I lingered to find his limpness, but it did no good. He never hardened. So I moved on and tongued his balls only to work my way lower.

No resistance.

When my tongue first tickled his hole, his mouth opened and released a noise — not loud, mind you, but it was the first one uttered from his mouth other than the sloppy tones of sucking my cock. As my tongue darted into the folds of his skin and penetrated into that puckered darkness, more utterances escaped. So I began adding spit. Enough to make sure I would be able to do what I planned next.

When I came up for air was when I noticed his cock had risen as well. Not full-mast mind you. But it peaked from the dark thatch. As I kissed him, my cock found his spit-soaked hole and, without resistance, slipped just inside. Not all the way in, mind you. Just inside.

His eyes opened. Chocolate brown irises stared at me. He didn’t come off my cock. He didn’t move. So I applied a little more pressure and my cock slipped past that place of tightness into him. His eyes widened and then I knew.

He no longer fantasized about anyone else fucking him.

Into him more deeply, my cock penetrated and I fucked with a slow passion, only the spit between us. Kissing. Faster. Slower. I never slammed him. He was never that kind of fuck. We even talked a long while, my cock hard inside him. We liked how it felt to be connected.

When I came, he rode me. When he came, he rode me. Our moments criss-crossed within seconds of one another. No excuses, no discussions, we knew we were the proverbial ships passing in the night.

Travel Diary: We Hold These Truths to Be Evident

Travel Diary: We Hold These Truths to Be Evident

My self-imposed exile from this blog did not mean my cock went limp and my life stopped. Interestingly enough, not many people have reacted to my holiday. A dozen comments or so with a few mocking. Fuck off. I could care less.

But as I traveled of recent, boredom overtook, luring me into posting an ad that resulted in a hook up. At his request, my preferred scenarios would be played out. He’d come into my hotel room, strip, lay down and I’d fuck him. In fact, he specifically asked for 10 to 15 minutes of fucking before departing. No kissing. No sucking. Just raw fucking. He e-mailed from outside the hotel making sure I was hard.

Standing in the darkness, my cock slicked with Gun Oil, I stroked it beyond half hard and waiting for the common sound. He knocked politely then the door opened, the garish hallway fluorescents invaded then faded as the door slammed shut. I heard his clothes rustle and then saw him round the corner and land on the bed.

His six-foot frame across the ivory comforter proved to be all I needed. My cock snapped to full mast. No need for jacking. I stripped my shirt off, already without pants and hopped onto the bed.

My fingertips brushed against his skin and something passed between us, electric. While he couldn’t see me, he moaned, so I knew he felt it too. I didn’t delay, finding his asshole between the perfect mounds of smooth flesh. As I touched him, hints of manly musk and soap dusted the air around us.

Beneath me, I knew this man-creature could be something more than just another fuck. While he didn’t purr like a cat, I could feel as if this motor ran inside him. A kind of engine generating a heat that emanated from within him. Part of me wanted to believe it some sort of perpetual clock but another, more ominous part worried it a countdown timer with a bomb. Exactly how long until the explosion remained a mystery.

So my cock, rigid at its full seven inches, throbbing and anticipating what would come next, was bent with my right hand to meet my left, already teasing his hole. And I pressed the mushroom head, slick with oil and precum against the pucker. He arched his back and eased it in.

He groaned and moved slowly to meet my building pressure to push my entire rawness into his hole.

Not all holes feel the same. Each one feels different. Like a fingerprint, the sensation can be unique and the impression can be unlike any other. First, his had a warmth, a few degrees hotter than any other. Its formfitting tightness, of course, felt good. But then this throbbing and vibration began in his manhole. He worked it on his own, of course, but the movement seemed almost beyond his control — involuntary. The milking motion and more began to bring be closer to the edge but I resisted, knowing I’d been inside of him less than a minute.

Usually, I don’t give a shit. I’m about my own pleasure. But suddenly, with this bottom, I have something to prove. I’m going to make it to the 10-minute mark.

The sensation so enjoyable fades as I move my mind in another direction and I let it pass. Instead, I look down at the body beneath me, pumping in concert with me. I let myself touch him, not to force him deeper on my cock, but to feel his skin. It’s just below the left shoulder blade. Just beneath his skin, I could feel his muscles moving. His skin felt warm and a kind a charge seemed to keep my hand glued there as I glided it over his body, joined by my right hand. Soon I touched his shoulders, his back, his waist, his ass, then up and around to his abs to his pec and found his nipples, where he groaned in pleasure.

I didn’t stop there. I touched all I could, even his incredibly thick cock, rock hard and vibrating like his ass. Now I knew where it was coming from.

He was the first to break the silence.

“Oh man, that cock feels so fucking good.”

The ticking time bomb. I wondered. But finally, I asked.

“Would you like to try a different position?”

A beat. A pause. Like an eternity. He responded a simple, “Yea.”

My cock slid delicately and he scooted over. His eyes remained closed until my cock entered him again and they flew opened. He looked at me. His eyes didn’t close back. Maybe, just maybe, he liked what he saw.

My gaze broke away from his and glanced over the perfection of his body. While not muscularly defined, he defined masculinity. While perfectly smooth, the perfection of his body felt brutish. I leaned over just to smell him.

Intoxicating.

And the seconds blurred into minutes. His hole, a pleasure tunnel, incredible and immeasurable in my penetration as I attempted to find how far I could reach. His nipples would pleasure him with just the lightest touch, so I would work them. Not hard. Just right. I made sure he received pleasure, not just from my cock, but from my fingertips.

I didn’t contemplate at the moment why I actually wanted this man to enjoy his time with me. Now as I sit here writing about it, the intensity between us seems almost real. Something I can touch. Like his body. His incredible body. Just beneath my fingertips.

He stroked his thick cock.

“Shoot your load, man,” he said. “Fuck me really hard.”

I picked up the pace after snorting some poppers.  Then I popped, breeding his ass. And he shot, across that chest, streams of cum, white and juicy. I had to resist licking it. Touching it. Feeling it. I wanted his DNA as much as he wanted mine.

“That was fucking hot,” he said as I rolled off him.

We didn’t speak much as he left. I didn’t know what to say.