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Catfish Uncovered, Fake Profiles Online

When Anonymous Hook-Ups Don’t Work Out: Atlanta Tops Need to Beware of This Catfish

Let’s be honest that there’s plenty of flakes and fakes out there. The Manti Te’o case Opens new window of a page on this blog brought a lot more attention to the plight and scourge of catfish Open-New-Window-External and it’s been a theme on this website Opens new window of a page on this blog.

I tend to expose the assholes stupid enough to use photos of convicts Opens new window of a page on this blog, porn stars Opens new window of a page on this blog or others.

This one is different.

The Ass of a CatfishIn late September 2012, I began communicating with a person who wanted me to stop by his house and breed his ass. We began via e-mail. On the particular day, the person had a particular window of time, wanting to arrive home. As it turned out, it would be after I would drive past where his house happened to be on my journey home.

Through the course of our correspondence, in which we traded photos and eventually phone numbers to text, we would finally settle on one afternoon where the timing worked out. He gave me his address again (so I’ve received his address both via e-mail and text). I drive to the location.

It’s October 8, 2012.

The sun is dipping behind the fall leaves and there’s a coolness to the air. Pumpkins already sit out on the portico of this lovely brick home in an upscale neighborhood far outside the Perimeter (Atlanta’s interstate loop around the city). I’ve diverted my normal route home in order to hit a few extra red lights and visit this man’s home.

It doesn’t look like he’s gay. It appears he might be married with kids. This home is too large for a single man and this community just doesn’t have a signature of young couples. The house has to be five or six bedrooms at least.

I’m awaiting a text from him to say come inside, the front door is unlocked. He’s had me waiting in my car, in the driveway for way too long. I already know something is a little up.

I’m scanning the windows, which all have wooden blinds shut tight. Likely, he’d checked me here, but I never saw one move.

I walk to the door like I belong here and push the doorknob to open it.

It’s locked.

I text and knock.

He says he forgot to unlock the door. He’ll be down in a minute to unlock it.

Of course, that never happens.

Then, in the next few minutes, he gives me a brand new ZIP code. Says I got it all wrong.

Now remember that I’ve received his address twice. I check it both places and he’s clearly given the ZIP code to this place correctly.

As it turns out, there is another street with the same name but it’s several miles away in another suburb. For example, there’s Holly Bank Court in Norcross and Holly Bank Circle in Atlanta.

I’m not stupid. I’m not criss-crossing Atlanta.

That Brings Us to Today

These kinds of wild goose chases happen. I usually can weed out the fakes, but this guy was in for the long con. In a way, I’ve got to give him some respect for the play, keeping me on the hook and playing me for a few weeks until he was able to reel me in. I wonder how many men in Atlanta followed through on this process only to end up visiting two addresses and getting no response or meeting some folks who never expected these strange men to show up on their doorstep.

Not cool.

As is normal for me, I’m hanging on BarebackRT.com Open-New-Window-External this morning and I get a message from BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External. In the course of going back and forth, he wants a load and, based on what I see, it doesn’t look bad.

Now I see a lot of ass. Visually, I don’t catalog every ass photo I see.

BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External is only 13 miles from my house and, in the scheme of things for Atlanta and my normal travels to get some, that’s not bad. I ask for his location.

It’s the address of his house that I recognize. A nice cul de sac in an upscale neighborhood halfway between my home and my former place of employment.

I search my e-mail and there it is too. And then I check out the photos, which some are the same.

First, I do a screen capture of his profile (turns out to be a good thing). Then, I e-mail BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External letting him know I’ve visited his home before.

At first, he denies we’d ever chatted and that people had sent people to his home.

Then I send him his e-mail address. FYI, if you ever have an e-mail conversation with clemsonscott1993@gmail.com, don’t trust it. He’s another catfish and the same as BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External.

He blocks me.

Busted.

BtmCatcherATL or clemsonscott1993@gmail.com's profile on BBRT

PostScript

I do have his face photo (which you can sort of see but I purposely didn’t highlight in the profile above). I have a huge version from the e-mail exchange. However, I’m not convinced it’s the person who’s sending the e-mails. As for ass photos, I don’t know and they’re not identifiable.

I just want my top friends in Atlanta to beware of this man.

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Travel Diary: Beantown Bronze (Borderline Bossy) Bottom Begs for Blast by Bentson

Travel Diary: Beantown Bronze (Borderline Bossy) Bottom Begs for Blast by Bentson

When I arrive in a town like Boston, BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window lights up. Am I recognized? By a few. New meat?  That’s it. I think the bareback community occasional craves that fresh injection of DNA into the murky mix. It’s so nice to log on and find 10 or 15 messages waiting to be read.

Now some buttwipes fail to read the most basic information, even in my own BBRT profile Link Opens in a New Window. As I’ve outlined on the Getting Fucked by iBLASTinside page Opens a new window from this blog on this site, I have a few requirements (don’t fucking smoke), but otherwise I’ll be interested based on how things go in our conversation.

Such is what happened with one such hot bottom.

Truth is, I had two very different men that were definite possibilities and one dark horse in the race for my cum on the one night I was in town.

The dark horse? A muscle bottom from Montana visiting Boston. Fuck if when I saw his bubble butt ass and thick thighs, I didn’t want to get my cock between his muscular cheeks and get him to squeeze.

The other bottom followed me on Twitter Follow on Twitter. He was fucking beefy and totally hot. But timing sucked as my boss called and wanted to meet the team as a precursor to the next day’s business. The beefy bottom had to be up early, so by 10:30 p.m. when things were wrapping up, he was knackered and off to bed.

While plenty of other men popped up, my 25-year-old bottom popped up continually, requesting an anonymous scene. And his ass photo just proved irresistible.

I love anonymous scenes. My favorite is known as “Room Service” when I’m traveling and I’ve done it many times… Opens a new window from this blog in Texas and Opens a new window from this blog in California, just to name a couple. But I know there’s a lot more here I’ve just failed to tag.

I outline the basics for the bottom. He comes into the darkened room, strips naked, finds me naked on the bed, sucks me hard then climbs on board and rides me a bit. I then put him on his stomach and finish off in his ass, sending him on his way.

His response?

Instead, he’d prefer I only take him from behind.

He outlines a completely different scene, where I hide in the bathroom and he is on all fours. I’m responsible for getting myself hard and I just fuck and load him.

WTF. Not exactly meeting the Eleven Commandments Opens a new window from this blog.

“No thanks.”

I then start working a beefy, tattooed guy.

Then the whining and “what happened?” questions start.

“Not interested in bossy bottoms,” I said. “Have a good one.”

“It was just a suggestion,” he said. “I’m glad to do it your way. I just like being taken from behind.”

After a little while without much progress and the clock ticking past midnight, I invited him over.

          

As I waited naked across the bed in the darkened room, I felt my heartbeat rise with anticipation, as with every time I do this scene. The light from the hallway suddenly floods part of the room as he slips in and I can just make out the shadow of a guy, about six foot tall, in a gray tank top, gym shorts and flip-flops. I’d told him to wear as little as possible.

The room plunges back into darkness and he’s slipping off his clothes. He’s moving toward the bed and soon I feel a tentative hand touch my right foot and it moves up until he’s climbed on the bed and his mouth closes around my half-hard cock.

His sun-chapped lips begin sucking my cock. I reach down into his brown mane and feel the soft hair and stroke it to his skin-peeling shoulders. This boy has had too much sun. I can feel the lizard skin as it flakes off into my finger tips. He radiates a heat.

I’m worked into full hardness but it isn’t until he starts to lick my balls do I finally start to feel some aggression and begin uttering, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

I put his mouth back into my cock and push it down gently before getting him to lick my balls more. I feel his hairy chest, which has been clipped shorter and find his nipples. They’re smaller and fail to protrude much, sticking close to his body. A little disappointing, especially based on the face and chest pic I’d seen, which seemed to show larger, poking nips.

But who knows if he even sent real pics.

I pull him up by his hairy underarms and position him to ride. He spits on his hand and adds it to ass. I hand him my bottle of poppers and let him take a whiff as my cockhead begins to split him open.

For someone who wanted me to just take him from behind, it took this bottom a moment to really get his ass down to the base of my raw cock. He finally did, with extra spit and more poppers. Fuck, that ass gripped my cock tight. He begin to bounce on it. Just a little. He added more spit to the base but the friction just really set me off.

It’s not very often I find a bottom who could possibly milk a load out of me. This one didn’t know it. He was bringing me close to popping.

Interestingly enough, he’d change position or pace or angle right about the moment I’d be hitting that point of no return. Given the reprieve, I’d regain my composure. The darkness masked my biting of my lip to distract myself just enough.

Once, he almost had me there, I lifted up and asked if me wanted me to fuck him from behind.

I moved behind him, spit on my cock and slid inside.

He sighed, like jizzjoy Link Opens in a New Window already occurred. I guess he really liked it from behind.

I laid on top of him and began pumping, giving him a whiff of poppers and snorting some myself.

“You want my load?”

“Oh yes!” the slutty bottom said. “Please give me your cum!”

His begging continued as I pumped, getting closer and closer until I sighed and let out a groan, my cock throbbing and my load pumping hot, white sperm into his ass. I pushed it into him deeper and deeper.

“Oh fuck yea!”

“That’s my load man,” I said. “You’re getting my fucking sperm!”

He backed his ass up. I climbed up enough so he could impale himself a little and he rode it that way until he shot a load on the bedsheets just a moment later.

I rolled off and he left into the night just a few moments later.

I hope he found some moisturizer. His skin really needed it. His ass, not so much. I gave it plenty of protein.

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Key West Postcard

First Impressions of Key West… at Least in 2012

When I first visited Key West in the 1990s, it held a hedonistic mystery for me. Of course, my sexual world hadn’t yet expanded to the world I now know exists.

This small resort community with the Caribbean feel still retains some of that hedonism, but in a more mainstream way.

Let me explain.

I recall when clothing-optional happened to be all the rage among the Gay resorts in the area. Now, there’s less from which to choose. But the straights have adopted the same and even offer nightclubs/bars that are nudist. Such is one called the Garden of Eden where the patrons are naked. This swingers location encourages much activity among the guests with one exception — no man-on-man action.

I’ll get into more details on what and where to go when you get to Key West when I have more time to write. I’m not spending my vacation missing all the fun.

However, I will point out some disappointment.

The locals here tend to be older — which really isn’t that much of an issue — except they use “boy” or “boi” in their online names. I’m sorry. You’re 52 years old. You’re no longer “hotkeywestboi.” You’re “keywestmanwithtoomuchtan.”

Grindr, Scruff and Jack’d lack anyone with follow-through. Grindr offers the least options, showing more men in Miami. Men? Wait, it’s Grindr. Children pretending to be 18. Grindr is going to get in so much trouble for not verifying age. And Jack’d, supposedly the best new thing ever, is jacked up for me. No one messages me there at all. Then there’s Scruff — the only app with which I see any promise. But in the end, it just turns into a fucking photo trade.

And meeting men is as inconvenient as it is at home in Atlanta. If you’re not staying within a 3-minute walk, fuck you, I’m not coming over. I’m at Big Ruby’s, a central location just off Duval Street, practically in the middle of the main drag. But some fuckers think it’s just too fucking far if they have to walk 5 or 10 minutes — the practical maximum in Old Town Key West is 15 and there’s rickshaw cabbies everywhere.

I don’t want to be too rude as people here can be extraordinarily nice and I do appreciate it greatly. I’ve had a blast on the Blu Q cruise and Bourbon Street Pub (and their dick dancers) have made my trip amazing. And my hosts here at Big Ruby’s get special thumbs up for a Gay resort that’s just too fabulous to forget.

But now I need the bottoms of Key West to host my cock and cum. And not make it difficult.

Returning to Beantown in Early August

Returning to Beantown in Early August

If everything goes as planned, I’ll be back in Boston for at least one night. It will be a brief visit. Any fan fucks, cum and get it!

No fucking around this time. I chatted with two abortions last time Opens a new window from this blog who didn’t intend on meeting. This time, let’s hope it won’t be quite so disastrous.

the lies men tell

The Lies Men Tell… Photos (Part 2)

Read Part One

Whether it’s a decade old photo or the time of our meeting, lying is the constant in the world of fucking. I have honed my own skills at determining who will be truthful and who will not.

For example, the veracity of photos provided by someone can be found in the details. A mole is here in this photo, can it be found there? Or does this photo include a Rubik’s cube and a cassette tape player in the background, indicating it’s clearly from the 1980s? Are the photos from a sequence (leading to further suspicion) or from different times and places? Do they look candid or professional?

Lately, the photo thing had struck a chord with me. I think the proliferation of Grindr, Scruff and other such sprouted more camera mavens insisting on evidence of legitimacy. One face pic is no longer adequate. I must provide multiples. Same with cock pics. Even more, to prove my prowess with fucking, I’ve been asked for video.

Not kidding.

Yes, more than once of late, people have insisted on video proof that I’m worth driving five miles for a fuck. I imagine soon I will need to begin to record myself throwing a few into an ass before anyone will believe I’m good at it.

Believe me, I have heard all the possible excuses on why some poor fucker doesn’t have a photo. No excuse. No more. If you’ve got a cell phone that doesn’t make photo, you’re a fucking idiot. Camera phone save lives and document moments that will forever be discussed on CNN. Your computer did not crash and destroy all your photos. And you can pretend you’re at work and have no photos there, but if so, what-the-fuck are you doing on Manhunt.net at that same company? Please. You’re just some self-hating fag.

Moreover, everyone in the photo trade had been burned one time too many. Some asswipe’s stiffed us and not sent us a pic, left us holding the bag and we, in turn, feel foolish for trusting. But that does not mean now you have the right to always go last in the trade.

All things equal, he who asks first, send first. No exceptions. If someone has posted an ad on Craigslist with a self-photo, that counts as a “sent photo.”

Otherwise, the bottom should send first. I don’t give a fuck if the bottom is 19 years old and hot as hell (or at least says he is).

  • If you unlock without any previous conversation, I’m under no obligation to unlock for you, even if you ask nicely. The whole unlock trade occurs with conversation, not independently.
  • If you show X-rated photos in your profile photos and then “unlock” photos, those unlocked ones should have a clearly available face pic. Else, I’m not obliged to unlock mine. If I unlocked mine first, you should e-mail me a clear face pic. Vice versa as well. If you show face, your locked pics should clearly show cock and/or ass.
  • The only time you have a right to “break the code” and not trade photos is when someone has egregiously lied. This means the following: A 20-year difference in age, a different race or completely different appearance. Otherwise, if you get a pic, you must respond with a pic. You’re welcome to tell the guy you’re not into him.
  • What you send is what you get. If you send me a tiny photo where you can’t see shit, I have the right to send you back a tiny photo where you can’t see shit. If your photo is blurry and you’re wearing sunglasses, I’m welcome to do the same.
  • Just because we both unlock photos does not mean we are meeting for a fuck. I believe in being fair. But my unlock doesn’t mean I’m suddenly into you.

I do study photos (as has been proven) and I can recognize when people lie. And most do lie.

On to Part Three, Test Results