Tag Archives: phone

Jailed Porn Star Marcus Allen Suddenly Wants Phone Bone on BBRT

If You’re Going to Fake Your Photo, Don’t Use the Arrest Mugshot… No Matter How Hot He Is

It’s so not my intention to uncover the catfish Link Opens in a New Window of the planet or to suggest that my friends over at BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window missed something, but when I saw this mugshot pop up, I just had to laugh and share it with my readers.

Not only does this “Mr. Joey” looking for phone bone Link Opens in a New Window, but he’s using the mugshot of one of the most infamous cases of a pornstar caught and convicted of killing. Known in the gay porn world as Marcus Allen, his real name is Timothy John Boham and now he’s spending 23 hours of every day in solitary confinement in an Arkansas federal penitentiary.

Boham was found guilty of shooting and killing John Paul “J P” Kelso, a 43-year-old businessman and philanthropist in Denver in 2006. The openly gay businessman was killed for money in a confession Boham eventually gave to police. He was convicted in 2009 and sentenced to life in prison without the chance of parole Link Opens in a New Window.

To sdlovesphonesex, try another pic. Please.

Marcus Allen Nude


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Kik Messenger allows you to get in touch with iBLASTinside aka Mark Bentson

Kik it with iBLASTinside

“My e-mail didn’t get your attachment. Could you text it to me?”

“Your text didn’t come through. Could you e-mail it to me?”

“My computer crashed. I don’t have any pics.”

“My pics are all on my computer at home.”

“What’s your phone number. I promise I’m not a stalker.”

“Too many people steal my pics and use them so I don’t send any.”

“Do you use Yahoo (or AOL or MSN) messenger?”

By now, I’ve heard a lot of excuses. Short of sending your e-mail address or cell phone number, you’re kind of stuck. Moreover, today’s world has radically changed. I actually like chatting with folks, saying hi, hearing from some readers and learning a little more.

I discovered Kik. It’s a cross-platform text messaging application that doesn’t require you send anyone you cell phone number or your e-mail or any strange 1H2Y89837G!% identification string.

Simply enough, you can message me on Kik at iBLASTinside.

Kik is quick and works simply, just like your text messenger. Oh, and you can send pictures. You can even take a quick shot and send it along. I can maintain the privacy of my cell number and even e-mail address if I wanted. It even offers additional apps that allow you to send videos or maps.

I’m a total convert. I’ve been using it for a week and I love it.

Kik works with Apple devices, Android, Windows Mobile, Blackberry and Nokia’s Ovi. Just visit Kik.com Link Opens in a New Window to learn more or search your respective app store to download and install.

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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?”


“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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Virtual Words and a Vibration

Virtual Words and a Vibration

Nothing more than the feel of vibration. The notion of an arrival of a text message. Your stomach gets a little knot. Could it be? Is it from?

No. Just a friend checking in.

Returning your iPhone to your pocket, it vibrates once. It’s just an e-mail. You relax. But then you think, it could be an e-mail from him. Naw. He’d text me. Not e-mail.

Still, it bugs the back of your mind until you check it later.

Finally, on a bathroom break, you send the obligatory, “How’s your day going?” message.

Not much communication during the day. Sporadic bursts of intense messages with long delays in between. Then that night-time, battery-draining flurry.

The night-time. That’s what you live for. That’s what you wait for. That’s what you wish for. That’s what you hope won’t stop.

For the day the vibration stops is the day you’re afraid he’s moved on to something more real. Something that’s not virtual. Something that won’t fit into a pocket. Something not cold, metal and plastic and glass.

Something flesh, warm and pliable.

And even then you’re afraid he’ll return to the promise of the other choices that are virtual and vibrational. The things not connected to you.

Travel Diary: Introducing My Las Vegas ‘Catfish’

Travel Diary: Introducing My Las Vegas ‘Catfish’

It is without a doubt among my biggest thrills to meet (and occasionally seed) those who read my blog. I get “fan” mail often. A lot of people ask inane questions. Others engage me in conversation. With the exception of those who I get to fuck (and with their permission), I’ll write my experiences on these virtual pages.

Then there’s those who lie.

If you’ve ever seen the documentary movie, “Catfish,” Link Opens in a New Window you begin to unravel the kind of delusions some people develop. They build a life of a lie and they double-down on it. They exist within this lie and develop it so much further. It’s a cocoon of lies around them so deep, so interwoven and so swollen with guilt, sex and altered reality, you can’t quite find your way to the truth.

This has happened to me before.

It was a sixty-something woman pretending to be a young gay man — quite convincingly. She was a manager at a major retailer and would take photos of her young, hot, male employees — sometimes not even 18 years old — to lure  in unsuspecting multiple men. As most people tend to do, she neglected to pay attention to the background of images and her store information including awards were plainly visible in these pics she sent.

Eventually, a group of men made sure she stopped and the major retailer was none-too-pleased by the publicity it received.

I would have let it go myself had it not been for the fact one photo I knew was a 17-year-old employee who turned out to be quite straight. But that, my friends, doesn’t get to our Las Vegas Liar.

An Introduction to ‘Mike’

I am generally not a vengeful person. And I expect a certain degree of, shall we say, stretching the truth. Your first name is likely different and you’re probably a little older, a little heavier and the photo you originally sent is a few years in the past when you were on that great diet or taken from an angle that just looked especially good.

But overall, it’s you.

A young man who had been chatting with me for a while lived in Vegas. I’ll speak honestly. We did share some affinity for certain sexual proclivities that I rather enjoy. As with any of my early correspondence, I’d asked for a photo exchange, in which he reluctantly obliged. That always makes me a bit suspicious, so here we already had a problem because he always seemed to be at work and unable to send me photos of himself — even G-rated ones. Yet our conversations would venture into clearly XXX-rated territory.

On occasion, I neglect to tell the poor idiots who use “work phones” and “work computers” without photos that their explicit messaging is just as much a problem for them if the workplace monitors IP traffic. If their nasty text messages or IMs are making it through, so can some photos.

Eventually, photos arrived, in which he claimed to be Person #1 in the images shown here, composed of three photos: Two nude and one just shirtless but showing his face originally.

As the conversation deepened, he then mentioned his boyfriend, who he eventually introduced as Person #2 and pointed to an Adam4Adam.com profile, “VegasNewHotBoi.” He also mentioned that his boyfriend wanted to join in the bareback fun.

I realized the photos were a little off (but not as off as I’ll explain in a moment) but I let it go and we chatted more.

Fast Forward Several Months

Several months later, I got word that I needed to travel to Las Vegas for a week. I saw it as an opportunity to see Mike and use his ass. We began to explore what might become an interesting adventure between the two of us. He would line up men for me to fuck, along with volunteering to get fucked. As he was versatile, we would tag team and it would be quite a round of fucking.

In the course of the conversation, we ended up trading photos again, largely because he wanted to see me. I asked for more of him.

This is where it gets interesting.

When he sent photos of himself to me, this time he sent me photos of Person #2.

As we chatted, his stats changed from his original 5-foot-8, dirty blond at 24 years old to a 30-year-old, 6-foot tall guy.

Fresh, new photos were not to be had. He used a “work phone.” Even as he texted me his exploits of giving blowjobs and getting fucked raw in Excalibur Resort bathrooms (according to him, they’re quite cruisy), he couldn’t seem to point the iPhone at the mirror to snap even a G-rated photo. Again, this excuse of it’s a “work phone.” Yet he could send texts all about the huge cock that just shot a cumload into his raw ass.

Suspicions mounted.

In all this time, this “boyfriend” of months past no longer was mentioned. In fact, it seemed as if he had no such man in his life as he existed to get cum. Every night, he basically told me of his search for cum and how he got it. I played along, also discussing how we might meet up.

Arrival in Sin City

I didn’t find it odd that “Mike” went silent the few days before my arrival. Despite being online (something he would later attribute to his computer going to “sleep,” but something I know also forces his G-Talk status to “not available” or even “off line,” neither of which occurred), Mike never responded to IMs or e-mails until I sent the first one from my hotel room.

“I’m here,” was all it said.

“In Vegas?” he responded. “Where?”

“In my room,” I answered.

“Okay,” he messaged back. “When do you leave?”

Now I found this an odd question. I just got here and he’s asking when I’m leaving? Beside the fact I’d been talking about being in town a whole week and using bottoms for that period of time (he was a blog reader, after all), I usually see the “when do you leave” question from people who postpone sex until it’s too late to have it. In other words, they never had the intention to fuck.

I remained silent to this little turn of events.

“I  got suck flu,” he wrote, finally breaking the silence. “Two days ago. It seems to be going away. Feeling better. I haven’t had the flu like this in years.”

I’d remained stoically silent until finally typing, “Uh huh.”

“Can we meet tomorrow?” he now asked. “Anytime! Off work until Tuesday.”

I’m guessing that the flu was indeed improving. Further, he knew that tomorrow, that Monday, I had a little event planned. I’d advertised on BarebackRT.com for gathering to occur. He’d asked if he could attend via the site and I’d confirmed him.

In the last few hours prior to the party, he disappeared off line. IMs on G-Talk and messages on G-Mail and BBRT went unanswered.

He would be “bummed” at missing the party (which turned out to be great fun with some hot, hot, hot guys). I began asking about responses I’d expected from him and he’d deny ever receiving such messages. Even when I sent screenshots from BBRT showing the messages, he’d send others back showing such messages didn’t exist. As if someone wiped them away completely.

As I tried to nail down a time and place to meet, it became apparent it would not actually occur. Whoever this person happened to be, he would not let me pin him into the snare he’d created for himself. So allow me to share with all of you in Vegas what you’re up against.

Confronting a Catfish

I began by pointing out the confusion of who he really was. His response proved to be denial. He and his boyfriend (who re-emerged in a convenient heartbeat) often pretended to be one another. It just wasn’t a big deal. They did it all the time. Since at the initial time they were both planning on having sex with me, he didn’t think it was all that big of a deal to play a switcharoo.

In his words, “I may have misled you a little. I really didn’t lie. You were going to be able to fuck me. You were going to be able to fuck the guys in the photos. The only question was who really was me.”

Well, that my friends leads us to a more interesting question as to who these photos might be because I do not believe the folks in the face photos match the images that are naked.

CSI: Photo Flesh XXX

Consider the three photos presented as Person #1. Images #1A and #1B were clearly taken of the same person and in sequence. However, we begin to plot the inconsistencies:

  1. The camera device varies between 1A/1B and 1C
  2. Room and background setting varies significantly between 1A/1B and 1C
  3. Clothing represented is significantly different between 1A/1B and 1C.
  4. The man in 1A/1B is much more thin and less muscularly defined that the man in 1C.
  5. The man in 1A/1B is much more tan carries a significantly different skin-tone than the man in 1C.
  6. The man in 1A/1B has much more chest hair naturally occurring than the man in 1C.
  7. As outlined in the blow-up images below image #1A, the nipple shapes vary significantly.
  8. As outlines in the blow-up images below image #1B, the person in 1A/1B has a shoulder tattoo on his left tattoooo. The person in 1C clearly does not.
For all these reasons, I believe that there are two people depicted here. One in photos #1A and #1B; another person in photo #1C.

We have a similar situation in Person #2.

The two color photos provided — image #2A and #2B — clearly show a largely smooth guy, tall and thin, with a delightful bush restricted to just above his cock. While the man in image #2C, presents with rather hairy legs and a bush that extends to the inner thighs.

Clearly, again, we have two people. One in photos #2A and #2B; another person is in photo #2C.

Why Bother?

I bother because I care. Ha. Not really.

I honestly don’t give a shit if the fucker who’s been communicating with me was some old fart sitting at home stroking his cock for the umpteenth time in this little fantasy world. What bothers me is, when confronted with the truth, this delusional bastard tried to stick to the lie. I got excuse after excuse for hair, for inconsistencies and for obvious problems. Seriously, you’re just going to shave the sides of your bush but not the bush itself? 

Whoever is in these photos might be innocent (that’s why the faces are blurred) but someone is guilty. So gentlemen, keep an eye out for the following people:

  • OutInVegas on BarebackRT
  • LVSuckNSwallow@Gmail.com and LVSuckNSwallow on G-Talk
  • OutinVegas@Gmail.com and OutinVegas on G-Talk
  • VegasNewHotBoi@Yahoo.com or VegasNewHotBoi on Yahoo! Messenger
  • VegasNewHotBoi on Adam4Adam

Of course, these are just the ones I know about.

You make your own judgment. I’ve made mine.


P.S. If you run across who’s really in these photos, please let me know. I know there’s an asshole on Manhunt in Boston using my photo.

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