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2013 Load Count Races

2013 Load Count Races

Barebackers love to count our loads. How many we take or give anally. How many we give or take orally. It’s a matter of pride. A way of maintaining a personal best, improving ourselves, a matter of pride.

I think 2013 should see something a little different. I think we should all compete against each other just a little bit. Of course, with self reporting, we could fudge the numbers. But I’m hoping we can prevent some of that.

What do you guys think about that? (There’s a survey Scroll Down below to get your feedback.)

In the meantime, I just asked the question on Twitter and here’s the responses I got…



Please answer the following two questions. The survey will end on March 11, 2013 at midnight.

Should iBLASTinside create a "2013 Load Count Race" with a "prize" at the end of the year?

  • YES, I'd love to participate. (44%, 35 Votes)
  • YES, I might participate (22%, 17 Votes)
  • YES, I would keep up (22%, 17 Votes)
  • MAYBE, it could be interesting (8%, 6 Votes)
  • NO, it would be a waste of time (5%, 4 Votes)

Total Voters: 79

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help         help2        help         help2

If iBLASTinside created a "Load Count Race," I'd likely participate as a...

  • Bottom (58%, 46 Votes)
  • Versatile (19%, 15 Votes)
  • Top (14%, 11 Votes)
  • I wouldn't participate (10%, 8 Votes)

Total Voters: 80

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help         help2        help         help2

Check back frequently for results.

Following the cumdumps

You want to follow the cum sluts who let me know they’re loving the loads? Just click on the following:

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Follow on Twitter @BBadBBoyAnthony
Follow on Twitter @JorgePink
Follow on Twitter @WonkyShaun
Follow on Twitter @DNA_Inside
Follow on Twitter @BottomBB
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And, of course, you can always follow me @iBLASTinside Follow on Twitter.

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Behind Dead Eyes… A Return to Breed a Third Load

Behind Dead Eyes… A Return to Breed a Third Load

The text message appeared: “I’m horny.”

Let’s admit that I did like the bottom in my entries from Behind Dead Eyes Opens a new window from this blog. Perhaps that creeped him out a little or the fact he never liked that I implied he had “dead eyes.” Instead, it’s a metaphor for the protective wall he builds around himself and that inner being.

After our time of debauchery at the bookstore Opens a new window from this blog, we’d texted a bit but not met up again.

“I am too,” I responded.

“I want cum,” he wrote.

“I’ll give you some,” I typed back.

As it turned out, I was downtown and would be glad to hit the bookstore yet again. A few more of his coy questions and my to-the-bone answers.

I had an appointment but once it was over, I wanted to fuck him. That was the only reason to drive over and pay the $11 admission. Once I admitted to having my good poppers Opens a new window from this blog, I got the green light. I made a left instead of a right and headed toward one of the best asses ever.

And I mean best asses.

It’s usual for me to really look forward to seeing someone. I’ll admit my crush on this boy. There’s chemistry there, even if he can’t admit there’s any. And we fuck well.

I arrived, whipping into a parking place. I plunged into the darkness and throbbing environment of sexual scents, Pine Sol and satellite radio.

He stood along the edge of one of the banks of booths on the basement floor, not far from the entrance. Approaching him, he spoke under his breath, “You have to act like you don’t know me.”

My anticipation fluttered a little. I missed a beat, but I recovered and made the walk upstairs to the rooms.

Within moments, he joined me.

He wore a strange combination of a stretched out tank under a button down. This flashback to the Flash Dance 1980s look seemed strange to me since I recalled the original look. Here I am in jeans and a t-shirt and he appeared so perfectly coiffed. He walked past me into a room. I followed.

He started removing his clothing immediately and I did the same, inquiring whether I should lock the door. He shrugged, a hallmark of his usual indecision. But I didn’t care.

He stripped completely naked and went to sucking my cock, getting it hard. His oral skills undeniably good. Then he crouched on the mattress, ass in the air.

As I did before, I went in for food. I ate his ass, spreading my meal wide. Oh how delicious his hole proved to be. So good! I’ve ate many asses in my day. His just perfection, just lovely, just nice. The soft hairs never wiry and adding to the opening up, never detracting from the effort to open the hole.

With a little more spit as I pushed my tongue into his pucker and deep pink, I stood and began to push my cock into him.

I’d handed him the poppers earlier and he’d been sniffing them already, but now he really snorted them as my seven inches invaded his interior.

Oh my fucking God, how his ass was so damn tight and molded perfectly around my cock. In a way, it felt as if I was pushing my cock into clay.

He moaned. I pushed. I’d pull back a little and push farther in.

Soon, I made it all the way.

I looked down to see this almost perfect hourglass shape. His smooth body. His back and upper chest wide, his waist going smaller and then that ass, the widest of all. Not fat, but perfect. And as I plunged inside it, just wonderful.

And in a way, I just hit paydirt.

Pumping in him deep once, I felt something. Oh so warm. Oh. This was a new sensation. Like I’d popped through to a new place, this warmth began to trickle down past my cockhead and tickle my balls, some dripping off and some running down my legs.

I inquired to be sure and disappointingly discovered I was the first to be fucking his ass, so all I felt was water. Knowing this bottom’s routine, I knew it was clean and nothing to worry about. No scents or anything other than the unusual sensation that enthused me a little. If only I’d been squishing around a little extra cum as well.

The door to the room opened. I’d not locked in.

In walked an older white man and not at all attractive followed by an older African American who turned out to be a little fat. I didn’t mind the audience. He urged me on, wanting to eat the cum out of the bottom’s ass after I was done.

As I fucked more, the little trickle of water turned more into a gush of water and I really enjoyed that sensation of warm water along my balls that now cooled in the air. I borrowed the poppers and took a sniff.

I fucked harder. More gusto.

“You want my load?”

“Give it to me!” he said. “Give me your load.”

The trolls agreed.

And I went into a place where my cock and the bottom’s ass  just existed together. The water now emptied out, I replaced it with my flood into his guts with my cum. I throbbed. I buried to the hilt and stood still, letting my cock deposit all my seed into his ass. I pushed it in as deep as I could and then pulled it out as his ass sealed up behind my extracting rod.

My bottom friend objected to the trolls even touching him and we kicked them out, now the festivities were over. And he turned horrified at the splattered water on the mattress, not to mention me. Even with my promise that I enjoyed it, he just couldn’t believe how much came out.

I kissed him for the first time as he began putting on his clothes. Oh, how well he kissed.

“I’ll see you later,” I said.

“You’re leaving?”

“I came here just to fuck you,” I replied.


“Really,” I said. “Take care.”

And I left.

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Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: Weaving a Cocoon

We all bleed. And it’s all pink on the inside.

That explanation came from an asshole I knew at university. His misogynistic ways stuck with me somehow — surprise, surprise. Still an impressionable young gay man, a small group of elite intellectuals sat in a circle discussing something about authority. Liberal arts education at its best.

My friend, who explored women with the subtlety of a great white shark on a feeding frenzy, spoke of how women — no matter their race, religion, size or texture, should put out at the end of a date.

The females in the class expressed horror, although by that point, most had taken a ride on his cock and experienced his tongue on their clits. We’d discussed this is detail. We both had mutual interests. His interest — curiosity about fucking ass, even men, since he figured it would increase his chances of getting some at the end of the evening. Mine was the mind of a straight man. So we’d dined together and discussed our respective sex lives.

As he spoke of women putting out and the incredulous women screamed in dismay, the room came to a silence that happened naturally. One of those odd moments that just seems to happen.

“I really don’t know why you expect women to put out all the time,” I told him, in front of everyone. “You’ve been to my apartment. I’ve fixed you dinner. You’ve never put out for me.”

There’s this moment sometimes when “silent” isn’t a sufficient enough word. It’s as if the entire world has had the volume turned down and everyone has gone deaf. It only lasts for an instance, but in that moment, there’s an eternity. And if a pin dropped somewhere across the planet, it would sound as if a thousand cymbals crashed to the floor simultaneously.

Then the room erupted and my friend dropped his jaw like he had dick-suckers cramp. Girls from my class piled on me in appreciation for delivering the blow that shut him up.

But the truth of the matter in all that fun and discussion of sex and food, misogyny and dating, I was alone. For all the fun, support and wit, the professor could see what was going on.

That evening, as we each headed off to our dorms and apartments or to whatever drinking destinations, the hairy, disheveled poly sci professor took me aside and imparted some wisdom that here, years later, I don’t recall a fucking word.

And so, on a Saturday evening, more than two decades later, four months to the day after I watched my Mother die, I’m drowning my sorrows in Diet Coke. I’m wishing it was something stronger. It’s been a shitty week and it does no good to explain in detail here.

I started this blog to explore my sex life. I didn’t intend on making friends. I didn’t have any intentions. I just wanted to explore. Then, when my Mom got sick, I crossed into a place I didn’t know how to escape. How do I explain that I didn’t feel like fucking. That my cock could just fall off and I didn’t care. I’d have given up fucking forever to see my Mother get well.

That didn’t happen, of course. And I returned to fucking. But something hasn’t been the same for me. I debated whether to tell you all. And for a while, I didn’t.

Can you say that pain inspires you? Maybe you could give up your grieving easily. But now I feel utterly alone. Some of you probably couldn’t give a shit. I don’t blame you. I don’t much give one either right now. Not that I’m going to off myself or something stupid like that.

So the shitty week actually isn’t inspired by my Mother, my birthday or anything else. It comes from a crappy boss. I’ve worked for this person for years and to get a single pat on the back is close to impossible. A promotion has been dangled out in front of me but in order to get it, yours truly needs to become submissive.

Being that I’m a Dominate personality, I’m not one to back down. I’m in Georgia and let’s face it, being out, being gay and being visible has its detractions. In a professional environment, the prejudice can be overwhelming. One person at my current company — a person of significant stature and in a position of power — told me because I was gay, he would do whatever he could to assure I was not successful and would fail at every task I attempted. I informed my boss of this. I was told this was a “personality deficiency” that I would need to overcome.

So I am deciding if I can be a cum-collecting pussy. If I can suck it up, literally, in order to get a promotion. Is it within my personality to be submissive and bow to the Master.

What, again, I’ve not told everyone is just how many people in my life rely on my income. I am the majority breadwinner for a lot more people than most would realize. So flipping off my boss and walking away seems like a good idea if you’re on your own for your own principals. But when others rely on you, you can’t do it so flippantly.

So what am I to do. To be honest, I have gone against my nature by writing this. I shut down Thursday night and barely did anything. But I decided tonight to write this. To tell the world. I’ll get some shitty responses (which I probably will reject).

I am considering a significant life change. Not just with my job. Now that Mom and Dad are gone, I have more choices. People may rely on me, but I don’t have to be here in Georgia to assure they get the help they need.