All posts tagged pump and dump

Three Abortions: Zero for Three in My Attempts to Pop a Load

Three Abortions
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When am I not horny? Probably the immediate moment after I shoot a load into a boy, but I recover quickly. Really, that’s not true. Part of me still wants to make sure my territory is marked.

At work one day, I happened to be particularly horny. I posted on Craigslist (through my iPhone, duh) and hoped for the best. Two potentials showed up for a lunchtime pump and dump. I chose the closer of the two although the second happened to be an Asian.

Abortion #1: Druggie/Serial KillerLuckily, I thought as I left the office and headed over, these two actually read the post and got the word that I wanted a quick fuck. We’d not had a lot of back-and-forth. Not the usual bullshit of e-mails and more pics and negotiations of what was on the table and off the table.

I plugged the address into the GPS and drove over, listening to the radio and blissfully ready for my balls to unload.

Driving through a well-established neighborhood with well-manicured lawns and maintained middle-class homes, my GPS announced my arrival up on the right. Like a sore thumb, the home sat on a hill, overgrown lawn. With gutters falling off and a crumbling front porch, I already seemed wary of where I was comparatively. This wasn’t a married man cheating on his wife or a gay man’s home.

I knocked since the doorbell had been punched in at some point and collapsed in on itself.

The door opened and the smell of dog, cigarettes and just plain stink hit me. In in plain white t-shirt, a do-rag and boxers with sunken, heroine eyes, overly thin leg with open sores and an emotionless, hopeless expression, he invited me in.

“Thanks man,” I said. “I’m good.”

I assessed my situation quickly and turned around. At one point, he’d been straight, probably a straight bottom. But the years of drug abuse beginning with crystal meth led him to this place. My gut instinct wanted me to run, but it was a beautiful sunny day in a well-populated neighborhood. Maybe I’d just served a subpoena, just walking up to the door and leaving.

In the car, I punched in the Asian’s address and found it only 12 minutes away. I e-mailed him to say I was on my way.

Now Asian ass is prime and the pic he’d e-mailed me looked pretty good. As I near the place, again I turn into a decent neighborhood, although not quite as nice as the last one. Still, the lawns are nice with grown trees and middle-class houses. When I find the house number I’m looking for, I drive past and turn around in disbelief.

This time, the lawn is cut. Well, what lawn there is. The gnomes, globes, frogs, buddhas and literally hundreds of other ceramic figures lining a koi pond keeps most of the grass at bay. As I’d notified my fuck that I arrived, he steps outside to direct me where to park.

I do.

I try not to judge because I begin to figure out he’s a tenant in this home, as he invites me around to the back. But he’s lied about his age. He’s not 30. This guy’s face looks 50. Luckily when we step inside the basement apartment, he begins stripping and his chest and ass say 30. Asians sure maintain a body.

Abortion #2: Asian with jacked up face who cums too quickly Maybe I can keep it together. Maybe I can ignore the white-washed decor and the fact that he actually turns the television to “Family Feud” for our fuck time. Nothing like Steve Harvey saying, “Survey says!?” to make you want to cum, right?

He tries to suck me, but I’m “too big.” I play with his ass a little. He wants to kiss, but the fucker has lied about being a smoker and I’m not kissing. I urge on to the fucking. He pulls out petroleum jelly, slathers some on my cock and his hole and begins to sit on it.

Within two minutes, as I’m about a third of the way into his hole, he announces he’s cumming.

I pull away, his cum still shooting on my belly. I pull the towel from beneath us and wipe off my cock and his cum. I put my clothes on and head out to find some food and go back to work.

Surely, though, this cannot be how I end my day. I need to shoot.

There’s been this “sensual” massage therapist I’ve been meaning to try. He’s relatively inexpensive and, based on his pics, fucking hot. I message him. He’s available just after work.

To me, a sensual massage builds slowly to that moment that you cum. It’s a tease under the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing.

Of course, I had to try someone new.

This fucker had no idea what he was doing. Even though I’d asked whether he was a CMT (certified massage therapist), he lied also. He wasn’t. He didn’t know the muscle groups. He wiped oil on me and went for the spots he thought might turn me on.

Abortion #3: Hot Latino who doesn't know what he's doingOh I got hard. But when he flipped me over, he just jerked my cock. That won’t make me cum on its own. It’s like putting a pot on simmer. You’re not going to bring me to boil without playing with my balls and touching me sensually elsewhere.

That or sitting on my cock.

Now let me explain this guy was six-foot-four of Latino hotness. Smooth with the exception of a nice pube triangle and some light dusting on his ass. His crack also showed a lot of potential. And his body was like Michael Phelps, with long arms. His cock was a thick, uncut beauty.

But the guy couldn’t bring Latin heat if I handed him a bottle of extra hot salsa and a Gloria Estefan CD.

For the second time today, I grabbed a towel, insisting he step away.

“Are you not going to cum?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “It’s not going to happen.”

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“I expected it to be more sensual,” I said.

“I’ve rubbed up against you,” he said. “I thought it was pretty sensual.”

I didn’t respond.

I paid him the minimum, without a tip, and left.

The next man I fuck will get three loads worth of cum: The one he earned plus two more… one meant for an Asian and one intended for a Latin. Any volunteers?

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Travel Diary: My Little Piggy

Key West Postcard
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Meeting fans of my blog is always a little risky.

There is the stalker element. I’ve been stalked before but not for this blog. In fact, I’ve been stalked twice for completely different reasons and very strange results. One was just a mental case. Literally. The other is a story I need to reserve for an entry.

While on my trip to Key West, a few fans of the blog did recognize me. I’d partially hoped for a few folks who wanted to have a beer and maybe chat a little, show me the sleazier side of town. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out. Mostly, men just want a sample of my DNA.

I guess men want to compare the bravado of the blog to the dick in real life.

Not sure how many of those men go home disappointed or really happy.

Among them was a man who messaged me first on Scruff, as you can see. I’ve altered things a bit.

He popped up early in the week then went offline and practically disappeared. I began to wonder whether I’d get him. Truth be told, another man kept in touch.

Or should I say “man.”

He spent a lot of time not exactly as a man, although he would get fucked as a man. I’m not at all into femme, transgender, drag queens or even guys who get off on wearing women’s panties while getting fucked. In fact, I’ll let a jock slip in there every once in a while but a man-thong creeps me out.

I knew it would make for a great blog entry that I’d fucked a lady-boy, man-girl or whatever you want to call it. But just having the knowledge of such made my dick shrivel.

But this pig happened to be all man.

He popped back up on the grid at the right moment — my last night in town. I spent it basking in three dick dancers and a bar back at Bourbon Street Pub (that’s an entry all unto itself). I’d been offered to spend more money to get one or all for a “private party,” but what I wanted and needed was relatively simple.

Pump and dump.

I knew my little piggy in Key West would understand.

I texted and he responded.

He said he was with a “bud,” who I actually assume was his boyfriend since he indicated he needed a moment to slip out. He did.

Arriving at the guesthouse, we slipped inside and found a dark corner. I dropped my trousers and he dropped to his knees, sucking on my cock immediately.

He opened wide and used a lot of spit. He went to work on my balls, familiar enough to know that’s how you generated extra cream for his ass. His aggressive work was perfect for my slightly buzzed state at 2:30 in the morning.

I stood him up and turned him around. He asked for poppers, knowing full well I’d have some handy.

He’d been using spit to apply to his ass. As he bent over, he grabbed my cock and lined it up to his ass. I applied pressure as soon as it hit the pucker and it slid inside easily.

His ass sucked me inside as aggressively as his mouth had. This piggy wanted fucked.

I grabbed his hips and went to fucking. Slow at first, then sleeping up. Fucking hell, his ass chute was smooth and straight. A lot of shit tunnels bend down when you’ve got a piggy bent over to fuck. Since my cock points toward my belly, it adds a little stress to my cock. But not his. As I’ve said, every ass is different and his offered a distinct smoothness and a nice straightness to it.

Despite our being semi-public, I began to fuck in earnest. I knew men had fucked in this darkened corner before and would again. I grabbed the poppers and took my hit. And then I began to slam his ass looking to relieve my balls of all the weight they’d built up over the night’s teasing.

The sound of my thighs slapping his ass started to echo through the courtyard, but I didn’t give a shit. He grunted. I did too. His smooth chute just felt too perfect as I went for the final moments before allowing my load to go into him.

“Want my load?” I whispered harshly.

“Yeah man!” he whispered back. “I want it so bad!”

I began to throb and then my cock let loose, sending literally torrents of cum into his ass. I pushed forward with my hips but threw back my head in a silent howl.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, I came down a little and my cock  slipped out.

My little piggy turned around, crouched down and licked my cock clean. I could smell the mix of cum, sweat and ass juices. He gobbled them up.

Licking his chops, he stood, pulling up his pants.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for that.”

And with that little whisper, he was off into the night.

I went to bed, slept well and flew home the next day.

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Travel Diary: Headed Home

Headed Back to the Peach State
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Three nights and four loaded asses later, I’m headed home. Interestingly enough, I’d written the “Lies Men Tell” Parts One, Two and Three a little while back but hadn’t scheduled them to run. In fact, I’d written the first drafts before Las Vegas and my first big Catfish.

Of the four men I bred this trip, two had one of the lies and one had two lies in their pocket.

Still, I bred them for whatever reason. Quick and dirty, pump and dump. Not proud and it fucking pisses me off a little.

All men lie. I lie too to get ass. They lie to get dick. I’m not surprised.

Beyond that, this trip to the San Francisco Bay area was a buffet of boy ass. I had lots of options, just chose the wrong ones. There was a private gloryhole of which I wish I’d taken advantage.

Anyway, Atlanta, here I come again. My next trip will be interesting. If you haven’t checked out my travel schedule on BarebackRT.com, you should. It’s not in the U.S. Here’s a graphical hint.

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Travel Date Added: Off to Boston in Early March

Boston Postcard
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I’ll be headed to Boston in early March for any Yankees who want to sample my cock and cum. It’s my first return in many years to Beantown — probably more than a decade. And I won’t be there too long. So if you want to meet up, it would likely be a pump and dump. But we can see whether it might be a little more quality than that, especially for dedicated Bareback Brotherhood members. Hit me up if you’d like.

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Breeding the Bi Boy Who Would Be Married

uboy2
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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 bumped my head as I entered the darkened apartments. Just off campus of a major private university in Atlanta, I’d been invited for an anonymous breeding by a “boy.” It amazed me the use of the word “boy,” even by this youthful thirtysomething, even if I felt his photos warranted the name. My eyes didn’t adjust from the bright spring day and this basement apartment with low ceilings didn’t help much.

So I wandered on, feeling my way through an obvious bachelor’s pad. He’d claimed to be bisexual and now I believed  un. Even I, with my moments of untidiness, would never let it get this bad — not that we yet warranted an episode of “Hoarders.”

I found the mattress on the floor and felt his leg, finally stripping off my jeans and pulling his head toward my slightly hard cock to suck it a bit. And he did, adequately enough to bring me to full mast. But he stopped quickly and laid down on his stomach. Very passive. Very ready. His ass already greased. So I slid in and began pumping.

The low ceilings and darkness played tricks on me, making me feel a little claustrophobic in the oppressive room. But yet his ass proved to be perfection. Although I could not see it, his tiny waist beneath me  betrayed the nice bounce I got off the mounds as I leaned into the fuck.

I sometimes want it over fast but other times, I want the bottom to know I can fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck. This one needed to invite me back. So I held off. I fucked him for a good 10 minutes.

Despite the state of the place, I was impressed that he smelled relatively clean. The sheets were a bit stale and, well, you could get a hint of old mattress beneath them. His smooth skin seemed unusual and perfect. When he spoke, it seemed to have a little country lilt, like he might be a Georgia native. And he certainly enjoyed my cock.

I finally asked if he wanted my load, which he answered yes and then, getting the hint, began to beg for it. That inspired a huff of poppers and a pummeling of his ass. When I’m in top mode, it’s a little more difficult for me to pop but I got there and laid him a nice load in his ass. He could feel my cock twitching inside his tight little hole.

Staying for a moment and chatting, he would tell me about both his wife and his girlfriend — unusually aware of his bareback escapades. Of course, wondering about the veracity did leave me wanting a little more, so we’ll see if I get a little better read if I’m able to fuck his sweet hole again.

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