Tag Archives: senses

Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: The Return of Rage


I need to admit the truth. After all, I occasionally run a Confessional here and this is a space for me to be myself.

When I heard of the impending death of my molester, I felt something not unfamiliar: Rage.

For a moment, time stood still, I heard my heart and the moments of my abuse — the pleasurable and the horrible — all came together. That evening, as I wrote, pouring the adrenalin rush into the typing, I wanted desperately to fuck out the bad feeling. I needed a bottom to abuse back. Someone to pummel.

Truth is, when I fuck, it is rare for me to lose  control. I control every movement. Very few men have ever experienced me unleashed. No. Unleashed is the wrong word. The word is unhinged.

If you are a bottom, you may be thinking how hot it would be to experience what might be a Rage Fuck from me. Knowing that physically, I am without the physical prowess to bench-press much or chin-up myself . I don’t have abs or pecs or guns or anything like that. I am not muscular. You’re thinking it wouldn’t be a big deal, especially if indeed you are muscular yourself.

But with almost 30 years of pent-up Rage, if I allowed that to pour out, my system would be overloaded with chemicals that would blind me. Wikipedia remarks that a person experiencing rage “is capable of doing things that may normally seem physically impossible. Those experiencing rage usually feel the effects of high adrenaline levels in the body. This increase in adrenal output raises the physical strength and endurance levels of the person. One’s senses become extremely acute due to the high amounts of adrenaline in the body, and, on the opposite end, this also reduces one’s sensation of pain. People in rage may also experience events in a sort of slow motion. An explanation of this ‘time dilation’ effect is that instead of actually slowing our perception of time, high levels of adrenaline increase our ability to recall specific minutae of an event after it occurs. Since humans gauge time based on the amount of things they can remember, high-adrenaline events such as those experienced during periods of rage seem to unfold more slowly.”

My Rage did not emerge. I did not fuck. I have not released my cum and likely, I won’t let myself release it except in controlled amounts.

I can smell my rage right now. It’s a smell. I can see blood pulse through my eyeballs. It’s returned now. It’s here. Now.

A blog on Men and Rage says, “Rage is commonly brought on by fear a threat to some part of yourself. When you are threatened, your brain instantly reacts with a fight, flight, or freeze response. Rage can also be a reaction to protect deep, deep shame.”

Maybe all of that is true. Maybe I am shamed. Does my shame come from the fact I want to dance on this fucker’s grave?

Male Population

Breaking Down the Male Population

A night a while back, one of my acquaintances online lamented that in his corner of the world, he’d fucked every asshole there was available. Knowing where his corner of the planet happened to be in proximity to a couple of universities and other places of “higher learning” (read “extreme intoxication” and frat boy experimentation) and knowing my chat friend happened to be in his rather youthful 20s (hey, black don’t crack), I challenged him on his theory that he lacked any options.

Inevitably, this proceeded to my own hypothesis, tested out time and time again over the past two-and-a-half decades, that about two-thirds of men can be had. So I decided to put together my own chart to help explain where I stand on the male population.

Chart of what the breakdown should be...

Men, to begin with, exist on a different level than women. Men experience the world through our senses — sights, sounds, smells even. Women allow their emotions to maneuver through this existence. Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter.

This is my totally unscientific study and, by that, I mean I’m probably off by 2 to 3 percentage points.

Gay Men (24 percent)

Let’s begin with Gay men, which roughly break down into two categories: Out and Closeted. Depending where you are on the planet, the ratio between Out and Closeted vary and allow me to suggest why this is the case.

First, of course, the geographic location. In the South, where I happen to live, assault by Biblical texts will chase a man into the closet faster than a Baptist at a liquor store’s front door and he sees his preacher. In some countries, especially the Middle East and Africa, we’re talking torture and death if you’re discovered, so get comfy.

Second, and this is a biggie, is your position. If you’re a top, it’s so very easy to be closeted. Remember, a hole is a hole since men experience the world through sensory input. Natural tops can spend their lives closing their eyes, visualizing a man and fucking. So you wonder why there are so few tops, there you go.

Finally, the world is a place where, for the time being, we’re all about averages. What’s the average salary, the average distance, the average penis length, the average color, the average everything. The politically correct thing isn’t to say Asians have small cocks and African Americans have huge schlongs. Society — and I’m not talking about the Bible or morals — has decided that it’s “normal” to be married with a wife and kids. Believe me, my job would be so much more fucking easy if I played golf and talked about the little woman. I’d be ahead in my career if I were “straight.” Being closeted is a way to get ahead in my career.

In other words, religion, sex and money will put you in the closet.

So no matter what Kinsey report or survey says, I believe that when you get right down to it, a solid 24 percent of the male population is gay. You read me right. I believe almost a quarter. I am not kidding.

Bi Men (3 to 4 percent)

Funny thing, I figure the Bi men might get a little pissed at this one. I think the true Bi men — the ones hovering in the true center — might be the minority. Give me a moment to explain.

Kinsey created a scale of 0 to 6 where zero was exclusively heterosexual and six was exclusively homosexual, as illustrated by this chart I’ve included from Wikipedia.org:

Theoretically, that’s cool, but if you truly believe that Kinsey was onto something, then wouldn’t you need to be a perfect three? Actually, wouldn’t you need to be exactly 3½ or a 3.5 to be a true bisexual? Otherwise, you’d teeter off to either a homosexual or heterosexual side of the equation?

See? (Chart altered by me to show the perfect center.)

Again, men experience life through their senses, so you can fuck any hole. But seriously, the emotional attachment comes into the equation, you fall down on one side or the other and men may try out both sides but eventually settle on one or the other. True bisexuals are rare. That’s another reason why the Gay population is larger in my sampling.

Six-Pack Queers (23 percent)

Six-Pack Queers deserve a class of their own, although they’d probably end up split between Closeted and Bisexuals, if we could. If you were or are in the military, you automatically qualify for Six-Pack Queers. This classification is based on a joke I heard years ago.

Q. What’s the difference between a straight Marine and a Gay Marine?

A. A six pack.

In other words, get a Marine drunk and he’ll have sex with you. By the way, I’ve fucked more Marines that way. I’ve had every branch of the military (during active duty) except Coast Guard (if they count).

When you impair a man’s senses, he can justify his actions better. He can say he didn’t realize that he was sucking cock, getting fucked or whatever. He hides his true emotional and physical desires behind the booze. He’s easy to pick up at the bar. He’s the stupid blond sorority girl with the mating call of “I’m so drunk.”

Now not all Six-Pack Queers are necessarily in a bar, but finding one lurking there makes it easier to get him inebriated and into your orbit. If they’re not drinking, you can’t get them. Six-Pack Queers will not have sex while they’re sober.

To get a Six-Pack Queer takes a certain type of approach. As I explained, think of yourself as a predator on a nature program. You must approach your prey and seek his weak spots, exploit them and then attack mercilessly. As he whines about some ex-girlfriend, stuff his mouth with your cock and work it. Getting emotionally attached to any Six-Pack Queer will be the worst thing possible.

Straight Bottoms (19 percent)

For any man who has had the pleasure of something shoved up his ass knows the intensity of an item tickling his prostate, thankyouverymuch. Even though I’m a top, I know that prostate stimulation can provide some incredible pleasure. For natural bottoms, that experience is intensified.

Who said bottoms couldn’t be straight?

So let’s take a walk on the wild side for a moment. Let’s just suppose for a moment that a percentage of all straight men are, indeed, natural bottoms. They like — in fact, love and prefer — having things shoved up their asses.

Certainly, your girlfriend or wife or female whatever would strap one on and shove a fake cock up the ass. The plastic would feel good. It would. A certain need would be fulfilled.

However, let’s just be honest. Fake is fake. We can all pretend like tofu is meat but after a while, we want the real thing. It’s not Gay to want a real cock up your ass.

I believe the Chicks with Dicks phenomenon comes from this place, because I’m certainly not interested in any titty-heavy bitches with pricks. Who would be? What would Chicks with Dicks target? Where’s the market? Could it be straight men who want to get fucked maybe?

True Straights (31 percent)

Gotta love the Straight Boys. Believe me, there are plenty out there. And you might want to believe you’re one of them, but if you’re reading this, chances are you aren’t one. Not much to say about the ones walking the Straight and Narrow except they know that a mouth does have gender.

What people are searching to find this page::

  • male milking torture (12)
Travel Diary: More than 5,000

Travel Diary: More than 5,000

I like anonymous fucking. It’s something about not being able to see the other person and letting your other senses take over. I especially enjoy it while travelling. This past spring, I went to Minneapolis and happened to be put up near the Mall of America. I was only there one night so finding a quick pump-and-dump seemed almost improbable.

You know how it is. You post and ad and get a few hundred responses. After a few back and forth messages, you weed out the weird, they’re not your type, you’re not their type, the flakes, etc. You end up with just a few.

I generally like to see some sort of photo but a face isn’t required. After all, it’s supposed to be anonymous! My prospects on a rainy night were lacking to say the least. But then I got the message from a 24 year old. Generally, I’m not all about age, but the name of his photo got my special attention.

It was called “mycummyass.jpg.” That’s what I like to see. Not the largest photo, but he was definitely into the anonymous thing. In this case, I’d prop my door open, be in the dark on the bed naked, he’d come in strip, get me hard and I’d fuck him.

We texted as he approached and I prepared. When he arrived, this particular hotel room accomplished darkness better than most I’d be in. I couldn’t hardly see a fucking thing. The door swung open and the brightness blinded me for a moment.

He was in the room quick and was already shuffling his clothes off. Good boy. A lot “check” verbally to be sure it’s for real. His very small frame — probably 5-foot 6-inches tall and easily at around 145 — crawled onto the bed naked and he started sucking my cock easily. I popped up to full size quickly.

He crawled up and, in an unusual move, actually kissed me. As close as we were, I couldn’t make much out. He was perfectly smooth with a high-and-tight hairstyle, spiky on top but closely shaved on the sides. His lips were full. His tongue tasted like mint gum and my cock all at once.

“Can you fuck me on my stomach?” the first thing he uttered.

“Of course,” I answered in a non-nonchalant tone. But he wouldn’t know that it was among my favorite positions. Flat on his stomach, I crawled on top of him and found his already lightly lubed hole.

I love pre-lubed holes that aren’t too heavily lubed. I love the initial friction and resistance. And this young man had it easily. I collapsed on top of him once I’d found it and began sliding inside.

He never grunted. He almost didn’t move. Buried inside him quickly, I didn’t have to wait to begin pumping.

“You’ll be my fourth load today,” he said.


“Yes really.” His all American voice was indeed young. He had a smooth ass, just like the rest of him. His hands were at his sides. As far as I could tell, he never ever touched himself.

He continued, “I’m going to get at least two others tonight before I go out.”

“You’re a fucking cum slut aren’t you?” I growled.

“Yes.” His response was simple and matter-of-fact.

“When’d you start taking cum?” I asked.

He told me an age that I was certain wouldn’t be legal even in Minnesota. No story came out. Nothing other than he liked cum.

“So how much cum would you say you’ve taken?” I asked. I was curious now.

“You want the real answer or a fake one?” he asked.

That’s always an interesting question. If he’s liked me, he’d probably prepared lies just in case someone wanted to make certain it wasn’t a slut beneath him for a raw cock. But for me, the answer could have been small or large, I didn’t care.

“Be honest,” I said. “After all, I can’t see your face, I don’t know you and I’ll never see you again.”

He considered it for a moment.

“It’s over 5,000,” he said. “I know it’s at least 5,000.”

“Nice,” I grunted. “And I’m about to be 5,001.”

“How many have you bred?” he asked.

I considered being honest or lying here, just as he did. To be honest, I had no idea. But I’ve barebacked since I wasn’t legal in my home state, just like him.

“More than you,” I said. “I’m a little older.”

“Fuck!” he said. Actually, it probably was more like, “fffffuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccckkkk.”

He was turned on. I was pushing deeper. After a snort of poppers, I got ready to let it go. “Beg,” was all I said.

“Please breed my ass with your hot cum!”

Now, I know when you read this, it sounds almost like a line delivered by a bad porn actor. But he didn’t sound like he was acting. He begged. He kept begging in earnest. He wanted me to breed his ass so bad.

I did. I grunted and let it go. He groaned, “Fuck, I can feel it.”

I throbbed and once it subsided, I kept pushing it in. “Want to make sure it goes deep.”

After a few moments, I crawled off. He hopped up, sucked my cock clean and was in his clothes in a flash. “Thanks.”

And he was gone. Never saw his face.

What people are searching to find this page::

  • gay orgies Minneapolis (1)