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Condom Versus Bareback Sex

Condom Versus Bareback Sex

I’ve received a couple of e-mails just today from men confronting a crossroads on which path to take. I’m going to share what each had to write.

Being gay is one thing. You are already different and somewhat an outcast for that.

Then if you are into older guys and not guys your own age it’s another thing and another form of alienation.

Oh and then there is leather if you are into kinks and being subservient and being someone’s slave or boy and wearing a collar people thing you are strange.

And add barebacking to the mix and you are basically a fucking alien.

I’d say the only thing you could do more then that is becoming poz then good luck ever finding acceptance.

This young man in his twenties experienced first hand the hatred coming from the gay community for being a barebacker. Unfortunately, someone discovered his enjoyment at raw cock and, poof, all his acceptance in his circle of friends dissipated so quickly, he felt abandoned and forced into burying his urge to go raw. Now, with animosity and a regret, he wrote me thinking I would reject him too because he no longer barebacked.

Peer pressure. What an odd thing.

The other man, in his mid-thirties, wrote to express his newness to fucking raw.

It took me a long time to get to the point of taking raw cock on purpose.  Haven’t moved to all-bare all the time yet.

I still remember the first loads I took.  Was really nervous about it.  But now, I crave my buddies’ loads.  Sometimes I really want to be a cum dump and take all loads.  Haven’t got to that point though.

My Own Journey

In the late 1980s and early 1990s as the AIDS epidemic brought more and more death upon the gay community, I happened to be a fledgling twentysomething myself in South Florida. I lived far away from the big cities and worked way too hard to get to date men, as at the time I thought a Prince Charming still existed on my horizon would come and take me to new heights of love and sex.

You can read of my own sexual exposures by my molester in the Dark Passenger Opens a new window from this blog entries, which at the time, I’d confronted but didn’t face head on as this blog allowed in the years since. Yet as a young journalist at a small newspaper in the heat of the Florida sun, I got to see the worst that can happen to humanity:

  • A 13-year-old middle school student stabbed, snipped and raped (after death)
  • A 19-year-old motorcyclist with his brain scattered a few hundred feet — now I know why they call it “gray matter”
  • Countless shootings and stabbings of people, often for no reason or for some drug deal gone bad
  • Lightning strikes of golfers, kids playing outside or just random people
  • Skinheads and KKK recruiting in the local high schools
  • Vagrants and drunks falling asleep on train tracks to have the locomotive run them over and sever off some body part
  • Whole families driving off roads into ditches and drowning, never exiting the minivan
  • Beach drownings and backyard pool drownings of old and young, accidental or otherwise
  • Wrecks where the jaws of life pried open bloody mangled messes of metal and human fused together
  • Coaches molesting his female players on his championship team
  • And an honors student and latchkey kid, sniffing a spray can protectant, getting high, barfing and dying his backyard

These were not odd occurrences. This happened daily. Sometimes twice or three times. Over the weekend. For more than two years, I watched this carnage and human destruction up close and personal. No college professor prepared me for real blood and body parts and coroners and victim tears and invading people’s privacy to get a few precious words for a quote.

In the midst of all this, I began my own medical issues. My doctor, at the time, asked me if I’d ever been tested for the virus that causes AIDS. I’d developed some odd rash and he had no idea why.

No cocktails existed. As I recall, AZT was even experimental. People I knew who had AIDS would suddenly disappear only to have their obituary appear later due to suicide or some other “illness.” And if my life, just starting out, began with a doctor suggesting that a fucking rash might be HIV.

The test in those days took more than a week to get the results. I worried the whole time. And the whole time I worried, I watched countless people drop dead around me from murder, accident, mayhem and more.

But I didn’t have HIV. I was fine. I would live!

Life seemed brighter. The world seemed better. I didn’t need to worry. Everything would be a-okay. I just needed to be careful. Right? No unsafe sex.

Fuck. I barely had sex anyway. The death and destruction at work kept making sure of that.

I would try to use a condom if sex ever popped up or just let a guy suck me off. And I tried to date. But something just seemed unsettling to me.

Fast-forward

I’d sampled raw sex from the beginning — my first fuck ever Opens a new window from this blog — and a few momentous subsequent fucks Opens a new window from this blog. As I turned over my new leaf following the savior of coming out negative, I found myself slipping up from time to time. Often, it would be someone I really liked (or lusted after).

scruff-go-rawBarebacking happens. Any gay man who hooks up will likely bareback. A recent example to the right. I’ll tell someone I only fuck raw and they’ll change their tune quick.

Recent studies found that about half of all gay men will admit to having bareback sex. But that’s the admission. I believe that number is much higher. The study I’m citing was from a judgmental safer sex education effort and didn’t go at the study neutrally. Someone asked like I did — as you see in this pic or in a way that makes people feel “safe” to answer they’re okay with barebacking — you’ll find more people will admit to going raw.

While the fuck listed here didn’t hesitate, sometimes the bottom will wait a while and come back later with an “all right, I’ll let you fuck me” or “if you promise you’re DDF, you can fuck me.” Sometimes, if I follow through with the fuck, I’ll be asked to pull out.

I pull out…. after I blast inside.

Everyone knows my name, my e-mail address and usually this blog. Why they sometimes miss that fact, I don’t quite get it.

In my experience, those who eventually admit and will allow me to bareback — based on my photos — and knowing my information is about seven out of 10. I believe if I had a photo of an athletic body, younger age and a slightly larger cock, I’d get closer to nine out of 10.

And if I were to bottom, it would be close to 99 percent with those looks.

pornI wrote recently Opens a new window from this blog about a porn star who visited Atlanta during 2012. This performer, who is rather famous and qualifies as a true porn star, would have cost me a big chunk of change. He stars in condom-only porn. He refused to get fucked raw but would gladly fuck raw and, even knowing me and my blog, would breed my ass.

The schedules never meshed and I’m not messing up his career or the opportunity for him to breed me should he return to the ATL.

I believe that some people think it’s more acceptable to be a bareback top.

The more young, the more athletic, the more “healthy” looking, the more likely a raw fuck will happen.

Back to My Story

As I matured and had my experiences with dating and hookups, I had sex both with and without condoms. It’s not like I didn’t know the difference. It’s not like I ignored the choice before me. And every six months or so, I’d endure the long wait to determine if I happened to be HIV positive, worrying about what would happen, what other discrimination might confront me along with the homophobic hatred that already confronted my life.

Medical changes were happening and treatments were improving. People living with HIV didn’t die immediately. I had boyfriends, then partners. And my life progressed. When I would try to use a condom, it wouldn’t always be the most successful experience.

The difference between bareback and condom sex is like standard- and high-definition television. Once you’ve watched high-def, you really can’t stand to go back to the low-definition again. It’s fuzzy. You don’t get as much out of the experience. The sensations aren’t all there. You’re missing a big chunk of the fun. The experience is extremely lacking.

You crave the high-definition. You want to full-on overload that you get from the sensory inputs of going raw.

Anyone who pretends it’s “just as hot” or whatever else is lying.

My two writers know this. And this is the conflict they’re struggling with right now.

To the Twentysomething

You are a barebacker and you know the risks that come with it. You might pretend for the sake of your so-called friends that you want to wrap it up. However, what kind of friends are they really?

Maintaining a little separation of your sex life and your professional life makes a great deal of sense. But your gay friends cannot all say they hate you because you bareback. If they do, they’re not truly your friends (and it’s time to find some new ones). Barebacking is a choice.

I will say if you choose to use a condom, it’s fine with me. If I know someone makes a logical choice based on the facts in front of them, then I can only respect their choices.

Further, allow me to say Atlanta isn’t the best choice for the Leather Community. It is a small community and the choices are limiting, unlike larger cities where Leather has a larger presence — Chicago for one. I’d suggest you broaden your circle of friends and you’ll find several barebacking members in within BDSM circles.

And should you ever become poz, I promise you won’t be alienated either. There’s a special bond between poz men (I’m sure some of them will speak out).

To the Thirtysomething

You too are coming into your own, now that you’ve seen the greener grasses of barebacking. Even with your limited experience, you know that the sensory experience of going raw just can’t compare with wrapping plastic around a cock and sliding it into a hole. That separation blurs the enjoyment.

Can you truly make that choice?

Why I Made the Choice

As I wrote earlier, I was unprepared for the death, destruction and hatred I would see on a day-to-day experience. Compound that with my molestation, and you come to a place where I struggled to find intimacy and connections with men that simply didn’t not transfer through the plastic barriers of a condom.

Why would I choose to live a life hidden from those sensations I craved and deny myself the thing I wanted? Why especially when I knew it all could be snatched away in a moment due to lightning, an accident, a gunshot, a stabbing or some other act of fate that would take thousands every year but somehow spare me?

One of the oddest occurrences that still baffles me is the person who writes me and wants me to fuck him — but insists I use a condom. Oh, he’s  read my blog. He knows I only fuck raw. He’s aware that “I blast inside.” But he considers himself cute enough, muscular enough, hung enough, young enough, funny enough or some other talent enough that he will be the exception to my rule to fuck raw. He is special enough that he will escape my raw breeding. I won’t stealth him either. I’ll be honorable and fuck safely.

No chance in hell.

And if you think a car accident, a home invasion, a stray bullet, a blood clot, a drowning or some other death or destruction element will miss you — that you’re special enough that God will spare you — then I spent two years in South Florida meeting the people who thought the same thing.

Life is meant to be lives in high definition. That’s where I live it.

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I’ll have the double rice

I’ll have the double rice

California offers many pleasures but for me, it happens to be a larger percentage of Asians among the fuckable population. I’ve always had an affinity for Asians and, despite whatever your impression might be, Asians offer a kaleidoscopic among themselves, as I’ve found out.

On my most recent trip, I scooted south to the Los Angeles megaplex — quite a different vibe than Northern California where I’ve been frequenting of late. Moreover, I was in town for a lovely, lovely tradeshow.

If in your career, you’ve never had the esteemed pleasure of working a tradeshow, then you’ve missed experiencing what I am certain would become a modern ring of hell if Dante were alive to write about it today. A bunch of people gather in a space to set temporary campgrounds of marketing marvels and give away shit to others forced to visit because their bosses were too lazy to go.

Oh, and you smile a lot. And act interested.

I think local homes drop off Alzheimer’s patients as a stimulating experience for them. We have to be nice in our booths because we are hoping for prospective customers to stop by.

Anyway, it’s in this setting where my first gentleman caller pops up.

His body, as you can see, is perfection. His nipples just divine. Smooth. Gorgeous. I cannot say enough about how amazing he was. Then again, perfection does tend to agree with one at 21 years old.

To get over the initial awkwardness, he suggested giving me a backrub — how 1980s porn, I know — but it worked and soon he was stroking and sucking my cock. I returned the favor, literally licking every spot on his body. The natural smoothness extended to the pucker around his hole.

I ate him out. I ate deep. I went for it. I got that asshole ready for my cock.

As I slid up along his back, I began to rub my hardness in that crack trying to find the wet hole. He teased me a bit. Just as he’d been teasing me with a possible kiss that never happened. His long, jet black, straight hair constantly tossed to the side as he stared at me but a kiss would never quite come. Oh, he’d suck my cock, but no kissing.

Fine but what ever. I now wanted to fuck.

And away he pulls, right out from under me. Off across the room to find his pants. FUCK.

Despite the implication that I wanted to “fill” his hole, he brought a damn condom. Indeed. And he put it on me. Lubed it up with his own product and then sat on my cock.

Luckily, with a body like his, I could stay hard enough to keep it going. We fucked but I just have to say we were going through the motions when he finally suggested he get on his back.

BINGO.

His muscular, almost hairless legs up and blocking his view allowed me to begin pumping his ass. He never once reached to check the status of the condom and he began asking for me to be sure to shoot my load all over his chest.

No problem, I told him.

I slipped the condom off between strokes and left it on the ledge of the bed.

Finally inside his fully lubed Asian ass and I could feel his loose, already amazing ass around my cock. He blabbed on about wanting my cum on his chest when I took my hit of poppers, already in ecstasy thanks to those first moments of barebacking.

Of course the poppers pushed me over the edge.

I began to pick up pace and really let him have it. He was intensely enjoying it.

“Yea, you want my cum?” I asked.

“Yea man!” he said. “All over me!”

“Just tell me you want my cum,” I demanded.

“I want your cum!” I responded.

I began to shoot in his ass, the first two jets I made sure were deep in him before I pulled out and shot another on his ass and the nearby condom and then finally, mocking that I was having trouble with the condom, the last couple of smaller ones into his dark pubes. But he didn’t care as he had been in the throws of his own orgasm, shooting sprays across that perfect chest.

How I wanted to lick it up but after all, we were “safe.”

Next…

A couple of evenings later would be my last night in town and I’d been searching for another bit of fun — not necessarily Asian. However, my appetite turned out to be unsatisfied when he messaged me.

Now I’m not one to turn down another Asian, especially with this ethnic flair. I’d never sampled a Vietnamese. And to assure we didn’t have a repeat of the last time, I made it perfectly clear that I would be breeding his ass. Part of our exchange, in fact, follows:

ME: Raw or wrapped?

HIM: never done bb before..u? im clean and neg..no drug

ME: BB only here. Clean and neg. No drug.

HIM: cool. if serious, drop me your cell..

After the usual cell texting, the five-foot-four cutie showed up at my hotel room. This boy kissed and sucked cock like a pro. His oral skills left the other guy in the dust.

When I made it to his ass, well, where the other Asian had muscles, this 24-year-old had mounds of beautiful flesh that I ate like I’ve not eaten in years.

And when I slid up and my cock found his crevice, his hole opened up and soon I was sliding into him.

He might not have ever barebacked before but I know he’d thought of it. He’d wanted it. He begged for my cock and soon started on my cum without my prompting.

I let him ride me for a while before finally putting him on his stomach. My 6-foot-3 and 210-pound frame made his disappear into the bed. I totally dominated him.

And I made him beg me for my load.

I finally did unload and pushed it deep into his ass. I kept my cock inside him until I softened up and let it fall out.

His first bareback load made him a little clingy. I think he thought it was an invitation to stay but I had to kick him out. Nonetheless, it proved to be quite an event. Two Asian asses in just a few days.

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Don't be a dick

Breaking the Silence: Seeking Sufficient ROI from My Friends

So where have I been?

Some of you might have seen me on Twitter with occasional posts. Not much elsewhere. As I’ve struggled over the last few months, exerting myself upon multiple fronts to find an occupation for myself, the results failed to be fruitful. Each provided a life lesson for me. And I sit upon the precipice and ponder the path I’ve taken.

I use people, most specifically bottoms for my own pleasure. As I have ventured a little further in recent times, I’ve opened myself up to a little more sensation but still, my intention is to mark my territory. I won’t settle for a condom, insisting that my cock slide raw into an ass and spray my DNA markers in that most intimate of places to say I was here.

I’ve never been delusional about how the world works as well. While lacking the literal fucking and breeding, I’ve been proverbially bent over and marked through my life in many ways. And I let it happen. Perhaps my own need to breed back is my response to how society decided to use my intelligence, creativity and good will.

Now approaching eight months of unemployment, struggling with comprehending why my talents are overqualified and too advanced for today’s workforce, I find myself questioning much. And then comes the sexual side of it all. The other night, I lay beneath a young man just making out. And a sensation came across like someone flipped on a switch I’d not felt in eons. Of course, we all feel it on occasion.

A lunch arrangement and then when the time comes, it’s postponed and finally cancelled with a stinging “it was a mistake” to even suggest meeting. A sudden flash of anger and hurt then returned to calm as I’ve been here before, kicked to the curb for dropping my guard and giving humanity hope for a moment.

If only I’d bred him when I had the chance. My territory went unmarked.

A realization came over me about the number of people who use me as well. My so-called friends who only use me for their benefit and return so little back. Karma?

Funny because I’ve been cutting some people out of my life. If I don’t see enough Return On Investment from my friends, well, they’re getting kicked to the curb as well.

As a result, I think Karma has kicked my ass-supply. I’ve found it dwindles some, of late. I’m sure some cum-hungry sluts find the ass use a mutually beneficial relationship, but my one-off, use your ass as a masturbation device doesn’t often work that well.

Part of me still hopes for a buddy in Atlanta who can fuck, hang out, bareback, etc. I don’t see it happening. And that occasional need for affinity comes and goes. But perhaps I should stick to an equation, a simple mathematical value of what I get for what I give.

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Deceptively Fun #2: Bi Blond Boy

Deceptively Fun #2: Bi Blond Boy

He just turned 22 and he loves raw cock. He can’t get enough of it. And he’s bi.

It was even hard for me to believe it. He lived less than a mile from me. Oh, and he lived with his girlfriend.

This guy exudes straightness. He’s a little over 6 foot tall and slim. Blond with a little goatee. Kind of a skater punk look. A nice tattoo on his bicep. Smooth except for a little line of hair from the belly button down and around his dick right to his asshole. And his cock has got to be 9 inches uncut.

But they guy has no interest at all in fucking. He’s all about getting fucked.

I have a few screen names for online. Each one for my mood. It’s amazing, though, how just a slight change in stats can make a change. In my case, I just changed “gay” to “bi.” I let him fill in the rest. Then again, the rest was simple. I told him I was married. and I was. Just to a guy at the time. He assumed a woman. So he figured if I was living with my wife, it would be cool to fuck raw. And the guy BEGGED for it.

Bi guys can be the “extra careful” sort if they’re married. If not, I find there’s no limits. Beside, if a bi guy THINKS he’s getting fucked by a married dude, he’s even LESS careful.

I don’t fucking care if they’re bi, gay or straight. If it’s a manly ass, I am fucking it.

He’s a non-nonsense fuck. He walks in, stripping. No kissing at all. He’d rather not even face me. He’s on my bed, face down, his ass slightly hunched up. It’s just enough so he can get to his cock.

He loves lube. When I squeeze some on my hand and start massaging it into his asscrack, he reaches back with both hands and spreads his cheeks.

“Squeeze some directly in my ass, bud,” he asks.

I do just that. His right hand returns to his cock and his left props himself up just a bit. My wet, slicked cock is right at his hole.

“Take it slow, guy,” he says.

“No prob.”

And I enter him. It’s fucking tight. But a smooth entry. He flinches. He’s overwhelmed by my thick, flared head. My cock is throbbing and red now. I resist the temptation just to plunge it to the hilt. I push it in slowly. His left hand is back on my thigh, guiding me to let me know when I should push in deeper and when I shouldn’t.

Shortly, he’s adjusted. and I can start to move a little. He doesn’t like it pushed in hard. He just likes that slow, casual fuck. So I take my time, getting him adjusted to just how far my cock can probe.

Now he’s moaning and his ass is pushing back. meeting my every thrust. My raw cock is finding his joy spots too.

“Fuck me dude. fuck me with that cock that fucks your wife’s pussy.”

I care only about his manpussy right now.

As with most “complicated” boys, he cannot handle a long fuck. He’s working himself up to a quick explosion.

“Tell me man,” he says. “Tell me when you’re gonna shoot in my ass.”

“You want that load?” I ask.

“Fuck yeah,” he says as I pick up the pace a little. “Yeah man. really pummel my ass.”

So I do. I start pushing in harder and deeper, bringing my raw cock out and pushing it further in. It’s so hot to see the little blond hairs around his pucker all slicked down by the lube. He’s starting the moan louder as my cockhead is really flaring out. I know he’s feeling my whole cock as it gets larger.

I swell when I am close to coming. It’s not just girth but length. But my cockhead just swells up like a fucking balloon when I get close. And I am now. I start grunting and push my cock all the way in.

“Here’s your fucking load, bud!” I growl in his ear.

I stop moving. That’s when the pulsing starts. My balls have drawn up close to my cock. The hairs are tickling the area around his asshole. And my cock is fucking throbbing as it sucks spunk from my balls and juice from my prostate and starts injecting it into his raw ass.

At that moment, I feel his asshole clench around my cockbase. I can feel the flinching of his own prostrate about halfway down on my cock as he shoots his load onto the bedsheets. That 9 inch, uncut slab of meat is spraying the spunk deep into my sheets.

And my own juice is going deep into him. Raw man. There’s no other way. I just love the fact he leaves and goes home to his “girl” with a gut full of manseed.

We’re breathing hard. While I am STILL rock hard, I go ahead and ease my cock out. I wouldn’t mind leaving it in there, but he’s one of those guys who can’t stand the fact he’s got a cock in his ass two seconds after he shoots.

“So where’s your wife?” he asks as he pulls on his underwear on his still wet cock.

“She works late,” it’s been a long time since I had to play the pronoun game. “And then she goes to the gym.”

That was mostly true.

“Cool,” he’s now putting on loose fitting jeans. “She know you fuck guys?”

“Naw,” I said. “I figure if I don’t fuck any girls, she doesn’t need to know.”

“Yer right there dude,” he’s slipping on his shoes, still letting me look on that hot, slender, almost hairless chest. “I could never tell her I get fucked. She’d freak. Hey, everything’s cool, right?”

It’s funny. Most guys don’t bother to ask until after.

“No worries, bud,” I give a charming smile. Wins ’em every time.