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Fuck Fuck Fuck

The Brotherhood of the Traveling Fucks

I’ve been traveling a lot. And it doesn’t look like it will let up anytime soon. And I’ve been fucking lucky.

Literally.

The ass in each city ends up being hot, hot, hot.

If I tried to write about every ass and each encounter, you’d all love it — I know. But I don’t have time. I’m just that busy.

Allow me to summarize some of the highlights.

Mid-Atlantic Tropical Hot Ass

I usually advertise my arrival in advance of my arrival. My ads usually announce that a top blogger is coming to town, looking for some bottom inspiration. I require some basic information from those who want to learn about the blog, since a vast majority of people just want the jerk off material.

I don’t mind. But I want to get a glimpse of who’s going to see it.

Occasionally, some people know who it is. Or they figure it out quickly. These are my fan fuck plans. Some people can be dedicated fans, who read up on me in great details. Others are just the guys who read me when it’s time to jerk off.

This young, very tan man hits me up and begins begging.

Now you have to understand. The younger the bottom, the less reliable. Young men in their twenties are notorious unreliable. I’ve made plans with hem in cities only to end up with a dry dick in hand.

This one really seemed genuine.

And not to bore you with details, he worked out well considering that this time, I ended up running late. He arrived after I finally got into my hotel room. Without hesitation, he worked into an embrace and kiss.

A good kiss.

His sucking worked at getting me hard. But when I finally got into his hairy ass, the fucking tight ass proved to be phenomenal.

Too phenomenal.

It’s been a while since I’ve bred someone three times in a row. But this little fucker kept me hard through all three. I never really slowed down. Of course, I’d been saving up a little. His exotic mixture of Latin and native tropics. A little hair on his chest and these juicy nipples.

His ass never truly loosened up.

If I ever slipped out, this bottom would let out an exasperated plea to put it back in.

I never went soft. His talent seemed unending to keep me hard. He’d read about where to touch me, how to keep me interested and what to do to arouse me.

He is someone who will be fucked again.

University City Slut

It’s summertime, so most of the college kids are at home, screwing around there and not at school. Just my luck I get to go to the midwest and a town that’s pretty much nothing but a university-supported town.

There’s a small contingency of college kids around — too many of them catfish (fakes who claim to want fucking). I’d just about given up.

I’d messaged a guy on BarebackRT.com before my arrival and, well, he pops back online. I invite him over and, 30 minutes later, this thirtysomething is sucking my cock on my hotel room bed.

We went into fuck mode and his neg hole is just begging me to squirt my load inside him a coat his insides fulls of my DNA.

I do.

All you have to do is beg. And this bottom does.

It’s after all the fucking, with us winded on such an intense session, that he admits to having known who I was, loving my blog and basically wanting to find out if he could really feel it “blast inside.”

(Yes, he could feel it.)

He’d gone to dinner with friends and ditched them between the restaurant and the club to swing by and get fucked by me. But we’d promised for a more extensive session next time.

My Boyfriend Doesn’t Know I’m a Slutty Bottom

Occasionally, one of those 20-year-old guys with an impossibly smooth body e-mails me. I figure the photo has been Photoshopped until there’s not a freckle, not a blemish and no stray hairs.

I’m in Texas and on BarebackRT.com when this little fucker e-mails me, volunteering to come take my load. I tell him the hotel. He asks the room. I give it. He says 15 minutes.

And in 17 minutes, there’s a knock at my door. A gorgeous boy walks in, lithe, tall, Latin and beautiful. His shirt is coming off as he steps into the room. He isn’t hesitating.

His chest is perfect. Just barely definition but no imperfections. Anywhere.

The lights are down low because I fucking hate the harsh lighting of hotels. He flips an end-table light on, its florescent yellow blinking into cold existence. But this boy’s skin is still perfect, reflecting the seamless skin with just a peach fuzz of hair that tingles as I run my fingers over it.

He’s naked now and grabbing for my pants.

He sucks me. I was already hard. He slobbers all over my cock. He thumbs his huge uncut cock a little as he comes up and kisses me with the perfect thick lips and then turns around and lines up my cock with his perfect little pucker.

And he pushes.

I’m inside him.

This insatiable boy just begins to ride. But I can’t be a passive top. I move him into a few positions and I pummel him.

He begs for my cum. He says he wants it bad. Please give it to him. I do. I load him up deep.

I lay in the glow afterward, letting my fingertips run over this perfect boy’s skin.

As we talk, it turns out I’m the fourth load in him tonight, although he’d cleaned out for me — I jokingly scold him for doing that. He assures me I’m the first of many loads as he leaves me for a few more.

His boyfriend is working tonight. He’s out for as many loads as possible. And he takes all loads. Doesn’t matter. Oh, he’s a little picky. Hard cocks only.

Never heard of my blog. Couldn’t care less. He just wanted my cum. He just wanted me to blast inside.

Straight Boy and Gay Bottom

In a southern city, I’ve chosen a ginger to fuck. He finally arrives. When he walks in, I recognize him immediately.

He’s straight. He’s a straight bottom. (Yes, they exist.)

He walks in and basically gets to sucking me. Nothing nice about it. He’s not very good, but it’s enough to harden me up. I step behind him and slick my cock up when he mentioned he has a condom.

I don’t protest. I put it on. At least, that’s what he sees. He lines it up with his hole, feeling the condom on it but after it goes in his hole, I pull it out and pull off the condom in a single motion and slide back inside. As soon as I’m in him bare I feel it.

His asshole is throbbing.

Damn inexperienced bottoms.

He’s shooting his load all over my bed.

Pisses me off a little, but I’ve been inside him raw and he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and that’s why he shot off so quick.

He liked it raw.

He’s out the door and I’m on the prowl again. I don’t find another taker until the next day… this a gay guy who just had this terrific body. I didn’t see a face. I get a little concerned when I don’t see a face at all.

He walks in an angel, with these stunning eyes.

We get to the act quickly, although I wanted to take my time. And we fuck for longer than I intended because I want to give him the best I can.

He enjoys it.

We finally kiss as he leaves a load lighter and a load heavier.

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The Problem with Bisexuals

The Problem with Bisexuals

I’ve never truly believed in bisexuals. Okay, I believe people can be bisexual, but I don’t think men teeter-totter in the center between straight and gay.

As I wrote when I broke down the male population, Kinsey’s scale creates the only perfect spot in the middle of purely heterosexual (a zero) and purely homosexual (a six) if you place it at 3½. Most men will end up at a 3 or a 4, not directly in the middle.

Alas, that brings me to the spot I am now with a young man with whom I am debating. He so much wants to be used and abused as a bottom on his gay side yet maintain his use of women on his straight. He likes to think he can teeter-totter between the two worlds.

Or better yet, he thinks he can make a choice and then abide by it.

It’s as if someone who enjoys both pizza and cheeseburgers when, one day, he chooses to only eat cheeseburgers and avoid pizza for the rest of his life. Can he truly make such a transition?

Of course not.

I mean, bisexuals are pigs. There’s nothing hotter than a bi boy begging for your load — unless it’s a straight boy. But somehow fooling yourself into thinking you’ll actually join our club full-time is bullshit.

Now why am I not coming down hard on this little fucker and claiming he’s just another closet case who needs to get honest? Cause the honest truth is he’s fucked 10 times more girls than guys who have fucked him. It’s disappointing. If I had easy access, I’d try to train him into a cum-craving bottom like he should be.

But my best talent is a good read. And what I read is someone in conflict who won’t go quietly into a full-time life as a Kinsey 6.

This one, we lose.

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Straight Men Are Pigs…And Really Easy

Straight Men Are Pigs…And Really Easy

I’ve had my Android cell phone (and its associated number) for almost 18 months but I’ll still get text messages for “Mac.” Mac must be a big jokester because as I tell these fuckers that I’m not Mac, they never believe me. Never. So usually I begin spouting offensive Gay stuff a straight musclehead like Mac would never say.

I have no idea who Mac is but through all the text messages, I’ve learned about him because folks have asked training advice, asked about his girlfriend, suggested he checked out this or that band, etc.

The other day, I get a photo of a man holding a rather small large-mouth bass. I inform him that I’m not Mac and he’s got the wrong number.

“Sure thing, you Jack-Wagon. Whatever!” He responds.

“I’m not Jack either.” I answer back.

“Okay then, Mr. Wagon to you!”

The guy isn’t getting it. So I go blue: “Unless you’re someone who likes to suck cock, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Not my thing,” he sends back. “But you be proud of whatever you’re good at!”

I hate people who love exclamation points: “I hold my own. And I swallow cum. Do you cum a lot?”

“When I want to!” he responds.

“I fuck ass really well,” I shoot back. “Especially a beefy ass like yours.”

There was a long pause. He seemed to be getting that Mac might not be texting him now. Then I received an apology that indeed, he realized that I wasn’t Mac, that he was married and he thought we were just “joking around.”

“Well, I’m not joking,” I typed back. “I’ll give you the best, most intense time you’ll ever have.”

A pause, then: “My wife takes care of me. You should spend some time reading the bible. The lord can help change your life.”

Fuck. One of those closet cases taking refuge in religion. But I went for it.

“Does she swallow?”

He kept saying how his wife was wonderful and beautiful and took care of him but never answered the question, which I always pointed out. Sometimes these Bible-thumpers can’t help but be honest, even about the most offensive shit like this.

Finally he answered: “No. She won’t even put her mouth there.”

“I would,” I said. “And I’d enjoy it.”

The remaining content fluctuates between his religious guilt and the intrigue of having his cock sucked. I worked the details of my tongue and how it would feel, the sensation and how hard he would cum. How I would savor the flavor. How I would never say, “No,” to his requests.

It took a little magic, but the male testosterone took hold and soon I was driving toward the man’s house. His wife was out of town, thus giving him the chance to go fishing on a weekday. His home nestled near a local lake. I arrived and could see just off to the distance his little boat tied to a dock down the hill from the nondescript house in an older subdivision. A black, shiny Ford F-150 parked in the driveway and a dried-flower wreath on the door.

He answered the door, beefy, solid, dirty blond and about 5-foot-10. He hadn’t shaved but it seemed like he’d cleaned up a bit, wearing a fresh t-shirt and basketball shorts. His handshake was solid if a little hesitant. He invited me in and closed the door, locking it.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Just take me somewhere comfortable,” I said. “Maybe where you can watch porn.”

“We don’t have any,” he said. “My wife won’t allow it.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “Just someplace where you’re comfortable.”

We went upstairs to what I figure was a guest room and he sat on the edge of the bed. I closed the door. On the cloudy afternoon, the blinds and sheers cut much of the light. I knelt in front of him and began to move my hand toward his crotch. He started to move away and say something, but I stopped him.

“Close your eyes, lay back,” I said. “Just relax.”

I resumed my massage as he did as I commanded. Soon I could feel his cock thickening as I reached up inside his leg and touched his cock on the outside of his boxers. It took a few moments before I had him lifting his ass off the bed so I could strip his shorts off him and begin a proper blowjob. He chubbed up to a nice six inches and thick, not too hard but not completely soft. A mouthful. His fuzzy blondish brown hair all over and unkempt. But I sucked him and licked his balls. I varied the speed and worked him all over, licking places he’d never felt a tongue.

I moved my hands up under his shirt and touched his furry chest and found large nipples. One little touch and each stood firm and began to poke up. He even pulled up his shirt for easier access. He moaned and groaned as I began to work him into a frenzy.

But I did not come here to make him happy.

I did pause long enough to come up for air and actually lick his nipples. This was the first time I saw his eyes open and look at the man providing him so much pleasure and then clamp back closed. He kept his hands at his side, gripping the quilt on the bed.

Then I moved south, back to his cock, around it and down to his balls and finally down to his taint, scooping around the back of his legs and lifting his legs up. Before he could protest, my tongue went to work.

Pretty soon I was at his pucker and I worked it over well. He’d indeed showered and the smell of Zestfully clean along with the taste for he’d failed to wash away all the hint of soap. But I kept working the folds and added more magical spit in to filter out the flavor. His hole opened up like a natural bottom’s would, as I knew. And I poked a couple of fingers inside while flicking my tongue across the balls and other places that tickled his fancy.

When I returned to the head of his cock, a pool of precum nestled in the hairy treasure trail and I knew he’d only need one more trip around the world before I’d be able to shove my cock in his ass.

Nipples, cock, balls, taint, ass, taint, balls, cock and nips. By then, I’d pulled my cock out and lubed it with my spit.

When I was at his nipples, I had his legs up and teased his hole. I then replaced it with my cockhead which slid inside easily. When it hit the second sphincter was when his eyes opened a second time and he began to move away.

I was ready for this.

I grabbed his thighs and pulled down.

“No,” he whispered.

“Your cock says yes,” I whispered back.

“But…” he began, almost seeming to cry, but I could feel his throbbing cock — now harder than ever — against my belly.

“Just relax.”

I pushed inside him again and this time past that opening into him. And then I hit the prostate.

He gasped, as if he were dying and there were no air. This time he reached for my legs and actually pulled me toward him.

Natural bottom.

“OH MY GAWD!”

His eyes flew open, but the pupils seemed to roll into the back of his head.

Suddenly a torrent of clear liquid began to pour from his cockhead. I could feel a little throbbing inside his ass. I didn’t want him to cum yet so I remained perfectly still and purred at him to relax.

The tenseness of his body soon left him and I began a small hip motion, rocking my cock a bit and fucking my raw cock inside his virgin hole. As I fucked this little straight boy, I picked up pace and felt him beginning to move in concert with me, but opposite, to allow deeper penetration. His eyes had shut but he was enjoying the experience. I reached down to my poppers, knowing his distraction wouldn’t notice so I could take a firm whiff of them. I did and felt my cum boil in my balls.

I began fucking him like I meant it and he loved it. I spit on my hand as I neared by own orgasm and reached for his cock at the moment when I went blind with ecstasy. My sperm flooded his guts and I loaded him with my DNA as I grasped his thick, rigid cock and began to pump. My other hand found his right nipple and I pinched — a little too hard.

His ass clamped down as I pushed my spunk in him deeper. His first shot came as I opened my eyes. It went over his head, over the bed, across the room and splattered on the wall. The next six or seven came within short order and were less intense, but in the end a string of cum lined from his cockhead to the wall about seven feet away.

As his breathing began to normalize, his hands came up over his eyes and covered himself in shame.

I’d already zipped up and tucked away my softening cock, gently laying him down and leaving him in the darkened room. I didn’t speak to him as I left and I haven’t texted him. He hasn’t messaged me. Yet.

Yes, this is the real photo he texted me (just with the face blurred).

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Birthday Bash, Here I Cum!

Birthday Bash, Here I Cum!

I’m about to head out to dinner (looks like a little Asian for me tonight) then I’m off to Swinging Richards. I know, mostly straight boy dancers who love to tease and make the money. It’s all right. They know why I’m there. I know why they’re there. It’s a mutual decision. It’s so worth it though because the men are as hot as some of the Tumblr guys I post. Plus, being in their early twenties, when else do I get to sexually molest men in such an obscene way.

I’ll likely leave there and head to Inserection, where I hope to find an ass to breed. Who knows…

P.S. Any Atlanta or Georgia guys gonna be there? E-mail me! Link in the upper right… or find me in the crowd. I am the geek.

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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.

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