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#CloseGhosts and My Recent Travels

You can’t see them. You can’t touch them. You just knew that one moment they were there and the next, they were gone. Is it a mystery? Some phenomenon worthy of Bigfoot, the Bermuda Triangle and what pills Paula Abdul takes before going on air?

Probably not.

I call them #CloseGhosts. And I’ve recently had close encounters of the plentiful kind them on recent travels.

With the conviction of a serial killer who proclaims his innocence, these lovely bottoms in far away cities and town lurk upon websites (like BarebackRT.com or this blog), Twitter or other online hook-up destinations, assuring traveling a top when he arrives in their town, city or other geographic region that an ass will be ready to fuck at his demand.

Alas, a phenomenon occurs when that top arrives and is in close proximity to the bottom. The cum dump vanishes into thin air, often with some wispy excuse similar to “the dog ate my homework” or “the check is in the mail.”

Case #1: London Twitter Twink & the Quickening

london-postcardWe all know that London is notoriously known for all the ghosts that wander its streets and waterways, its old buildings and strange little alleys. However, having had men upon men beg me for my load for years, I figured one might be legit among them.

My BBRT exploded. I had more than 300 messages at one time and maintaining control of it via my iPhone came close to impossible. One gentleman who seemed legit got pissy because I’d not responded to him immediately upon arrival in town, so he crossed himself off the list. The rest where the normal lot. I waded through them all, trying to invite someone over for a breeding to my centrally located hotel near the West End, not far from Trafalgar Square.

Too far. Apparently, Londoners go to bed early on Bank Holidays and weren’t interested as I attempted to find someone to fuck about 21:00 to 22:00 (that’s 9 p.m. to 10 p.m. for us bloody Americans).

Then a tweet came in from a twink. How’s London, he asked. I replied. It became a conversation of sorts that moved to direct messages and a bit more privacy when I mentioned my trip would be so much better if I had an ass to breed.

“I can help you out there,” he said. “I’d love for you to load my ass. Big fan of your blog.”

He asked when I was leaving. Told him this was my last night. I asked where he was. He said, “Covent Gardens.”

Boom. That’s the neighborhood I’m in. I’m over at the… I listed the hotel.

Pause. Double pause.

“Oh, it’s too bad I’m not at home tonight. I’m staying with a friend in the country.”


Case #2: The Early Alabama Bird Misses the Juicy Worm


I’d started on BBRT with this hottie and turned to text messaging. We were getting ready for some good fun, all planned out in Alabama. I’d let him know that it would be a late arrival for me and he’d told me we’d have “several hours” of play.

I’d even arranged a nice corner room, away from everyone in the hotel, because I had a feeling this fuck might get a bit out of control.

I don’t usually trust bottoms. Bottoms in general are not trustworthy. But I’d grown to trust this one.

I arrived just after 9 p.m. and texted. No response. Another text. No response. Around 9:30, I get a response saying he’d fallen asleep. Then, “he didn’t know I was going to be so late.”

Late? It’s 9:30!

We’d been setting this up for a month.

The shitty little cocktease went on to berate me for almost an hour about being “late.” Of course the little fucker didn’t get off so easily in this from me.

Obviously, he loved the chase, but actually fucking… well, I’m guessing his balls hadn’t quite dropped yet. My timing was never the issue.


Cases 3 & 4: The Revolutionary Missing Men

Bareback top visiting New HampshireIn this history-rich part of America just north of Boston, finding fuckable asses aren’t easy. I knew this. I planned for it with a backup ass. I found them both and, as it turned out, both claimed to want it.

One said he’d be online on BBRT. Te other asked me to text. My #1 choice, the textable ass, got a text.

We pinged a bit before I asked him to come over.

Pause. He then, for some reason, told me his actual location. In Maine. And invited me over.

Baffled, I asked what was up.

“I don’t have a car,” was his response.

Now it wasn’t as if both of us were in downtown Boston. This little hottie claimed in the middle of bumfuck Maine, he had no transportation, after knowing I was visiting from out of town.


Back-up plan into action. Logged onto BBRT. Sure enough, he was there. Message. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait longer. And more. I’m tired. Just go to fucking bed.


This ghost responded when I was no longer close, in Boston, about to fly home.

Just the Four?

No. I have so many more stories. But these are the four most recent. I did debate divulging Twitter names, BBRT handles showing a photo or two, but I’m going to leave it alone. After all, these #CloseGhosts could be #Catfish for all I know.

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Abortion Tales #2: The Tweaker and the Tittie Twins

Abortion Tales #2: The Tweaker and the Tittie Twins

I’m getting too fucking old for this.

As I mentioned (and no one seems to want to read Opens a new window from this blog since the stats show only a few people have checked it out) I’ve been focusing on getting out of my job situation, so my attention has been focused elsewhere. However, I decided Wednesday evening since I’d be downtown for an appointment that it would be a convenient time to hit the adult bookstore Inserection and get a load out of my system.

Now, I was especially frustrated because I’d had a massage from a fucking hottie. He was naked. I was naked. He teased me for the hour, bushing against my balls and cock and all my erotic spots. When it gets to that moment for the happy ending, the massage ends abruptly.

I didn’t get off. He didn’t get a tip.

I knew Wednesday nights were not ideal at Inserection Opens a new window from this blog but usually I can find some ass. Since I would be in Atlanta anyway (I live in the far northern suburbs), I figured it would be worth a shot.

To improve my chances of ass, I always post an ad or two to Craigslist and BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window to let bottoms know a top will be at Inserection. Sometimes it works Opens a new window from this blog. And often with these posts, I’ll get messages from people asking that I skip Inserection and come to their place instead.

Sent away by a bottom

I get the usual assortment of messages. The old, ugly and overly used (Grade F Asses Opens a new window from this blog). A few interesting ones do show up, including one from a 28-year-old bottom. We get to texting and he invites me over.

He mentions he’ll be on his back deck.

It’s early evening and not quite dark. I expect though it’s an enclosed deck and he’ll be ass up and waiting.

I drive the three miles and pull up to the house, pulling into the driveway. I can clearly see the back deck where a man — obviously in his mid-40s — is standing. He’s not horrible looking or anything. I get out of the car and there’s that awkward moment. He comes down off the deck. As the awkwardness continues, I finally say, “Am I at the wrong place?”

“Yes, you are,” he says.

“Sorry about that,” I say, knowing I’m at the only home with this address with a man with an iPhone texting from a back deck.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says as he shakes my hand.

Attempts at the adult bookstore

I get in my car and drive to Inserection adult bookstore, pay the $11 admission and begin cruising.

The crowd appeared thin and a few too many familiar faces walked among the groups. Also one of the worst cruisers is there: A man who slaps on a little makeup, a cheap wig, a bad blouse, panties, pantyhose and high heels.  I hesitate to call it a drag queen or a cross-dresser due to the horrible effort put into looking decent. There’s no effort. I don’t mind it’s a slut. Some guys are into it. That’s cool. But not me and it’s too aggressive.

Anyway, as I’m walking around, I eye an older man who’s big and bulky with big muscles wearing a tight t-shirt with protruding nipples. (Oh, and he’s got a wedding band.) He reads to me as a bottom. His cock is obviously small. He’s not going for any gloryholes. He wants his nips worked over.

With guys like this, their nips are the gateway to their ass, I know.

We hit a booth together. His shirt was up as I went to work. I’m great at nipple work; it’s one of my specialties. I had a boyfriend years ago who could cum just from my nip work. Within moments, I’ve got his four-inch cock rock hard. He’s groaning from all my nip nibbling, chewing, flicking, licking, twisting, contortion, punching, teasing, tickling, pulling, brushing, pinching and other manipulations…  both hard and soft. He’s got a bit of stink to him, which really isn’t my thing.

I’m moving my hands (when they’re free) to his ass. I am finding his asshole, which is dry but puffy. He either has hemorrhoids or he’s been fucked plenty. But he hasn’t been fucked today. As I poke and prod, he moves his ass away to prevent too much work.

Seems like this one isn’t going to work out.

He bends down to suck me. He does well, but not so irresistibly that I feel like I could cum from his blowjob. I thank him for his work and zip up.

About then, I get a text message from the supposedly 28-year-old bottom.

“ETA,” he asks, which means, “Estimated time of arrival.”

You can see our exchange on my iPhone.

I’d sent him a photo of my cock which barely showed my goatee. And my stats clearly stated in my ad that I was clean-shaven. But he’d ignored that.

I didn’t bother to point out that he obviously wasn’t 28 years old.

As we texted back and forth, him begging me to come over, me looking for ass among the dregs of humanity at the adult bookstore, soon a balding Asian began eyeing me.

Now we all know I have a little something for the more exotic among us.

As I stood upstairs by a vacant room, the Asian passed me and closed the door. But it didn’t lock. An unusual technique. Normally men step into the room with the door open and eye their object of interest.

I opened the door. He stood in the dim light, playing with his nipples through his shirt. I stepped into the room. He pulled up his shirt. His alabaster, perfect skin revealed, delightfully smooth with very nice pecs and nickle-sized nips just protruding out. But as soon as I flicked them, they stood erect.

His cock, a respectable five inches, never really got so hard. And his ass, so nice and smooth and bubbly. I stepped behind him while still working his nips. I felt his asshole, his pucker perfectly dry. He didn’t pull away. I spit on my cock and aimed it at his hole.

He was much smaller than I was. I took again his nipples in my fingertips. This man preferred the light touch and I knew how to really work them that way too. I did it in a way he’d enjoy. All I needed him to do was arch his back a little so his asshole would line up better with my cock.

As I continued, with my wet cock tickling his sphincter and pleasuring his nips, his ass never moved. But he jerked intensely and he breathed heavily.

He was getting close.

Fuck that. I wasn’t going to get someone else off if I wasn’t getting what I wanted.

I dropped everything. Pulled up my pants and was out the locked door. He didn’t even have time to pull down his shirt or pull up his pants. He stood there exposed, wide-mouthed as I walked out, the door wide open.

He recovered after a couple of beats and closed the door.

The texting continued with the bottom. He wanted to know when I shaved the beard off (I’m interviewing for jobs, so I was told to shave it off by a few recruiters; plus it just looks nicer during the summer).

I wonder around and get a couple of attempted blowjobs but no ass action. One guy even asked me to piss in his mouth, but no ass.

Back to the bottom

Finally I decide to head back over to fuck and breed the bottom who earlier turned me away.

I drive up and this time, he’s a bit more welcoming. He meets me and we step up onto the deck, but go inside the house.

It is between now and the next 20 minutes that I should have left because it’s that long before we start doing a fucking thing. He first has to prepare a daybed. It’s got something like 30 pillows on it. Then he can’t find the remote to turn off “The Voice,” which is blaring on the television. He keeps searching his closet for something — for what, I’m not sure. He also refreshes his drink.

Then he gets lube — petroleum jelly — an unusual choice.

Finally he’s ready.

All through this, he’s chomping gum. And I mean CHOMPING it. I’m suspecting Tina use, but maybe it is just gum. But he is darting around his place like a crystal meth user cleaning. But I also noticed that drink is a pretty strong alcohol, so I’m guessing he’s a little buzzed.

When he finally gets on the bed to suck me, he takes breaks to work his jaw.

No gum.

He’s tweaked out of his gourd.

He can’t suck for than a few seconds without pausing in order to work his jaw. I’m afraid he’s going to bite my cock off. That fear drives me to take control.

I put him on his back. He puts some petroleum jelly on my hard cock.

“That’s a big one,” he says. “I’m not sure I can take it.”

I’m rubbing some jelly into his ass. I probe it a little. As my fingertip works past the sphincter, I touch the tip of something. I touch the tip of a small turd. Yes, a turd.

“I’m really going to need you to use a condom,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some condoms.”

Now he’s saying this as I am touching a turd and using petroleum jelly.

This guy must know he’s not clean but he’s also a complete idiot since petroleum jelly breaks down a condom Opens a new window from this blog.

But I’m horny. I’m fucked sloppy holes. At least his isn’t nasty.

I position him up, putting his legs over my shoulders. I don’t ask. I just put my cock at his hole and put it in. It breaks in.

It’s not pleasant.

The small, hard turd moves toward his prostate and becomes a rough rock scratching against the underside of my cock.  He’s trying to resist me, but I keep pressing forward.

“What are you doing?” he says.

“Fucking you,” I say.

“I’ve been nothing but nice to you,” he says. “You don’t have to be mean.”

“You’ve done nothing but jerk me around all day,” I say.

I begin fucking in earnest. I try to aim down to get that turd out of my way. But that little hard piece of shit won’t move and I’m more and more afraid it’s actually going to scratch my cock and add fecal matter into a wound on my cock.

I can’t focus on fucking. He’s chomping a lot. He’s jerking. He’s moving too much, squirmy even. It’s all not working for me. As horny as I am, that’s all I can do. I’m not going to be able to cum even though I’ve got something like two weeks worth of blue balls.

I pull out.

“This isn’t going to work,” I say.


I begin putting on my clothes.

“Oh,” he says. “This is revenge for me turning you away earlier.”

“No man,” I say. “You’re not clean.”

Then the dude does the craziest thing ever. He sticks his finger in his ass, pulls it out and sniffs it.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Believe me,” I say. “You’re not.”

He disappears into another room. In a couple of seconds, he returns with a white towel, wiping his ass.

“See,” he shows me a clean white towel. “My ass is perfectly clean.”

“Look,” I say. “You’ve got a small, hard turd right up against your prostate. It’s scratching my cock and making it uncomfortable to fuck you. Beside that, your working your jaw on Tina is driving me fucking crazy. I hate fucking with tweakers. You have a nice one.”

He stands there shocked and naked as I walk out the door.

I go home. Blue balls. Still.

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Virtual Words and a Vibration

Virtual Words and a Vibration

Nothing more than the feel of vibration. The notion of an arrival of a text message. Your stomach gets a little knot. Could it be? Is it from?

No. Just a friend checking in.

Returning your iPhone to your pocket, it vibrates once. It’s just an e-mail. You relax. But then you think, it could be an e-mail from him. Naw. He’d text me. Not e-mail.

Still, it bugs the back of your mind until you check it later.

Finally, on a bathroom break, you send the obligatory, “How’s your day going?” message.

Not much communication during the day. Sporadic bursts of intense messages with long delays in between. Then that night-time, battery-draining flurry.

The night-time. That’s what you live for. That’s what you wait for. That’s what you wish for. That’s what you hope won’t stop.

For the day the vibration stops is the day you’re afraid he’s moved on to something more real. Something that’s not virtual. Something that won’t fit into a pocket. Something not cold, metal and plastic and glass.

Something flesh, warm and pliable.

And even then you’re afraid he’ll return to the promise of the other choices that are virtual and vibrational. The things not connected to you.

A Perfect Ass, A Loose Fuck, A Nice Load

A Perfect Ass, A Loose Fuck, A Nice Load

The rules of engagement inside an adult bookstore may seem a little strange. I’ve even visited with a buddy and, even then, most of our communication tended to be via text messaging. When we did speak to one another, we did so in hushed tones.

When I hear people speaking at regular volume, I’m almost offended.

There’s this one incredibly hot black guy — beefy, hairy chest. I’ve never seen his cock as he never takes it out. He’s usually there with a couple of Latinos. They stand around and chat, almost as if they’re in a club then split up and cruise. They collect back together and compare notes. Loudly. Irritates the shit out of me. These attitude queens, acting like they own the place.

Anyway, I’m getting off track.

So occasionally I meet bottoms there to guarantee an unload. At a place with gloryholes, the fear can sometime be (1.) I get oral service only and (2.) I get tops only. On this day, I was texting back and forth with a few, promising to meet up along with a collection of a few asking me to stop by their place instead.

That’s when this ass showed up on radar.incredible ass

Usually, ass photos just don’t do it for me. But this one. Well, fuck. Look at it! Just exuded perfection.

The little fucker toyed with me via text for a while. He was in black. He wore a hat. He stood in this place then that. I’d narrowed him down to two potentials. But finally figured out who he was.

He’d be hot for me then the text messages would go silent. Probably off getting fucked. Meanwhile, I’d get a little oral work done here and there.

The crowd turned out to be less than ideal today. Too many tops in the mix and way too many trolls. Luckily, tweakers weren’t represented today. But we had two distinct cliques. My hot black buddy with his Latino fairy boys and another group who wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

The code of silence guys. I’m trying to fuck here.

Interestingly enough, among the mix this trip was a guy who stayed in an open booth, pants down, ass in the air. Never sampled him. He was either Latin or a light-skinned black. Maybe next time.

Eventually, perfect ass made it clear through the sporadic text messaging. He wanted fucked through a gloryhole. That was the only way I would get him.

The vibe varies at this bookstore. Okay, I call it a bookstore, but at this Insurrection location, the books and other materials are upstairs. Down here in the bowels, there’s only booths, gloryholes and a darkroom. On this day, I’m having trouble even getting good oral. It’s a rainy day and the bottoms are being picky, which doesn’t bother me much except these are the kind of bottoms who shouldn’t be picky. So they’re all occupying one side of the double booths, awaiting someone. These fat fucks sit, taking up good space.

I let a couple of them blow me, but when I realize it’s nothing more than a mediocre blowjob, I’m gone.

At some point I get the message to visit a particular booth, as he is on the other side waiting. Unfortunately, that booth I need into is occupied. I text back.

It’s a face off between bottoms.

Well, it’s more like a wait off. See who will wait longer. Perfect ass begs me to wait on the other side. No worries. I have nothing better to do. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Finally, I hear the rustle and the door open and out walks the occupier.

I’m inside in a flash and dropping trou as perfect ass strokes his long slender fingers along the gloryhole in the usual motion to indicate he wants me to shove it through.

I do and he gives me a little oral to get me to full mast before backing his slender ass up onto my cock.

This boy has to have some huge fucking dildos in his collection at home. And I’m sure he’s been playing with them prior to my arrival. Plus, someone’s already loaded this ass.

He’s loose. And my respectable seven inches feels more like throwing a hot dog down a bowling alley. Occasionally I hit a side, but not often. But when I bury it, I do hit those perfect mounds, that he’s push up against the hole.

Wet, warm but loose. Not the ideal fuck. Yet there’s a gooey cum there. So I begin to pick up pace. And I did promise this hot little fucker my first load. So I pull out further, hoping my swelled head hits a little something.

Then I notice the light.

Perfect ass is filming the fuck. He’s making a movie out of my barebacking his ass. My raw cock is sliding in and out of his cummy ass and this little fucker is filming it for later.

That’s what I needed. Another pervert like me. I groan a little, take a hit of poppers and hope that’s enough for my cock to take me to the edge.

Faster and harder, you can hear me, the buckle of my belt, slam against the hole. I’m fucking through the gloryhole and pushing my bare cock into this perfect ass. I’m close.

I unload into him. And finally, I feel him clench down, the light pops off and I’ve got my eyes closed as finally, it’s a little tighter. I push my cum as deep as I can into this perfect ass. I want my DNA deposited forever inside him. I want this territory marked.

When I finally pull out, he shows me a glimpse of the movie.

We both hang out for a while. He directs me to a few more bottoms worth my time, none of whom have the perfection he does. He never ever sends me the movie like he promised. Yet, I still have his number. I can hope for a repeat.

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Already three-fourths of the distance from downtown, he sent me a text: “You’re neg, right?”

Stupid question. I’d already informed him that I would breed him. He volunteered for the long drive to my house, out in suburbia. He’d been given a cell phone for text messaging. He’d specifically asked me do not speak. He would suck me then I would fuck him. That was it.

When he’d originally e-mailed me, it was past 2 a.m. and I had figured tonight would be one for sleep — not fucking. But he was cute and I couldn’t pass up fucking something young and hot.

“Yup,” I responded.

His next text let me know he neared my exit off the interstate. I dimmed the lights and unlocked the front door. Within a few moments, he drove up and stepped out. Not as cute, not as young, not as thin. About five-foot-eight and approaching 190 pounds, with thinning dark brown hair on top swept to the side in an Aaron Eckhart kind of style. He bowed his head low and looked to me like a junior accountant.

All things considered, he remained doable, especially considering the distance he’d driven. I will refuse to use some, but this guy deserved not to go home empty-handed… err… empty-assed. I opened the door and he stepped in quietly.

With the door closed, I dropped by lounge pants and he knelt, pushing them to the floor. His lips enclosed my half-hard cock and began a very slow and deliberate blowjob. His lips, mouth and throat were all extremely tight. Rarely do I find someone with significant oral talents, someone who indeed can give the sensation of tightness from head to shaft to the base. He did. His nose buried in my pubes more than once as he worked my cock. While very tight, he’d not learned to rhythmically move his tongue, cheeks and throat muscles to change up the sensation. But I enjoyed it.

After a hit of poppers, his enthusiasm increased significantly and his time gagging on my cock increased as well. I had grabbed the back of his head and started thrusting. But something just isn’t as satisfying about the smallness of a bottom’s head compared to the substantialness of an ass and the full body.

His oral skills kept me happy for longer than usual. I can get rather anxious to get in an ass, especially considering this particular fuck. While his ambitious skills impressed me, everything needed to get me to take him somewhere other than by my front door still seemed lacking.

I pulled off his cock and he got the message, dropping his jeans to the floor and crouching on his knees. Moving around behind him, my finger touched his hairy ass and pressed into the moist hole. Not lubed. I spit into my hand and slathered up my cock a little, finding his hole and positioning my cock for entry.

Here, he proved tight as well. Too tight. It took more spit before my head finally popped inside his hairy asshole. A little painful for me… the tightness combined with the wiry hairs stretching. I’m sure he didn’t enjoy it as well and he flinched, tempted to pop off but maintaining enough control to keep me inside. He couldn’t or wouldn’t loosen up and the angle just didn’t work for me, so I had him flip over onto his back.

With a bit more spit, I entered him again, finding his ass still tight. But I inched my way inside. Fuck, he was tight. It took a few moments before I got balls deep and began thrusting in and out. He seemed to love it. He spoke the first word: “Yea.”

I took a hit of poppers then. I didn’t want to come out and risk not blowing my load into this little dweeb who didn’t have the courtesy to be ready for me. I picked up the pace. I could feel my cum building up and a little pre-cum leaking out to lube my way. Then I could sense it. I could feel the load coming. I could see it in the distance. I close my eyes.

For me, it’s an oncoming train in the tunnel, except the headlight is purple with an orangish glow around the edges. It becomes larger and I can feel my cock inside his raw ass, closer and closer. Then it bursts forth. It envelopes me. My balls tighten up and I begin my explosion deep inside his tight walls.

Driven to cum and I ride the waves until it subsides. Then I thrust in a few more times, making sure the cum is buried in him deep. I pull out, stand and send him home.