Tag Archives: thirtysomething

Q&A: What’s a Bottom to Do When a Top Flakes?

Q&A: What’s a Bottom to Do When a Top Flakes?

Oh grand-master of all unholy cum-union:

Pray tell how would you rule. I had a punk scheduled (known as a demon-fuck) who I have known since he was 18. He is thirtysomething now, hardcore bareback top.

Does one excuse the TOTAL FLAKING without a peep until three days later? Does one play hard to get or does one just keep the barn-door open for the damn fool to plant his seed whenever he comes through?

I would have written to ‘Dear Abby’ but the old lady might have had stroke…

Yours truly,

An unrepentant follower of the raw, fearless, guilt-free passion-of-the-flesh

P.S. Still desperately short of the multiple loads I had planned to take by now.

Bottoms Available at the Convenience of a Top

You are a bottom. You are available whenever and at the convenience of any top.

That does assume he is a true top — flake or not. A top must be able to …

  • Get hard
  • Maintain an erection
  • Fuck
  • Cum inside

Tops are not required to…

  • Talk dirty
  • Fuck in a particular position
  • Pleasure or get off the bottom
  • Arrive on time
  • Fuck hard, slow, rough or some particular way
  • Provide a minimum (or maximum) inches in an endowment
  • Provide any explanation of his actions preceding, during or following the breeding
  • Provide poppers, lube, towels, etc. or any accommodation for the bottom

You are a bottom. You are available only for service to and for the top.

Any other conversation is worthless.

Open the barn-door. The problem isn’t with the tops. It’s with you. That’s why you aren’t getting loads.

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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Q&A: Truth Inside the Truth & the Truth When It Should Be a Lie

Q&A: Truth Inside the Truth & the Truth When It Should Be a Lie

Grindr-Hate-MessageHIV is a stigma. Don’t ask me. Ask someone who has it. Ask anyone who’s bold enough to actually put on their Grindr, Manhunt or Scruff profile that their Poz and see what happens. Here’s an example I used earlier of a friend of mine on Grindr who was messages for his profile which honestly revealed he’s Poz Opens new window of a page on this blog.

It’s bullshit.

Lately, I’ve gotten a couple of questions from readers who had issues involving Poz men, one making me think of this particular bias. I thought both were particularly telling and deserved to be told. Forgive me for sharing because I didn’t exactly ask these gentlemen’s permission, but I think I’ve averted anything devastating and I’m obscuring their identities.

Truth Inside the Truth:
Who Should Fuck Me, Poz or Undetectable?

QuestionI had only ever barebacked with boyfriends…. But I’m feeling that total slutty sex itch from deep within my hole and I kind of want to try bareback with a total stranger. Let’s face it: it was fucking hot, man! So, I joined BarebackRT.com Open-New-Window-External.

The first couple of days the only hits I got were from guys in the country and a couple of men in my home state, but several hundred miles away.

Today, I got hit up by two VERY hung tops, both within five miles of my home. One top says, “Undetectable.” The other says, “Positive.”

I really want to give it up again and I really want it to be raw, but  their status just scares me.

I almost hope I had never even looked at their status. I don’t know. I wonder if I would have even cared had I not known.

Which leads me to question whether or not I’m ready… A big part of me says, “Fuck it! Let’s do it!” But the other me says, “No.”

Advice?

(Give your own answer! Scroll to the survey below Scroll Down.)

 

AnswerYou need to ease into this world you’re exploring. So much of what you’re been conditioned is that HIV Poz is bad and you’ll die if you get it. No matter how much you logically know that’s not true, you still have this embedded conditioning — and almost Pavlovian response — that creates and illogical fear of bareback sex.

It just isn’t true.

So let’s just break through this with a little more logic.

Men who are undetectable have technically at one point been exposed to HIV. However, their antiviral cocktails have been so effective that it’s resulted in repressing the virus so far down that a blood test cannot detect it.

Basically, these guys are now neg again.

HIV hasn’t disappeared from the body. However, the main route by which the the virus is transmitted lacks it.

Your chances of getting infected by an undetectable man are more than likely less than a man who claims he’s neg. Here’s why:

Neg men aren’t really that religious and consistent about having themselves checked for HIV and other sexually transmitted infections. Neg men really don’t have a doctor hovering over blood tests to check all their levels and call them when a six-month test is missed.

HIV-neg men aren’t even notified or bothered about their next test by most gay doctors. And that’s the sexually active men who’ve bothered to tell their doctors they bareback.

Fuck, mine doesn’t even know I go raw. He lectures me but just assumes I’m using condoms.

You are so much safer with undetectable on a cocktail. There’s no guarantees. But just fuck it and go for it. You’ll be glad you did. Then in about six weeks, set up an appointment and keep it every three to six months.

Eventually, the guilt fades and your fear response will die down and you’ll just remember the fun.

 

Truth When It Should Be a Lie:
He Said, ‘Fuck Off, I Don’t Fuck Poz Bottoms!’

I get on Scruff and meet this fucking hot thirtysomething. We get to chatting and, bonus of all bonuses, he takes cock raw and tells me it’s his policy for the top not to pull out. I assure him that iBLASTinside (and he doesn’t get it — obviously, not a reader).

He can’t wait for me to fuck him bit I’m sort of booked for the afternoon when he says he only gets fucked twice a year.

“Twice a year?” I question. “You surely get fucked a lot more than that. You’re really hot.”

Well, he explains the Poz thing turns men off. And he’s a bit of a stickler on being honest and up front. He refuses to use a condom so he gets told more often to “fuck off” rather than to “get fucked.”

He doesn’t exactly ask a question, but it ends up I give him a bit of advice.

(Give your own answer! Scroll to the survey below Scroll Down.)

Answer(for advice) As it turns out, you’ve recently tested “undetectable.” This means that if the traditional HIV tests were run at this time, the virus could not be found in your blood — you’d appear essentially “negative” to people. 

At one point, you appeared positive, but if you said, “In my most recent tests, I came out ‘negative,’ you technically would not be lying.” This is especially true since you will be acting as the bottom.

I understand you have a conscious and you feel telling these random hook-ups — and that’s what they are — a random hook-up — that you’re negative and you’ve actually tested positive at one point may be considered a lie. But the risk you present to these slutty barebackers is almost non-existent.

Like I say above, it’s more risky for these guys to have sex with men who believe they’re neg but aren’t being tested all that often.

It is their own bias that drives them to say, “No” to you when chances are, several of the supposed “neg” guys aren’t neg at all. You’re safer to fuck than any of them.

Further, let’s look at it in another direction:

Let’s say your grandfather on your mother’s side was black. You look white. But the guy has one of those racist profiles that say, “Not into black guys. Sorry. Just how I am.” Technically, dude, you are a little black. Now he messages you because you look white. You’re attracted to him. You pass as white.

But the truth is, you are part black.

Do you tell him you’re black?

It’s not going to hurt him not to know. In fact, it might be a lot of fun.

What Do You Think?

Now it’s your turn to chime in. I’ve got three questions based on my advice. I want to see what you all think about my responses:

help2      help      help2      help

Who should the neg guy get fucked by?

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If you're poz but undetectable, is it okay to tell a hookup you're actually neg?

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If your maternal grandmother was black but you look white and a hook-up says he doesn't like blacks, should you tell that hook-up you're part black?

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Check back again here for continued results as more people vote.

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Do you have a question you’d like Mark Bentson (aka iBLASTinside) to answer? Send a message to iBLASTinside@gmail.com mailbox_full or hit him up on his contact page Opens new window of a page on this blog.

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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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furry chest of a bottom

Furry Fuck Jizzjoy

Let me make one thing clear: I am an equal opportunity fucker.

Sure, I’ve got my thing for the exotics — Asians, Latins and the smooth twinks that occasionally cross my path. But you don’t have to be in your twenties or smooth for me to fuck you.

I’m at work and my iPhone hits BBRT Link Opens in a New Window. I use it to kill my long-ass days on the job or maybe to plan a hook-up. Lately, I’ve been walking into the office at 6:30 a.m. or a little earlier. I’ve been in the office almost an hour with the drudgery of my fucking 10-hour day already giving me a throbbing headache when I get a message.

“If you don’t mind heading to my neck of the woods, I’d be glad to take your load.”

Turns out his neck of the woods is the same godforsaken suburb of Atlanta I’m working in. Odd but exhilarating since I’m almost 28 miles as the crow flies from my homebase. This thirtysomething hot fucker picked me from the collection of folks online.

I respond, letting him know we’re in the same town. And since his profile is nice enough to show face, I unlock my photos.

I’m no prize. I’m in my mid-forties, could stand to lose another 10 pounds, an admitted nerd and completely comfortable in my own skin. My cock is seven inches and, if you lick my balls, it swells just a little more to make it maybe almost seven-and-a-half. I’ve had men suck me hard at gloryholes only to walk away because my cockhead barely long enough to make them choke (and it points the wrong way).

As I said, I’m no prize.

When a half-hour had passed, I wasn’t surprised that my local boy hadn’t responded.

Beside, he was six foot four inches tall with jet black hair and a thick goatee with sideburns almost to the point of a President Lincoln beard. His piercing dark brown eyes and barrel chest made him a handsome figure with almost a menacing look except for some softness around the edges. I figured him out of my league and, well, he probably looked my geekiness over and decided something else might suit him better.

Such is life.

Then, a little while later, I got a couple of messages in rapid succession.

First one told me how much he loved my blog.

Next one gave me his address.

We started texting and before I knew it, he actually texted me a photo of himself reading my blog (apparently inspired by a particular entry Opens a new window from this blog). I told him I’d come by for lunch. He promised to be ready and for the next few hours, we texted back and forth a variety of thoughts.

Apparently, he ran across a few entries regarding my particular like of the smooth Asians, pointing out that if I were to expect anything short of furry, I’d be disappointed. And I reassured him that I happened to be an equal opportunity fucker.

Throughout the time we chatted, my cock would rise up in my jeans and alert me again and again of the nearing of the hour when I could leave. I had a conference call just before lunch, which I found difficult to concentrate.

When I finally clocked out and got to my car, punching in his address, his home happened to be less than five minutes from my office.

Fuck.

I was in his driveway so damn quick and when I approached his door, he opened it. We went immediately to his room and before the door finished closing, he was on his knees.

He’d obviously been reading plenty. In fact, I could see my blog still open on his computer. His mouth didn’t head for my cock but for my balls. Straight at them. With ever so light the touch, his oral skills apparent, he began caressing my balls and licking them. My cock snapped to attention and I could see a glistening of precum already.

This hot man would get a juicy assful.

As he continued his oral work, he would eventually let his mouth envelope my cock with his warmth on this chilly October day. My pants and underwear still around my ankles, I knew this wouldn’t be a quick fuck. I’d enjoy myself.

We paused long enough for me to slip my jeans, underwear and shoes off. I hopped onto the bed and spread my legs so he could get at my balls easier — especially since I’d shaved them earlier in the week.

He spit liberally on my cock as he finished up the blowjob and then climbed up and began to take a seat — just like I love to begin the fuck. He’d come out of the shower a little earlier and I could feel the squeaky tightness of the water-washed ass as he tried to sit on me. Without a foreskin, it hurt just a touch, because my rock-hard cock attempted to penetrate into that tightness.

Then I felt it begin to break through. His jaw clenched. I knew he felt the initial pain-pleasure mix of that invader entering him. But soon the pain began to leave his face, replaced only by pleasure.

I moved my hands up his belly, rubbing the black fur on his broad chest, pulling his shirt up. At six-foot-three myself, it’d been a while since I’d fucked someone my size. Even the larger men didn’t happen to be the same height. This man probably had twenty pounds on me. I liked his strength over me, riding my cock into a kind of submission. His meaty hands as large or even larger than mine. But his hairiness.

We were both taking from each other what we wanted.

His cock now swelled even larger. Where I had length, he had girth. The fucker’s cock would be something to get inside an ass. I’d heard of a beer can and now I felt one.

We fucked with abandon, saying nasty things to one another until he uttered the words I needed to hear: “I want your load.”

“You ready for it?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Let me fuck you from behind,” I said.

While I love to start with a man sitting on, there’s nothing like finishing on top of a man’s ass. I went inside him and wrapped my arms around him, my lips at his ear. My fingers went into the hairs of his chest right under his heart.

I’d snorted my poppers and I began asking him if he wanted my load.

“Yes please,” he said. “Give me your load. Please give me your load. I want your load. Please give it to me. Please. Please. Please.”

As I fucked, I went to my happy place where all that existing was my cock, his raw hole and his voice begging for my cum. And soon I went over the edge.

The moment I shoot, I come out of my daze and return to reality. And in that moment, he said, “FUCK!”

His ass clenched down.

And the most unique thing ever happened.

I know jizzjoy Link Opens in a New Window exists. I’ve heard bottoms describe it. But with this man, I could FEEL it happen. You see, men can clench an ass. They can milk a cock. They can give pleasure. But this man knew my cum was flooding his ass. He was feeling my cock throb and shoot the load inside him.

As it did, my fingertips could feel his heart begin to beat out of his chest. Now, I knew he never snorted poppers. But his body was reacting as if he had. His heart picked up pace. He went into a kind of hyperventilation. We were connected by cock, cum and heartbeats. I FELT his jizzjoy throughout his body. Not just in his ass.

He loved my cum and cock inside him.

While I would have to remove my cock from that hairy ass in a moment, I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay inside him and breed him again.

Hopefully he would invite me back to breed this beast again. And again.