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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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Hate (1 of 3)

Hate (1 of 3)

Whenever you hear someone say, “I’m not racist,” they’re about to spout something racist. And so I believe when folks say they’re not judgmental.

Of late, a quiet storm of hate — you can attempt to call it disapproval, dismay or other such terms, but it truly boils down to hate — has spread to the corners of the Internet. It’s generated a kind of peer pressure, not unlike the vocal Tea Party. A small minority within the majority. And those people, the squeaky wheels, have created a disproportionate voice among the many to silence a voice that had finally begun to rise.

Barebacking is not an activity of the minority of positive men who are about to die anyway. Recent scientific surveys revealed about half of gay men engage in raw sex. And that outrages the conservative wing of the gay vocals.

This, along with the rise of the Bareback Brotherhood Open-New-Window-External, my blog, Raw Top’s blog Open-New-Window-External, BarebackRT.com Open-New-Window-External, Treasure Island Media Open-New-Window-External, porn performers going raw Opens new window of a page on this blog and other such events coming to light makes for nothing short of radicalization by some.

It’s in quiet corners but it’s having an impact. I’m going to share what’s happening over the next couple of entries. I’ve written about some things Opens new window of a page on this blog. And to many who claim not to be judgmental, those folks seem to enjoy calling me and others brutal names and attempting at humor to blunt something nothing less than radical right hatred.

Explaining Myself

I do want to thank those who write me small notes of encouragement when they see, hear and read the attacks.

My blog is about me and all the dichotomies I embody and, without reading everything, some choose to select entries and judge me based on those. But I choose to believe we all struggle with our place on the planet and, no matter how sincere that sounds, someone’s going to twist that into me sounding something other than sincere.

I understand that I fuck my way through man after man, sometimes through a gloryhole Open-New-Window-External, and that “intimate” act could seem anything but intimate. Some of my friends consider fucking as friendly as “hello” and the most intimate act being a French kiss. I’ve put myself into the handler space and attempted a little pup play, but that just never floated my boat. It’s not my place to attack those choices if one chooses to belittle another.

Perhaps my occasional need to have the opportunity to use a hole comes from being used myself as a molested child Opens new window of a page on this blog and unusual urges that wanted it to happen sometimes Opens new window of a page on this blog. Perhaps I’m just an asshole that way.

However, I never force anyone to back their ass up to a gloryhole Opens new window of a page on this blog. I don’t have a leash or a whip. No one’s been trained or chained.

I started this blog as an exploration of my sexual being and my life. It’s become much more than that. I’m not apologizing for my humanity. And the explanation of who I am isn’t over. The day the blog ends is the day that explanation is over.

I have a feeling it’s the day I die.

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Northern California! There’s Gold in Them Silicon Boards!

Northern California! There’s Gold in Them Silicon Boards!

This time will be different.

I’m returning to Northern California this week.

(There’s no use linking to the Travel Diaries of 2011 since I’m optimistic it will improve in 2012.)

And this time is significantly different since I will be in the area for a significantly longer period…and over a weekend.

And since I’ve been there once, I’ll venture forth a little further than just my hotel.

Of course, anyone volunteering to show me around a bit might is welcome to help a newbie out a bit. Look, we don’t always have to fuck. I appreciate meeting fellow tops or especially fellow Bareback Brotherhood members. Heck, even just geeks like me. I even get along with straight and bi guys.

This especially includes showing me the ropes of local night clubs and hot spots near San Jose, CA. This especially includes the local bathhouse, the WaterGarden, especially with its very, very mixed reviews on Yelp.

* * *

Getting in touch with Mark is easy. Just visit the Contact page or check out the links on the top right of every page on this site…

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Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: How Should I Feel?

Tonight I sit with a weird feeling creeping up my spine. I find myself reduced back to a boy, curled up in guilt and a little confused.

Long-time readers will know my story but I imagine most won’t, so I should set the stage with my original Dark Passenger. The man who launched the twisted fuck I would become. In a very real and unusually strange sense, that man indeed is the genesis of a myself, out and very comfortable and confident in my skin. While I would like to think I’d eventually maneuvered my way out of the closet, I doubt seriously if I’d ever become as tolerant of others or even admitted to myself or other what a barebacking sleaze I can be.

As a youth, I was molested by this man. Most of the entries regarding him and what he did can be found here, if you choose to read:

If you choose not, it’s fine. Know that from some point until around 18, I had sexual encounters with this man — a neighbor and trusted friend of my parents.

So the reason for my odd sensation is the call today to notify me that my molester is in hospice.

The call to me is not unusual, I guess, since he and his wife were friends of my parents and, now that both my parents are dead, the community feels as if someone in my family should be notified and, technically, I am the head of the family. The local community is not aware what this sleaze did to me or countless others.

I spoke on the phone in an even tone, thanking the person for the notification. It wasn’t a time to be emotional. But now that I sit alone with the thought of him dying, I feel something. Perhaps it is the last of my own childhood finally passing away with the man who stole it from me, since so much left me when my parents left in the last few years. Perhaps it’s a kind of happiness or vengeance, knowing the fucker is finally suffering and will befall his own fate he promised me — that one-way ticket to hell. Or maybe it’s my own fear that I might be closer to death as well.

Or is it the fear that I might become the molester like him. The other day, a 14-year-old on Twitter solicited me. Now he had been posing as a 23-year-old. And when he admitted to being 14, I blocked him. And as I wrote, I volunteered at times for my own molestation. I wonder if the world were wired when I was 14 what I might have done.

So I sit, quietly contemplating a big-dicked old man as he teeters at the edge of the abyss. And I wonder why I give a shit and I wonder why I even care.

 

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Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: Volunteering for Molestation

Not until December 19, 1985, would I actually utter the words, “I am gay.” Interestingly enough, I’d be considered an “adult” at that time, just barely 18.

Between 15 and 18 years old, I plunged into the world of sex. My classmates spent their time experimenting with alcohol and weed, neither of which I even attempted at the time. Sex turned out to be my drug of choice.

Shoving my cock under stalls in bathrooms provided some satisfaction, but I am an analytical sort and I needed to understand what drove me into these situations. Satan? The Devil did actually turn out to be a leading contender.

You see, around this time, MTV came on the air. My father absolutely forbade cable television from ever coming into our home. But MTV did provide one good quality. For my parents, Satan moved from FM radio to MTV. I finally got my first clock radio.

In the years prior, the only music I was allowed on the JC Penney piece-of-shit my parents called a “stereo” was Barry Manilow and Christian music (including Christmas albums). I distinctly recall having to return the vinyl of Billy Joel to K-mart because my parents felt it as “inappropriate.” I did successfully get an Air Supply and Alan Parsons Project album in there somewhere.

In other words, my parents were very, very restrictive on my options.

The Internet didn’t exist. Deep within the thick white pages of our phone book, I did find the Gay and Lesbian Center of Atlanta. I would occasionally call and hang up. Eventually, I would speak with the “youth counselor” there.

I recall he was the first person to explain the mechanics of gay sex, including what a “blowjob” was. I didn’t understand where “blow” came from. Told you I was analytical.

In the end, this fucking pervert drove his nasty ass out to near my house. I biked to his location. How we found each other without cell phones still amazes me (then again, I lived just east of bumfuck in the middle of nowhere).

We walked into the woods and, I would say, he was probably the first man I officially fucked. Yes. If you were the “youth counselor” for the Atlanta Gay and Lesbian Center in 1982 or 1983, I was the kid who fucked you.

In his mind, it was all about “educating” me. He explained cleaning out and expelling the cum after it was shot in your hole. Condoms were never discussed.

My next experience with with a man in a black van. Yes. I crawled into a van with a man I’d just met in a Sears bathroom. I’d gotten his phone number off the bathroom wall.

I recall his cock as being huge. He had a lover and lived in downtown Atlanta. Somehow, I got out of the house one weekend and (as a 16 year old) drove to a store to meet him. He took me the rest of the way downtown.

After a dinner, we ended up at his place and I fucked his lover. I’ll never forget him in his jock, his legs behind his ears, begging for my cock. I was so much smaller than the black van man, who had a thick and long but a little limp 9 inches.

As I look back, I know it was stupid to put my trust into these men I never really knew. But my only method to find people was the phone book and bathroom wall.

Those two strangers probably define my memories from that time. One good (van guy) and one weird (counselor). As a teenager, too young to comprehend and too horny to stop myself, I continued to put myself into situations where older men would have sex with me.

 

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