Tag Archives: wonder

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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Musing: Staying Up All Night

I have had bouts of insomnia before God invented Ambien. What a wonder drug. In case you wonder, the reports of Ambien amnesia are absolutely true. The next morning, I will not recall the last 30 minutes or so before I fell asleep. While I have not driven anywhere, I have done a little binge eating. It’s taken me a little while to control it — largely by stocking my pantry with only healthy snacks.

The night was largely dead when it came to online potentials for fucking. A bud of mine who’s often available popped up and we had a quick 15 minutes together. He sucked me some and then he sat on it. After a good snort of poppers, I shot my load deep into his ass. He climbed off and as he always politely does, he sucked my cock clean then left.

Now normally the combination of Ambien and shooting a load will knock my ass out. But not tonight. Too much on my mind? Maybe. I can’t tell. But the most stressful action I’ve taken in the last 24 was probably writing my first Dark Passenger piece.

For someone who seems to be forgetting a lot every night, it’s interesting how these memories are coming flooding back 30 years after they happened.

Probably it didn’t help that I took a long nap yesterday, but it’s official — at 9:17 a.m. Eastern — that I got no sleep since waking from my nap at 5:24 p.m.

And speaking of “naps,” it’s somewhat appropriate that I consider this photo my “nap” photo. It’s even more unusual that I’ve had an urge. No, not to get fucked, although that is indeed within the realm of possibilities. I have been craving for someone who’s very good at what they do to massage me and, eventually, work their way into my ass and help milk my prostate some. I have been wanting that incredible intensity that a fingertip (and with the right technique) or cock can bring.

Problem is that everyone who responds isn’t reacting as they should. As I post blatantly, I am a top who wants a talented top to provide a little TLC in the tush. The common responses I’m getting falls into two categories:

  • “Medical practitioners” taking a very antiseptic approach to the scene and insisting on using latex gloves. I promise that I’ll clean out, boys. It’s not something I do every day but I’m sure I can manage a decent job. If I want to bareback, do you think I’d accept rubber between my sphincter and your finger?
  • Asshole tops. Okay, so usually I’m the asshole top. But I am appealing to fellow tops about that itch we all get to have our prostate cleaned out. I’m looking for the mutual respect society to kick in.

Maybe I should seek out a bottom who will serve me well or a true versatile, if they actually exist.

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