Tag Archives: WTF

#CloseGhost

#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.”

Poof.

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

greetings-from-Birmingham-Alabama

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.

POOF

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.

WTF and POOF

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.

POOF.

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.

What people are searching to find this page::

  • bbrt (277)
  • bareback rt (222)
  • www barebackrt com (67)
  • bareback hookup (58)
  • gay escort too birmingham (13)
  • raw fuck club london (11)
  • london barebacking (2)
  • gay orgie birmingham (1)
  • gay bareback london (1)
  • bareback lindon (1)
Bareback top visiting New Hampshire

Travel Diary: Bottoms Blah Blah Blah

Flakes are universal, along with fakes and catfish Open-New-Window-External. This I know.

But when it comes to superstar flaking out, New Hampshire takes the fucking cake. In fact, my visit to Concord might take the bakery.

Allow me to explain.

I always post future destinations in my travel plans on my BarebackRT.com profile Open-New-Window-External. I notify readers here Open-New-Window-External that I’m visiting. Of course, all this is tweeted Follow on Twitter and ends up on my Facebook Open-New-Window-External.

To enhance it all further, I post on Craigslist an add that looks something like the following:

TOP blogger visiting looking for bottom writing inspiration – m4m (Concord Area)

I’m a blogger who writes about my sexual experiences on the road with bottoms I encounter… My blog is read by thousands every single day, reproduced on several sites and even some entries end up on a famous porn studio’s website.

Perhaps you might like to be the inspiration for a piece when I slide into town next week?

I don’t identify the bottoms I fuck, just write about the experience…

Hit me up with your info — a pic, stats, etc. I’ll respond with my blog details so you can check it out. We’ll go from there.

The site contains a lot of information beyond my fucks. And if you happen to be a top, we can tag team or maybe you’d like to try sitting on my cock… it’s a perfect 7 inches cut.

Thanks!

P.S. The only major requirement (other than bottoming for me) is that you don’t smoke.

From all this, I do get a lot of inquiries. Most of them are lurkers who never intend to meet. This I get. It’s also an opportunity to find new people to read my blog since not all barebackers have found the Bareback Brotherhood or my blog.

With many there’s the “I just fuck safe,” and then more than half switch their story.  But some don’t. Yet, with my blog, it becomes a jerk-off destination for many.

When I do finally arrive, I e-mail the best back to see if they’re still up for that fuck.

[google-map-v3 width=”250″ height=”500″ zoom=”8″ maptype=”roadmap” mapalign=”right” directionhint=”false” language=”default” poweredby=”false” maptypecontrol=”true” pancontrol=”true” zoomcontrol=”true” scalecontrol=”true” streetviewcontrol=”true” scrollwheelcontrol=”false” draggable=”true” tiltfourtyfive=”false” addmarkermashupbubble=”false” addmarkermashupbubble=”false” addmarkerlist=”Concord, NH{}4-default.png” bubbleautopan=”true” showbike=”false” showtraffic=”false” showpanoramio=”false”]

Arriving in Concord

My arrival in Concord allowed me to long in locally to BarebackRT.com, Grindr, Scruff and Manhunt.net, all of which use a geographic tool to notify one who’s closest. I also posted to Craigslist.

Two men of the many interested e-mailed me back saying they were still up for the fuck, but one 4 p.m. pump-and-dump session became a no-show with regrets arriving several hours later because he was “stuck somewhere.”

Flake.

All of my online activity netted me a lot of interest. A lot. I was fresh meat in a town that didn’t see a lot. Of course, I got the usuals…

People just wanting to collect photos, see my cock or face.

I had one prospect on BarebackRT… he was a fucking hot dude in his late twenties… seemed like a good one. But here’s where we begin one issue that baffled me for Concord.

He had no vehicle.

I needed to come to him and pick him up, bring him back to my hotel to fuck and then take him home.

Now please check out the map.

Concord is not a major city. It’s 1½ hours north of Boston. It’s not a walking city. How can you not have a car and survive, especially when you’re not in college?

This turned into a theme of the night. No car. No transportation. My car is in the shop. My car is in the shop due to the storm. I don’t have a car.

By the way, none of these bottoms ever asked where I was staying to see if I happened to be within walking distance.

I don’t guess Northeastern tops teach bottoms they’re the ones who need to make the effort Opens new window of a page on this blog.

While some of them were hot enough for me to go and fetch them, it turns out I didn’t rent the car but a colleague did. I simply wasn’t an option.

Then came the other morons.

I also get a collection of those who want to postpone. These guys appear in every city, without fail. I wonder if they ever fuck. All conversations go something like this.

THEM: “How long you in town?”

ME: Just tonight (no matter how long I’m in town, I always say I’m here “just tonight”)

THEM: “Damn! It’s getting late tonight.”

ME: It’s just 9:30.

THEM: “I know but I have to get up early. I wish you were here…” fill in the blank with “tomorrow night” or “this weekend”

In other words, they can never come over now or today.

Proximity Alert

My first promising opportunity looked like a threesome, which I won’t get into too much detail on. In his early thirties and a scruffy blond, wanted to know if I wanted to fuck both him and another guy, in his early twenties — both online at the same time. As if on cue, the younger one sends me a message.

The younger one asks if I’ve got poppers, which of course I do.

Then he asks if I’ve got anything “more fun.”

WTF.

“Dude,” I respond back. “You’re well aware I’ve come into town. That means I flew. That means I went through security. At an airport. Are you fucking kidding me? Why would I have any drugs?”

He responds, “Oh yea, I guess you’re right. But I still want to fuck.”

Anyway, the vibe is off and the duo then go even more weird. The young one claims the old one is stalking him. The old one claims they’re “together.”

I don’t want to get into the shit. Kick them both to the curb.

Right Downstairs

One last opportunity happens as a guy indicates he’s in a hotel. I ask which one and it turns out he’s in the same one as I am.

Bingo.

He won’t disclose his room, so I give him mine, knowing my colleague isn’t on that floor. He tells me he needs 10 minutes to shower and get cleaned up.

Those 10 minutes pass. Then another 10. Another 10. Yet another 10. And at 45 minutes, I finally message him.

He apologizes, saying it’s taking him longer than he thought to clean out his ass.

Whatever, I say, just get his ass to my room.

Then he says come to his.

I tell him I don’t have his room number.

He says okay, he’s now putting on his clothes.

At an hour after we started this exchange, he says he’s on his way.

Then I get a text asking me if I’ll suck his dick too.

I’m baffled. I just ask, “What?”

Then he writes, “I need to run by the front desk real quick.”

Fuck that.

This fucker is just playing me.

“Forget it.”

He gets all bent out of shape. Says he won’t go by the front desk. Blah blah blah.

After some back and forth, I say he can some to my room, but he has three minutes to get there.

He says he doesn’t like my attitude.

I tell him to fuck off.

The next morning, he begs me to come to his room to fuck him.

I tell him I’m not disturbing  guests actually staying in the hotel.

Postscript

Perhaps the little fucker actually was staying in the hotel or maybe he was one of the guys I’d e-mailed earlier and said I was in town and knew the hotel from that. I’ll never know. I’m proud I never knocked on anyone’s door. That shit pisses me off. He probably kept delaying things to try and get someone else to come over and knock on my door but, like me, couldn’t find anyone to do it.

My luck is your luck, fucker.

What people are searching to find this page::

  • Poppersi (97)
  • Bareback gay mobile (17)
  • stealth bareback png (2)
Beware the Haunting of Gay Ghosts

Beware the Haunting of Gay Ghosts

These Gay Ghosts… The Continuing Bullshit over Photos, Honesty and Me

Of late, I’ve been so lucky to engage with some interesting conversations. The introduction of Kik Opens a new window from this blog as an option to get in touch with me produced many more inquiries along with the normal production of e-mails and other messaging. Generally, I’m grateful.

But yet again, I get a message that just sends me over the edge. It seems to be a frequent of late.

“How old are you?”

Visiting my blog (where you are right this very moment unless you’re reading a feed), just click the About Me Opens a new window from this blog page in the navigation. All my basics appear there. My age and stats. None inflated or improved to make me seem younger, weigh less or more athletic or hung than I actually am. The cock pics are mine. The avatar pic on Twitter is me.

It’s so fucking easy.

However, because I put myself out there, so many people expect that I shall continue to give and give and give with no expectation of anything in return. As people get in touch, many begin with a barrage of questions (again, some available answers online) but mostly with an expectation that I shall give them a personal rendition of everything about me.

No fucking way.

Even as I get to know people, we’ll exchange a little and I’ll mention things like my next post about my last hook-up has gone online. I’ll get a response inquiring about what happened. I’ll let them know it’s ONLINE.

“I know, but I’d rather hear it from you.” Or, my favorite. “I just don’t want to open my browser.”

What? You’re too fucking lazy to open your browser and type, “iblastinside.com”?

I even get asked for people to send them a link.

WTF?

I actually enjoy meeting the people who read my stuff and getting to know them. But if it just doesn’t chap my ass (and currently, my ass is chapped Opens a new window from this blog thanks to one hook-up) that people won’t share a single iota of themselves back. Or they share just enough.

I’m not exactly your everyday porn producer and I don’t have the backing of any major studio. I do this myself. I’ve had death-threats from what I’ve posted — some may be legitimate and some possibly not serious. Over time, I’ve used my gut to weed out the liars.

But in the last couple of years, the sophistication of those who develop online personas has indeed risen to a level worthy of any fictional novel.

I wrote of my Catfish in Las Vegas Opens a new window from this blog (you need to see the documentary “Catfish”  Link Opens in a New Window to truly get the reference, spoiler alert if you click the link), but he hasn’t been the only one to fool me. A retired woman in late 2009 and early 2010 provided quite an elaborate scheme, duping me and several others, using photographs and the voice of an underaged employee to assist in the con. I had several entries a while back but took them down since they exposed the young man and the woman’s family including her grandchildren.

Many others have come along and I’ve rejected outright.

As I’ve written about hot or not photography Opens a new window from this blog and the lies men tell Opens a new window from this blog, I’ve got a strong bullshit meter now.

Fuck if it’s not going off all the fucking time now.

The excuses are a lot of the same and some new ones. The new one that just gets me — coming from youthful (but legal) 19-year-olds to 25-year-olds: I have anxiety about taking my own photo.

Take a Xanax.

I’ve been chatting with this one hottie via Kik in Chicago. Or he says he’s in Chi-town. He sends me photos of people he fucks. Photos of his roommate. Of his roommate’s half brother. But when it came to sending a photo of himself, fuck if suddenly he had an anxiety attack and couldn’t send.

For another guy, this one in D.C., I get a limited number of photos. Three maximum. Then he become indignant about providing more, being insulted if I ask for additional images as if I am somehow asking for them to send me $1,000.
These guys haven’t hesitated to send me photos of with whom they fuck around. In some cases, the images will have come from amateur websites, blogs or Twitter accounts. Of course, my own photos are being used by others. We cannot stop that. There’s a guy in Pennsylvania who uses my cock pic in his Manhunt profile and, quite frankly, short of driving to Manhunt and whipping it out, there’s no way of proving it’s mine.

They lie and speak of others stealing their identity.

How to prove it?

It’s like a family whose loved one has keep kidnapped. I need “proof of life,” so I generally ask for an unusual photo that they might not have handy. For example, get me a photo of yourself in your underwear, showing both nipples, shooting a bird with your left hand in your bathroom mirror.

The only problem is if they’ve got another source for photos — meaning another guy on the hook like you — they can get you one quick from him. Your best bet is to establish where they or are some interesting fact prior to the photo — like the kind or color of underwear they’re wearing.

For one of mine, the underwear changed color

Still, those aren’t the only excuses one gets. Today, I received one of the most unusual: I can’t send or receive photos or visit your website until after 5 p.m.

Seriously, what the fuck?

He claimed to know nothing about me so it was “fair” for us to discuss everything because we both knew nothing about the other.

Even if his little story were true, as soon as the clock struck 5, he’d be able to find a whole shit lot about me.

Another bottom told me yesterday that his Grindr wouldn’t allow him to upload photos. I mentioned e-mail probably worked. He didn’t think about that. But no volunteer to send since he was “discreet.” I could drive 20 miles to his place and see his offer and, if I didn’t like, I could leave.

I met a local the other day for coffee who had a similar situation. The gentleman invited him over and he drove (get this) 42 miles one way. When he arrived, the man opened the door: Unshaven, unbathed and in a bathrobe.

That wasn’t the worst part.

The man unfortunately had some medical condition that forced him to use a colostomy bag Link Opens in a New Window. All of these were issues neglected to be mentioned. And the fucking asshole hoped that the bad medical condition would call out for a pity fuck. He didn’t get one.

I call bullshit on people without pictures.

Bullshit about viruses eating all your images is just that — bullshit. Your computer crashing and taking everything, same thing.

You’re talking to someone who knows enough to know a lie.

You don’t know how to attach and send an image? GET THE FUCK OFF THE INTERNET.

As for using a work phone or someone monitoring your phone, um, don’t be a damn idiot about that too. You’re e-mailing or messaging me on it. And just keep in mind, I now have the number. I could call or message at inopportune times and tell whoever answers what’s going on with you.

If you’re going to give excuses, then expect to be getting fucked some other way by me.

Moreover, the clear text messages or e-mails from that same damn phone will get you into a whole lot more trouble than sending G-rated images of yourself.

For all the gay ghosts, the fakes who love to trick me, there are those who are real and don’t mind being on the up and up. Like this Midwestern guy who’s just plain slutty and doesn’t mind letting me know it. We shoot the shit, Skype, text, whatever. And someday I’ll fuck him. Breed him. Put him into my camp of those carrying around my DNA.

Do you have to be 19 years old and a twink? No. He’s not. And every time I talk with him, he gets hotter. He doesn’t have to make shit up. He can tell me about his fucked up hook up or he can show me the video of his really hot breeding.

I’m not summoning a spirit with him. He’s real.

               

There will be a follow-up piece Opens a new window from this blog for my little Chicago friend and just for him. 

Travel Diary: Beantown Bronze (Borderline Bossy) Bottom Begs for Blast by Bentson

Travel Diary: Beantown Bronze (Borderline Bossy) Bottom Begs for Blast by Bentson

When I arrive in a town like Boston, BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window lights up. Am I recognized? By a few. New meat?  That’s it. I think the bareback community occasional craves that fresh injection of DNA into the murky mix. It’s so nice to log on and find 10 or 15 messages waiting to be read.

Now some buttwipes fail to read the most basic information, even in my own BBRT profile Link Opens in a New Window. As I’ve outlined on the Getting Fucked by iBLASTinside page Opens a new window from this blog on this site, I have a few requirements (don’t fucking smoke), but otherwise I’ll be interested based on how things go in our conversation.

Such is what happened with one such hot bottom.

Truth is, I had two very different men that were definite possibilities and one dark horse in the race for my cum on the one night I was in town.

The dark horse? A muscle bottom from Montana visiting Boston. Fuck if when I saw his bubble butt ass and thick thighs, I didn’t want to get my cock between his muscular cheeks and get him to squeeze.

The other bottom followed me on Twitter Follow on Twitter. He was fucking beefy and totally hot. But timing sucked as my boss called and wanted to meet the team as a precursor to the next day’s business. The beefy bottom had to be up early, so by 10:30 p.m. when things were wrapping up, he was knackered and off to bed.

While plenty of other men popped up, my 25-year-old bottom popped up continually, requesting an anonymous scene. And his ass photo just proved irresistible.

I love anonymous scenes. My favorite is known as “Room Service” when I’m traveling and I’ve done it many times… Opens a new window from this blog in Texas and Opens a new window from this blog in California, just to name a couple. But I know there’s a lot more here I’ve just failed to tag.

I outline the basics for the bottom. He comes into the darkened room, strips naked, finds me naked on the bed, sucks me hard then climbs on board and rides me a bit. I then put him on his stomach and finish off in his ass, sending him on his way.

His response?

Instead, he’d prefer I only take him from behind.

He outlines a completely different scene, where I hide in the bathroom and he is on all fours. I’m responsible for getting myself hard and I just fuck and load him.

WTF. Not exactly meeting the Eleven Commandments Opens a new window from this blog.

“No thanks.”

I then start working a beefy, tattooed guy.

Then the whining and “what happened?” questions start.

“Not interested in bossy bottoms,” I said. “Have a good one.”

“It was just a suggestion,” he said. “I’m glad to do it your way. I just like being taken from behind.”

After a little while without much progress and the clock ticking past midnight, I invited him over.

          

As I waited naked across the bed in the darkened room, I felt my heartbeat rise with anticipation, as with every time I do this scene. The light from the hallway suddenly floods part of the room as he slips in and I can just make out the shadow of a guy, about six foot tall, in a gray tank top, gym shorts and flip-flops. I’d told him to wear as little as possible.

The room plunges back into darkness and he’s slipping off his clothes. He’s moving toward the bed and soon I feel a tentative hand touch my right foot and it moves up until he’s climbed on the bed and his mouth closes around my half-hard cock.

His sun-chapped lips begin sucking my cock. I reach down into his brown mane and feel the soft hair and stroke it to his skin-peeling shoulders. This boy has had too much sun. I can feel the lizard skin as it flakes off into my finger tips. He radiates a heat.

I’m worked into full hardness but it isn’t until he starts to lick my balls do I finally start to feel some aggression and begin uttering, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

I put his mouth back into my cock and push it down gently before getting him to lick my balls more. I feel his hairy chest, which has been clipped shorter and find his nipples. They’re smaller and fail to protrude much, sticking close to his body. A little disappointing, especially based on the face and chest pic I’d seen, which seemed to show larger, poking nips.

But who knows if he even sent real pics.

I pull him up by his hairy underarms and position him to ride. He spits on his hand and adds it to ass. I hand him my bottle of poppers and let him take a whiff as my cockhead begins to split him open.

For someone who wanted me to just take him from behind, it took this bottom a moment to really get his ass down to the base of my raw cock. He finally did, with extra spit and more poppers. Fuck, that ass gripped my cock tight. He begin to bounce on it. Just a little. He added more spit to the base but the friction just really set me off.

It’s not very often I find a bottom who could possibly milk a load out of me. This one didn’t know it. He was bringing me close to popping.

Interestingly enough, he’d change position or pace or angle right about the moment I’d be hitting that point of no return. Given the reprieve, I’d regain my composure. The darkness masked my biting of my lip to distract myself just enough.

Once, he almost had me there, I lifted up and asked if me wanted me to fuck him from behind.

I moved behind him, spit on my cock and slid inside.

He sighed, like jizzjoy Link Opens in a New Window already occurred. I guess he really liked it from behind.

I laid on top of him and began pumping, giving him a whiff of poppers and snorting some myself.

“You want my load?”

“Oh yes!” the slutty bottom said. “Please give me your cum!”

His begging continued as I pumped, getting closer and closer until I sighed and let out a groan, my cock throbbing and my load pumping hot, white sperm into his ass. I pushed it into him deeper and deeper.

“Oh fuck yea!”

“That’s my load man,” I said. “You’re getting my fucking sperm!”

He backed his ass up. I climbed up enough so he could impale himself a little and he rode it that way until he shot a load on the bedsheets just a moment later.

I rolled off and he left into the night just a few moments later.

I hope he found some moisturizer. His skin really needed it. His ass, not so much. I gave it plenty of protein.

What people are searching to find this page::

  • gayforit condom break (15)
  • GAY DOUBLE FUCK IN THE CLASSROOM STORIES (2)
Slapping Some Sense into a Senior

Slapping Some Sense into a Senior

@PositiveLife tagged a Tweet with the Bareback Brotherhood’s hashtag (#BBBH), getting my attention today and sending me into a bit of a tizzy. The heartfelt piece, written by Charles Walton, a man in his 60s who became HIV-positive late in life, indeed tells a compelling story. (It’s something that should be read, but in April 2011, the site took it down so you can’t.)

But what I find despicable is the conclusions to which the author comes.

In summary, the author visits his doctor and gets Viagra, begins a three-year period of indulging in unsafe sex (in other words, barebacking) including visits to bathhouses that includes a gorgeous man named “Dave” who he singles out among all his dalliances to conclude, 18 months later when symptoms appear, caused him to seroconvert.

The implication in this story that “Dave” might be the culprit or Viagra causes HIV bothers me tremendously. Neither Dave nor Viagra did anything. The author’s justification that the temptation brought on by a turgid cock or a handsome man (who he’d seen numerous times at a fucking bathhouse, hint-hint) can be linked to seroconversion is circumstantial at best.

Every man — straight, gay and in between — finds himself tempted. And obviously, “Dave” was not the author’s “just this once.”

The author took a risk knowing the possible results but not willing to accept becoming HIV positive. Or thinking he might remain negative.

Furthermore, the author waits 18 months, failing to get regular blood tests with his physicals — if he had any. I am in my 40s. I visit the doctor at least four times a year and he’s always taking blood but not for HIV. It’s to check cholesterol, hints of prostate cancer and a dozen other indicators that come along with being older. If this man failed to follow basic protocols of visiting his doctor for regular visits, come on.

After all this, the author attempts to turn this into a safer sex morality tale. While heartfelt, this story isn’t about safer sex or condom use.

Condom use is not the end-all and be-all of safer sex. Using seroconversion as “wake-up call” for safer sex seems like closing the barn doors after the horses have already bolted. Now he’s going to become an activist and get involved in his community.

WTF? Seriously?

It reads like some religious conversion rather than seroconversion. He learned that condoms fucking suck. They lessen sensitivity and make for difficulty in maintaining an erection, especially as the plumbing starts to rust. So what do we need? More condom use? No.

The barebacking movement won’t back down. More effective safe sex messaging to resonate in the community won’t work. Believe me. I know. I’m in marketing. Nothing resonates with a cock other than the tingling sensation of another human’s skin. The intimate connection of that touch cannot be duplicated no matter what plastic flesh created in a lab.

The scientists need to figure out ways to kill HIV transmission in lubricant or absorption through inoculation. Our prophylaxis needs to be the “gay pill” to allow fucking the way it was meant to be.

As for the author, he has sampled the fruit of barebacking. As he adjusts to life as a poz man, the shock will wear off and, I will bet, barebacking will return to his menu. Oh, he will deny it as he has written this online article despite covering his face and likely obscuring his name. But fuck raw he will. He can’t deny that hard cock and how good it feels to touch another human without plastic between two bodies.

What people are searching to find this page::

  • poz fucking (49)
  • gayfucktumblr (34)
  • Poz fuck (30)