Thursday, June 30, 2011


As I have said before, I wrote up most of the blogs for the past two weeks before my trip to Colorado so that I would have some posts going up while I was gone and busy with school. I decided to just let the blogs post as planned when I was forced to come home early as a bit of a break for myself, but I had to post a quick interruption. This isn't to talk about why I left early or what happened to me in Colorado or to talk about hotties that were there--I am actually going to talk about that, just later. This interruption is something you'll all probably find wildly more interesting.

I was having dinner with my mom last night when she dropped the name of a man I hadn't heard in years, though she didn't have any idea that I knew who she was talking about. She often mentions people she's met who I don't know, somewhat of a symptom of me not living here for four years. But this guy was someone I did know, and I mean in the biblical sense.

Tony was one of the last three men I ever had sex with before I left for my freshman year of college, but that wasn't when I met him. I had met him earlier that summer while volunteering at a Goodwill store. I actually made a habit of volunteering at the Goodwill stores, not because I had to get hours, but because I enjoyed doing the manual labor in the back of the stores and it generally kept me from sitting at home and going insane on days I didn't work in the summers. I'm the type of guy who needs a goal or something to strive for because, if I don't, I'm happily able to waste an entire day watching TV or sleeping. So Goodwill helped me stay on my game. And every year I volunteered I did it at a different store to mix things up.

The summer before I left for college I worked at a bigger store with more stuff to do in the back. So I wasn't the only guy they had working out back (sexist or not, women just had more trouble moving the heavy boxes). Tony was my compatriot in moving boxes and putting clothes on racks to be taken out into the store. The back room was always so fun. We'd turn on a radio and listen to music, talk, or sometimes play fun games while we worked and the time flew by. Tony and I made friends quickly and he was impressed that I wanted to go to college and major in Creative Writing. He had never been driven academically and preferred leaving high school and going out into the real world. At this point I think Tony was nearing thirty and thinking about finding a career path he could settle into.

I was seventeen and very interested in Tony. He was the kind of guy who always looked like he was just letting life happen, nothing seemed to bother him. All the teen issues I was having seemed a piece of cake to him. I was attracted to his simple-living mindset. Plus, I was very interested in the bulge I could see in his tight pants daily. And the interest was mutual.

We would find ways to be working together in a tight space or to bump into each other as we walked past. At first I assumed he was just pushing me around, innocently like friends do, and that I was the only one interested in doing anything sexual. But then, as I remember, one time when I was pushing some boxes on a dolly by him, he reached out and grabbed my ass with his hand quickly so that no one saw. I wasn't expecting it and nearly jumped and dropped the boxes. Fortunately I saved my balance and kept going.

Later that day we were having our lunch break out back behind the building (summers are nice in Maine, but also short, so you get what you can in). It was just the two of us and we had been exchanging what I felt were meaningful glances over out meals before he walked away from the door to smoke. I looked around and then got up and walked over to where he was standing and while looking him in the eye, I reached out and grabbed the bulge in his pants. He seemed surprised but also very happy that I had made a move. He quickly kissed me, tasting badly of cigarettes, and said, "We'll finish this later."

That afternoon I followed him back to his place instead of driving home and I got to touch his cock ouside of his pants. I remember he had a thick cock and I struggled to give him a blow job without scraping my teeth, but I managed as we sixty-nined on his couch. I stroked my hands all over his body, moving around beside him while he sucked me off, taking as much of his cock as I could. He came first and pretty quickly, shooting into my mouth. He is one of the few guys I've sucked who had cum that tasted so bad to me that I thought about spitting it out, but I managed to swallow it and kept swallowing until the strange after taste was gone.

By the time I came he was hard again and wanting me to suck him again before I left. I didn't really want to taste his cum so I leaned back and pulled my legs up. "Fuck me," I said.

"Are you sure?" he asked. I think he was a little surprised a young guy was being this direct with him.

"Fuck me." It wasn't a request. I was ordering him now. With my legs pulled up he fingered me open and then lined up his cock. He had a hard time getting in, he was just that wide, but I gritted my teeth through the pain and he was patient. Soon I was open enough for him to move around, but I could tell by the way he fucked that he was not used to topping. I certainly was not getting hard again from his movements.

Frustraited I had him lay on his back and I straddled him, sliding slowly down into his lap, making his cock go where I wanted it to. With myself in control I was able to make sure every thrust hit me in the right spot and my cock quickly grew hard again. He was almost totally submissive to my work, allowing me to basically top him from the bottom. Now-a-days I likely would have used his submission to my advantage, taking his ass for myself, but back then I thought of sex mostly in terms of what was next going to be put in my ass, so instead I used him for my own anal pleasure.

At some point while I was riding him he came again, but I didn't stop. He made a move to pull out, but I pushed him back on the couch and rode him until I felt my own orgasm building back up and I began to shoot my load over his chest. At some point his cock went soft and just fell out of me. I stood up and dressed quickly, leaving him still naked on his couch. I was running late getting home.

The work flirtation continued and he and I fucked more before I left for school, but for the most part he just let me do the work as far as sex was concerned. I remember the last time we hooked up was just days before I left for Ohio, and I spent the entire time with him on his back, on his bed, me riding him. Every so often he would buck his hips or shift my position, but mostly I was in control. I began to fantasize about having him bound and blindfolded so that I was in total control, but in reality it would not have changed the dynamic much: I was already in total control.

All this went through my mind when my mom brought him up at dinner. Fortunately I have a good poker face because I never let on that I knew him. He doesn't work at Goodwill anymore, but clearly he is still in the area. I can't decide if I should check in on him or not. He might not even recognize me. He probably has moved on. I don't think I will go see him. I'm a totally different person now and so is he. We probably don't click anymore. But, that summer, we certainly did.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Steve Courting

You might remember my recent entry on how I met my first boyfriend, Steve. We had both felt some sort of connection the first time we fucked and decided to explore it. Obviously this isn't a fairy tale, and Steve was certainly not my one true love. But we did like each other very much and had youthful hormones pushing us along. Though, it did take a while for us to gather up the courage to start dating.

I saw Steve at school later that week after we had sex for the first time. It was one of the days that I didn't go to Paul's place and I was by my locker on the Freshman hallway when Steve walked up to me. He had clearly planned on coming to see me, as the Freshman hallway was on an entirely different floor from all the others. He came up to me and acted very casual, giving me a "Yo" and a "What's up?" as he leaned against a locker near mine. We talked about nothing for a few minutes before he asked me if I wanted a ride home.

I won't lie to you, I blushed. I really wanted him to give me a ride home. I really wanted to spend more time with him. Some of my attraction was to him, but some of it was also to the thought of spending time with a guy near my age who had the same feelings and yearnings I did. I knew he spent time with Paul and clearly had been for a while. I had questions that I wanted to ask him. But a large part of me also just wanted his dick in my ass again. I told him sure.

In the short time it took us to get to my place he had made it clear that he had some time to kill before the wrestling team had practice. I had time too, as the swim team practice usually didn't start until 7pm. When he pulled into my drive way he parked the car and looked at me for a moment before leaning over and giving me another one of his chaste kisses. The one thing I think I will always remember about my time with Steven is the soft way he would give me those little kisses. Though they weren't forceful or open, they still somehow conveyed the feelings he had for me.

He asked if he could come in for a bit. I let him in.

I gave him a tour of my small house that ended upstairs where the guest room and my bedroom were. Once in my bedroom it didn't take Steve long to pull me into a deeper kiss, one that was less chaste, but just as full of passion. We stripped each other and he fucked me on my bed, the first guy that ever fucked me on that bed. We made love for the better part of an hour, with him shooting multiple loads into me and sucking down my cum more than once as well. He was amazing with his mouth and in my ass. I could tell that he had learned a lot from experience. His muscles were built, but also very lean, and moved beautifully as he pushed into me, my legs pulling him in over and over.

As we lay in my bed, feeling a post-orgasm bliss, he would not stop looking me in the eyes. I love making eye contact so I did not move away from his gaze even though every part of me wanted to shyly glance away. Finally he told me how he was feeling. He opened up and told me that he wanted to be more with me than just two guys who met and fucked. He wanted me to be his boyfriend.

We talked about it a while. Neither of us had dated a man before, and both of us were dating girls at the time. We decided that we would stay in the closet, neither one of us wanted to come out then. Besides, at the time I wasn't even thinking about my sexuality, I was just doing what came naturally. So to everyone else, we would just be friends. But we could go out to movies and other places where no one would see us together. And we would still be able to have sex with each other, something we both wanted.

And that is how I started dating my first boyfriend. While we weren't a long-lasting couple, we cared for each other very much, and we parted on great terms, something that I haven't done very often with men.

Monday, June 27, 2011


Just to keep you all updated on my life, the problem with my summer grad school program I talked about on Saturday and then later on in this post has made it so that I have to leave early. So all day today I will be flying back to Boston and then being driven back to Maine. This does not mean that I'm dropping out of grad school, in fact, I had a great time and learned a lot. I just can't stay as long as I had planned this summer. I am, however, probably going to be dealing with a lot of stress from travel, jet lag, and dealing with my college, so I may not reply to comments as promptly as I usually do. Still, I have three blog posts scheduled for this week, and I hope you enjoy them all.

I did have a different post planned for today, but I figured I'd talk about something a little more relevant to what is happening in my life right now.

As you all know, I'm currently attending a summer grad school session in Colorado. While I am keeping pretty busy and having a good time, the stress level of the work has been aggravated by the huge administrative mistake I was talking about on Saturday. Add to that the fact that I've been pretty horny with no good release for about four weeks now, and I'm just in a really bad place.

It struck me on Saturday, when I was walking around to take my mind off of things (as well as cruising and striking out in a restroom), that I was getting laid more often in high school than I am now. That doesn't seem right. I mean, sure, it is a bit harder to meet people and I'm a bit more discriminating in partners than I was back then. And now that I top, I have to deal with bottoms who are nervous or worry that they might miss out on the hot top sugar daddy who will take care of them for life if they spend a few hours with me. Angry ranting aside, I've been feeling somewhat sexually frustrated recently.

And very recently my frustrations have been coming out in my dreams.

At first it was pretty basic stuff, not really sexy. Wednesday night of last week I had a dream where for a while Rob the Breeder, Frank O'Hara (a dead poet) and I were at a coffee shop drinking and talking. Rob and Frank were being pretty normal, but I was subtly (or not) trying to get a three-way started before my dream morphed into me winning a hamburger eating contest.
This is what Frank O'Hara looked like, if you wondered.
That dream made sense. Wednesday I thought about Rob a lot, partly, I'm sure, due to my blog post on him. And later that day I was told that my writing was clearly influenced by Frank O'Hara. But the dreams got less understandable and more sexy, until Saturday night when I had a really crazy and amazing sex dream. The events in it are pretty much now officially one of my fantasies.

It started out pretty normal, I was walking through a park on a path covered by trees. I came to what was basically a dog area and sat on a bench and kinda wished I had a dog, but then I had one and it was bugging me so I just let it fall out of the dream. Then a limo-like car pulled up and the window rolled down and a male and female couple stuck their heads out and called me over. In moments we were at their apartment and they were naked and making out with each other. I figured that I was sort of there to watch so I started just jerking. But then two more guys came into the room and stripped naked too. Then the woman started tying the men up and blindfolding them. She was dressed like a picture perfect dominatrix and I too was dressed differently in leather chaps and boots. She and I then systematically beat and fucked the three other men in the room. It was really hot and in the context of the dream I was pretty much able to do anything I wanted.

When I woke up from this dream I was incredibly horny and made somewhat of a quick run to the bathroom to jerk off and relax. It was probably one of the hottest sex dreams I had ever had, but it also annoyed me. I usually only have sex dreams if I'm sick, and I never have had wet dreams. I was getting off regularly enough as a young man that I didn't have to worry about shooting in my sleep. So why then did I have this hot dream? It is because I'm not getting off enough. I'm in an apartment with 3 other guys, sharing a bedroom with one, and on campus pretty much all day every day. There's not really enough privacy for jerking off and I can't bring guest over to fuck. I'm just really strung out these days.

I just hope that once this whole event is over and behind me I'll be getting laid regularly again. And that I'll be less stressed by the administration at my college fucking me over.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Down and Out: Formspring

Hey everyone! First of all I'd like to thank you all for your kind words of encouragement last week with my posts relating to Rob. I realize that there was a lot of romantic writing and fluttery language all at once with no buffer, but I promise you that next week will be steamy. One of the best parts about my sex life is how I'm able to mix up the steamy sex with the passionate moments of love. It is truly a gift.

Yesterday was somewhat of a bummer for me. Things started out well, but progressed to a fairly bad situation involving finances and my grad school. It isn't panic time or anything, I'm not overly worried. It is just inconvenient and the worst part is it wasn't my fault at all. I like problems that are my fault because I feel comfortable blaming myself and accepting the consequences then trying everything I can to fix it. When things aren't my fault and there was no way I could have prevented it, that's when I get pissed. And I've already yelled at a few people to get things in gear.

The day ended better, I read two poems at a student reading and was told by very prominent writers that my reading was great. Which is something I love to hear from people so talented. Then there was a film festival to attend (being put on by the Colorado University). But about 3/4 of the way through the night's films I had to get out of the stuffy gymnasium where the screening was and get some fresh air away from people. I walked back to my apartment and stayed alone in the room I share in my apartment. While cooling off I figured now would be as good a time as any to make the Formspring post. You guys asked some really great questions. Here are my answers:

When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?

When I was very young my father had me convinced I was going to follow his lead and join the Coast Guard. Then I thought I was going to be a paleobotanist (study plant fossils) and later a Marine Biologist specializing in Penguins. And now I'm a writer and a poet. So that turned out about right.

Can you enjoy yourself when the guy you're with has too little experience? And what about when you're with the ladies? Can you get any pleasure, or satisfaction, out of being with inexperienced men and women? Or are they too nervous, rigid, etc?

In my experience, I must admit that I prefer those who have been around the block, so to speak. But I also have to say that I am particularly good with the inexperienced of both the male and female variety. I saw a tweet recently that said, "Virgo cock is the best cherry picker." Frankly I have to agree with that.

I think what makes me good with the less experienced is my attention to the pleasure of my partners. I take care to put people at ease before, during, and after. And while the partner may not be great at pleasing me, I'm also firm enough to make sure that I get my needs met. With both women and men you just need to comfort them and not pressure them into doing anything that they don't want to do. Just like those of us who know what we're doing, newbies will know when they are pushed too far and that's when they get nervous or rigid.

So do I get the same pleasure I get from someone who knows how to push the right buttons? No. But I do get pleasure, and I enjoy being part of a special experience for the person. Great question!

What is something you want to do with another person, and you have never done?

Sling sex. I've never been fucked or fucked a guy in a sling and I really want to. I've been tied up and tied others up, but never used a sling. I would also love a bi orgy where men and women are just going at it together and you don't know who you're fucking at any one time. Would be so hot.

What is your opinion on cybersex?

I have trouble with it because I multitask online and get distracted easily. So I would have to be really into it. I have trouble chatting in general, so I don't think I'm really made for it.

Boxers or Briefs?

Briefs if I have to pick between just those two. I like boxer-briefs too. And less normal undies like jocks and thongs. A lot of guys think thongs are gross or feel bad, but I really like them. They're actually great for athletic ability as many are just as supportive as a jock. I used to wear a dance belt (like what ballet dancers wear under tights) which has a thong back while doing yoga.

I was having sex with a guy who's larger than I've taken. I had to tell him to stop, that I needed to take a break, but then we didn't start again. I'd like to try again, but I'm not sure how to approach him. Being a top, would you be mad? Or forgiving?

I want to first tell you I've been there before, both as a top and a bottom. I think most tops are forgiving if a bottom just can't take them, either because of size or lack of prep or even if they just aren't feeling well. I know I'm more than willing to try a second time with a guy, especially if he seems interested. I'd say, go for it. Make contact and I'm sure he'll respond positively.

You guys actually have asked more questions, but they'll have to wait for another post. And ASK MORE please! I really enjoy answering them and the communication that is growing between us. If you don't want to use Formspring you can always send me an email too. Some of you guys have sent me pics too, which I love. Keep it up, guys.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Meeting the Breeder Again Part 3: The Morning After

This is the last post I'm going to make on my overnight with Rob. Thanks for reading along you guys, writing this has been both wonderful and hard for me. Wonderful because I love reliving these moments, and hard because it is never easy to be this honest. In fact, sometimes it hurts. That night I spent with Rob I really opened up and told him things I have never told another person (and no, they aren't getting posted here). He is an amazing friend and lover and listener and talker and I am so blessed to have him in my life. Rob, when you read this I want you to know that I mean everything I have said and will say to you in the future. Thanks for being my friend.

I contemplated calling this post "Aftermath" but that felt too much like the experience from the night before was bad. It was anything but. In fact, when I woke up to Rob jumping out of bed early in the morning, I just smiled as I saw his ass leave the room and curled up into a tight, blissful ball. It didn't matter to me that his cat had howled in the early morning hours or that I was officially skipping a class. At that moment all that mattered to me was staying comfortable for as long as I could while remembering that a sexy man was downstairs, possibly thinking about me lying in his bed. My suspicion was confirmed when I woke up to see this tweet posted. Later that day I posted my own tweet lovingly praising my sexy man.

I'll be honest, part of me wanted to lie in that bed all day so that I would still be there, naked, when he went to bed that night. But the part of me that is logical and reasonable knew that we both had things to do. He needed to work on packing and I needed to go back to my campus and get ready for finals and graduation. So I walked down his stairs knowing fully that I was making a slow decent to my eventual farewell to this man I care so much about.

We didn't have morning sex or good-bye sex or any sex at all that morning. It wasn't that either one of us didn't want to or that we couldn't. We just didn't need to. I know this may sound strange, but I didn't need to have him fuck me that morning (not that I would have said no). There was something spoken and unspoken between us. A knowledge that the night before would not be the last night we'd ever be together. Both of us were getting ready to move to the East Coast, so it wasn't like I would be half the country away. With him in CT and me trying to get a job and apartment in Boston, we will be practically the same distance from each other as we previously were. A distance I'm sure either one of us would be willing to travel, though I'm not going to put words in his mouth.

So what did we do? We went to a cute diner for breakfast where I could hardly eat because (as I found out the next day) I was relapsing into an illness I had thought I'd thrown. Sadly I'd be stuck with that damn viral infection for weeks to come. Still, even though I probably could have skipped breakfast and saved Rob some money, I would not have missed talking to him. We talked about a variety of things once again, but this time I also asked him questions.

These were questions I've been thinking about for a while. I know that he has a family and is still able to have plenty of hot sex on the side. I want that for myself. I want in my future to be a loving husband and (hopefully) father, but also still be able to fuck around and do what men do naturally. So I questioned how he lives his life, the things he does with others. While I can't yet tell if he helped me toward my goal, he did give me a lot to think about.

If you couldn't tell, I've been putting off talking about the moment I left. I don't want to remember walking out his door and turning at my car to see him watching after me. I don't want to see in my mind him standing in that doorway, the beautiful sunny day, the blossoms all over the trees, the smell of life everywhere. I don't want to remember the image, that perfect, beautiful image, because it feels too much like the scene in a movie when someone leaves for good. I don't want to leave Rob for good. I want to always be a part of his life, and for him to be a part of mine.

It isn't easy for me to be this honest, but I feel like I need to be. The drive back to campus was somewhat hard. I wanted to call him and hear his voice again. Or maybe to just turn around and surprise him. But I knew that both of those things could not happen. Well, I could have called him. I wish I had called him. I wish I had done more than just text him when I arrived safely on campus. Because that day was the day Spencer treated him pretty badly. I know the two have reconciled, and frankly I don't hold any grudge against Spencer, I think he's great and I'm glad he made Rob happy for as long as he did. But when I read on Rob's blog what had happened, my first response was that I should have called. Then I could have been an ear to talk to or a shoulder to cry on, if that was needed. But I didn't call, and I couldn't have known. I don't blame myself. I just wish I'd had the courage to call and not worry about if I was bothering him.

If there is one thing I have learned from the way Rob treats me and cares for me, it is that no one is ever going to be so bothered by me that they will stop talking to me. No one is ever going to turn their back on me because of who I am. No one is ever going to forget me and move on. I believe that now. But I still have my doubt, my annoying background voice. The evil man in my head telling me that if I call Rob he will just ignore me, or hate me, or not even notice I called at all. None of that is true, Rob is a great man and such a nice guy, and we're both such great friends. So why haven't I ever called him?

Falling in love with Rob has been one of the best things to happen to me in the past year. But it has also brought back up all these little insecurities I thought I'd killed in myself years ago. Like, what if I say something wrong? Or, what if I miss something he said to me online? Or worse, what if I start to become jealous? I'm not jealous by nature, but I'm around enough jealous people to fear it in my self. These are all thoughts that stop me from dialing his number. But they are also old issues, more like the guest that won't leave than the one throwing up on your $1000 couch. So while I hate these dumb insecurities, I would gladly have them forever if it meant Rob was in my life. And maybe someday I'll get the courage to just pick up the damn phone and call him.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Meeting the Breeder Again Part 2: The Memory

Over a month ago Rob posted a beautiful entry in his blog about our second encounter and the memories he stopped for a three count to make. To this post I commented: "Sounds to me like you remembered all the best parts. :) That night was so special to me, I could never pick out just one, two, or fifteen moments and call them my favorite. I would be doing a disservice to the thousands of other moments that made me so happy I wanted to melt down into you, that drove me crazy with need for you, desire to keep touching you. That night was amazing and every day since I left you has been a blur. The only true memories are of my time with you."

That comment still holds true to this day and is part of the reason I decided to make this story a three parter. When I decided to make my own memory post (out of a sense of love and connection) I thought about which moments to highlight and I was stunned by the number of amazing moments there were from that night. There was so much that happened, so much emotion, so many times I felt so completely in love with this beautiful man. I just couldn't think of the right one. 

But then I remembered a moment I felt could at least sum up the evening emotionally for me. Well, it can't do anything justice, really, but it is the closest I've been able to come in the month since this event happened. This moment is one I will keep locked in my heart as I wait until the day Rob and I see each other again. And for added fun: this is a moment Rob may not even know about until he reads it.

We were lying together in his bed, me totally naked and him in just a shirt. My body still tingled from his touches and my mouth still tasted of his skin. I sometimes have trouble sharing a bed with someone, especially someone I've never slept with before. But with Rob I was out like a light. I felt that comfortable.

Comfort does not mean I slept any deeper than my usual shallow dream state. I woke up in the middle of the night to feel the warmth of his body move away from me slightly as he rolled and moved in his sleep. My eyes opened and stared at the clock across from the bed. The green numbers glared 3:02 at me and I rolled over content in knowing I had many hours of sleep left. But then my mind moved far way from sleep.

I could see Rob's body, perfect in his slumber. He was a shadow outlined in the sparse light that glowed in the room. I watched him breathing slowly and I felt his heat radiate off his body. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but hesitated, afraid to wake him and ruin this moment I had to really study him. And I felt a warmth spread out through me. Last week I made a comment in my blog about how I have been forced to pour concrete into the scars and holes in my heart. Looking at Rob was like letting a river inside me, washing away the hardness I had created. Looking at him and knowing how much he cared for me, and how much I cared for him, made me melt. And I'm not using this as a metaphor here. It felt almost literally as if something inside of me melted and I became more fluid. I felt as though I could wrap this man in my body and cover him, protect him from pain and suffering. I would protect him like a mother protecting her child. I knew in that moment that I valued having this man in my life more than almost any of my other loved ones.

If that's not love, than I have never been in love before. If that isn't love, than I don't know anything about love or the art of making love.

Because that's what Rob and I have done. The two of us have joined together, and out of that joining love was formed. And  even now, when we are separated by many more miles than the slightly more than two hour drive I took to see him, I still feel a deep love. I realize that I likely sound obsessive and stalker-ish, but I'm not that crazy. I love him, but I don't cling to him. Sure, his smile brightens my day and his voice hardens my cock, but I can love him from afar, savoring the times we do meet. I can do that because I have this perfect memory of my love for him, and many memories on top of that. 

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Meeting the Breeder Again Part 1: Reunion

This is the first of three posts on my second time with Rob the Breeder. Why three posts? Well, I stayed overnight for one thing, so more stuff happened. Another reason is that I have so much emotion about my time with him that I want to make this perfect. I see this memory from multiple angles and I want to write about it from that same multi-angled approach. I hope you enjoy these three posts.

My second meeting with Rob the Breeder started out with me driving past his house. In all fairness, all the houses on his street are close together and far enough from the road to make seeing the numbers hard. And I had just driven for over two hours. And I was texting him to tell him I was almost there while driving. Don't text and drive kids. You end up missing the sexy man's house.

After I circled around the block and slowly drove past an old man in an old car who looked at me with some confusion (is it the long hair?), I was parked on the street and practically running to where he stood in the doorway. It was as if we had never left each other. We stood just inside his house holding each other and kissing and smiling at each other. I was in heaven having this great man in my arms, wrapped around me. It was nice to be the short person for a change, the one who has to look up to kiss, the one who is covered.

Remembering that day is like a constant barrage of moments each struggling to be at the forefront of my mind. He pulled me up the steps to his room and jumped on his bed as I put my things down. I had brought gifts for him, clothes for the next day, lube, and nothing else. I quickly joined him on his bed as we continued to kiss and touch and rub. I don't know how long we went before I started pulling our clothes off, impatient to see Rob in all his glory. But we took things slow.

In a moment of tenderness, I sat on the edge of his bed and read to him the poem I had written about him and our first encounter. I looked up when I was finished and first saw his smile and my spirit rose. Then I saw a tear leak out of his eye, followed by many more. Seeing this man cry tears of joy over a poem I had written to him shattered every wall I had built around my heart as I flew into his arms, kissing him and wiping his tears.

"Sweet man," I said to him, "You're crying."

"That was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," he replied, eyes still wet, but his smile so big and happy. I responded in the only way I could: I kissed him and let him know with my mouth and my body how important to me those tears had been.

He took me out to dinner at a steak house I had never been to. The funny part was we were eating almost directly across the highway from the Red Roof Inn I had stayed at for our previous meeting. The meal was great, but the company and the conversation was even better. Rob and I talked about everything. About each other, about writing, about my choice to go to grad school, about music. I felt perfectly safe with him, able to tell him anything he wanted to ask me. Then we returned to his house to watch the lastest Doctor Who while we curled up with each other on the couch. I was closing my eyes at one point and he asked, "Are you falling asleep?"

"No," I replied, "I just feel perfectly at peace and I want to remember this moment so that I can feel it over and over again."

We moved back up to his room where we both fell into a fit of giggling while I tried to show him how I top for boys. But there is something about Rob that turns off the aggressive side of me that I need to be a top. With Rob I would much rather cuddle and kiss and be enveloped inside of him, even if I have to bottom for him (which is such a wonderful experience that I'd do it whenever he asked).

"I trust you so much it is scary," I said to him in his dark bedroom. "I know you would never hurt me, but even if you did, I would let you. As long as you were happy." I felt no shame saying this to him. I was surprised at the words that came out of my mouth, but it was true. I know it to be true.

We fooled around more. I remember the first time that night I pulled his underwear off I smiled at his large cock. "I missed you," I said before plunging my mouth down, taking as much of him into my throat as I could, loving the flavor and smell of him. He went over every part of my body with his mouth, licking the inside of my legs, my balls, my asshole while I thrashed above him at every feeling. "Are you ok?" he asked me at one point.

"I'm amazing! No one ever treats me so well." With a smile he went back to his work.

At one point I was eating him out while he lay on his stomach and I felt and intense wave of lust come over me while I tasted the metalic tang of his hole. I lifted my body up and rubbed my hard cock into his crack, letting him feel me above him. "Oh, baby," I said, "Your hole makes me so hard. I wish I could just push inside and fill you with my cum." I pushed my dick head up to his hole and he lay, passive, not doing anything. There was a moment where I had to fight the urge to stick it in and just fuck him hard. This was my aggression, finally showing up. But I looked at the side of his face and I faltered. I didn't want to take this man without permission. I didn't want to rape him. If I were to fuck him, I'd need him to tell me it was ok. I pulled back and kissed his ass again.

Finally we were both exhausted and fell asleep in the bed. I had no plans the next day other than the tell my friends I was skipping class because I was sick and to drive back to my college. As we lay together in the bed, I felt that the day had been perfect. I'd made the best of my time with this wonderful, sexy, loving man.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Give Me Your Questions

As many of you know already, I'm going to be spending the next two weeks in Colorado doing summer classes for my MFA. The class schedule is pretty intense: I'll be on campus from 8am to 9pm with two breaks for lunch and dinner, and then I'll be doing homework before crashing in my bed at night. So I'm not sure how much time I'll have to work on posts during that time. I already have a few posts written up that will go up while I'm gone so I don't leave you guys hanging for two weeks. I'd never do that to my wonderful readers. But since the trip is soon and I'm a little nervous about my first time in an MFA class, I can't promise much else.

Anyway, I had an idea of something that could be really fun, and would actually be a way that you guys could help me get a blog post made. What I want you guys to do is ask me a question, any question. It can be about sex or about plumbing; I don't care. You can either post it in the comments on this blog entry, send me an email, or you can ask it at my formspring account. Once I get enough questions I'll make a blog post with answers to them all. And for questions I've already answered on formspring, I'll try to extend my answer a bit.

If you guys ask enough questions it might help me get two blog posts out.

I bet you are all thinking that this is just my way of getting a blog post written with little effort on my part. And it is. But I don't want to be floating in limbo for two weeks, especially because writing this blog and talking with you guys is so much fun. I'd hate to be kept away from it for too long.

And, of course, if any sexy times come up (which they will, I'm sure), I'll be sure to tell you all about it here.

Thanks guys!

Friday, June 17, 2011


After I had played with Paul for a few months, he asked me how I would feel if he had other guys fuck me while I was at his place. He told me that none of the men would know me and that they would all be safe for me to be with. I think he was instigating this for two reasons. One was the obvious one: that he wanted to watch other men fuck me. But I think he was also feeling protective of me, and wanted to help me explore my sexuality in a safe place. And with the winter coming soon I would be busy with swimming on the weekends and less able to cruise for guys at the library.

Even if that hadn't been true, though, I still would have said yes.

The next time I went over to Paul's there were two other men there. Small introductions were made (mostly Paul told the men that I was a good boy and would give them a lot of pleasure, I found out little about the men and they learned little about me) and we were moved by our host into the bedroom. I was placed on the bed with one of the men while Paul and the other man watched. This was how Paul shared me. Each of the three men in the room would have a turn with me and would shoot their load in me. Paul always was last. He loved watching other men take me on his bed. It never took him long to shoot after a session of sharing.

Sometimes he wouldn't watch. He and his friends would be busy in the other room while one by one they fucked me. I later learned that Paul was very well known in the gay community and worked very hard to help LGBTQ employees get the right to work in a safe environment. I think that those connections were how he knew most of the men who came over. How many came really depended on the day. Sometimes only one man would be there, and other times many. Somedays I would leave with only a little cum, others I'd be dripping into my briefs on the way home. Sometimes we did it in the bedroom, sometimes in the living room or elsewhere. Sometimes I was tied up and used (more on that in a different post), sometimes I was an active participant.

And sometimes he would have one of the older boys he played with fuck me. That's how I met my first boyfriend.

I had dated girls regularly by this point and had even had sex with a few, but Steve was the first guy I dated. I can remember the day he came over to Paul's house. He was later than me, so I had already taken my clothes off at the time. Steve was seventeen, a Junior, and on the wrestling team. He was a shorter height than Paul, and maybe only an inch taller than I was at the time. But he moved with the attitude of someone strong who could easily beat you if he needed to. I was nervous, not just because of his strength, but because he also went to my high school. The men Paul brought to me never saw me out of his place, but Steve would.

Knowing I was nervous, Paul took the lead, telling us both what to do. As aggressive as Steve was walking around, he was all passion in bed. He kissed me deeply and nibbled on my ears, my lips. With my legs wrapped around him, he fucked me while we kissed and touched each other, exploring our bodies together. After he shot a load in me and I shot one between us, he kissed me lightly and thanked me.

After that I was told by Paul to sit and watch. I then got to see Paul fuck Steve. I had never seen Paul fuck another guy before and I found myself really turned on by it. They fucked doggie style with Paul pulling Steve's head back to kiss him. Steve moaned loudly and I think I may have added my own moans to the sound as I watched. Paul shot his load in Steve's ass and pulled out, looking at me and my hard cock.

He called me over to get a closer look at Steve's recently fucked hole. "Look at that," he said of the cum leaking down to Steve's balls. "Why don't you lick that up for him?" I hesitated. "Go on," Paul prompted, "It is just my cum. You've had it before." He pushed the back of my head closer.

I licked at the cum trail on Steve's taint. It didn't taste bad like I thought it might. Years later, knowing that I now love to lick cum from a hole, I wonder why I didn't just go right in. Instead, I pulled back and looked at Paul. He smiled at me and said, "Good boy."

When Steve and I left he asked me where I lived. I told him basically where my house was and he offered to drive me. We walked to where his car was parked at the high school in silence. When we were finally inside, he spoke to me. "Your ass was great," was all he said.

"Thanks," I replied, aware that his cum was still in me.

"I really enjoyed fucking you," he said. "You are really hot." He seemed unsure of what to say. I just kept saying, "Thanks," back to him.

Finally, when we were at my house and I was about to get out of the car he said, "I really like you. I really want to do this again sometime." Then what he did next surprised me. He leaned over and kissed me, chastely, on my lips.

I smiled at him and said, "Yeah, me too." I felt great as I walked up my driveway. I didn't know at the time that Steve and I were going to start dating, but I knew that what had happened was the start of something great.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Early Beginnings

This is going to be the first of a long series of posts I'll write that take a look back at my very early sexual development. And I mean early. So while this won't be full of hot sex, it should still be a fun and interesting look at my past while I can still remember it. So c'mon Sherman, let's step into the WABAC machine and see what we can learn. (If you don't get that reference and never watched Rocky and Bullwinkle then I am sorry for your childhood)

My first kiss with a girl was in pre-school and my first kiss with a boy was in kindergarten. I know, that's pretty early. And I don't mean kissing my parents or family, and I definitely don't mean a cute peck on the cheek. When I was in pre-school I was friends with two girls named Jo-Jo and Leah, and we decided that we were boyfriend and girlfriends. Yeah. Even in pre-school I was in a polyamorous relationship. To be fair, back then I didn't know that society dictates we marry and love just one. So in my head I was going to grow up and live with my two girls and we'd be happy. Obviously that didn't work out, I moved to a different town and new school district and we never saw each other again. But before and of that happened, Jo-Jo, Leah, and I kissed each other many times. To us it was a way of showing that we were going to be together forever. Again, not something that happened. We were so innocent back then.

The boy I kissed was different. He was a close friend, of course. And, as cliche as it may sound, he and I liked to play doctor with each other. Sort of. Neither of us actually knew what it was a doctor did, so instead we played dentist. We would put on rubber gloves and stick our fingers into each other's mouths. I remember liking the feeling of the rubber on my hands and the sensation of touching, but not coming in contact with, his tongue and mouth. He had seen me kissing the two girls and one day we both decided to try kissing each other. I liked it about as much as I liked kissing the girls, though back then I didn't really understand what was great about kissing. I just knew you did it with people you love. We kissed multiple times after that, but we never claimed to be boyfriends like I did with the girls.

I'll round off this post with the first time I french kissed. It was in second grade with a girl named Courtney. The classrooms in my school had a cubby area where we kept our coats and backpacks and other things. Courtney and I would go back into the cubby area and hide behind the coats and kiss each other. At first we just did normal kissing, but then one day she asked me if I had ever french kissed before. I said no and asked her what that was. She told me that you kissed with your mouth open and put your tongue in each other's mouth. I was unsure, but I went for it. I can still remember that first sensation of tongue touching tongue. It felt great, and I immediately knew why the people in France kissed like that (yes, that's why I thought it was called "french kissing"). Now I wonder if Courtney had tried french kissing before, or if I was her first time too. We practiced with each other a lot, but strangely enough we both saw our relationship as just friends. Courtney was quite possibly my first friend with benefits ever.

Joking aside, I think it is interesting that my early sexual development was actually pretty early. I mean, I was making out in the cubbies back when other guys my age were afraid that girls had germs that could infect us. Keep in mind, I was six years old in second grade. I'm sure there are plenty of people who had done more than that at six, but not the majority. Not even close. I wonder if this was a sign that I was to mature sexually early on. Like a precursor to my early first time and then my time training under Paul and the other men. It is interesting to think about.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Trust Lesson

"Do you trust me?"

Paul asked me that one day after I had been seeing him for a few weeks. I remember being slightly confused at his question, considering I was laying on his bed in nothing but a jock with nipple clamps pinching me, causing my dick to throb in pleasure. "You know I would never do anything to hurt you, right?" His eyes held mine steadily, a look I would see more times in the future associated with the same question. The look said that he was serious, and that he expected me to understand the difference between, say, the pain of playful spanking, and the pain that went too far. This was the dominate side of Paul coming out.

I'm sure to many fourteen year old boys, the situation would have been frightening. But instead, the threat of the unknown and possible danger made me excited. I looked up into his serious eyes and I nodded my head. I said, "Yes." He leaned over and kissed me, then rolled me on my front in doggy position. Then he went to his toy chest and pulled out a few items. There were four cuffs, two of which were attached to a long pole. I had been looking at porn online long enough at this point to know what the cuffs were used for. The long pole would go between my legs and the other two cuffs would hold my wrists together. Then there was a hood that had no eye holes. That, I knew, would go over my head.

There was a part of me that unclenched seeing these objects and knowing what they were used for. I felt fear I hadn't known was building inside of me as it rushed away. I was calm. He cuffed my ankles, the bar forcing my feet wide. He cuffed one of my wrists then pulled the cuff around one of the bars at the head of his bed and cuffed the other. Then he put the hood over my head and I couldn't see anything anymore. He pulled my head back and I felt his mouth on mine. I blindly tried to kiss him back.

Then just like that he let go and was off the bed and I felt no sense of him touching me. I was blind and could only feel the chains hanging from my nipples. Then from off the bed I felt his hand brush my back. I shivered at his touch, squirming in the bonds. Then again I felt him brushing my sides, tickling and startling me. And then his hands moved to my cock and my ass, caressing and probing. And then gone.

The next thing I felt was a hard smack on my ass. It didn't hurt so much as surprise. More slaps followed until I was sure that my ass had red hand marks all over it. The accumulated hitting did start to sting, but it never reached a point of unbearable pain. Never came close. Instead, Paul began licking my stinging cheeks, wetting them in his spit before moving to my hole. While he tongue fucked me he pulled on the chain between my nipples, causing me to moan. He put two fingers in my mouth and told me to wet them so he could fuck me with them.

Being worked over while cuffed like this was hot for me. Paul knew I would like it. I had indicated to him that I enjoyed watching more hardcore bondage porn. Something that I have always thanked Paul for was his willingness to show me everything that I was interested in, usually without me having to ask. And he could get into character very well. I remember him saying dirty things to me while he fingered my hole and milked my cock. In the darkness of the hood I could only feel and hear and both those senses were in overdrive. Finally he slid his cock in and fucked me until he came inside of me. He kept milking my dick and slapping my ass until I shot straight down onto his sheets.

When I recovered from my orgasm he pulled the hood off my face. His smile told me that I had done very well and that we would get to have more sessions like this in the future. He didn't even have to tell me how good I had been, I knew. I felt the marks of my skill as a sub on my body. And from the way I quickly recovered, I knew that I had been right to trust Paul. I knew that no matter how far into dark places I traveled with him, he would never let me get hurt. And I had some wild adventures ahead of me.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Married Nick

Married Nick was the last man to fuck me before I met Rob. I honestly have to think of him in my mind as "Married Nick" to differentiate him from all the other people I know named Nick. The first part of this post is actually a short poetic piece I wrote and attempted to get published in a journal that was focusing on pieces written about Love. Yes, with the capitol L. Sadly it didn't get published, though it isn't exactly one of the best I've ever written.

Married Nick was nearing thirty-five. Married Nick was from out of town. Married Nick didn't tell me he was married at first. Married Nick worked for Wal-Mart and would come every two weeks and stay at a hotel. Married Nick had sex with a co-worker too. Married Nick liked horror movies and would buy them to watch with me. Married Nick let his co-worker fuck me. Married Nick could last for hours while I rode him and he kissed me. Married Nick liked Family Guy. Married Nick told me about his wife's third trimester miscarriage while he clung to me in the dark morning hours. Married Nick learned my family history and had me point out constellations to him. Married Nick told me he loved me but then Married Nick did a bad thing. He broke my heart.
That is a pretty good overview of my relationship to Married Nick. We only knew each other for about two and a half months. Maybe three. But despite how little time we spent together, he has had a lasting effect on me.

He didn't tell me that he was married at first. I don't remember when it came up, but by the time it did he had already told me he loved me, and I had loved him back. We would meet up when he was in the area for work. I would drive to his hotel room and he would start kissing me right at the door. We had to be quiet because he often had co-workers in the next room trying to sleep. We were both very passionate with each other, we had a mutual desire.

I can remember what he looked like as if I had just seen him yesterday. He had short black hair, a little bit of a gut, and he always had a smile for me. His dick was not something a size queen would scream for, but it was big enough to make me feel total pleasure every time he entered me. I never worried about pain with him. He always opened me up well before, and I was always totally relaxed in his arms. When he kissed me, I felt his need for me and I showed him my own need while kissing him back.

At the time I first met Married Nick I was at a turning point in my life. I was a Sophomore in college and my relationship with Niki was starting to get bad. I had been mostly monogamous to her but when she started to withhold sex, I decided to seek it elsewhere. Trouble was, I was one of the most experienced guys on my campus when it came to either gay or straight sex. So when I went looking for guys to fuck me, what I came across was a group of inexperienced boys who all really wanted to lay back and spread their legs. I had been making the shift to top for a while, so I was glad to assist these boys, but I still had the itch for cock in my ass.

Married Nick and I found each other on Craigslist and that very night I was driving out to meet him at his hotel room. When he took me for the first time, the only lube was spit, but my ass still opened up for him as he kissed me. His cock entered me without either of us guiding him. I'm sure that it helped that, at the time, I was frequently using a large butt plug on my ass, but a lot of the ease came from my trust of him to not hurt me. I trusted him with all of me. His favorite position with me was me on my back, legs on his shoulders, and him moaning into my mouth as he shot his cum into my ass. My favorite position was him on his back, me riding him hard. I could move him around inside of me forever and make him hit all my magic spots.

He had a co-worker he also fooled around on the side with. Once he brought the co-worker with him and we had a great night together. I remember starting out with the two of them in the hot tub, drinking beer while I slowly did a striptease for them. Both men were hard before I finished and stepped into the tub. I also remember being fucked by the co-worked on my back, my head over the edge of the bed, and Married Nick's cock gagging me. And I definitely remember Married Nick sliding into my hole after his co-worker had dumped a load and filling me up with his cum too. And I remember falling asleep in his arms after his co-worker had gone to his own hotel room.

My trust and love for Married Nick is part of what allowed him to hurt me so much. The last night I ever spent with him was only remarkable in that it was the last night I ever spent with him. I honestly don't even remember very well how everything went down. All I know is that I woke up early the next morning like I usually would and left to make it to class on time. I went through the whole day thinking about what a wonderful time I'd had, and finally went back to my dorm to check my e-mail.

There was one from Married Nick. I don't remember that subject, but it did nothing to prepare me for what was written inside, and that I will never forget. "What we have been doing is a bad thing. I don't want you to think this is any reflection on you. You are an amazing and wonderful man. But I can't keep doing this to my wife. So I am deleting this email account and removing your number from my phone. I still think of you as a brother to me and I want you to call me if I you ever need help. But I will never call you again." He even signed it "Love, Nick."

Every word of that email hurt me to my core. There had been no sense of this coming. He had even kissed me good-bye that morning. I felt tears forming around my eyes. But I didn't let myself cry. In fact, something inside of me hardened in that moment. I remember feeling like I had poured cement into the wounds in my heart. I read the email one last time, making sure that I no longer had any emotional reaction to the words, and then I deleted it. I deleted all the emails he had ever sent me. And I removed him from my cell phone and made sure that anything he had ever given me was gone. I essentially stripped Married Nick out of my life and forced myself to move on.

How did I do that? How did I simply remove a man who had meant so much to me from my life? It was easy. In my head a loud and angry voice said, "I AM ACE. I AM WORTH EVERYTHING. I AM NOT SOMEONE WHO CAN BE DUMPED IN AN EMAIL. I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS." I cut him out of my life and my heart because I knew that there was no way anyone who could treat me so badly could ever deserve my love or my hate. Married Nick hurt me like very few people have. But Married Nick is now just a memory to me. I wonder what I am to him.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Falling in Love Again

Men flutter to me like moths around a flame.
If their wings burn, I know I'm not to blame.
Love's always been my game, play it how I may.
I was made that way.
I can't help it.

These lyrics are from one of my all-time favorite songs, "Falling In Love Again (Can't Help It)" which was famously sung by Marlene Dietrich for the German film Der Blaue Engel (The Blue Angel). Madeline Kahn's song in Blazing Saddles, "I'm Tired," is a direct parody of that scene. Many famous musicians have covered the song, from Billie Holiday to Doris Day to Nina Simone to The Beatles to Christina Aguilera. I'm all about the trivia.

But I find that the song holds fairly true to my life. Many a friend has commented to me that I attract suitors of both genders wherever I go. And honestly, I don't do it on purpose. For the most part, I don't enter social situations with the intention to flirt. I am simply kind and polite and social. Which gets other people to flirt with me. And for some reason, I flirt back without even thinking. I may not even find the person attractive or be particularly horny, but I flirt. I've been called out on it before. And it is even worse when I'm drunk: I flirt with anything that's breathing.

Trying to remain humble and modest is hard when talking about this kind of thing, but I have to point out that I'm not unattractive myself. In fact, I'm pretty handsome with my scruffy beard and long blond hair. I look like a wild man with it down and an artistic thinker with it up. I dress to impress daily and I make sure I look good. It doesn't take long for someone to get smitten with a handsome man that is flirting with them. And for some people, they get a bit more than smitten.

I've already talked about the number of people who have asked me to move in or become incredibly serious with them over the recent years, but for me that is nothing new. When I was a Freshman in high school (around the time I was first seeing Paul) I had a girl tell me at Homecoming that she thought I was the one for her. Keep in mind that I was fourteen at the time, had not taken this girl to the dance, was dating another girl who I had taken to the dance, and being fucked regularly by men. Sure, she didn't know the last part, but she was aware of all the other circumstances.

But it isn't just sappy teen girls. It is married women at Disney World (great story) and college guys who weren't even aware of their attraction to men before they met me (multiple stories). It is fathers who seriously consider leaving their wives and children for me without my even prompting them. It is one of my ex-girlfriends, now a married lesbian, who texted me recently to tell me I'm sexy. It's guys online who have never met me stalking me through my A4A and BBRT accounts.

I don't know what I do that draws people to me like that. Honestly, I do fall in love with some of them, but I have fallen in love with a lot of people in my short life. I love violently and passionately and I love more than one person at a time. I don't believe, like that girl Freshman year did, that there is one person for everyone. But sometimes I feel alone in that mindset. I find people falling in love with me and not willing to let me go, not willing to share or be shared. And I find that people are using "love" to mean "fully and completely committed to," which is not the way I view it.

Sadly I've had to break a few hearts and see many frowns on people's faces because of my attitude. I've been a part of many dramatic scenes because I was not willing to change my life for another person, especially when I was still an active member of the small gay community on my campus. It just doesn't work for me. I'm sure someday I'll settle down and get married to someone I love, but there is no way it would work if I wasn't allowed to fool around. I don't know if I'm more horny than others, or just a bigger whore, but I need sex frequently and with different people. Maybe someday that will change, but most likely it won't.

I can't tell if this post is a rant or a complaint about my personal issues. It may be a little bit of both. I recognize that I am not constructed the same way most of the world is. Societal constructs of our culture demand that a man marry a woman and that they both stay true to each other for life, and even into the afterlife, if that is what they believe. And even though a lot of gay men think that gay culture is all about sex with as many men as possible, the gay community has taken the monogamy concept to heart as well. I think gay marriage is important and I support those who want to get married, but I'm not happy with the idea of marriage as we currently see it. Why can't I love two people and make love to them both as I please? Why not three? or four? But our culture does not work that way.

So I have to make my way through men and women looking for the one until I find one who is willing to share. Maybe that will never happen. I know I could happily live my life single. But I do want children, something that is made easier by a spouse. And I do want a house, something that is easier to pay for with multiple incomes. Are my wants conflicting with my nature? Am I as much a victim of monogamy propaganda as everyone else? These are things I'm concerned about.

Luckily I'm still young and I still have time to work through all of this. I still have time to sample the menu before people start wondering why I haven't ordered the main course. And I will love as many people as I want to love without feeling pressure. I will likely tell you all in this blog that I love somebody, and it will be true. But it won't change who I am or what I do. That's just the way love is with me.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Taking a Break

Those of you who follow me on Twitter got an earful yesterday about my shoulders hurting me. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, I was kept awake Thursday night into early Friday morning by a bad pain in my shoulders. I had thought that maybe the pain would go away if I just fell asleep, but it didn't, and it was sharp and constant. Finally I got up, took some Advil, put a very hot heating pad on my shoulders, threw the pillows off my bed, and passed out.

Sadly my shoulders haven't recovered all the way yet, and they kind of hurt me even now as I just sit and type. And the pain makes it a bit hard to focus on writing and writing well, so I'm not really able to make a normal longer post today. Also, I'm probably going to be taking a break from the blog, at least for a day, so there won't be a post tomorrow.

I do, however, have three things I want to give you today: A new feature (sorta), a recommendation, and a quick sexy blurb.

I was told by a few readers recently that they thought I should make a wishlist on Amazon like the one Rob the Breeder has on his blog. The idea being that my fans can then buy me items. Honestly, I was surprised to hear that. I really had no expectations of being read, much less enjoyed by you all when I started writing. So, while I'm not going to ask you for anything (I don't need payment to share my stories with you, I like doing it), the wishlist is there if you want it. Thanks in advance to anyone who uses it. My mind can hardly understand someone doing that for me.

Check out this Porn!
Ok, so I know some of you guys are into kinky porn like me, and I have to admit that there is one studio I need to be kept away from so I don't loose all my money to them. Berlinstar Film is full of great kink from skaters to rubber to watersports to fisting. A lot of it is bareback, though there are scenes with condoms. Regardless, these scenes are hot. Extreme and not for the more vanilla of us, but an amazing series for those into kink.

Chili's Bathroom
And now for your sexy story.

My mother took me on a surprise shopping trip to Massachusetts yesterday evening and we had a blast (though the shopping sort of never happened). For dinner we stopped at a Chili's to have that 2 for $20 deal and catch some of the Bruins game which they lost so we move to game six. At one point I stood up to use the bathroom which was strangely hidden behind the bar. Inside I was faced with the task of finding the urinals. There was a small section to the left that was stalls, a row of sinks, another section to the left with the handicap stall, and way in the back was a section with the urinals. There were only two and there was a dude at one, so I stood near him and began to piss.

I became very aware that he was not peeing and was in fact jerking his cock. I looked over and down and then up at his smiling face. He had to be in his late twenties to early thirties, Asian, and in a dress shirt and pants. Probably came right from the office. He spoke first, asking, "Do you like what you see?"

What I saw was cock. I like cock. I told him so. "Why don't you suck it, then?"

I needed no further prompting to get on my knees and blow him. He enjoyed holding my head and fucking my mouth, and I let him do that, rubbing him with my tongue to add to his pleasure. He also enjoyed pulling out and slapping my face. It didn't take long for his pace to speed up and then he pushed me all the way down, shooting his cum in my mouth. I swallowed and stood, letting him dutifully kneel as I did.

He wasn't a very good cocksucker. I gave him a bit to work me up, but honestly I was starting to loose my erection. He used teeth and gripped way to hard. Finally I pulled his head back and lifted him up, jerking my cock while making out with him and then shooting my load into the urinal. We both washed up and I let him leave first. It wasn't a great ending to dinner, but it was nice to have my belly full of cum.

Thanks for reading you guys. I'll be sure to have something hot ready for Monday.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Royally Finger-Fucked

Yesterday I was feeling horny and caught up in the heat outside. While where I'm staying is cool and in the shade most of the day, it is also pretty boring with no cable and shoddy internet (Netflix rarely works for a whole movie here). So I strolled online for a bit to see who was looking. Quickly I got hit up by a man about my age. We're both twenty-one, but I'm at the end and he is at the start of that year. He wanted to do just oral, a quick blow-and-go. He said that he didn't need me to reciprocate, but I assured him I'd be more than happy to suck him dry.

When I got to his place which was a good twenty minute drive thanks to busy roads, I was happy to see that I lucked out. This guy was one of those men who look better than their pictures, not worse. He was bulky with muscle, but not ripped. This was a man who could actually do things with his muscles besides show off and look hungry. But what really attracted me to him right away was the chest hair that curled up out of the tight t-shirt he was wearing and framed his cut jaw. This man had a perfect body from chest to mouth. Perfect. His hair was slightly silly in a short faux-hawk and his eyes darted around nervously, as if afraid of who might see me go into his house.

Once in the door, however, he lost all hesitency and attacked my mouth, opening his and letting our tongues mix. He was a hot kisser and his lips told tales of many satisfied cocks. While we kissed I chewed on his lower lip and thought, "This is the lip of a true cocksucker." I pulled his lip as far from his mouth, stretching it to the point where I could tell it hurt and bit, then brought it back in, caressing his whole body.

My hands drifted to his bulging shorts, he was clearly not wearing underwear. I pulled them down as he took his shirt off and smiled at what I saw. A strong, hairy, young man with a beautiful cock pointing right at me. I quickly joined him in getting naked and began kissing everything I could on his body while he rubbed my chest and tweeked my nipples. I stopped kissing him long enough to say, "Harder." He began pulling on my nipples, making me moan loudly.

I felt his pre-cum on my thigh and I couldn't stop myself from getting on my knees and sucking him deep in me. He didn't have a long cock, but it was long enough to poke my throat open. He moaned and leaked pre-cum the whole time leading up to his orgasm. His hands were running through my hair when he clutched tightly and groaned, "I'm cumming."

He shot in my mouth and I savored the warmth before swallowing a bit of it. I kept some in my mouth though so that when I stood up to kiss him I could feed it to him. He was more than willing and taking his own cum seemed to make him more excited. He quickly kissed his way down my body and sucked my hard cock all the way to the base in one quick go.

I had been right. This boy was born to suck. He knew everything to do: pulling my balls lightly with one hand while the other creeped back to stroke my hole. I'm a guy that likes to get fingered while I'm being blown, so I spread my legs a bit. Taking the cue, he got his finger wet and pushed in. It hurt a bit, but once he was in and rubbing me just right I was all good.

It takes me a while to cum from a blow job, and cumming isn't always guaranteed. In fact, most of the time I have to jerk myself to climax. I much prefer fucking for this reason. So this boy had to work for my cum. After going at it for a while, he snuck a second finger to my hole and pushed in. He had been fingering me open with the first one for a while, so it wasn't so bad going in. Soon I was moaning with his working my cock and ass, slowly building up to my climax.

Then a third finger pushed in. It hurt, but I was so close to cumming that I couldn't force him off, I was too busy grabbing his head and trying to stand. His fingers moved in and out and felt like they were ripping me a new asshole, but I moaned and shot my load into his mouth. He pressed his fingers deep in while my sore ass twitched around them.

When he pulled his fingers out and his mouth off my dick I sort of slumped into the wall. He stood and we shared a kiss covered in my cum and made out a bit more before I put my clothes back on and left without stepping any farther into his house than the entryway.

At first I was still too high from my orgasm to notice the burning feeling in my hole. When I sat down in my car, however, it screamed at me in pain. The pain lessened as I drove home. It wasn't until a good hour of walking gingerly and sitting down gently had passed that the paian finally stopped. I checked, but I wasn't bleeding. I had just been fingered really good.

I had to take a moment and laugh at my pain. There was a time when I was younger that a day didn't go by without me sticking at least three fingers (or something else) into my ass. I loved stretching and even got fisted once. Now here I am, a grown man and a top, suffering because a cocksucker was just a little too hard on my hole. Funny.
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Thursday, June 9, 2011

Where's the Poetry?

This is something I've been wondering to myself for the past month or so: Where is the poetry? Where is any of the writing, for that matter?

Honestly, besides this blog and a few half-hearted essays, I have not written anything since I wrote my poem for Rob. That was finished the week before Mother's Day (I remember because it was Mother's Day when I saw him again and gave him the poem). I had slaved away for weeks pushing that poem to be one of the best poems I've written (and it is right up in the top five), but since then, I've done nothing. I don't believe in writers block, but there are times when I am just so burned out in my daily life that I can't produce anything worth-while in my writing.

Something a lot of people don't understand about writers is that we aren't writing as a hobby. Any person who tells you they write as a hobby is either lying or a bad author. Even when I'm totally destroyed in my mind and body like I was when I was extremely sick a few weeks ago, I still write. However, what I write when I'm stressed or tired or disconnected with reality usually is shit. I think that the only reason my blogs have been as good as they are is because they are all that has been keeping me sane lately. When I don't write, it tends to build up in me, like a clogged drain, and everything else gets backed up too. Emotions, fears, stress, pain; it all gets built up behind my writing. So needless to say, it is better when I'm writing.

But I wasn't. Not until Tuesday night, that is.

Tuesday night I made a choice at 9:20pm to go to the 9:40pm showing of the movie "Bridesmaids." I had been itching to see that movie for a while now, but no one else wanted to see it with me and I never found a night where I had the energy to go. But Tuesday I said, "Fuck it," to everything and decided I was going to see a god damn movie if I wanted to.

I was the only person in the theater. No surprise, Tuesday nights aren't the most popular nights for movies, and this movie has been out for a few weeks. Still, I actually love going to movies by myself, and I have no trouble sitting alone in a theater. In some cases I prefer it. I go to the movies to be alone. I love being alone in a dark theater. I feel free when alone. I have this need in me that sparks up every so often to just go someplace and be away from it all. Movie theaters, zoos, and aquariums are my favorite places to wander alone, and I can stay in them for hours if I need to. As you can imagine, a recent college grad who is going on to grad school less than a month after he finishes his undergrad does not get much time alone. I'm that guy. I have no time to my self. So I really needed this movie.

I don't know if it was the movie (which had a main character played by Kristen Wiig that was a bit too close to my own neurotic self for comfort) or if it was the time to finally be alone and in my own head, but I realized that I needed to write.

I raced home, words forming in my head with me struggling to remember them until I could get my hands on some paper. Once I was in the door with a pen in my hand and a notebook open to clean, white paper, I began to put the words down. In no time I had a poem. It wasn't a great poem by any means, but none ever are right after you write them. Like all art, poetry needs careful craft, regardless of how much Ginsburg proclaimed that poetry needs to be spontaneous (he actually spent a great deal of time writing his most famous poem, Howl, to make it SOUND spontaneous). Still, there was a definite start to what I hope to work and craft into a great poem that I can share with my readers here.

But that wasn't the end. I opened my slow, old-as-hell laptop with the intention of wasting time, but wound up starting a story. Not sure if it is going to be short, or novel length, but the fact that I was producing something made me very happy. And as I was writing, I realized something: I was happier than I had been in a very long time. I've not been sad since I graduated, but I haven't exactly been zesting for life either. I mostly blamed my mood on my illness, but now I wonder how much of my bad mood was really from my not writing.

I had been worried about my inability to write, or even read much, these past few weeks. I was worried I had burned out and that I was going to go to my grad school and be laughed out of the place. But now that I've gotten my poetry groove back, I feel so much better. For the first time in a long time, there's a voice in the back of my head saying, "All will be well. All will be well."

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Why I Swallow

I had a totally different post planned for today that was sweet and sentimental, but I'm not actually in that kind of mood right now, so the post will have to wait until I can better write it. I am, however, in a very happy and excited mood, and I'm even more excited to be writing about one of my favorite hobbies: swallowing cum.

As I'm sure most of my readers agree, I don't think people embark on sexual discovery by desiring cum. There's always something that leads up to it. Something that brings us to the moment where we feel that warmth on our tongue, taste that bittersweet, salty flavor, and we do the only thing we can do. We swallow. And we keep swallowing and keep loving every moment of it.

My first taste of cum was not my own. When I was young and first jerking off at the age of 12 (I know, I developed kind of early) I always came. I never experienced a "dry orgasm" or anything like that, I shot the first time I jerked myself to completion. I had looked at the cum and thought about tasting it, but could never actually get myself to do so. As a Virgo, I find that my OCD sometimes prevents me from enjoying something involving what society has determined are my dirtier areas. Once I get over that the first time, however, I never have the hesitancy again. That's why some of my boundaries just need to be forced before I let myself go.

Cum-eating was one of those boundaries. I needed a guide to put the cum where I could do nothing except taste it. This was the second time I ever gave a blow job. My first blowjob was finished off with the man giving me a facial and me refusing to give in to my urge to lick the warm fluid from my face. But my second blow job (given to the same man) was different. He came right into my mouth, shooting first in the front so I could taste it all, but then in the back as well, filling my mouth up, his hand on my head not letting me pull off. I struggled in my mind for a moment, not sure what to do with my mouth full of what I assumed was some gross thing shot from a gross place.

Then my brain quieted enough for me to truly taste and feel the fluid in my mouth. I liked it. I liked the flavor and the texture. I liked moving it around, over the cock still in my mouth. Finally, I knew that I needed to swallow it. I knew that men swallowed cum. I had already had my own cum swallowed before. But this was a benchmark moment for me. This is when I began to learn all that comes from the penis and why we love it so much. Why we worship it with our hands, our mouths, our asses, our women. It is so that we can have this liquid that gives life and holds our DNA right inside. We swallow to take that DNA into ourselves and to make it a part of our own bodies.

Obviously at the time this was a bit much for me to grasp, but I still understood that I loved the cum and I wanted more of it. There was a new drive in me to become a cum-whore, in a way. I began to suck off men I didn't even know. When I learned to get fucked, I always gladly accepted the cum in my ass. When men demanded the use of a condom I felt less fulfilled by the barrier preventing me from connecting with him completely. Even now, when I am more of a top than a bottom, I still enjoy swallowing, and during my time with Rob fucking me, I still loved feeling him shoot within me. As a top I love filling a bottom up, giving them the mixture inside of me. I love knowing I have left my trail in them.

I swallow because I like to feel the reward that comes with knowing I have given a man great pleasure. I swallow because I feel full of other men when I do. I swallow because I like the warmth and (usually) taste of cum. And I swallow because I know it is the best thing I can do for a partner. Every time you swallow, the man gives you a rewarding smile, letting you know that he is made happy by not spitting his gift on the floor. And when I am swallowed, I always give the same smile, before bending down to taste the traces I have left in his mouth.

I swallow because I love it.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

No Shame

As I have been reaching back into my past to talk about my early years and introduction to the world of sex, I've really enjoyed writing things that I rarely get to vocalize in my day-to-day life. Let's be honest, most people do not want to hear a friend or co-worker come clean about having sex under-age with men aged 40 and up. So I have been very quiet about my early years, never really letting on to those around me that I was anything but a straight-laced kid. I still play that part well, even though my sexual life has leaked into my regular life a few times recently, and many of my friends know that I have and enjoy sex with multiple men and women. I never go into detail about my encounters. I never really discuss with friends my choice to frequently go condomless. And I definitely don't talk about my early days, except maybe when the topic of "first times" comes up. I generally let people know that I lost my virginity at a young age, though sometimes I flub the age if I don't think the person will like the truth. But for the past four years I've lived in a rural area at a college filled with heavily religious people who look down on sex before marriage. Lying has become a survival mechanism for me.

That is why I love this blog. It gives me a chance to tell what I really want to tell and I can be honest. But sometimes the honesty is hard.

I'm planning on talking about earlier experiences than what I have already posted about with Paul. And I'm going to be talking about the rest of my high school time too. But every time I write a post I think, "Will I be judged for this?" or "Should I post this? Is this even ok to talk about?" I don't know if this fear is simply from my lying to survive in Northwest Ohio, or if it is something deeper. I've already mentioned that I have depression in this blog, and part of what my depression does to me is deny me things that make me happy, convincing me that I don't deserve happiness. Is it possible that I'm afraid to let these memories out because of the joy I get from writing them? Maybe.

I know it isn't a fear of my readers. The few of you who read and comment regularly are amazing and I know you won't judge me for what I write. And frankly, if some bozo does show up randomly and condemn my actions, I don't care. If someone far away from me feels the need to insult me through the internet, I just feel sorry. Anonymous insults hurt like a handshake hurts: not at all. I'm not concerned with making everyone out there happy. I'm not writing this blog to please other people, I'm writing it for myself.

Do I know that underage sex is wrong and illegal? Yes. Do I think that teen boys should sit on toilets and slurp down the cum of older men? No. Am I aware that what men did to me constitutes statutory rape? Yes.

Do I regret doing any of it? No.

While I don't think that every man should have the sexual awakening that I did, I'm glad for my own experiences. Even the truly bad ones that I try to pretend never happened. All these experiences shaped me into the man I am today. Sure, my life hasn't been great. I have depression, I have risked my safety for sex, I have been horrified by bad things. But my life isn't all that terrible either, and I have survived. I have survived and become a wonderful man. So I refuse to let myself be ashamed or afraid when I write about these past events. And I won't feel ashamed any time one of my bad experiences or darker moments show up on this blog. If the words need to be written, I will write them.

So now that I have made that commitment to myself, I would like to ask my readers to bare with me on this journey. I really enjoy writing my blog, but my favorite part is interacting with you in the comments. I would still write if no one commented and no one read, but I have to say, I much prefer what we have here. Thank you all very much. I hope this blogging adventure is as fun for you as it is for me.

Monday, June 6, 2011

My Ohio Piss Pig

Really quickly I'd like to say that after a long weekend away from the internet at a beach house party, I have finally read your comments and replied to them all. Thank you so much! You guys keep me going.

It took me a while to find a guy in my area of Ohio who I could get into some serious piss play with. And once we found each other we met pretty regularly. This was back in my Sophomore year of college, when I was still dating Niki, but fucking around with guys too. I was starting to make my transition to total top, my last fuck before Rob happening about a month before I met my piss pig. I didn't have a roommate that year, and my dorm was right next to the door, a perfect spot to sneak men in late at night.

My piss pig was in his 40s, he said 39, but I suspect he was older than that. He looked like a business man and had close-cut hair with traces of grey in it. He had a smooth and thin body with some hair on his legs and a full bush. We met on Craigslist when I replied to his add about getting fucked by a young college boy. He had mentioned that he was into water sports, but I had not planned on actually performing with him.

I snuck him in my room late at night, after most other students were drunk or asleep. His ass had been sparkling clean and I slid in easily. I fucked him for a while before I shot deep into him, the both of us groaning into the cinderblocks that separated my room from the outdoors. I remember he didn't cum the first time I fucked him and I had to give him a fairly long blowjob before I was rewarded with a mouthful of cum.

We lay together in my bed, making out, while his hands slowly coaxed my cock back to hardness and I slid back into his hole. I fucked him harder the second time and he begged me for it. This guy was a real pig in many ways. He always wanted more cum from me, his hole could never be filled.

In the early morning hours, we snuck our sweaty, cum-covered selves down the hall to the shared bathroom. Together in one shower we began to clean each-other off, laughing quietly at our sneaky actions. Finally I felt my bladder reaching an exploding point after so much sex and I got an idea.

"You're into water sports, right?" I asked him.

"Oh yes!"

"Well, I need to piss and I can think of no better place than you."

He got on his knees in the shower and I stepped out of the spray. With a grunt I let my piss loose on his chest, moving my stream down to his hardening cock before I moved it back up to his face and open mouth. By the time I finished, he was covered in my piss and swallowing what had gotten in his mouth.

Then it was my turn. I got down on my knees and he had to struggle to get his stream out of his hard cock. He started at my head, soaking my hair and face, before slowly moving down my body. His piss smelled great to me and I loved the warmth of it on me. When he finished I stood and we embraced each other for a long moment before moving back under the shower to wash off.

We were both hard again so I fucked him one last time in the shower before we dried off and went back to my room. I was so happy to have found a man willing to share piss and who's piss I actually enjoyed that I made him promise to keep in touch. He told me that I had been so hot that there was no way he could not come back for more.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

The Toy Chest

In his closet, Paul had a footlocker that I came to think of as his toy chest. As you may have guessed, it was where he kept all of his sex toys. I never knew if he used any of them on himself, but he frequently enjoyed using them on me and some of his other boys.

The first time I ever saw him open the trunk was late-Fall of the first year I knew him. He pulled out a pair of chained nipple clamps and a butt plug that was shorter than his cock, but much wider at the widest part. He pulled on my nipples until they were erect and then put the clamps on. They hurt at first, but my cock hardened almost immediately, even before the pain stopped. The butt plug he simply put on the bedside table for later.

Some days Paul liked to be a little more rough while fucking me than others. He would use less spit and spend less time fingering me, making sure that when he entered me I was tight. It wasn't something that hurt me badly, but it was enough to let me know who was in power.

This was one of Paul's rougher days. He pushed me onto all fours on his bed and lined his cock up with my hole. Before entering he told me not to touch myself and not to cum until he told me. These directions were pretty much standard for me. Paul liked being the one in control of my pleasure, and I really enjoyed submitting to him. After a sharp entrance he was pounding me fairly hard, causing the chain to swing and tug on my nipples with each movement he made.

He came in me fairly quickly, not drawing it out like he normally would. Most Monday and Tuesday afternoons I was at his house for an hour and a half at least, and we played for a lot of that time. This time, however, Paul pulled out and pushed the butt plug in gently, but firmly. I had never had one in me before, but I immediately loved the full feeling I got from it (eventually I bought some for myself Freshman year of college). He pulled me into the living room, leading me with the chains attached to my nipples, and sat me on his couch. He then had me do some of my homework while he watched TV.

When I had finished most of my homework he pulled me by the chain back into his bedroom. I had lost my hard-on while doing math and Spanish exercises, but the stimulation on my nipples and moving with the plug inside of me made my dick start to grow again. When I was on the bed, Paul pulled the plug out briefly to look at my hole, still filled with his cum. Satisfied, he put the plug back in and began to give me a blow job. When I came my hole twitched and the plug just sort of fell out, making me laugh but also leaving me feeling somewhat empty. I had only been plugged for maybe forty-five minutes but I had gotten very used to the feeling. It was the beginning of my love for extended ass play.

The nipple clamps became a regular thing for me to wear when I was with him. I would come in, take my shirt off, and he would clamp them on to me. Even if we were fucking more passionately and slowly I would still have the nipple clamps on, and he would love to lead me with them. I became used to feeling the weight of the chain and the coolness of the metal on my chest while getting fucked. Even now, thinking back on my times with Paul, I still can feel the chain as it moved with every thrust or hung as I stood, waiting. I recently pierced both of my nipples, and while I love the feeling I get, I miss being able to clamp them hard like that. I hope to someday find clamps that work with piercings. For now, however, I'm saving up my money for the Hog Nips you can get at Fort Troff (a wonderful online fetish store I would gladly sink a small fortune into). I get hard just thinking about those stuck to me like glue.