Trap Boyy broke out sometime around 2010-2011 and by 2012 was the hottest fresh bottom in the business, and acknowledged accordingly at Blatino Oasis in Palm Springs last year. He worked exclusively for the feverishly torrid Black Rayne enterprise where he was paired up with every swinging thick black dick in the industry, and as it happens, developed quite a following among porn connoisseurs who search beyond the Treasure Island/Machofucker/Slut Machine/Hot Desert Knights/SX Video circuit. Black Rayne is for the connoisseur of Black Dick, and is the alternative to Black Breeders which features a distinctively different brand of Black Man. They're both awesome; BR works the thug angle and BB goes the way of the mature type, like all those brothers in Oakland who are doing their best to keep my white ass in shape.
Then late last year, Trap Boyy had a falling out with his producer, and I guess his association with Black Rayne is over, unless there's been some reconciliation. Jamari Fox has posted Trap Boyy's substance-fueled rant on his website, and for 8 captivating minutes, Trap Boyy delivers an impassioned endorsement of safe sex. Although high as a kite, and extremely entertaining, Tray Boyy lays it all out and there's no reason to doubt his sincerity. What to make of this? Hell, I don't know, but one thing is certain: Trap Boyy for all his bloviating, doesn't quite come clean about his own HIV status, whichever it may be. And he had 8 minutes of talk, and I don't think the clip has been edited or doctored, despite contrary commentary by the poster. Check it out and make up your own mind.
I certainly hope TB gives a call to Treasure Island Media to discuss his next step in his porn career, as I think he's got a couple of good years left and TIM will know what to do with him. He could be the first black bottom superstar. Come to California for good, Trap Boyy. I don't know where he lives now but I don't think it's West Coast. He should do more porn, do some escorting if necessary, go to school, then move on. Trap Boyy is no dumbass; speaking of which, those perfectly sculpted cakes of his are a Gift from God...you can't get good stuff like that from working out.
Until Trap Boyy takes his next fateful step in his porn career, you can see him in some amateur stuff by googling the title of this post and watching 2 black fans (heads are not revealed) cut up those cakes...despite some awkward angles and the absence of creampies, this amateur scene is amateur in the best way: we get to make up the details. How did TB meet these dudes, where are they, etc.
That you can dream up for yourelf.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Scary Deepfisting of a White Pig
Men, I am an experienced and dedicated fisting topman, but there was a time when I met more than a match for my talents, and that's when it gets scary. This encounter happened when I was in the desert last month and after some time ruminating about it, I am writing about it now.
I am usually very much influenced by my surroundings when engaged in sex. And I can't fully explain it because I have had great sex fisting a hot hole in a sling...in a garage...next to a Volvo. How unsexy is that? But it worked because the bottom was an amazing and holey artist. On the day of the scary fistfuck, I found myself in a typical Palm Springs condo within a gated community of TacoBell style units. I made arrangements with the bottom through Asspig, the best hook-up site for fisters (thanks, Asspig.com), so the door was unlocked, and he was on the bed, and everything....everything...was in place...mat, lube, towels, water (for me!) and the right kind of music, some tribal grunting to an endless beat. This was a serious, no bullshit bottom...a guy in control, which of course, in fisting, is how it should be.
What was scary was the effect to which this guy had prepped his fistchute. It was flawless, men; it was smooth, silky, primo. It was surgically precise, and fisters will know what I mean by this. I gave him a good workout, in fact, I had to call for it to end, because the bottom was wearing me out, and I was afraid I'd get careless. This white man, youngish and nicely built, was over 6 feet tall, and I plumbed that hole all the way to my armpit...now I admit...I'm a short little number, I'm 5-6...but yeah, still...to my armpit. And I with my nasty little fingers, I was documenting every bend to his interior architecture, where the asstunnel muscles spread and folded, gently feeling every millimeter of that interior manscape. Did I write silky? How about velvety? It was stimulating and frightening, too: how deep did I dare to go? But it was our first time together, and I got afraid of going any further. I had to call it off. It was a decent, intense session of about 30 minutes, and I know the bottom could have gone on indefinitely. But a man has to be honest about his knowledge, experience and limits. I'm talking about myself here. I know I'm a great top. It was I who had to call it off this time. But, hey, there's a next time for sure. To the armpit. Man alive, what a thrill that was. Thanks, Palm Springs guy, you're the best.
I am usually very much influenced by my surroundings when engaged in sex. And I can't fully explain it because I have had great sex fisting a hot hole in a sling...in a garage...next to a Volvo. How unsexy is that? But it worked because the bottom was an amazing and holey artist. On the day of the scary fistfuck, I found myself in a typical Palm Springs condo within a gated community of TacoBell style units. I made arrangements with the bottom through Asspig, the best hook-up site for fisters (thanks, Asspig.com), so the door was unlocked, and he was on the bed, and everything....everything...was in place...mat, lube, towels, water (for me!) and the right kind of music, some tribal grunting to an endless beat. This was a serious, no bullshit bottom...a guy in control, which of course, in fisting, is how it should be.
What was scary was the effect to which this guy had prepped his fistchute. It was flawless, men; it was smooth, silky, primo. It was surgically precise, and fisters will know what I mean by this. I gave him a good workout, in fact, I had to call for it to end, because the bottom was wearing me out, and I was afraid I'd get careless. This white man, youngish and nicely built, was over 6 feet tall, and I plumbed that hole all the way to my armpit...now I admit...I'm a short little number, I'm 5-6...but yeah, still...to my armpit. And I with my nasty little fingers, I was documenting every bend to his interior architecture, where the asstunnel muscles spread and folded, gently feeling every millimeter of that interior manscape. Did I write silky? How about velvety? It was stimulating and frightening, too: how deep did I dare to go? But it was our first time together, and I got afraid of going any further. I had to call it off. It was a decent, intense session of about 30 minutes, and I know the bottom could have gone on indefinitely. But a man has to be honest about his knowledge, experience and limits. I'm talking about myself here. I know I'm a great top. It was I who had to call it off this time. But, hey, there's a next time for sure. To the armpit. Man alive, what a thrill that was. Thanks, Palm Springs guy, you're the best.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Video Review: Avalanche of Cum in My Mancunt by Knighttbreeders
In past years, I've completed a rundown on the better videos of the year and have tried to identify one as the best; but I can't and won't do that for 2012. The reason is very simple: in 2012, I stopped buying videos. I didn't want to pay those prices on my reduced income, and over a few months, I just lost interest, basically, on new releases. That's not to say there's not a lot of good stuff coming out; I'm just not going to review them unless somebody sends me stuff to review.
I began to rely more on free websites for porn video entertainment, including amateur video sites, as the amateur factor can add a certain erotic aspect, at least for me. So, having qualified my reasoning, I'd have to say that the best video of 2012 would have to be the last video I actually bought, and that video is Knightbreeders Studio's 'Avalanche of Cum in My Mancunt' starring one of the best bottoms in the business, Damien Silver. Now the first two sequences of this video turned out to be fast-forward material but they are followed by a great assgrinding segment where DS gets his big, fat, white, perfect butt fucked by a muscled white daddy, concluding with a rather emotional, gutfelt cumshot. You can't rehearse or plan this stuff; it has to happen and the videographer has to capture it, and that's what happens here. It's a great scene, but the only scene that really delivers, so you have been warned. Damien Silver fans will not be disappointed.
Nor will those tassel queens who like to dish porn interiors. It may sound unbelievable, but the tackiest porn set in porndom just got tackier: honestly you won't believe the grossly designed room where these men fuck. It's supposed to be a cabin in the woods ("Avalanche'...get it?) near the slopes of a winter ski resort....and that's all I'll say, you'll have to buy this video to understand. And these guys know the whole schtick is ridiculous. Satisfied, now that his fat ass is pumped full of manjuice, Damien Silver turns to his next need, namely, food...when he says, 'Somebody pull that rabbit out of the freezer so we can have something to eat.' This great stuff will live on forever.
So, I may review new dvd's again if I ever get another decent job again. But until then, I will most certainly be reviewing amateur videos with far greater enthusiasm than I have in the past. And believe me, guys, we are still gonna have a lot to talk about.
I began to rely more on free websites for porn video entertainment, including amateur video sites, as the amateur factor can add a certain erotic aspect, at least for me. So, having qualified my reasoning, I'd have to say that the best video of 2012 would have to be the last video I actually bought, and that video is Knightbreeders Studio's 'Avalanche of Cum in My Mancunt' starring one of the best bottoms in the business, Damien Silver. Now the first two sequences of this video turned out to be fast-forward material but they are followed by a great assgrinding segment where DS gets his big, fat, white, perfect butt fucked by a muscled white daddy, concluding with a rather emotional, gutfelt cumshot. You can't rehearse or plan this stuff; it has to happen and the videographer has to capture it, and that's what happens here. It's a great scene, but the only scene that really delivers, so you have been warned. Damien Silver fans will not be disappointed.
Nor will those tassel queens who like to dish porn interiors. It may sound unbelievable, but the tackiest porn set in porndom just got tackier: honestly you won't believe the grossly designed room where these men fuck. It's supposed to be a cabin in the woods ("Avalanche'...get it?) near the slopes of a winter ski resort....and that's all I'll say, you'll have to buy this video to understand. And these guys know the whole schtick is ridiculous. Satisfied, now that his fat ass is pumped full of manjuice, Damien Silver turns to his next need, namely, food...when he says, 'Somebody pull that rabbit out of the freezer so we can have something to eat.' This great stuff will live on forever.
So, I may review new dvd's again if I ever get another decent job again. But until then, I will most certainly be reviewing amateur videos with far greater enthusiasm than I have in the past. And believe me, guys, we are still gonna have a lot to talk about.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Palm Springs Sex Hotel Goes Straight
The Camp Palm Springs is no more. It was primed for New Year's Eve in its latest incarnation as The Skylark, renovated from its slightly louche seedy gay origins into a dressed up midcentury mainstream identity. There'll be nobody walking around with his dick hanging out at The Skylark. All traces of its former gayness have been obliterated with fresh paint, fresh flowers and fresh bedsheets. I sincerely doubt that its new guests will be as fresh.
I described the Camp as a sex hotel, and it certainly wasn't the only hotel in Palm Springs where a hustler's footfalls could be heard on the concrete at any hour of the night. But somehow it managed best to exude that certain aura: there's sex going on in every room, behind every door.
The mystique was there even at its old location on a residential street slightly removed from Warm Sands. It was run by a salty old dog who called himself Major Dad and the play areas recalled a vague military theme. Not a wartime combat environment, but rather a draftee's medical exam environment; there were examination tables, and stockades, decor that recalled the brig, lots of camouflage, netting, helmets and dog tags adorning the walls. Major Dad moved the Camp to the north end of town and prominently on Palm Canyon Drive, the main drag, taking over a dumpy gay resort called the Desert Hangout. The military theme was softened a bit, but the sexual temperature returned to sizzling when regularly scheduled sex parties started, which for the first few years were quite the thing. I don't know exactly why the fever cooled over time, but that it most certaily did The play areas were fucked up with some clueless remodeling, especially after the oversized tent, containing mattresses and bunk beds, was dismantled, and our fantasies of servicing the randy British troops of the North Africa campaign were quashed.
I got pissed off at the management when the staff, called in to repair a toilet, removed and tossed (?) all of my rubber toys as a 'health measure,' they said. This was bullshit, of course, they thought they were getting my Jeff Stryker dildo, and though I raised a fuss, I never got it back. 'You don't want to go searching through the dumpster. It's too dangerous.' That's what they said. Total bullshit. But I did come back because the opportunities for sex were enticing, though, in later years, seldom realized.
There was a time when Hot Desert Knights and Barebackrt filmed there, and porn star sightings were commonplace. Titpig fucking with a cigar hanging from his lips, ditto Cole Tucker, Tom Shannon geetting fucked, Lance Hancock pulling guys off the sidewalk into his room. And for a while, a few years back, the staff there was actually fucking guests...that tent set-up made things happen.
But every good time must come to an end. If only prostitution were legal in this here State of California, I'm pretty sure I would have had even more to write about the Camp Palm Springs. As it was, we came as close we ever got.
Farewell, forever, to The Camp.
I described the Camp as a sex hotel, and it certainly wasn't the only hotel in Palm Springs where a hustler's footfalls could be heard on the concrete at any hour of the night. But somehow it managed best to exude that certain aura: there's sex going on in every room, behind every door.
The mystique was there even at its old location on a residential street slightly removed from Warm Sands. It was run by a salty old dog who called himself Major Dad and the play areas recalled a vague military theme. Not a wartime combat environment, but rather a draftee's medical exam environment; there were examination tables, and stockades, decor that recalled the brig, lots of camouflage, netting, helmets and dog tags adorning the walls. Major Dad moved the Camp to the north end of town and prominently on Palm Canyon Drive, the main drag, taking over a dumpy gay resort called the Desert Hangout. The military theme was softened a bit, but the sexual temperature returned to sizzling when regularly scheduled sex parties started, which for the first few years were quite the thing. I don't know exactly why the fever cooled over time, but that it most certaily did The play areas were fucked up with some clueless remodeling, especially after the oversized tent, containing mattresses and bunk beds, was dismantled, and our fantasies of servicing the randy British troops of the North Africa campaign were quashed.
I got pissed off at the management when the staff, called in to repair a toilet, removed and tossed (?) all of my rubber toys as a 'health measure,' they said. This was bullshit, of course, they thought they were getting my Jeff Stryker dildo, and though I raised a fuss, I never got it back. 'You don't want to go searching through the dumpster. It's too dangerous.' That's what they said. Total bullshit. But I did come back because the opportunities for sex were enticing, though, in later years, seldom realized.
There was a time when Hot Desert Knights and Barebackrt filmed there, and porn star sightings were commonplace. Titpig fucking with a cigar hanging from his lips, ditto Cole Tucker, Tom Shannon geetting fucked, Lance Hancock pulling guys off the sidewalk into his room. And for a while, a few years back, the staff there was actually fucking guests...that tent set-up made things happen.
But every good time must come to an end. If only prostitution were legal in this here State of California, I'm pretty sure I would have had even more to write about the Camp Palm Springs. As it was, we came as close we ever got.
Farewell, forever, to The Camp.
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