Poz Daddy's Freshly Fucked Hole

Billy's freshly fucked hole

Hot Daddy Dumps Poz Load in a Quick Fuck

We often read from men who abhor the Chatty Cathies of the wireless world...'not here to chat' is a succinct message to all those timid creatures who blow big on the internet and much less so in reality. These characters get off on anxious adrenalin rushes and not so much on fucking, trading e-mails ad infinitum without the intention of fucking, and are perfectly satisfied to play that game. Those of us seeking real sex just wish they'd set up their website so they can Chatter Away with others of like temperment...maybe ChattyPatty.com. But... it's we don't have to dream the 15 minute hook-up among the men who get real and get down. Sometimes they really do happen. I'm in my favorite wireless access coffee shop in downtown Palm Springs with a cleaned out hole and a horned up attitude, post my intention to get fucked right now and then am genuinely surprised when I get three responses within the first five minutes. It's about 10 in the morning on a Wednesday, a ripe time to get fucked maybe only in Palm Springs. Naturally, I answer all e-mails as a matter of principle...yeah, even the Chatty Cathies...but naturally I'm going with the closest one. This turns out to be a mobile home in a park about a three minute drive away. The top texts me clear directions, while I'm starting up the engine...Kesha comes on the radio...before Kesha is finished, I'm on his bed and on my back getting drilled by a nice, stubby, thick cock. I love missionary style because I can make and hold eye contact and by now I'm an expert at reading faces and I love it when our eyes lock...it's all a matter of concentration. This top daddy then blasts a nice big load up my worked out hole. He took a quick image shot with his cell phone, which I can e-mail to anyone who's interested, but which I'm too dumb to figure out how to publish on this blog. It's all quick and intense and great, and when it's over, it's over. Not much apres sexchat here. We'll hook up with this Dad again, but for right now, it's over so I get the hell out. I get back to my car and the coffee is still warm. I get back to the coffee house and the same people who were there are still there and the seat I vacated, is still vacant. And I went right back online to check out what could be next. Only this time, there's a fresh poz load warming up my manhole.

Fisting a Poz Businessman in the Afternoon

I'm guessing that travelling salesmen have earned their place in the American sexual consciousness through the simplest of ways...by being available. These guys have also been characterized in various media, like books...movies, certainly...as being unattached in a new town...horny as hell...and an easy hookup...good for a quick suck, fuck...and then never seen again. True, maybe, unless you're part of the fisting brotherhood. A good fist is hard to find. Once found, a bottom can only want more of it. I think I connected with this traveler through Asspig. Yeah, Asspig.com. A hot bottom taking fist at a local Holiday Inn, obviously a business guest and posting in the middle of the afternoon. You know, you just can't decide you want to get fisted. Being a fisting bottom requires preparation, and sometimes preparation becomes a long and involved process; of course I'm writing about cleaning out. So when a man goes through the effort of cleaning out for taking fist, he doesn't want to let all that go to waste. So you post on Asspig and hope for the best. When I'm feeling up to fisting, I'll post on Asspig; but most of the time the avaiable bottoms are in Keokuk, Iowa or Binghampton, New York and here I am in San Francisco. But occasionally, things do work out. Imagine my delight to find a travelling businessman holed up in the Holiday Inn, conveniently just off Market St. and ready to go for RIGHT NOW. And oh, by the way, it's about two in the afternoon. It takes me a while to park my car in a safe (read meter maids, not break-ins) spot and take the street car to the Holiday Inn, but once there, we enjoyed a great session; he knows what he's doing, he's experienced and testing his limits, he wants me to probe more, he has fine interior buttchitecture. What's not to like? We give him a good time and he's appreciative since he's had at least one flake already, and a third guy does show up but he's not as commanding as I am and soon leaves, feeling a bit like a third wheel, so he never gets that guy's fist. I call the session out after about 90 mins., that's long enough for a break, but this guy is expecting somebody else later so I bid my leave, and hope I'm leaving him in good hands. Postscript: We buddylist each other and hope to meet up in his home town, a few hundred miles down the coast...I'll be there in April and hope to report on another great meeting. He gave me his Barebackrt handle and I checked him out, and he's poz...something we didn't discuss before I barefisted him. So much the better...travelling salesmen can sometimes be seen again.

Poz Bottom Gets Fisted With His Own Cum

On a quiet, well-tended suburban street of neat, substantial houses in Southern California, a man is getting fisted in the middle of the afternoon. This appointment was arranged online through a popular website...a pretty ordinary means of getting laid, or in this case, fisted. I'm the fisting top and I love daytime sessions on a weekday because it usually indicates that both top and bottom are at leisure to play when it suits them. This hook-up is especially nice because it involves my first redhead...ever. Well, a blondish reddish sort of lean tiger with zero body fat and a stiff crewcut...basically, a novelty of the best sort, enhanced by a genial personality. And oh yeah, it gets better thanks to a nicely shaped dick that looks like a mouth watering plump pink pork sausage. So in this suburban setting, the session starts with my getting thoroughly porked and taking a very generous juicy poz load. That's good for a start. My part of the bargain is to stuff this lean mean fisthole with my very talented hands. At first glance the hole looks rather small but this guy is an experienced bottom...I mean, I noticed him a long time ago and buddylisted him and I've been tracking him like a bloodhound ever since. When I saw him online, I hit him up, but whatever his history, it still looks like a pretty small tight hole. Looks are often deceiving. This talented fistchute took my hand easily, one deep breath and I was in like an oiled slippery slide and I did the old five finger exercise hitting his interesting combination of deep corners. But while this was going on, I detected the unmistakeable aroma of cum. His cum. My ass. As I squatted to get a better fisting angle, I felt by buttlips quiver like they wanted to dump, so I quickly cupped my free palm under my hole to catch whatever might come out. What I got was the big fat load of poz cum that he had shot up my ass. This was just too good to pass off lightly. I withdrew my other hand and lubed both hands with him cum, and after asking him politely if I could fist him with his own cum, that's exactly what I did. This was a very satisfying accessory to the action, and one I wish would happen all the time. I had to ask him first, though. To get his permission. After all, there is an etiquette to fisting. And the first rule is mutual respect. Ah, like I didn't know he'd say yes. Thanks, my man, for a great suburban afternoon session, cum and all.

Serosorting Keeps World Safe from Billy Twee

Super Bowl Sunday found me at a BBQ/fundraiser/sex party in Silver Lake. These guys generously open up their home to strangers like me on a few special occasions throughout the year. The game played on a big screen in their backyard covered patio adjoining a play area with gloryholes and slings, but sex play was extended into their bedrooms, balcony and a living room where I thought the furniture was too good to fuck on, though that didn't stop my fellow cockhounds. A shortish bear in glasses with a thick stubby dick who's fucked me twice (once, sheathed in the basement of Master TomFister's place in the Castro and another time in a now demolished sex venue in SOMA) barebacked a short sexy Latino I recognized from Barebackrt in the kitchen. Watching them get it on was hot, eventhough fucking in the kitchen personally never worked for me. The Latin cutie was atypical, though...this wasn't the West Hollywood crowd; this was the East Hollywood crowd, just guys tending to beardom...not many cell phone queens, steroid queens, gymbots or Andrew Christian types here. I found the crowd earnest but not into fucking somebody they didn't know already. As a matter of fact, though there was some energetic barebacking here and there, but it concerned only guys who knew each other, or at least that's how it seemed to me. In short, this was mostly an oral crowd with lots of cocksucking going on everywhere except the patio where an unwritten rule was universally observed. So with all this cocksucking going on all around, I didn't get more than a couple of feel-ups the whole time I had my ass in the sling. I got a lot of interested looks, but that was about it. As I drove home, I pondered why not one guy even tried to fuck me. Come on, I was one of the easiest fucks there, and I made that pretty obvious. It finally struck me, that since this was an older crowd, and quite possibly not exclusively bareback, with probably a good percentage of negatives, they weren't going to take any chances with a pig slut like me who obviously was ready to take it from any warm, moving thing. I qualify the 'older' comment because I understand that HIV conversions have substantially declined among older guys, while rising among younger dumb fucks. That's how I pegged this crowd, football fans or not, as wise, experienced, wary but convinced that I was an uninhibited, non-discriminating, unprincipled pig bottom. Ah, yeah, and guilty as hell. Anyway, these hosts put on a great party, they were gracious and the food was great. Did I mention that $20 got you in...it was a fundraiser, of course...but you got unlimited food (probably catered from a restaurant, it was that good) and beer. A cocksucker's paradise; a bareback bottom's desert.

Trap Boyy Getting Fucked by His Fans

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. 

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.