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Thursday, April 27, 2006

Deep Inside Mancunt, or Titpig's Adventures In Barebacking

My Blogger profile needs to be updated. It clearly states:

“I do not cruise on-line because I can still pick up all the men I want in bars.”

[NB: Profile changed 4/27/06]

Although I can still pick up anyone I want in a bar, I have recently discovered the delightful possibilities of hook-ups through Not since they closed the Regency Baths in Boston have I found such a welcoming new environment to act on the most intense aspects of my sexuality.

My former bf once said that Manhunt is like getting a pizza delivered. It’s actually easier, costs nothing (beyond the $25 membership fee every three months) and is infinitely more satisfying than any pizza ever could be. Although my initial profile was rather vague and hesitant, it didn’t take me long to get up to speed and state what I was looking for. Here’s my current profile:

Titpig top seeks uncuts for fun

Mid-40s HIV+ gymrat seeks uncut, HIV+ bottoms in good shape for lengthy encounters.
Am 5'6, lean, well-hung cut top. Am aggressively passionate and full-throttle sexy. I prefer avg/small hung guys under 45. Fucking means fucking raw.
Let's play. Couples welcome.

46 // 5’6 // Athletic // Lt Brown // Green // Top
Into: JO, Sucking, Fucking, Group Sex, Voyeurism, Exhibition, Toys, S&M, Pig Play, Rimming, Fuck Buddy, Friends, Dating, Kissing, No PnP

I have two “public” pictures. One which shows my torso and dick, the other is a close-up of my legs and dick. My “private” photos, in a rather perverse reversal of what might be expected, are far less revealing. One is the chest shot featured above; the other two are clear face pics. As I work in a public setting, I wish to protect my anonymity to at least some degree. The last thing I need is a customer saying “Oh, you’re Buckob from Manhunt. Nice cock…”

A confession: my initial ad, sans pic, was posted in early February after I suspected that my boyfriend was whoring around. He’d mentioned the website so often in conversation that it just seemed natural to see if I could locate him there. It turns out that I was a month late, as his profile expired in January. Not that I was incorrect in my suspicions (which were eventually confirmed in spades) but simply that he’d moved on to websites that don’t oblige its members to pay (like the even more infamous

Even without posting a photo, and without references to my fondness for titplay, raw fucking (half-obscured code for fucking without condoms), or my preference for small-hung guys, I was approached twice. As I was in no way emotionally ready for playing around, I ignored them and didn’t bother with a reply.

But about a month later, in early March and after a hellacious fight with the bf, I did respond to what is euphemistically referred to as an “e-mail” (a form of private messaging) from someone named Lechero. His picture shows a handsome guy on the beach, his profile reads:

Latin catcher looking for pitcher

5’11, 180 lbs, 7.5” uncut, bottom, pierced nips and a 10g PA, tats…Poz here, prefer the same…Please be masculine. Also prefer BB, pretty vanilla here and not into kink. Smoker here, if that bothers you move on. Must have recent pic…NO PIC, NO PLAY…Just be laid back and we’ll get along just fine…Partnered so not looking for LTR.

When: Now! Ethnicity: Latino
Where: Ask me! Status: Positive

37 // 5’11 // Average // Brown // Dk Brown // Bottom

Into: JO, Sucking, Fucking, 1-on-1, Group Sex, Voyeurism, Exhibition, Toys, Rimming, Fuck Buddy, Friends, Kissing.

Overall it seemed as though his profile was a good match to mine. It got better when he said that he and his partner, a short, stocky Latin top, were looking to play together. We exchanged several volleys of “e-mail” and I sent them pictures of my bod and dick via regular e-mail. It was agreed that they come over to my place, as the bf had the car at his place that night, after they’d had a shower.

My first reaction was one of nervous anticipation. I rushed around to freshen up the apartment (without making it too obvious), put JD Cadinot’s Service Actif in the VCR, and smoked a cig before jumping in the shower. It was the wee hours of the morning on a balmy tropical Florida Saturday night, and dressed in board shorts and flip-flops I paced first my small apartment, then my garden, waiting for them to arrive.

My mind was swimming. The bf (whom Matty_the_Damned once described as short, bald, frigid, petulant and swarthy) was playing an absurd game of celibacy with me. The sex, such as we experienced it, never lasted more than four minutes and was comprised almost exclusively of my watching him jack furiously. I was in a constant state of blue-balled anticipation that more might come of our sexlife (which never materialized). I hadn’t had any real sex in four months, good sex (meaning ball-draining, cum-soaked, seed-planting bareback fucking) in seven. I was crawling with lust.

But I was also crawling with anxiety. What if these two guys come over and beat me up? Rob me? What if they are carrying some dreaded form of the clap that’ll never go away? After twenty years of careful, (mostly) safe, choreographed sex, what was I putting myself at risk for? What was I hoping to gain? Would I even be able to function?

Their SUV pulled up in front of my house, and two figures emerged: one taller, one quite short (as promised). I extended my hand and made the best eye contact possible in the dark. Lechero, the taller one (and bottom) was hot. His partner, while humpy, didn’t have the same electric charge (but then again, the third man in a three-some so seldom does). They were both impressed and pleased that their ten-minute drive had turned out so profitably. I quickly ushered them through the garden and into my apartment.

The door opens into a small kitchen, which they found well-appointed. The lover made a bee-line for my nipples (bless him) and I was up and running pronto (so much for that anxiety). Lechero and I sucked face and groped with the avidity of prom dates. Pants were dropped right in the kitchen.

Steering them into the bedroom, hard-on bouncing off my belly, I pushed Lechero over the footboard and surveyed his ass. It was a clean and fresh hole (as promised) between two bouncing cheeks. Lover jumped on the bed and shoved his dick in my mouth as I spit on my fingers and began probing Lechero’s hole. It responded immediately, winking and absorbing first one, then two digits. This was gonna be fun.

At one point I looked up into the mirrored closet doors that comprise a wall of my small bedroom. Lechero was on his back on the edge of the bed, legs bent and spread, lost in fuck. I was standing at the edge of the bed, fucking rhythmically in long, deep strokes and jerking Lover who was behind me pulling on my tits. My chest bulged, my abs were tight and flat. We were a hot unit of lust, rising and falling in shuddering waves of erotic charge, building toward a climax.

And what a climax! Lechero had been partying and was focused on his ass to the exclusion of his cock. Lover was oozing and dripping, holding back and waiting for me to release. We had ridden the wave for well over an hour, each in his role, each into not just each other but the acts we were doing, with all their implications. Condoms hadn’t been used- we were all poz and in agreement that they were an annoying burden. But the action of uninhibited, frenzied, unprotected sex hold its own alluring charms, and is rightly fetishized by increasing numbers of men, certainly myself included. With lover at my tits and Lechero milking my dick with his ass, I built to the kind of tooth-rattling, bone-crunching climax that is the stuff of urban myth. Each wash of pleasure, each contraction and release was accompanied by growls, cries and oaths as I collapsed forward into Lechero’s waiting arms, laughing madly.

While Lechero excused himself to wash off, Lover sat on my still-hard dick, using only my cum as lube, and pushed it into his tight top/versatile hole. Getting close, he pulled up and came in my mouth.

In the weeks that followed, I confided in a few people about my escapade with Lechero and Lover. My mind would linger over images of Lover fucking Lechero, me poised underneath with his soft cock in my mouth, PA knocking against my teeth, or Lover pulling my dick out of Lechero’s hole and sucking it to the base in one deep gulp, or return to that image of me, looking like some ripped satyr, lost in a frenzy of fuck. But the mind plays funny tricks, too. Guilt caused me to feel a burn on the skin of my dick or the horrifyingly familiar itch of lust lobsters. Eventually, such mindgames ceased, and I was left with just the pleasant memories of three guys in heat.

Fast forward to earlier this month. After spending a week in the hospital, the bf flew off to the supportive arms of his sister in Texas. The reason for the stay on the sixth floor of Imperial Point? Severe crystal meth withdrawal. It turns out that he was something of a hot pig for vast swathes of Broward and Dade counties, even if incapable of delivering anything remotely sexual to our domestic bliss. I’d been had, and was livid, seething, reeling with betrayal and resentment. We had harsh words and end-of-the-game recriminations bellowed back and forth over the phone, and a six-month waste of my time was over, at last.

Going back online to Manhunt was so logical, so easy, so obvious. I was gonna fuck that man right out of my hair. First up was to upload some photos so that my profile would be noticed, respected, responded to. I’ve already described them above. Once on, up and running, I noticed that Lechero was on and e-mailed him directly. He and Lover would love some company.

I went to their place throbbing and dripping precum, wearing a new pair of absurdly low-rise jeans and a tight T-shirt, feeling and looking like a stud bull (albeit a lean, ripped stud bull). They had everything ready: Classic pre-condom porn in the DVD, poppers on the nightstand, asses douched. Lechero met me outside their apartment in the parking lot to direct me inside. He looked cuter, younger and fresher than I’d remembered. He sported a tuft of hair under his lip that I’d somehow missed the last time. He looked fine...damn fine.

Preliminaries and my pants were dropped forthwith. As an added bonus, Lover was as ready for my assault as Lechero, which was vicious. Never have I thrown such a powerful hatefuck. I doubt that I’ve sustained such a hard-on since my wild days in the Eighties. The porn was a pale, redundant reflection of the energy in their bedroom. I’d take turns making meat out of first one hole, then the other. Lechero and Lover would get up, get beers, etc each in turn while I plummeted the other. Drenched in sweat and overwrought with emotion, I slapped, facesucked and consumed my way through two hours of solid sodomy.

For their part, Lechero and Lover could not have been better partners in our three-way dance. Lechero and I acted on my smoking fetish, which I’d not done in many years (beyond flirting in bars or jerking off alone). Lover braved my assault like a trooper. Both of them pushed the whole anal-to-mouth act to a delirium that would make a pornstar blush. Lover came once, Lechero twice. I held off, then plateaued at almost-there. Instead of seeding, this time I sprayed them both with torrential volleys amid screams and curses.

Recovering consciousness enough to light up a cigarette, I thanked them both heartily. Lover expressed concern over the opinion of the neighbors, as my release was in the upper-decibel range, but Lechero just said “Fuck ‘em” and we all laughed. Only after I’d cum did I respond to their initial inquiries into what was new in my life. When I related a partial recap of my drama with the bf, complete with the celibacy bit, they were astonished. How could the stevedore that had just been vanquished possibly have been put in mothballs for months? Not wanting to bring baggage into what was, after all, a sexual relationship, I directed Lechero to where he could read all the gory details in threads I’d just that afternoon initiated.

I know that he located everything because Lechero posted an empty post in my “relationship” thread, and followed it up with a touching e-mail. He’s such a sweet guy.

The next night I went online after work, directly to Manhunt. Within minutes, I was hit up by a guy who’d been aggressively pursuing me since I signed up, before I’d even posted a picture or added bits about raw fucking. I ignored his e-mails because, quite frankly, it didn’t add up. His handle’s Dawgpound and his profile reads:

Love is…
…Committing a crime together

5’9, 185, 48C, 17A, BR/BR, TATS, MILITARY CUT
Well built, well experienced, well trained

When: Right now! Ethnicity: White
Where: At your place Status: Ask me

Into: Sucking, Fucking, 1 on 1, Group Sex, Leather, Toys, Role Playing, S&M, Pig Play, WS, FF, Nipple Play, Fuck Buddy, Kissing, Feet/Socks

32 // 5’9 // Muscular // Hazel // Dk Brown // Bottom/Versatile

His pix show an absurdly masculine, handsome leatherman, complete with Fu-Manchu moustache, roiling with sunburnt muscles and a truly fabulous ass. Such a magnificent specimen has no need of the web for hook-ups. Within five minutes of his walking into the Ramrod he’d be showered with American Express black cards. Why would he be so aggressive in pursuing me? Although my profile had S&M checked off (and I am into rough sex), I’m not into leather…leathermen yes, leather itself no. And although no stranger to handball my profile says nothing about fisting. Likewise, although I’ve peed in many a bathtub, Golden Showers have never really sprouted my May Flower. I hadn’t even proclaimed myself a Titpig on my profile yet. I was suspicious of either rampant fakery or some other nefarious scheme.

I answered his e-mail with a slight coolness, feigning a tough attitude. His responses were quick and aggressive. In short order a cab pulled up and he jumped out, carrying a small rucksack. My astonishment was all too apparent. He not only conformed to his profile, there was an endearing boyish quality that didn’t come through in his pictures at all. He was a living doll.

With a firm grip and steady eyelock, I shook his hand and directed him into my kitchen. In almost robotic fashion, he responded immediately to my various commands, which pleased me enormously. I undressed my new toy, who smelled overpoweringly of sun and mansweat. Inspection of his ass and his splendid hole revealed that he hadn’t showered since the last time he’d shit. It was gamey and somewhat overripe for my taste and I sent him straight to the shower.

He was completely submissive, aggressively submissive if such a thing is possible, without being effeminate in any fashion whatsoever. I had a strikingly beautiful man totally at my command, a toy soldier for my pleasure. He started by asking permission to sit on my dick. A post-shower inspection showed a narrow, tight pucker, giving only gradually to my finger and grasping fast. But with only a gob of spit, the self-same hole opened to accommodate my oozing rod in one stoke, with only one hesitation. I was beyond impressed. Well trained, indeed!

After a half-hour of switching positions and just a bit of oral (he’s a bit of a gagger), I was fucking him on his back, head resting on pillows leaning up against the footboard. We were both glazed in sweat. He told me to relax a bit and stay still, which I did. With rhythmic thrusts of his pelvis, he began using his hole to jerk me off, hands never deviating from my tits. I’m a veteran of many things, but never have I had such a sensation. Alternately loose and tight, it was as if I were being milked of my seed. Soon enough he got his prize, as I washed his colon with fuck.

To be continued…

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Depression, my bittersweet companion

I am lost in the fields of emotionless emotions,
cuddled by artic arms and frozen hearts,
no escape but to go down in the darkest of dark,
no relief but to surrender to the razorblades.

Isolation gradually becomes me,
my own soul even feels foreign,
no more hugs only tears,
that flow in rivers, constantly.

Goodbye world of hapiness,
sadness rules now,
take me , crush me,
king of solitude, forever.

Easter 2006