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Never had a hint of fuck flu. And initial infection was pretty mild, VL 11,000 and CD4 900. And VL dropped without meds to 300.

i wish i could find me a hot santa with a great candy cane to sit on and deliver santas yearly load to my hole. here in the uk if anyone wants an elf fir night of fun xx

As a masochist, it is usually me having to encourage guys slap, choke and spit on me while using either my oral or anal vaginas

Yes, i have been to guy's work places specifically just to suck their dick, but when they had it all to themselves. i've also had anonymous guys come to my work space just to get their cocks sucked.

60 bottom uk here, very good cocksucker and can deepthroat but also love my ass being filled. hot couple would do me in the middle then switch i would satisfy everywish xx

This may not be most people's cup of tea (get it? haha!) but just thought I'd write something for those who are enticed by the stories on here to try it, the only problem is most of the stories here have just "a lil" embellishment, and they never really tell you what happens after that first, sexy time you read about on here. Digging from real lived experience, hope you enjoy. Don't turn out like me. Buyer beware. You've been partying on and off for the last two years now, taking long breaks in-between where you crash and tell yourself never again, yet the hook has been permanently embedded in your cheek like a fish on a river. These lapses in-between you're just stuck in a waiting period for good ole fisherman Tina to reel you back in. Why did we start in the first place? Who knows. Could it have been my repressed homosexuality from upbringing and inability to be open about who I am? Or societal pressure to present as straight because society says gay = bad? Or maybe from my complete lack of self esteem from unresolved, buried trauma and that growing, creeping desire to destroy my life is finally reaching it's peak. It doesn't really matter, because smoking meth is easier than going to therapy. No cap. Enough time has passed since you broke down and cried in your bathtub for letting it consume your life, and you have all but forgotten that abyssal hole, and start thinking about how it wasn't really that bad the last time. You're back on track for that sexy relapse, baby. You start on the usual hunt, scanning for keywords and terms on the usual sites - get a message, but they don't mention parTy in the message or in their profile? Skip. Not worth my time. I don't care who you are, only what you can provide my dopamine starved brain. You spend a few days sending messages to everyone who will trip you down that rabbit hole, but because they're all doing meth, it's hard to connect. Eventually, you hit the jackpot, and drive over to a strangers place, after only exchanging a few words and confirming that special celebration is about to happen. Questions on interests? Or HIV status? Face pic? Nah, miss me with that shit. His torso is clearly a human, so I couldn't care less. He opens the door, and the pictures from his profile you can tell are 10 years old. No worries, just showing you a reflection of the mirror of your life, pre and post Tina. You take your clothes off and sit on the couch, where bareback porn is already playing on the adjacent screen. His apartment is new, yet the same as every other time. He tells you to help yourself to the pipe while he measures out the G, and you don't even consider saying no. Why be content with doing just one drug? You're already doing meth, stupid. Take more drugs to lower your inhibitions further is clearly the right call here. You take that first inhale and the sparks fly in your brain - almost as good as the first time, but not quite. It'll never be as good, but you won't stop chasing it anyway. After you take a few hits back to back to catch up, he sits down and hands you the Gatorade. You both down it, and start rubbing your flaccid cocks to the porn on screen, while making small talk. A few more hits before the G kicks in, and you've finally reached blastoff. Your inhibitions replaced by pure lust, not for the guy, just what he provides. You roll around in bed like animals, sucking each other's soft cocks and making out, until the G wears off and you both decide to take a break. Sexual frustration begins. You return to the couch, and start passing the pipe back and forth. You lost count of how many hits you've done, but you're keeping up with him. He is clearly and intentionally trying to get you extremely high, and while that realization hits, you push that thought down and keep grabbing the pipe every time it's offered. Good job, buddy. Once you've reached that peak tweaker status, your host prepares the second dose of G. But now because you're both incredibly high, you both can't stop yapping, causing the second dose of G to take 45 minutes to prepare. Your hand glued to your soft cock you've been trying to rub back to life like that time you found Aunt Donna dead already for 12 hours. Spoilers, unlike her stiff rigor mortis corpse, you will not be getting hard tonight. After word vomiting your entire life story to a stranger and hearing his, all of which you've already forgotten, you finally down the G again, and a second round of piggy sex ensues. But alas, no fucking still, because a wet noodle against a gaping hole just doesn't do anything for either of you. It's just mostly body contact and rimming your strangers asshole while he moans, the T making you eat it up like it's the last meal alive. Did he even shower? Who knows, you're not considering this at all. Why would you? You're getting your fix, gotta give him something. Sexual frustration returns. Time for break 3, and as your doing a new marathon of sucking clouds in and out, your new friend starts probing you on your interests, fetishes and kinks. He is holding back, but testing the waters. He eventually nonchalantly brings up some questionable topics, and you feign interest and change the subject to what can only be the 40th bareback video he has playing on his screen, ad naseum. You realize this is why he was so generous with the T on round 2, to lower your inhibitions and hope to receive curiousness back, but despite this, your brain is flooded with dopamine so you hardly react. You imagine if you weren't exhaling on cloud 9, a sober you would get up and leave. But you stay, because you needed this. You needed these clouds. You needed this little break from reality. So what, you think, I don't really care what he is into anyway. To each their own. Far be it from me, a meth addict, to kink shame anyone. Again, it's all about what he can provide, not the substance of his character. As you nod your head to whatever he is rambling about now after you changed topics, you get a brief lapse of clarity, asking how you got here. Brief though, as your eyes dart back to the porn playing. You're both extremely horny yet unable to satisfy each other, just endless rubbing on your flaccid cocks while watching porn and more pointless conversation. You stretch it out and think, did mine get smaller too? Oh well, who cares. I don't, I'm in that zone, hell yeah. Some time passes, and unfortunately, by changing the topic and not indulging in his questionable interests he brought up, your host inevitably calls it, says he needs to get up early and kicks you out. You finally look at a clock, only 12 hours have passed. Only. Before you are able to actually exit, it takes another 30 minutes to get to the door. He's telling you about some other hookups odd behavior. You don't care about any of the words coming out of his mouth, but you're polite, so you nod and wait til he finishes to leave. As you get in your car, you realize sweat is pouring off you, and you check the mirror to see your glassy eyes with huge dilated pupils. It's totally fine, you tell yourself. If you get pulled over on the way home, no way will they suspect your high. I'm playing this cool. Real cool. As you drive home, your mind races between three thoughts only: of wanting to rub your shrunken dick again while you drive but resisting so you don't crash your car, finding another vessel for your unquenchable lust, and wondering if I continue down this path will you end up enjoying the things he brought up, a corrupted trick of the mind that happens while you flood it with dopamine and expose it to these things. You get home, and the middle idea takes over. As you go back online to search for your next empty hookup, you'll find your host on the same site you found him on, online and looking for more. You do the same. On and off through various hookups over the course of the night and new day, any and all men you can find willing to fill that gaping hole in your soul that Tina made bigger, you also see your old host still logged in as well. Two peas in a pod. After about 36 hours, it's finally wearing off, and you are able to fall asleep. The cycle is complete. Timer reset and ticking down for the next relapse. The end (for now.)

Not much more that I can add that hasn't been said. But to be on the record, raw of course! What is the purpose for fucking otherwise? Have a piece of rubber shoved up my ass? I dont think so. Besides as a bottom I find as others have said, almost no one even asks. If your out at some venue bottoming it seems to be assumed you want it raw.

A few days ago bred a guy in a hotel. Later that night hooked up with a Latino bear with a fat uncut cock and he dumped a 3 day load in my hole. I could feel his cock pumping it in me. Right after that I went to go breed a regular who had 6 loads in his hole.

I got 2 uncles that a dont really like, but to be between them in a sexual relationship would break me.😵

what a lucky lucky man

It just turns me on. Two uncles and a cousin. So what….

First fuck of the day has to be spit for lube or dry if I'm relaxed. After that don't need lube because I'll usually keep my cunt well fucked & cum is the best lube.

it got reduced by the moderator... sometimes it is hard for me to stop myself

Hej, when I had the pleasure of wearing my OOg, I rarely took it out. It sits comfortably when wearing jocks, jock straps, g-strings & even my tight 501's. First few times can be embarrassing in public, trying to reposition in a train or café 😳😱🤣🤣🤣🤣 is fun. Once you've worked out best position, it's a constant source of pleasure. Erections can happen in the tightest of crowds, when wearing what us Australians call Speedos or "budgy smugglers" & the PA just is 😱 in your face 😅😅, especially front to rear with a woman in packed aisles or trains (very dirty looks😱)🤣🤣🤣. It might also happen with that gorgeous guy who just happens to invite him. I had to stop wearing because of the worn Bridge on the underside of the head. Hence the desire for a reverse. Wear it all the, you quickly get used to it but, whenever you or anyone is playing with your head remove it & you'll have it for years. My OOg got abit to much CBT. The pain was exquisite but, it did have consequences. GOOD LUCK with your PA ADVENTURES 😜😜😜.

I was sick for about a week. Not sure how long after exposure. I had been trying for about three months. Even though I knew I was going to get it I didn’t put my symptoms together with conversion. Headache, some nausea, night sweats and general achy were some of my symptoms.

After mostly striking out last weekend, went to a regular orgy that is usually a lot of fun in MN on what turned out to be the coldest night of the year so far and had a really disappointing crowd, but did give and get a load in a flip fuck. Flew back to Portland Saturday night and only got fucked very briefly at CumUnion. So I sort of redeemed myself tonight. Fucked and got fucked by numerous guys. 1st breeding was from a hot 32 year old from Seattle that I've flipped with before, filled me up good, my next breeding was from an Asian Twink. My 1st breed of the night was the 32 year old who started felching my sloppy hole after I bred and felched him, before he bred me a 2nd time. Next up I started fucking a really petite Twink who was as loose and sloppy as I was and added my cum to his sloppy hole, unfortunately the only loose cummy hole I had all night. Next I got fucked good and hard in the sling by a regular, with my hole making some really hot squelching sounds, but unfortunately he didn't breed me tonight. Last fuck was another regular, I know he had taken some dick but was not cummy and obviously hadn't taken anything as big as my dick yet tonight, I traded off fucking him with the regular who had fucked me in the sling until I filled him up with cum. I sat down and watched my regular top add his load to my regular bottoms hole, and then a guy who had been watching us the entire time started fucking him and gave him a 3rd. Definitely not a bad night for Portland, especially after my double disappointment last weekend.

Arizona whiteboi spun crossdresser i want to service groups of blacks Smythemataeo@gmail.com

Thanks for all your comments! So here's the next part of the journey. Hope you enjoy.... Part 4: The Biohazard Archives: Poz Stories and Porn The calm lasts for the rest of the night. It's a lie, of course, but a comforting one. You sleep soundly, the secret in the freezer a cold, quiet anchor. But the next morning, the lie shatters. You're making coffee. You open the freezer. The condom is still there, but that's all it is. A memory, a pathetic little trophy frozen in time. A toxic bomb, now defused and dead. The risk is gone. Without its poison, it's just a sad piece of rubber. The magic is gone. And in that moment, you realize the chilling, undeniable truth: the memory is not enough. The fantasy is not enough. The hunger is a demand, not a request. And a demand cannot be satisfied by watching. It has to be hunted. You sit back down at your laptop. The screen's glow is a sterile comfort in the dark room. You don't go to the usual apps, the ones filled with "safe" men and "normal" hookups. You go to a search engine and type in the words that have been echoing in your mind. You find a place called Breeding Zone. It's a forum, a digital promised land, and you click through the warning page without a second thought. Creating the profile feels like a clandestine act. The username is a string of random letters and numbers, untraceable. For the avatar, you don't use a picture of your face or your body. You use a close-up, macro shot of your PA ring—the heavy, 00g tribal dream circle of steel. It's a signal. A flag. And then you are in. The forum titles hit you like a physical blow. They aren't coded in polite euphemisms; they are raw, honest, and terrifyingly familiar. My First Pozzing Story. Toxic Load in a Public Toilet. Neg Bottom Looking for My First Gift. A wave of relief so powerful it makes you dizzy, washes over you. You're not a monster hiding in the shadows. You're home. These are your people. They speak your language. They understand the hunger, the need, the dark, beautiful thrill of the chase. This becomes your ritual for the next weeks. Every night, you would return to the same story, the multi-part epic called "Sleazy Sauna." The thread is massive with hundreds of thousands of views. You start reading, your heart hammering against your ribs. From the first sentence, you are not just reading; you are remembering. You are the narrator. You are the safe, middle-aged neg guy walking into that run-down sauna, the smell of damp and chlorine in the air. You feel the eyes of Sid, the old, skinny regular, on you, the thrill of his directness as he compliments your tattoos and casually asks, "Want to fuck?" And then you get to the line that makes you stop and re-read, your breath catching in your throat. When the narrator – when you - ask about a condom, Sid just keeps fucking and says, "I hate the things. Haven’t used them since I was diagnosed." At first, the word doesn't fully land. Diagnosed. It hangs in the air, a clinical, sterile word in the middle of this filthy, intimate act. And then it clicks. This isn't just some old man who prefers to fuck bare. This is a poz man who is planning to plant his toxic seed in your ass without a single thought or care as to whether you are neg or not. For a normal, safe guy, that moment should be a full-stop, a siren blaring, a reason to scream and run. It should be the definition of disturbing. But you can feel it happening to you—the shock, the fear, and the overwhelming, horned-up decision to just go along with it, to let the risk wash over you because the feeling is too good to stop. But it's the second part of the story that truly destroys you. You are again the narrator, having been tested negative and handed a get-out-of-jail-free card. And yet, you are back at the sauna, your heart pounding, your hole twitching with a need you can't explain. You hear Bill at the counter warn the you, "We've a few more in today - couple of guys I 'ain't seen for a while 'cos they've been sick. They don't take meds so their immune system is fucked." You're hard instantly, stroking yourself as you read. You are in that dark room, being pulled between two unseen bodies. You know, with a sick certainty, that these are them. These are the two toxic trolls Bill warned you about, the ones with the highly charged, untreated loads. You are the one sandwiched between them, crying with shame and depravity, feeling the ultimate surrender as you push back and squeeze your hole around their thrusting cocks, eager to milk more poz cum from them and get yourself knocked up. The words on the screen get you close, but they aren't enough to finish you. You need the visuals. You need the sounds. You minimize the forum and open the video file. You find the clip. It opens on a scene of profound intimacy. A bottom is on his back, his legs thrown up in the air, surrendering completely. A top is above him, moving inside him with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Their connection is palpable, a quiet dance of flesh that feels more like a shared prayer than a simple fuck. The gentle, rhythmic slap of skin is the only sound besides their soft moans. Then, the top’s voice cuts through the quiet, a low murmur now laced with a sudden, sharp tension. "I think it broke." And in that moment, you are the bottom. A jolt of pure ice-water panic floods your veins. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was supposed to be safe. Your mind races, screaming at you to push him off, to stop this right now. But your body betrays you. The slow, hypnotic rhythm doesn't stop, and the pleasure is too exquisite, too all-consuming. The fear is there, a sharp edge, but it's dulled by the overwhelming sensation. The top's words were a quiet confession, but to you, they are a test. He needs you to make the choice. The bottom’s response is a choked whimper of pure, unadulterated need, his back arching to meet each deep, steady thrust. "Fuck me anyway. I don't care." You understand that whimper. It's the sound of reason shattering. It's the moment the fear begins to curdle into something else—something dark and thrilling. Your hand is on your own cock, stroking in time with the slow, hypnotic rhythm on the screen. "Do you want me to pull out when I cum?" the top asks, his voice a strained whisper. He's offering one final escape, one last chance for safety. "Of course not," the bottom moans, his voice thick with unwavering desire, pulling him in closer, a silent refusal to let him escape. "But I'm positive," the top says, his voice a quiet, final warning. He's laid all his cards on the table. The risk is now real. It has a name. "I don't care," the bottom breathes. "I want your seed so bad. I want your shit... so fucking good!" That's it. That's the moment of total surrender. The fear doesn't just fade; it transforms into a desperate, all-consuming craving. The thought of his charged load, of his poz seed, is no longer a danger. It's the prize. It's what you want. They continue, the sound of a poppers cap being unscrewed cutting through the heavy breathing. The camera is locked in a single, unchanging POV. You see nothing but the top's cock, now sheathed in the tattered, broken latex, as it slowly sinks into the bottom's ass, then just as slowly withdraws. You don't see their faces. You are the bottom, feeling that broken rubber dragging against your rim with every slow, deliberate stroke. Then, a new sound. A deep sniff. The sound makes your own hand tremble with anticipation. You fumble for your own bottle, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your nostril, timing your own sharp, desperate inhalation to perfectly match the one you are hearing through the laptop speakers. The rush hits you, a warm wave washing over you, dissolving the last of your resistance. The fear is gone, replaced by a blissful, open hunger. Your mind is no longer thinking about risk; it's focused only on the feeling, on the need to be filled, to be bred. Your head swims, your vision blurs at the edges, and your own moaning grows louder, more guttural, mingling with the sounds from the video until you can't tell where you end and the screen begins. The cock on screen never stops its slow, deliberate motion. Then, another sniff, this time from the top. You hear it, and without hesitation, you take another hit yourself, your body in perfect sync with the men you can only hear. The second rush deepens the hunger, solidifies it into a single, burning purpose. "Yeah, give me your seed," the bottom begs, his voice cracking with emotion. "Give me that fucking charged load, yeah, cum in me deep." You feel the words in your own throat. You want to beg for it, too. "Yeah, I'm gonna knock you up," the top growls, his rhythm finally beginning to speed up. "Cum as deep as you can," the bottom cries out. The top grunts, his body tensing as he unloads. He pulls out, and the camera holds on the bottom's gaping, red hole. A single, thick, perfect drop of white cum wells up and drips down. The sight of that charged drop, the sound of those words, amplified by the poppers flooding your system, is the guaranteed trigger. You cum, a huge, explosive load that shoots all over your chest and face, a desperate, solitary offering. You slump back in your chair, panting. You look down at your new jogging pants. Another load soaking into the fabric. They're stiffening with dried cum, becoming a beloved cumrag, a physical testament to how deep you're being drawn in. It was a powerful, intense orgasm, but as the waves of pleasure recede, you're still staring at the screen. The forum is just a collection of words. The clip is just pixels. And you are still alone in your apartment, your pants stiffening with another load. The relief is temporary. The hunger is permanent.

Terrific writing and excellent detail! Clearly written with purpose in mind and I am very excited to see where this story goes.