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Topped by Legrand Wolf, Rocco Steele. Versatile with Max Bourne.

No space between the first and last names - NoahPartic With a space it leads to a sketchy looking group.

Which one is that?

My first fist was my own around 15 😅 Took someone else's when I was 19 though and havent turned back since

I recently met a guy in a bathroom stall and we fucked for about 10 minutes when he pulled out I asked him if he came and he said no, so I went about my day. About three hours later, my stomach was kind of gurgling and I let out a fart and I thought I shit my pants only to see a huge load in my underwear. I sent him a picture of it and said I thought you didn’t come and he said how long was my poz load in you bitch reading that made me come right there on the spot

Yeah it's a lot harder to setup then I ever coulda imagined. Usually I'll get a request for one on one but I would ideally have 3-4 horny aggressive guys. I wanna find myself laying on the living room floor in the middle of the night exhausted, and drooling cum with guys sitting on the furniture. I hear one get up walking towards me stroking his cock and I desperately try to crawl away. He grabs my ankle pulling me towards him and asks where I'm going while the others laugh. My pleads for a break ignored as he slides in and starts thrusting. I take it while watching the others starting to stroke their preparing for their next round as well.

Jackpot 💧

8, and he was 13, after church on Sundays while our parents did Bible study and hungvout till evening service started up, because he threatened to beat me up if I didn't, and would beat me up if I told. After church on Sunday morning he'd run to my dad and ask if we were coming to their house, my dad would say yes and he'd look at me and smile, I knew he was gonna feed me.

Let's be clear, being fucked with a condom is an act of pure withholding. The whole reason for a condom fuck is to prevent his bare throbbing dick and load from touching you. A man using a condom has no intent to breed you. Absent his clear intent to breed you, how can one say you took his load? You took his condom, that's all. It might be mechanistic, but I think men who use condoms only fuck condoms. It's the condoms that fuck your hole. If a man fucked you with a condom, then removed the condom and poured his seed into your open hole himself, I think there's some intent to have his cum inside you. A man who fucks and breeds a condom, with you around the condom, and then discards the condom has abandoned his load. The bottom picking the condom up and fingering or pouring some of the abandoned seed inside his hole hasn't been bred by the man who made it. I think "artificial insemination" is a very close to the truth for this scenario. Absent *his* intent, *his* action putting his load inside you, my view is you didn't get his load. [P.s. If a top has you suck his bare dick and swallow his precum, but then only fucks you with a condom (because STIs), that's illogical *and* withholding.]

[think before following links] https://www.brutalgays.net/movie/1206501?title=romeo-davis-bonks-colling-lust-bare-and-cumming-inside

To me, no.

Chapter 29: Exit Strategy Backrooms at InfraRed. 31-Oct-20XX. 22:38 MST. REDACTED location. As the nightclub began filling up with people and the floor began to hum under the vibration of the bass, Spencer continued breeding the punk. His strokes easily fell in sync as the percussion of the EDM matched his thrusts. And every time he drove his infected meat stick home, he felt a simultaneous stab in his heart. Spencer quickly came to understand that the feelings weren’t his own. He slowed his thrusts, and raised his head to lock eyes with someone across the darkroom. It’s coming from him, Spencer thought. This is eating him alive. It was a weird mixture of guilt and regret and envy, and when he connected with the man who converted him, he knew. He saw Bryce watching with a pained expression, and the tall guy looked to be consoling him. Spencer turned his head back down to look at the punk. For a guy who’s done porn, his hole sure is tight. Clearly he doesn’t do this very often. The punk winced as Spencer resumed fucking him, his hole taking quite a beating in ways it had never done before. Spencer was obviously better endowed than anyone he had ever worked with, and the gasps and grunts and cries proved that the corrupted bodybuilder was pushing his limits. What was this guy’s name? Spencer wondered to himself. Fuck, I’m so bad with names. I’ll call him Spike. That haircut is insane. “Spike” had carelessly turned on his back to take more of Spencer’s cock, and in so doing, flattened his carefully sculpted mohawk. But he hadn’t got used to taking the intrusion. Spencer heard a voice in his head. Spit on him. It will go so much easier for both of you. He slowed his thrusts again, and positioned himself above Spike’s face. Opening his mouth, he let a long, thin sheet of saliva escape and land on Spike’s face. It had the desired sedating effect, and within seconds, Spike had calmed. Relaxed. Spencer resumed fucking him, and with renewed intensity. Now he could finish the breeding without Spike’s complaints or thrashing. And the pangs of guilt resumed as well. Spencer came to realize he was doing this to hurt Stag. The man who gave him this incredible gift pushed him away when the tall guy showed up, and didn’t even bother to introduce him, and then disrespected him. Good, the voice in his head whispered. Make him see what he has lost. You are mine, not his. Something in Spencer snapped at that moment. I’m… not doing this because I want to? Spencer suddenly stopped mid-thrust. The whole world seemed to stop for him. His balls protested slightly, frustrated by the withheld release. The voice didn’t answer. Spencer looked up at Stag again, and it looked like he was weeping. The guilty feeling settled in full force. Spike looked up at Spencer, dazed, but curious why he wasn’t finishing the breeding. Spencer inhaled quietly, hit with the realization that he was being controlled just now, and intentionally hurting someone he used to care for. He hated how he ended things with Bryce, and wanted to ask for a second chance, but didn’t know if that's what Bryce wanted. Or if it was just revenge sex. He was the only one who didn't drool over me, and just let me be the beast I am. And now he's pushed me further than — “Keep going, big guy,” Spike cooed. Spencer looked back at Spike. Something snapped, and quick as a rocket, he pushed Spike’s legs upwards, pointing his heels at the ceiling. Something animalistic took over Spencer as he began jackhammering Spike’s ass. This was no longer a task commanded by an unseen commander. Now it was about finishing the job, and getting on with the night. Spencer pushed down his feelings with one thought: breed this punk, and then we can talk to Bryce. If he’ll hear me. Spencer finally came, shooting his first toxic load, and planted it deep inside Spike. He let out a roar as he climaxed, and Spike started leaking piss. The pain in Spike’s rectum matched the pain in Spencer’s heart, and in that moment, Spencer was sure he had ruined his chances with Stag forever. Spencer lowered Spike’s feet as his breathing slowed and returned to normal levels. Spike whispered, “Thank you, sir” before he was completely lowered, and within a minute, Spike was already drifting towards an unnatural sleep. The metamorphosis was about to begin, and his body went into a near-hibernation state. Spencer sat on the hard stone floor of the nightclub’s darkroom, suddenly winded and feeling the touch of golden sleep. The voice returned. Put him somewhere safe and away from others. He must not be disturbed. Spencer yawned hugely, feeling his own processes begin to shut down. He pushed himself to standing with a mighty effort, his limbs protesting slightly. His muscles felt fatigued, as if his breeding of Spike took everything out of him. Spencer gently picked up Spike in both arms, and carried him out of the darkroom to the dressing room. —-- “We were together for about three months and a week,” Stag blubbered. “He was so much more open-minded back then. I tried to change for him, and be the man he needed.” Lockjaw placed one hand on Stag’s shoulder empathetically, saying nothing. “But I was into some wild stuff that he really wasn’t,” Stag continued. “He wanted to get big, and I was third in his life. His muscle came first, then his career, and then me. I let him tie me up once. We did hot wax play. We did knife play, and watched fisting videos, and … other stuff I probably shouldn’t tell anyone…” Stag’s voice trailed off feebly. “I won’t tell, you have my word.” Stag hiccuped once as he struggled to not cry. “It was… just not his thing. I tried so hard to find something we both liked, and… and… now I’ve infected him, and it was all … for him, and now I can give him nothing…” That was when his eyes felt hot and wet, and the first tears finally broke through. Lockjaw at once felt sympathy for him. Mingled with compassion. After a loud inhalation, Stag continued. “And I was so jealous of what you and Sticks have, and I went back in the closet and repressed my feelings.” Stag wiped his face. “Tried to live a straight life, but I was never really into it.” “Back that up,” Lockjaw interrupted. “You're jealous of Eric and me?” Lockjaw let out a small snicker. “Believe me, we have our problems. We're not perfect.” “What kind of problems?” “None that are any of your business.” “I told you mine!” Lockjaw simply shook his head. “You volunteered that without my asking. I'm fine to listen, but your relationship with Spencer is your business.” Stag said nothing. He felt the moment when Spencer climaxed. He felt his guilt. And he sensed the man was coming over to talk to him. Stag's heart did a backflip in hopeful expectation. His hopes were dashed when he saw Spencer carrying Spike back into the dressing room where they had their first mating. Stag's heart sank again, and this time, the tears flowed easily. “I love him,” Stag admitted just above a whisper. “And I can't stand to see him go off with somebody else. I wanted it to be just the two of us.” Lockjaw hesitated before he spoke again. “I see. So you got this infection - same as Sticks and me - and gave it to him to… what, try to hang on to him? And how the hell did you reach that conclusion?” “You didn’t see it, but I did,” Stag continued. “When Patch and Pixel were changed, I saw an opportunity. Tex and I saw them get fucked, and on a hunch, I chased down the infection. I was thinking I could get it, and give it to Spencer so he’d blow up into the beast he is now, and maybe he’d take me back in gratitude.” Lockjaw felt like he had just been slapped across the face. “And you made him one of us. That's pretty fucked up.” Beat. “But I get it. I did some crazy shit for love in my lifetime. Now, what are you going to do about it? How would you fix this with him?” Lockjaw surprised himself when he heard this. It was the most clarity he had in a full day. He pensed for the Alpha, but no response came. “I've got to tell him everything. That I need him. That I miss him. That I want to work on this with him. And that I'm worthy of him.” “A monumental task! He seems to have moved on of his own accord.” Snag sniffled. “I know. But I've got to try. He said some pretty terrible things to me when we parted, but my feelings for him never changed.” The hive network hummed between them again, and Lockjaw looked back and forth between Stag and Spencer, as if reading passing data waves. Both men were fucked up, but Lockjaw could sense that they were probably a match after all. Who better to fix a toxic piece of shit than another toxic piece of shit? These two deserve each other. “Shit, bro,” he muttered with a smile underneath. “You really ARE in love with him. I'm reading him right now, and he feels it, too.” Lockjaw placed his hands on Stag's shoulders, taking care not to scratch him with his claws. “He does?” Stag asked hopefully. “Listen to me. Fucking. Go. Get. Him. He's hurting, Bryce. And I bet it's got more to do with missing you than anything you might have said or done back then. Or failed to do, as the case may be.” Spencer waddled up to them, looking somewhat repentant and ashamed, but also very drained. His limbs seemed to drag, and though he tried to hide it, his facade was slowly crumbling as his body slowly succumbed to exhaustion. “Bryce.” Stag turned to Spencer, and looked at him intently with glassy eyes. “Thanks. Finally busted that plateau. I can't wait to try it out at the gym.” Stag decided on a smartassed deflecting remark instead of sincerity and kindness. “Are you sure you can keep your pants on long enough to finish a set?” “Fuck you, asshole.” “Fuck me yourself, you coward.” Stag bared his teeth, expecting to fight his lover. Spencer was too tired to retort, so he exhaled and said, “You're a joke.” “And you're the awkward silence that follows.” Lockjaw bit his knuckle to keep from laughing at the snappy comeback. Wow, they already fight like an old married couple. “I mean that, Spence. Let's go and you can fuck me til daylight,” Stag said in a playful voice. Spencer only stared at him, feeling the connection between them growing. That was the wrong thing to say. But… I want nothing else. “We can,” Spencer said in a tired voice. “I’m just really exhausted right now. I’ve got to sit down, catch a few winks.” Stag and Lockjaw exchanged concerned glances. “That’s not sleep,” Lockjaw said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Stag, after you converted him, did he go into chrysalis?” Stag searched his memory. “Shit. No. Right after we finished, you showed up, and…” Spencer’s expression turned to guilt and shame when he saw Stag’s eyes drift toward the place where Spike would be resting. “He’s shutting down and needs to complete the transformation,” Lockjaw said. “Not here, this isn’t the place to do it. We need to leave. Now.” Spencer felt a small spark that kept him from sleeping standing up. “Spike is still sleeping.” Stag snickered. “That’s a stupid name. Spike? Really?” Spencer took an attitude of defensiveness that he didn’t really feel. “Shut up. Stag.” Lockjaw gave a sardonic laugh as he realized how bizarre their codenames must truly appear to civilians. “I need to take you to meet the Alpha. Oh, and I'm Adrian, but you can call me Lockjaw.” Spencer looked at the tall man, and took in his features for the first time. Then he looked down at the man's dick. Hung like a horse. Good for him. Spencer knew what responsibility came with such a weapon. “Another military guy?” “I'm a Major. He's one of my lieutenants. Where's your friend?” Spencer pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Dressing room.” Lockjaw understood. “Don’t worry, it’s just a cocooning process. I went through it myself. You’ll need to do it, too. It’s just sleep where your system resets and you wake up fully transformed. I don’t know what will happen if you force your way around it. We can’t wait until Spike comes out of it. Grab him, and let’s get both of you out of here.” With impeccable timing, a new command rippled out across the mental network. Return. All of you. Return to the lair. Immediately. Stag and Lockjaw turned their eyes toward each other, knowing the boss was calling them off the mission. A single, silent nod of the head, understanding that they truly must go. “Let’s boogie. We can’t go out the front or the alley,” Lockjaw ordered. “I had to come in through the roof. I’ll go get Spike, you two wait for us at the stairs.” “Get my bag,” Spencer quickly said. “I’ve got… (sharp exhalation) protein bars, and a phone. Water bottle.” “Will do.” Leave them alone, Lockjaw thought to himself as he went toward the dressing room. Let them find their way back together. God, please let them find their way back together. He hoped his prayer would be enough to get the ball rolling. The door of the dressing room was closed. Lockjaw remembered seeing the body of another man passed out in this room, and he might have come around since arriving. He gingerly opened the door so as not to startle the man, but the room hadn’t changed since he last saw it. The owner of InfraRed still lay in a crumpled heap amid the scattered boxes. Lockjaw checked the man for breathing and obvious injuries, and was relieved to find none. He’s out cold. Breed him, Lockjaw. Lockjaw stood quickly. “No, Alpha,” he whispered. “The order to withdraw takes priority.” He turned, and saw Spike lying on the floor, still wearing his leather, his spiky mohawk pushed down to one side. Rapidly transforming, and sweating through the conversion fever. All seemed to be normal. Lockjaw spotted a small black vinyl bag with drawstrings near the mirror. He opened it, and found it contained a smartphone, three high-end protein bars, jerky, a wallet, condoms, a hot pink thong, a small bottle of lube, and at the very bottom, a bottle of water. Everything indicated this was Spencer’s. Lockjaw slung it over his shoulder, then turned to Spike. Gently taking Spike in both arms, Lockjaw raised him from the floor as if lifting a sleeping child. A flicker of memory - he did this once for his nephew after his fifth birthday party, and remembered the peaceful slumber of a child. This was no different. A few steps and they were back on the dance floor. Lockjaw quickly carried him to the roof stairs, hoping they wouldn’t be noticed. Stag and Spencer had already gone up. Lockjaw walked up on them mid-conversation. “Yeah, we can try again,” he heard Spencer say, sounding more tired than before. Stag held his hand, and stared lovingly into his eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Just stay awake til we get there.” “I’m so wiped,” Spencer said quietly. They saw Lockjaw approaching with the comatose Spike in his arms, and the energy shifted. “What’s the plan? We gonna go across the rooftops?” Lockjaw nodded once. “Yep. There were too many emergency vehicles down below when I came in. Seems Zero caused a scene earlier, and the paramedics were called. Police, too. It was fucking chaos down there. So I scaled the building next door, and came down the other side.” “Clever.” Stag turned to Spencer. “Whaddya say? Got enough left in reserves to do it?” Spencer nodded twice, but gave no verbal response. Stag reached out to touch him, and before making contact with his skin, he could already feel the heat coming off the absurdly muscular body. Shit, he’s burning up. Gotta move fast. The men climbed the stairs. Lockjaw took point, and Spencer followed groggily. Stag picked up the rear, making sure Spencer didn’t fall backwards to the bottom. No one spoke. Reaching the roof, Lockjaw paced backwards a little to give himself distance for running. Suddenly, he charged forward and made an impressive leap across the gap between structures, all the while holding on to Spike. His landing was a little rough, and Lockjaw’s ankles absorbed most of the impact. Lockjaw turned back to look. “All right, Tiny. You’re next.” Spencer frowned. Stag only chuckled. “That’s your codename now, Tiny.” “Fuck you,” Spencer snapped with feigned anger. “Go on, Tiny, I’ll be right behind you,” Stag said encouragingly. With muscle memory kicking in, Spencer went to one side of the roof, his baby blue shoes noisily crunching on gravel all the way. He turned, and faced the distance. Pumping his arms as he ran, the crunching became louder and rapid. Spencer didn’t expect to move as quickly as he did, and the jump came prematurely. My kingdom for a goddamn Red Bull right now, Spencer thought as he leapt across. His landing, too, was not gentle, and Lockjaw felt him impact the floor as the large man touched down. And seconds later, Stag was across as well, his muscles primed after such an exertion. He suddenly felt a craving. Spencer felt no more awake after the crossing. “Where to?” Lockjaw tilted his head slightly. “I’ll lead the way. Try to stick to shadows, and move as fast as you can. ERVs are out tonight, and we can’t get caught.” Stag lit a cigarette, exhaling gratefully as they walked across the other rooftop toward the fire escape ladder. Mission accomplished, he thought to himself. Spencer is mine, and the night is done. His train of self-congratulatory thought was interrupted when a hand appeared in front of his face, and grabbed his smoke from his lips. Now it was in Spencer’s hand and the two of them came to a stop. Stag expected a lecture or some biting comment. What he did not expect was what happened next. Spencer put the butt to his lips and inhaled the smoke deeply. Even Lockjaw had to stop and look to see why they weren’t moving. “Dude, what the fuck,” Stag said incredulously. Spencer exhaled, letting the nicotine enter his system. “It’ll keep me awake. I need the free testosterone boost.” Lockjaw turned away, not fully understanding, but also not caring. Stag smirked slightly, both amused and shocked. I’ll bet he and Gravestone get to be cigar buddies. Then a pang of imagined jealousy hit him. If he fucks my man, I’ll kill him with my bare hands, commander or no. Stag lit another one, and they went down the fire escape stairs. Lockjaw was grateful that the escape wasn’t a ladder, or else carrying Spike while navigating the rungs of climbing would have proved near impossible. No one spoke as they quietly descended. They saw the last police vehicle drive away from the area as they neared the bottom, and the city fell silent as the men touched terra firma once again. “You doing okay, Spence?” Stag asked. Spencer threw the cigarette butt on the ground, and spit out the tar on his tongue. “Ugh, why do you smoke these things?” Stag grabbed his crotch with one hand. “I’ve got something else you can smoke,” he said with his own cigarette between his teeth, and a playful grin. Spencer looked at him, smiling himself. Stag winked at him, and caught a glimpse of Spencer’s newly formed teeth. He exhaled a sharp cloud of smoke in silent approval. The sight enticed him, and made him horny for the bodybuilder once again. “Fuck, you’re so hot. I'll get you something better when you've rested.” “Let’s get moving, guys,” Lockjaw interrupted. “We can’t keep the Alpha waiting.” Across the city they ran with Lockjaw leading the charge. Carrying Spike in his arms proved surprisingly easy, and the punk never stirred once during the transport. Stag made sure to remain at Spencer’s side in case he dropped from exhaustion, and their travel was unremarkable. Finally, before the old medical tower, they came to a halt. Spencer looked up at the old structure, and quickly recognized it. “Dumpf Tower? Why are we here?” Lockjaw turned to face him. “This is our base of operations.” “This drafty old ruin? My grandmother had chemo therapy here,” Spencer answered wearily. Then he pointed far to his left. “Her room in hospice was… right over there.” “The man knows his way around the place, it seems,” Stag rejoined cheerfully. It was the most positive Lockjaw had ever seen him, and a read of Stag’s emotional state indicated that he was in a really good place. Already the responsibility of caring for Spencer was having an effect. Stag held the door open for Lockjaw and Spike, and gave a needlessly deep bow when Spencer went through the door. Spencer only smiled weakly at the gesture. Stag came in last, and closed the door behind him. Lockjaw could already sense the Alpha’s presence, and without needing to direct the others, they followed the corridors to the basement. Spike finally opened his eyes. “Whooooo arrre you?” he asked groggily. Lockjaw lowered him to the floor so he could stand. “I’m Lockjaw. I’ve been overseeing your transformation. At ease, boy. You’re among friends, and you’ll be okay.” They paused for a moment, letting Spike wake up and get used to the new sensations. His breathing felt heavier, and his heart pounded like it might burst through his chest. For a moment, no one spoke, but took in the sight of Spike completing his change. Spencer held himself up by putting a hand on one wall, his strength almost gone. Stag stood close by, waiting for him to collapse. Spencer looked like he might retch. Lockjaw again broke the silence. “I’ll fill you in later, but right now, there’s someone you guys need to meet. Let’s get moving.” The duty of caring for his convert was beyond Spencer’s power right now, and Lockjaw felt some pride in being a father figure for Spike to make sure he came out of it okay. I wonder how Eric would feel about us adopting a kid someday. Approaching the basement doors, the sounds and scents of mansex became evident. “Looks like we missed the fun,” Stag quipped. “I think we party enough, don’t you?” Lockjaw replied with a smirk. The door opened, and the quartet stepped into the main room. It went silent as they marched in file: Lockjaw led with Spike and Spencer behind, and Stag at the rear again. Spencer used the last of his strength to come forward into a spot where the light would hit him perfectly. The showman's instinct led him to stand under the lights to highlight his shapes, and every creature in the room could see his immensity and density. Had I the energy, I’d put on such a show for these guys. That big one there with the horns must be their leader. Am I meeting the devil? Fuck, I’m hungry. And so tired. And a unified thought echoed in his head and around the room. Fresh meat. Suddenly the room felt dizzy. Spencer half-turned to Stag with a vacant, unfocused stare. “Shit… catch me, babe.” Stag hadn’t time to react. Fatigue finally won out as Spencer collapsed in a loud thud on the hard floor of the chamber. Stag was kneeling at his side immediately. “Spencer! Open your eyes!”, he cried desperately. Lockjaw took control and spoke for his comrades. “He didn’t go through the change after. Not fully. He just needs to enter chrysalis.” Other smilers, including Patch, approached to help lift Spencer from the ground. Stag violently waved them away, thinking they might try to sample the monster that just came into their lair, even if he wasn’t conscious. “No! Don’t you fucking touch him,” Stag snarled. “He’s mine, you understand? Mine.” The Alpha’s lips twisted in anger, but he did not react in his usual way. Only assessing. “You need to share him, Stag,” the Alpha growled, keeping his anger under. “He belongs to the hive, not just you alone. I order you to let us have him.” “I said no.” Recognizing he might be out of line again, he bowed his head with reverence and respect he didn’t really mean. “Alpha.” The Alpha stared at him. Neither would budge, but the Alpha, psychically spent from the night’s multiple activities, spoke first. “Bryce, we will need to have a chat about your liberal interpretation of hierarchy.” The Alpha stormed off, leaving behind a sexually satisfied but anxious army. Stag was filled with concern over Spencer, and knew that he had to do something to protect him from the Alpha. He knew this wasn’t over, and a new war was just beginning. — Clearview University Medical - Dumpf Tower, basement. 23:12 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. Lockjaw had never been the philosophical type. Before the infection—before all of this—he’d been the quiet one on the team. The observer. The guy who didn’t need to fill space with words because he was too busy watching what everyone else was doing. In Black Sigma, that had made him useful. People underestimated the quiet ones. That habit hadn’t gone away after the Alpha took them. If anything, the network made it easier to see patterns, able to sift through the massive amount of information being barraged at him. And lately, the patterns were wrong. The hive still worked. Commands moved through it like current through a wire, impulses rippling outward from the Alpha and settling into the rest of them. Most of the time the system behaved exactly the way it was supposed to. But the longer Lockjaw paid attention, the more he started noticing the gaps. Blind spots. Little holes in the signal. Sometimes someone’s presence faded for a moment before snapping back into clarity. Sometimes thoughts arrived late, like echoes bouncing through a long corridor before reaching him. And sometimes—more unsettling than anything—someone just felt different. Gravestone was the clearest example. Before the infection, Briggs had been the one who kept the team together. When tempers flared to the breaking point, he stepped in. When someone pushed too far, he pulled them back. He wasn’t usually loud about it—he didn’t need to be—but there had always been a steady gravity to him, the kind that made the others fall into line without realizing they were doing it. He had been the mediator. The closest thing the unit had to a father figure. Now that steadiness was gone. Gravestone’s presence in the network felt sharp and jagged, full of irritation and dominance where patience used to be. Instead of diffusing conflict, he seemed to enjoy it—leaning into arguments, pushing people harder than necessary, watching the friction with a kind of detached amusement. Even stranger was what wasn’t there. Every once in a while, Lockjaw could reach out and brush against fragments of old memories—homes, families, people left behind. Most of them reacted to those echoes in some way. Gravestone didn’t. Not even a flicker. No guilt about the wife he’d left behind. No worry about the son who was growing up too fast. Not even curiosity about the life he used to return to between deployments. It was like that entire part of him had simply… evaporated. And that wasn’t the only shift. Patch had always been the nervous one. Even in the old days he’d been cautious, the guy who double-checked doorways and asked the questions everyone else was too cocky to bother with. The one who hung back when things started getting reckless. Now Patch moved the opposite way—throwing himself into danger with reckless enthusiasm, diving into situations headfirst without the hesitation that had once defined him. The infection hadn’t made him braver. It had removed the brakes entirely. But truly the strangest change of all had been Stag. Bryce had always been a prick. That wasn’t even an insult—it was just the reality of working with him. He’d been sarcastic, guarded, always ready with some cutting remark that kept people at arm’s length. Opening up wasn’t part of Bryce’s vocabulary. Except now it was. The first time Stag’s thoughts had spilled into Lockjaw’s head like that, it had caught him completely off guard. Not the usual sharp comments or defensive sarcasm, but a flood of half-formed worries and angry confusion, spilling out faster than Lockjaw could even process. Questions. Doubts. Old memories. It had felt almost like a frenzy. Bryce talking about Spencer—about the breakup, about not being enough, about trying to change himself just to make someone stay. The thoughts had come so fast and raw that Lockjaw had almost pulled back from the connection entirely. Bryce had never let anyone see that side of him before. Now it leaked out constantly. Without him noticing. And the more Lockjaw watched the others, the more he started to understand what he was seeing. The infection wasn’t smoothing people out the way the Alpha thought it was. It was exaggerating them. Turning traits into extremes. The mediator into a tyrant. The cautious one into a reckless thrill seeker. The closed-off bully into someone whose emotions spilled out uncontrollably. Lockjaw leaned back against the wall of the chamber, arms folded as he watched the others move through the space. The Alpha’s presence still pulsed through the network—strong, commanding, undeniable. But the signal wasn’t clean anymore. Too many minds now. Too many personalities layered on top of each other. And with every new smiler added to the hive, the noise grew louder. Lockjaw’s eyes narrowed slightly as the realization settled into place. The Alpha wasn’t strengthening the network. He was stretching it. And the more people he added… The less control he actually had.

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34 years old. I too was seduced by porn. Loved watching men jerk off in a woman's mouth and all over her face. Gradually shifted from wanting to be him to wanting to be her. Finally went to an adult bookstore and went into a video booth. Left the door ajar and eventually a young man showed interest. Next thing I knew, I was on my knees sucking his cock. I knew as soon as he slid into my mouth I was a cocksucker. Haven't looked back. Many thousands of cocks and loads since then.

It smacks of the VD campaigns of the 1940s and ‘50s, when health professionals attached a stigma to STD transmission. During the era, women were often labelled as the reservoir and means of transmission, and it was the most socially disadvantaged groups that were targeted, including minority races. When the 1980s and the HIV AIDS epidemic occurred, we as gay men were now the corrupt vectors of disease. ‘Clean’ and ‘dirty’ take on completely different meanings, particularly among the ‘respectable’ married class.