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I've been going to Palm springs arenas for a bit now, and was curious to which bar is the best for finding group pay. I've been to tool shed, dicks arenas, quadz, and street bar. Still having no luck finding people who are open for fun. Any recommendations?

I prefer to keep it in me long as possible, I always stay hard while it's in me and I love that. Really gets me going again.

I tend to drive in deeper, holding the bottoms side. I then pause to ensure all my cum is delivered deep. I then demand that the bottom Milks my cock with his arse so squeezing every last drop out. I pull out slowly and watch my cum dribble out. Then it’s time to ram my cock into the now warm, lubed hole for round 2.

I fucking love stripping off my clothes until I am only wearing my athletic socks and sneakers in a booth. I am fully exposed, spreading my cheeks with my hands, and then backing myself up to the glory hole. I love keeping my hands in place, with my fingers between my ass cheeks and the wall, emphasizing the need to spread my cheeks as wide as possible to give any cock coming through the glory hole full and easy access to my fucking cunt. One regular spot is hot because if guys glance down under the short door to my booth, they will easily see my ass against the wall just waiting for an anonymous cock to enter the booth next to mine and dive in. In contrast, the other place has booths with doorways off to the side of the main hallway for some discretion, but there are no doors on the booths. It is fucking hot to have my ass against the glory hole when I guy walks up to my open doorway to my booth. He knows someone is in my booth because the round red light is lit above the doorway, confirming someone has paid money to watch videos. That does not stop the guy from curiously looking in the booth, however. It is a fucking rush to have a guy stand in the doorway to my booth, making direct eye contact with me and staring, while my ass is against the open hole, either waiting for cock to enter me or while a cock is fucking me as he watches. I stare at him, sending the unspoken message that I am a fucking slut, readily willing to take a fucking stranger's cock up my ass through a hole in the fucking wall. I don't give a shit who that cock belongs to because the most important thing is for me to have cock and its cum up my hole. I don't care that this fucking stranger is watching me in the moment because a cock and cum up my hole is my only priority. The look in the strangers's eyes staring back at me while I am in full-on slut mode, with my fuck hole against the glory hole, can vary. Sometimes it's a look of lust that says "I need me some of that" as he steps away from the doorway and I am left wondering if the cock that pushes inside my hole a moment later is the guy from the doorway or another cock that coincidentally makes contact with my hole. Then there are the looks of distain or judgement, where the guy sees me for the true slut that I am with no pretense, and has no interest in using my community hole because he is horny but not willing to stoop to my level of depravity because he has standards. He's going to leave my hole for the cocks that randomly push into an anonymous fuck hole pressed against a glory hole wall, willing to use any fucking hole to dump their loads inside.

Love to of had that cock dumping loads in my hole

I chose my current one (two years) because I'm mainly a top, I like my foreskin, so I have it at halfmast. I'm into cock rings and jock straps, plus pigs like my hairy belly - so there a glimpse of my belly and crab ladder. I also like to walk around sex clubs like this - before the real activity starts.

Why have you chosen the one you have? Do you change it often?

Fuck … hot story …. I hope it is only the first chapter of many

With your eyes closed, how do you know the color of the cock?

Considering the 24 election, our system has determined the election won by Trump. And at least in the local election (where I am a poll worker); it appears unlikely the Dominion voting machine we use to tally paper ballots was in sync for valid ballots in and counted; I didn't sort them by Donnie, Kamala and other myself. So I can't attest to the accuracy. I'm sure many of us have some awareness of at least exploration by some on whether Elon and his networks enabled a loophole. To me that sounds sort of flat earther. Then too; the actions of ICE and HHS are deeply concerning. And the disconnect has me at least glad that someone is exploring the "did Elon somehow influence how votes were counted". Resistance to Donnie and his cult antics seems to be rising; and so, time will tell right?

Phil, sounds like great personal progress. Your dad's advice resonates with me; perhaps because I am more in line with your dad's age than yours. We humans are great at fretting things we have little control over. And sometimes we go overboard on the less urgent interests and fail to take care of the basics. Here in the US I know we elected a clown as POTUS. But I can't spend every day protesting. I won't the the other self care stuff done; which includes things I do which cares for my community and neighbors. All of us lives somewhere. The geography around us is our community. To the degree we participate in making our employer successful should lead to our own success. And when it doesn't then clearly we have the wrong employer for us. But the idea applies to the rest. Neighborhoods form mostly because different talents come together and create a more comfortable place for all. At least those are to me the elements of wherever we live. We keep our house up because we like a kept up house. And we have the time to make that so. Not everyone else does. When we have spare time, do we use some of that to help someone else? When we think "life is hard", sometimes it is helpful to reflect on those "if not for this or that, life would be worse".

The London housing market being what it is, I had purchased a slightly strange modern townhouse that had been wedged into part of another property’s land. I had seen some flats in converted Victorian and Edwardian houses that had been nice enough, but this place afforded me the opportunity to have an actual house (of sorts), which was completely detached and therefore I would not have to worry about noise from above, below or through the walls. It was sort of down the side of an end-of-terrace house on a side street off a main road, and most of the rooms looked out over the small garden that had been carved out from the fairly large one belonging to the older house. However, next to me on one side was a large concrete sort-of-car park behind the shops of the main road, which was strangely empty most of the time. Attractive it was not, but downstairs only the bathroom (with high frosted windows) and the cupboard-lined wall of the galley kitchen faced in that direction. Upstairs was a different story, as that side of the house featured the ‘second bedroom’. This was actually a long and thin box room that would only ever be able to accommodate a particularly narrow single bed or a cot, and I had decided early on just to forego any attempts at making it suitable for a guest in favour of buying a good sofa bed for the living room downstairs. I instead used the box room as a well-appointed home office, with some storage built in for other stuff that did not fit elsewhere. Despite the unattractive vista, the room had bizarrely been built with floor to ceiling windows, as well as a ‘Juliet’ balcony with a sliding door. Being a freelancer, I worked from home most of the time, so I was in that room for a good chunk of the day. There wasn’t much to distract me outside, except for around 45 minutes in the late morning of every day. At that time, a bin lorry would pull in and park up close to my house. This was clearly break time, as the crew would usually all head off somewhere together (I suspected the greasy spoon cafe on the main road). I would notice the truck pull in most days, or at least see that it was now sitting out there, but really never thought anything more of it. That ended, however, on a sunny summer day when I just happened to notice that one member of the crew did not follow the rest of them off to wherever they went, and instead sat down on the step of the open truck door. He caught my attention because I am an absolute sucker for nice arms, and he had taken the opportunity to remove his gloves and then roll up his T-shirt sleeves to catch some rays on his impressive biceps. He looked to be in his early twenties, which only added to the appeal. My gaze lingered as he lit up a cigarette and just sat there smoking it, before stubbing it out and then reaching behind him for a paper bag that evidently contained a sandwich and a drink. He mostly just seemed to be staring at the ground through all this, but then suddenly he looked up at me. I looked away towards my screen, but could not help but glance back a moment later and found that he was still staring at me. Like an idiot I instinctively gave a little wave, but he didn’t react and just kept looking at me. I turned back to my screen, but could feel myself getting hot and flustered. I tried to focus, but when I made out like I was just turning round to get something, I allowed myself a quick glance to confirm he was still looking up at me. This was too much, and so I got up and left the room, going downstairs to drink a glass of water and wait it out until the truck had left. The next day they were of course back, and once again the hunky young man stayed with the lorry for his break. This time he removed his hi-viz vest and T-shirt entirely, placing them on the steps so he could lean back more comfortably in the sun, his legs splayed wide as he lit up a cigarette. I couldn’t take my eyes away, until he of course looked up at me. I managed to hold my ground a bit longer this time, but there was something so overwhelming about this guy at least ten years my junior staring at me like a panicking gay in a fishbowl. I had to retreat again, cursing myself for being so flappable. This carried on for the rest of the week, though I managed to stay in my office longer each time, and actually make eye contact with him a few more times without melting. Still, it was a relief when the weekend came, as while a bin lorry still showed up there on both days, it was a different crew and all of them went off together as had previously been the norm. The next week, however, the stud was back and resuming whatever it was he was doing with me. I started praying for the weather to turn so that he might give me a break from the daily torture. On the Thursday I finally got my wish, with cloudy skies and a bit of a breeze, and sure enough he didn’t taunt me with a flagrant display of his incredible body. Indeed, I saw him stick around as the other guys walked off, but when I looked back up again a couple of minutes later, he was also gone and I assumed he’d just gone off to the shops or something. Then my doorbell rang, so I headed downstairs assuming it was the Amazon delivery I was expecting. When I opened the door, however, I came face to face with the hunky binman. “Alright” he said. “Oh, er, hi” I stuttered. “I forgot a drink” he said, holding out an empty water bottle. “Can I fill up here?” “Er, yeah, sure” I said, taking it off him and turning round to go and quickly sort it in the kitchen. Despite the boots he was wearing I did not hear him following me through the hallway, so I was a bit startled when I turned to the sink and saw him standing in the kitchen doorway out of the side of my eye. I quickly filled the bottle and then went over to hand it to him. “Thanks mate” he said. “Er, no problem” I said, still flustered. “See you every day” he said. “We do the same main roads all week, and them estates that need a daily.” “Oh, right” I said. “Nice place you got” he continued. “Thanks” I replied. “You can blow me if you want” he said. “What?!” I squeaked. “Seen you gawping at me” he replied, grinning. “Figured you wanted to suck my cock.” “I, er, wh…” I stuttered. “You wanna?” he asked, moving his free hand to clutch his groin through his uniform. I just stood there, frozen on the spot, but then found myself looking down at his hand as he squeezed his crotch. Despite my brain screaming at me, I instinctively grazed my lips with my tongue, causing him to laugh out loud. “Knew it!” he said. “But be quick, I ain’t got long.” My brain shut off at this point and something else took over, as I lowered myself down to my knees while he undid his button and zip. I leaned forward and gripped the hem of his boxers, pulling them down with his shorts as his erect cock sprang up, leaning slightly to his left. A musky, sweaty, manly smell emanated from him, and I hungrily dived forward and took his cock into my mouth. I sucked on it quite gingerly for a minute, and then began to swallow it down, using all the tricks I knew to control my gag reflex. There was an urgency to the way I serviced him, and his moans and groans spurred me on. In no time at all he gripped my head and began to thrust a little while I continued bobbing back and forth, and then he yelled as he slammed me onto his cock a final time and unloaded down my throat. When he released his grip I pulled back, settling my arse back on my heels as I reached up to wipe the sweat off my face. He quickly pulled up his trunks and shorts, did up the button, and then turned around. “Thanks mate” he said, walking down my hallway, “that was awesome.” Then he was gone, with me still kneel-sitting on the hard kitchen floor getting my breath back. I had been thoroughly used, taken advantage of, and yet I fucking loved it. —————— The next day my heart raced when I heard the truck pull up outside. I gave it a couple of minutes before looking out, by which time I could see the crew just leaving the car park whilst the hunky stud was leaning against the door smoking. He was looking up at me, and when our eyes met he smiled and winked. This time I held his gaze and smiled back, at which point he nodded, put the cigarette between his lips, got the keys out of his pocket and then locked the truck’s door. He set off along the side of my house towards an opening in the fence, and I realised I was in for another workout. I hurried downstairs and opened my front door a little, stepping back into the hallway to wait. Sure enough the door opened and he came inside, closing it behind him. He turned towards me, gave me a big grin and a wink, and then leant back against the front door and undid his shorts. I rushed forward onto my knees, and soon enough the events of the day before were being repeated. I swallowed him completely, and then as I moved myself back and forth he put one of his hands on my head and just allowed me to lead things while his fingers tousled my hair a little. Only when he got close did his grip become tighter, taking over the speed until he pulled me completely onto him and held me in place as he unloaded down my throat. Then, as with before, he got himself done up while I sat against my heels getting my breath back. He was gone in moments, but not before another big grin and a wink. The following week he was at my door on schedule all five days, having me blow him in my hallway. I had set up fake appointments in my diary so there would be no issue with being away from my desk late morning, and I had even thought to put one of the sofa cushions at the bottom of the stairs so I would be more comfortable kneeling than I was directly against the laminated floor. I was being completely used, and yet I did not have a complaint to make about it. “Doing weekend overtime tomorrow” he said, as he zipped up his shorts on the Friday post-orgasm. “Different round though, so won’t be here for break.” “OK” I said. “Next week I guess then.” “Nah” he said. “I wanna fuck that arse of yours, so was thinking I’d come round after my shift.” “Oh” I said, getting up from the floor, as flustered as when he had first turned up here. “Will be about three” he said. “You get fucked, right?” I just slowly nodded. “Cool” he said. “Be ready then.” With that, he was gone. —————— In preparation for the upping of the ante, I was douched, showered, wearing a jockstrap under my shorts, and had a buttplug inserted after loosening myself up with a dildo. I doubted there would be anything close to foreplay, so I wanted to make sure I could enjoy the quick and complete entry he was likely to make into me. When he turned up, he had definitely worked a full shift as his musky, sweaty scent was particularly potent, which had much the same effect on me as a big huff of poppers would have done. “Fucking horny mate” he said, after closing the front door. “Need to fuck a load into you.” I led him through to the living area at the back, where I had already put a towel down on the sofa. I stripped down to just my jock, pulled out the buttplug and threw it down on the floor, and then climbed onto the sofa on my knees so I was leaning against the back of it with my head against the wall. He had also stripped down so he was just in his stinky T-shirt, and he immediately positioned himself behind me and pushed his cock against my hole. I was about to ask for a condom when he pushed in and the whole length snaked into my rectum, taking my breath away. As soon as he was in, he began to fuck me with a firm and steady rhythm, the dirtiness of it making my head swim as his girthy cock rubbed my prostate and sent me to heaven. I could not help but moan in appreciation as he pistoned in and out, until he was slamming into me relentlessly. Then he thrust one final time, held his hips against my arse, and flooded me with his load. He held in place until he had fully come down from the orgasm, and then slid out of me and stepped back. I whirled around and slid off the sofa onto my knees, leaning forward to gently clean off his cock so I got every last drop of the load. Then I turned and reached for the paper towels I had put on the sofa, using them to wipe what was dripping out of me as well as what was already on the floor under me. He had put his shorts back on, albeit his boxers were still on the floor. I got to my feet and went over to the sink, chucking the towels in the bin under it before giving my hands a quick wash. I then got a couple of glasses out from the cupboard above and filled them up with cold water, handing one to him while I drank the other. “I need a cigarette” he said, starting to walk towards the back door. I hurriedly pulled on my own shorts, but remained topless as I grabbed a saucer from a cupboard and followed him out to provide him with the makeshift ashtray. “Want one?” he asked, pointing the packet at me. I had quit five years before and yet still took one, popped it in my mouth and then allowed him to light it. “Nice place” he said. “Private.” “That’s how I like it” I said, my head swimming from my first inhale. “Cool” he said, grinning. We engaged in the beginnings of a conversation for a couple of minutes while we smoked, but we were soon done and he started to go back inside. “Your shower upstairs?” he asked. “Need to clean up before I fuck you in your bed.” His brazenness quietly astounded me, but I was putty in his hands. I nodded, and he started heading down the hallway towards the stairs. I followed him, but stopped by the cupboard under the staircase to grab a clean towel for him. I hurried upstairs after him, glad I had thought to put anything valuable in a box in the tiny loft space before he got here. He had got as far as my bedroom, and as I chucked the towel down on the bed next to him, he peeled off his T-shirt and pulled down his shorts. My breath caught in my throat, as for the first time ever I saw his naked buttocks. I knew it was the first time ever, because it was the only place he had tattoos and I had definitely never seen them before. A huge biohazard on one, and a big chunky plus sign on the other…