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I love a good cocksucker who can work a glory hole like a McDonalds drive-thru.

Blow Buddies NYC Monday and Thursday afterwork | Midtown Riverside Park

Right here. Neg and drug free (other than 420). But hoping both are only temporary statuses.

I'm neg, on prep, never took a drug on my life. Barely drink. Only take raw loads. One on one, saunas, adult theatres.

On a filthy men’s room floor, preferably cold damp concrete. Head down under the urinals, face and tongue pressed to the floor. Ass up and open for all to use.

A short one for today. Inspiration this time came in part from HungPig - search for “Breeding ass in the woods” on XVideos. I knew I had found the right spot when I saw a few guys hanging around, furtively looking at one another while notionally checking their phones. A few of them glanced up at me as I approached, and then as I looked around I saw the logs that the guy had told me about. A jet thundered overhead, mere seconds from touchdown at Heathrow, whilst the M25 provided a constant background din that I realised must be helpful for keeping the activities here undetected. Looking around some more to make sure everyone was legit, I realised I could make out Terminal 5 through the trees. I felt a flutter of excitement in my stomach at what was about to happen, so close to a place where I was regularly suited, booted, sipping a glass of champagne in the lounge, and waiting to board a plane to wherever the job was taking me next. But today I was in trainers, jogging bottoms, a hoodie and my glasses. There was no champagne, and no plane to board, but I was certainly hoping to set off on a journey. After months of disappointment, either being flaked out on by tops all around the world, or the few positive encounters I did have resulting in nothing, I was determined that this time I would get what I was seeking. My contact assured me he would turn up, but even if he did not he had said I would have no problem getting what I wanted. This spot was an unspoken place for gifted men to assemble, and any fresh meat that arrived here always got a lot of attention. I was that fresh meat today, and I just prayed I had not been led on again with false promises. I lit a cigarette to calm my nerves, looking around a bit until I made eye contact twice in quick succession with one of the men already loitering. He was in jeans, a white vest, a leather cap and sported a big moustache, looking like a gay stereotype straight out of the early 80s, but it totally worked for me. He held my gaze the third time our eyes met, and then subtly nodded towards the log. I inhaled the last of my cigarette and then chucked it in my empty Coke can, before walking over to the pile of stumps. The vested man approached me, stopping when he was right next to me and placing his hand gently on one of my buttocks. “You bottom?” he said. I just nodded in response, before turning round to face the logs. I pulled down my jogging bottoms, my skin exposed given I was only wearing a thin white jock underneath. My hole was already loosened and lubed thanks to the plug I had worn on the drive over from Richmond, and the man realised this as he slid a finger in. This was quickly removed, and after the sounds of him undoing his belt and jeans, his cock was pressed against my hole and began its journey inside. “You poz boy?” he asked, once buried inside. “No sir” I replied. “On prep?” “No sir” I repeated. “Chasing?” “Yes sir” I said. At that point another jet roared overhead, temporarily making it impossible to hear anything else. “Then let’s give you what you came for” he loudly growled, once the plane had passed. He then started to thrust. In normal life I am vers, possibly even more vers-top these days, and would never normally be into getting gangbanged. But on that day, surrounded by those bushes, jets roaring overhead on their way into Heathrow, and my nose being bombarded with competing aromas of aviation fuel, poppers, lube and cum, I took them all. I never changed position, never straightened up, and never asked for a break. I smoked the occasional cigarette, took a few sips of water from the small bottle in my hoodie front pocket, and regularly inhaled from any bottle of poppers I was offered, but I was there to finally get it done and I was not for wavering. A few of the men were verbal about their status, and I encouraged all of them to breed me and pass on their gift. Maybe some of the others were also poz, maybe they weren’t, but I was not going to be picky while I was on my mission. I don’t even know if my contact ever did show up, but I didn’t care. Every load that went into me could be helping me towards my target, whether the man at its source knew it or not, and I wanted as many possible exposures as I could get. This needed to finally happen for me so that I could get on with being the man I already felt I was, and that meant being an unashamed, unfiltered, unconcerned cumdump for a day. Any extra riders that I picked up would be dealt with as needed, all in the name of the goal I had been striving to reach for so long. The men were tall, short, old, young, fat, thin, white, black, and everything else you could imagine. Some stuck around and used me more than once, others seemed to appear out of nowhere and then disappear without a trace. I just stayed where I was, doing what I had gone all that way to do. I went home dripping, sore, tired, but excited. Over the next few days I tried in vain to find some other suitable candidates to add to what I had taken, but as usual all I encountered was a sea of flakes and undetectables. But I need not have worried, as five days after my day under the flightpath, I began to feel decidedly unwell. The first glass of champagne in the lounge is now always subtly raised in the rough direction of that spot, a small but personal sign of thanks from me to the men who so graciously shared. I then raise the glass again a second time, thinking of the many men who have since received a gift from me, particularly any that have been added to my list since I last visited the airport. I then sit and drink the rest of that first glass in satisfied peace, gently rubbing my stomach through the fabric of the dark shirts I now wear, almost able to feel the outline of the special symbol inked into my skin and the virus coursing through my veins. Only once this ritual is over do I get out the laptop and begin to work, saving for the plane any further thoughts about the ongoing mission. But whether it be Bangkok, Boston, Buenos Aires or Brisbane, there’s a world of men out there looking for what I’ve got, and they’re all just the roar of a jet away…

Sorry if this is a necropost, but I found this vis a search. Anyways, I just had the pleasure of sucking off of a straight guy in from out of town and when he pulled back his foreskin, he had a good bit of head cheese. He had warned me he hadn't showered before he came over, but I still wasn't expecting quite what he had. But fuck he was a foul-mouthed straight dude that demanded I suck and swallow him, si I gladly did it. And I'd gladly do it again for him. 😋🤤

I think not seeing who is inloading in me requires a certain trust and puts me out of my comfort zone. But there is something to be said for looking at a guy whose face says, "I love breeding sluts"; or "what a fine and filthy piece of ass"; or intense eye contact while I feel the intensity of the spasms my hole ." Then I fantasize about the volume of squirts. Is it milky or creamy? Wonder how it tastes

Will be a Mare at Mount held at Parlimament House July 25/26th will have a rm ass up door open in between come mount me !

I would much prefer cruising or anything other than a glory hole. I mean, like, I have done glory holes when asked to like at a party or in a dark room. But, really, I like seeing my man and having interaction and ear holding and face/throat fucking. A glory hole is just so slutty though, just a whore hole, which I can see that appeal.

I’m 14, 6, 2, and 7!

In my sons school…

A, but all your stories are hot!

I remember too. Playing with my dick when all of a sudden this white thick fluid started shooting out. I was a naive 13 year old who had no idea about semen. Got my T shirt soaked and I'll never forget the scent. I was mortified and thought I'd never do it again but a few hours later I was cumming again

I love giving my ass to way older men, 65, 75 ,85. I love old daddies and grandpa's breeding me. That's all I look for now.

My hole:

Young Indian men are such a turn on as they are generally very hairy. I love the contrast between the boyish face and body and the hairy chest, pubes and ass. Growing up I had no exposure to Indian men, but once I was at university I saw many and fucked many.

at a bar, gym shower, park....or a coffee shop....

I remember it so well as I thought it was such a big deal. The summer between 7th and 8th grade, 11 years old. I wasn't sexually aware but it was the first body change I ever experienced. Along with pubic hair, my genitals started to grow and my voice began to deepen. . it wasn't until 1-1/2 years later that I had an orgasm and ejaculated.

Fuck! Can't wait for the next chapter.

It sounds hot, however, I can’t see the connection between the bar dingy and all guests being over 50.

Hello beautiful, I’m not going to lie to you, buddy—my days are getting packed and it’s still pretty hard to balance everything. Let’s break it down. To work 8 hours a day and try to get that elusive 8 hours of sleep, I pretty much only have 5 hours of free time left, accounting for things like commute, traffic, eating, showering, etc. These 5 hours are spread like this: 1. Gym 2. Journaling 3. Piano practice 4. Singing practice 5. Walking The list above is also the order I’d rank them in, from most to least important, and walking feels so much like a luxury these days. It’s important because it’s self-care—I walk to untangle the thoughts in my mind, and it’s very calming too. But so is writing to you every night. That’s what my Monday to Friday looks like. Weekends are a bit more flexible; these days, I usually just spend that time practicing piano or singing—and, of course, our favorite thing in the world, which is napping, hehe. Johnny has also been sending us more messages lately, which is weird because he doesn’t usually do that. We scheduled a phone call recently that he flaked on, so I think this is his way of smoothing out the friendship, which I’m not sure how I feel about. I noticed that I’ve been replying to him about once a day out of politeness. The text is still warm, though, but the energy isn’t there. And then that made me think about how Phil has been texting me lately—once a day—and it suddenly made me realize that he might have been doing it out of politeness too. Sometimes, he might just pop in to say hi, but that’s pretty much it. There’s definitely nothing more beyond that, I don’t think. And it wasn’t until I was in his shoes that I realized what’s actually happening. So, what am I going to do? Nothing much, really. Just meet him with warmth and kindness when I see him, but not pour too much of myself into the relationship if it isn’t mutual. Relationships between friends are dynamic, and I can’t force a bond to happen if it doesn’t want to. One day, I’ll meet someone amazing, and things are going to feel easy with the connection. That’s when I’ll know I should pour more of myself in. But I haven’t met that person yet. One last thing. Mum was singing today and I’ve been longing to do two things: listen to her sing, and give her a hug. I did both of those things today. I grabbed my gym bag and stopped myself when she was singing karaoke, just to sit there and listen to her sing. I didn’t look at my phone or anything. One day, she won’t be here anymore, and I’ll miss her singing more than anything—I just know it. So I sat there and absorbed the moment. Afterwards, she asked if I wanted to sing and I said no, and she was surprised because she thought the only reason I stayed was to sing afterwards. She was happy that I witnessed her performance, and we hugged. We should hug our mum more often, buddy. Love you always. Chat soon xx

This is the fuck fest I neeeeeed to be in!