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[think before following links] https://xhamster.com/videos/straight-virgin-boy-popping-his-cherry-12000126?utm_source=ext_shared&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=link

I don't have an issue with AI stories. The human guidance is what makes it good. But AI images and video are boring. It's basically just animation...and there's already animation. I like people and their flaws.

Definitely continue, please!

Chapter 2 The Texas night was thick and humid as they prepared to leave the house. The playful energy from the pool had been replaced by a charged, electric anticipation. Nate moved stiffly, his usual uniform of tailored slacks and a button-down shirt replaced by loose-fitting nylon shorts and a worn-out t-shirt from a long-ago charity run. It felt foreign, like a costume. Geoff, on the other hand, was in his element, his youthful body radiating a confident, almost predatory excitement. Brandon was the calm orchestrator, moving between them with a knowing ease. “Hydration is key,” he announced, handing them each a bottle of electric blue Gatorade. He then produced a small, unmarked bottle of clear liquid, adding a precise measure to each of their drinks. “And a little liquid courage never hurt anyone. Especially for your first time, big brother.” Nate took a hesitant sip, the sweet, chemical taste of the Gatorade mixing with a slightly salty, almost undetectable undertone. It was a jarring combination, much like the evening itself. He watched as Geoff and Brandon drank theirs without a second thought, their shared glance telling him this was a familiar ritual. The ride into Dallas in Brandon’s Porsche was a blur of city lights and thumping bass. Nate sat in the back, the leather seats cool against his skin, his mind racing. Midtowne Spa. The name itself sounded seedy, clandestine. He’d driven past the nondescript warehouse building a thousand times on his way to the office, never imagining what went on inside. Now, he was walking into the heart of it. At 9:30 PM, a line of men was already snaking out the door, a diverse mix of ages and builds, all sharing a similar look of intent. Brandon, however, didn’t even pause. He led them to a side entrance, rapping a specific rhythm on the metal door. It opened immediately, revealing a burly man with a thick beard. “Brandon, my man,” the man, Clark, grunted, pulling him into a rough hug. “Got it all set up for you. Sling room’s yours. Enjoy the party.” They moved through the dimly lit, labyrinthine hallways, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant, sweat, and something else… something chemically sweet and primal. The sounds were a symphony of grunts, moans, and the distant, rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh. Nate felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his gut. This was a world away from his carefully managed life of spreadsheets and stock tickers. The sling room was a small, private chamber dominated by a single, imposing piece of equipment: a black leather sling hanging from a heavy-duty chain in the center of the room. Shelves were lined with bottles of lube, poppers, and clean towels. Brandon tossed his backpack onto a bench, the sound of glass clinking together. “Alright, gentlemen,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Time to get comfortable.” He stripped off his shorts and shirt, folding them neatly before wrapping a towel around his waist. Geoff followed suit, his movements fluid and confident. Nate hesitated for a moment before following their lead, the towel feeling flimsy and inadequate. From his backpack, Brandon produced a glass pipe and a small bag of crystalline shards. Nate’s eyes widened. He’d assumed the “liquid courage” was the main event. He watched as Brandon expertly heated the bowl, the white cloud of smoke swirling and growing. He took a deep hit, then passed the pipe to Geoff, who did the same. Nate, figuring it was just some exceptionally potent pot, decided he couldn’t look like a prude. He took the pipe, mimicked their movements, and inhaled. The smoke was harsh and acrid, unlike any marijuana he’d ever encountered. It hit him instantly, a rush of euphoria that made his head spin and his heart hammer in his chest. Geoff, his eyes now glassy and dilated, grinned and hopped into the sling, settling his lean, muscular body into the leather stirrups. He looked like a beautiful offering, a sacrifice to a new god. Nate watched, mesmerized and horrified, as Brandon pulled a rubber tourniquet from the backpack and tied it around his son’s bicep. “What are you doing?” Nate breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “Relax, Dad,” Geoff said, his voice dreamy and calm. Brandon handed him a small syringe. With a practiced hand, Geoff found a vein in the crook of his arm and pushed the plunger. A small bead of blood welled up as he released the tourniquet. He threw his head back, a guttural moan escaping his lips as the chemicals coursed through his system. His body arched in the sling, his cock suddenly rock hard and straining against the towel. Nate was frozen, his mind screaming in alarm, but the drug coursing through his veins kept him anchored to the spot, a passive observer to the unimaginable. Brandon offered him the syringe. “Your turn, Nate.” He shook his head, a silent, adamant refusal. He did, however, accept the pipe when it came back around, blowing another cloud into his lungs, the world dissolving into a haze of intense, abstract pleasure. Brandon propped the door open slightly, an invitation. Then he turned his attention to the boy in the sling. He positioned himself between Geoff’s spread legs, his own formidable cock hard and ready. He entered him slowly, deliberately, a long, deep thrust that made Geoff cry out. Brandon began to move, his hips rolling in a powerful, hypnotic rhythm as he slowly drilled into his nephew. Nate stood by the wall, his own forgotten towel tented, his mouth agog. He watched his identical twin’s powerful back flex and tense with each thrust. He watched his son’s face, a mask of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. The sight of Brandon’s thick cock disappearing into Geoff’s willing body, the sounds of their shared pleasure, the raw, uninhibited masculinity of it all… it was the most shocking, most transgressive, and without a doubt, the sexiest thing Nate had ever seen in his entire life. The buttoned-up hedge fund manager felt a wall inside himself crumble into dust. The night, he knew, was just getting started.

"People infected with HIV must take antiretroviral drugs for life. But engineered antibodies appeared to suppress the virus for certain participants in recent trials in Africa and Europe" "In one of the trials—the FRESH trial, led by virologist Thumbi Ndung’u of the University of KwaZulu-Natal and the Africa Health Research Institute in South Africa—4 of 20 participants maintained undetectable levels of HIV for a median of 1.5 years without taking antiretrovirals. In the other, the RIO trial set in the United Kingdom and Denmark and led by Sarah Fidler, a clinical doctor and HIV research expert at Imperial College London, 6 of 34 HIV-positive participants have maintained viral control for at least two years." [think before following links] https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/new-trials-hint-that-functional-cure-for-hiv-may-be-within-reach-helping-some-patients-achieve-lasting-remission-180987767/

easily in the 100s, and that's not counting repeat fuckbuds, which in my 20s I had a lot. One of my fuckbuds when I lived in Queens back in the early 2000s was telling me after we rawdogged it at my apartment one night that he'd been to a sex party in Astoria a few nights before. Apparently I was the topic of conversation as I'd fucked or been bred by multiple attendees (and I wasn't even there!)

Amazing story! I'd love to get used like in a bar.

Look at this beautiful hole, who wouldn’t cum inside there?

I gave my last load it’s been a few months now, but it was sooo hot, I have a buddy that I fist and fuck, well I didn’t know if he wanted cum in his ass or not, so we had been playing for a few years and to be honest his hole was soo insatiable that I came inside of him and didn’t say a word and then I went on to fist home more. Finally I told him that I can inside of him without telling him, now I fist and fuck him and usually try to hold off and cum deep in his guts. He has a nice brown ass.

Had a fuckbud who used to love me to come over late night. We'd strip to our briefs take a swim in the pool - we'd suck and rim there, strip our briefs off get in the jacuzzi and breed each other. It was so hot.

That’s amazing, thanks a lot! I’ll definitely check Basement Studios out

Chapter1 - The Dallas heat was a physical presence, pressing down on the manicured lawns of the Preston Hollow neighborhood. Inside the sprawling, glass-walled house that served as his home, Geoff felt a familiar, restless energy. It had been a month since graduation, a month since the state championship trophy was placed on the mantle, and the accolades already felt like relics from someone else’s life. At eighteen, he was a king without a kingdom, his body a coiled spring of muscle and ambition with nowhere to direct it. He found his father and uncle by the pool, two mirror images of masculine perfection. Nate, his father, was on a lounge chair, scrolling through his phone, the sharp lines of his suit from a morning meeting replaced by the relaxed ease of designer swim trunks. Brandon, his uncle, was in the water, executing a flawless, powerful butterfly stroke that cut the turquoise surface like a knife. They were identical twins, both forty-one, both devastatingly handsome with the same dark hair, square jaws, and powerful builds honed by their respective professions. Nate’s power was financial, a quiet, commanding authority; Brandon’s was physical, a vibrant, kinetic energy that had always drawn Geoff in. “Get in here, you lazy punk!” Brandon called, shaking water from his hair like a dog. “Your old man’s going to turn into a fossil over there.” Nate didn’t look up from his phone. “I’m managing our portfolio, not turning into a fossil. There’s a difference. It involves making money, something you two should consider.” Geoff laughed and dove in, the cool water a shock against his sun-warmed skin. The three of them fell into their familiar rhythm of roughhousing. It was a language they spoke fluently, a mix of wrestling holds, dunking contests, and verbal jabs. Geoff, the state champion, was a formidable opponent, but the combined strength and experience of the two men was overwhelming. They were a tangle of muscle and laughter, the water churning around them. Brandon would grab Geoff in a playful headlock, and Nate would join in to tickle his ribs until he gasped for air, surrendering with a splash. It was horseplay, but it was also intimacy, a way of touching and reaffirming their bond that was as natural as breathing. After nearly an hour, they collapsed onto the plush, sun-drenched lounge chairs, chests heaving. Nate, ever the provider, produced a bottle of expensive, coconut-scented tanning oil. “Alright, you animals. On your stomachs. You don’t want to burn.” Geoff and Brandon complied, lying side by side, their faces turned toward each other on the padded arms of the chairs. Nate knelt between them, pouring the cool oil into his palms. He started with Brandon, his strong hands working the oil into the broad expanse of his brother’s back, his movements practiced and efficient. Then he moved to Geoff. His touch was gentler on his son, a paternal caress that still carried the memory of rubbing sunscreen on a small boy at the beach. He worked his way down Geoff’s back, over the sculpted ridges of his wrestler’s lats, toward the small of his back. As his thumbs swept just above the waistband of Geoff’s black Speedo, they froze. Nate’s hands hovered for a second, then he leaned in closer, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What the hell is this?” he asked, his voice low. Geoff twisted his head to look back, a smirk playing on his lips. Brandon, propped on his elbows, watched his brother with an unreadable expression. Nate’s gaze was fixed on Geoff’s lower back, just inches above the stark white tan line. There, inked into the skin, was the unmistakable, stark symbol: a black and yellow biohazard trefoil. Without thinking, Nate’s eyes flicked to his brother, who was still lying on his stomach. He reached over and hooked a thumb into the waistband of Brandon’s Speedo, pulling it down just an inch. There it was. An identical mark. A perfect match. He sat back on his heels, the playful atmosphere evaporating, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension. The air felt thick. “Brandon?” Nate’s voice was tight, a mix of confusion and alarm. “Geoff? What is this? What is going on?” Brandon finally rolled over, sitting up. He looked at Nate, his expression calm, almost serene. He reached out and rested a hand on Geoff’s still-oiled back. “It’s a symbol, Nate. It’s about a choice. A community.” “What kind of community uses a symbol for toxic waste?” Nate shot back, his voice rising. He looked from his brother to his son, his face a mask of paternal concern. “Geoff, you’re eighteen. This is… this is permanent. What kind of influence is this?” He glared at Brandon, the accusation clear. Brandon stood up, his powerful body glistening in the sun. He looked down at his twin, his brother, his roommate. There was no anger in his eyes, only a profound certainty. “Stop worrying, Nate. It’s not what you think.” He paused, letting the weight of his next words land. “You want to know what it means? You want to understand?” He gestured towards the house with a nod of his head. “Then you need to come with us tonight. The Midtowne Spa. Everything will be revealed there.”

I’m starting one here. Please delete if it’s not allowed. jim

I started late at 46 but quit counting after 1000. I just kept going… lol

Looking forward to hearing more

even better when it is out loud

I enjoy reading these forums, even though I generally refrain from participating here. I didn't read the political discussion here for a long time, and still for the most part keep my sex and politics separate. I will say however I have used points made here on the political forums I am active on.

I prefer joining in rather than just watching. I occasionally have hookups get pissed off at me for inviting our audience to join in, especially in the PNW where unfortunately I rarely get an audience even in a bathhouse.

I am a sex addicted faggot just moved to LA. Looking for dom tops that want to whore my pussy out regularly. I can pay for a motel but prefer if you can host with easy access. Can be a masc jock or a feminized sissy whatever you prefer. HMU!

Ummm please - unleash the full potential of what you started ...

Hot, do the bottoms bleed from such a wrecking? Or think they have had enough?