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The chlorine in the Northwood Community Pool was a scent Leo had come to associate with heaven. It was the smell of his new beginning. At nineteen, he was a latecomer to competitive swimming, all lean limbs and nervous energy, but he had a natural, effortless grace in the water that turned heads. He’d been scouted by Coach Marcus, a man whose presence filled the humid air of the natatorium, a man with a voice like smooth stones rubbing together and an unnervingly intense gaze. The team, the Northwood Tritons, welcomed him with an easy camaraderie that Leo had never experienced. They were a tight-knit group, a brotherhood forged in shared exhaustion and the silent, blue world of the pool. There was Rafael, the team captain, whose powerful strokes cut through the water like a knife; Liam, the sprinter, all explosive energy and quick laughter; and Sam, the quiet one, whose endurance was legendary. They shared everything: gels, towels, water bottles, and a particular set of small, daily pills they all took with a synchronicity that Leo found curious. "They're just vitamins," Rafael had said with a dismissive wave when Leo finally asked. "For energy. Keeps us healthy. You'll get yours soon enough." Leo accepted this. He was the new guy, the innocent. He wanted to belong, to be part of this elite, beautiful family. He idolized Coach Marcus, who saw a raw potential in him that no one else had. The coach’s private sessions were grueling but transformative. Marcus would stand on the deck, his eyes tracing Leo’s every movement, his voice a constant, low murmur of instruction. "You're holding back, Leo. You need to let go completely. Trust me. Trust the process." The first crack in the idyllic facade appeared during a late-night training session. Leo had forgotten his towel and went to the coach's office to borrow one. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, he saw Marcus and Rafael, their voices low and serious. He heard the words he wasn't supposed to hear. "His numbers are perfect," Marcus was saying. "He's ready. The initiation needs to happen soon." "What if he says no?" Rafael asked, a rare note of concern in his voice. "He won't," Marcus said, his voice full of absolute certainty. "He wants this as much as we do. He wants to be one of us. He just doesn't know what 'one of us' means yet." Leo backed away, his heart hammering against his ribs. Initiation? Vitamins? The pieces began to click into place with a horrifying, sickening certainty. He went home and, with trembling fingers, searched online for the names on the pill bottles he'd glimpsed in their bags. The results were a punch to the gut: antiretroviral therapy. For HIV. He spent the next day in a daze, watching his teammates through a new lens. They weren't just healthy, strong athletes; they were living with a virus, managing it daily. And they were happy. They were thriving. The camaraderie wasn't just friendship; it was a shared secret, a shared existence. They weren't dying from it; they were living with it, and it seemed to bind them together even more tightly. That evening, Coach Marcus asked him to stay after practice. The pool was empty, the water still and reflecting the dim lights. They sat on the bleachers, the chlorine scent thick between them. "You know, don't you?" Marcus said, not as a question, but as a statement. Leo could only nod, his throat too tight to speak. "It's not what you think," Marcus continued, his voice gentle. "We don't see it as a curse. We see it as a gift. It’s a filter. It weeds out the weak, the uncommitted. To be a Triton, you have to be willing to sacrifice everything for the team, for this life. You have to be willing to carry the same burden, the same fire, that we all carry. It makes us stronger. It makes us family." He looked at Leo, his gaze unwavering. "We are all positive, Leo. Rafael, Liam, Sam... me. And we want you to join us. Completely." The world tilted on its axis. Every instinct, every bit of societal programming screamed at him to run, to get away, to call the police. This was madness. This was a death sentence. But as he looked into the coach's eyes, he didn't see malice. He saw a profound, twisted sense of love and belonging. He thought of the laughter in the locker room, the shared victories, the feeling of being part of something monumental. He was tired of being on the outside, tired of being the innocent one who didn't understand the secret jokes and the private rituals. He wanted in. He wanted to be one of them, no matter the cost. The fear was still there, a cold knot in his stomach, but beneath it was a terrifying, exhilarating wave of desire. To be accepted. To be transformed. To truly belong. "What do I have to do?" Leo whispered, the words barely audible. Coach Marcus smiled, a slow, knowing smile. "Trust me. Let go." They went to the coach's private apartment above the community center. It was spartan, clean. Marcus told him to undress and wait. Leo did, his body trembling with a mixture of terror and anticipation. When Marcus returned, he was naked too, his body solid and powerful. There was no aggression in his movements, only a sense of purpose, of ceremony. He guided Leo to the bed, positioning him on his hands and knees. Leo felt utterly exposed, vulnerable. He was offering himself, his innocence, his very future. He was offering his rectum freely, as a vessel for this new, terrifying life. "This is the bond," Marcus murmured, his hands warm on Leo's hips. "This is how you become one of us." There was a sharp, intimate pain as Marcus entered him, a sensation of being breached, claimed. It was overwhelming, a violation and a consecration all at once. Leo buried his face in the pillow, tears streaming down his face, but he didn't pull away. He pushed back, accepting the intrusion, accepting the virus that was being passed into his body, sealing his place in the brotherhood. It was an act of total surrender, the price of admission. In the weeks that followed, Leo was initiated into the full reality of being a Triton. He was given his own bottle of pills. The first time he took them, his hands shook, but he looked around at his teammates, who all watched him with knowing, welcoming smiles. He was no longer an outsider. He was part of the secret. His swimming transformed. The hesitation was gone. He moved through the water with a new, fierce power, a sense of purpose that burned away all his doubt. He was no longer just Leo, the kid with potential. He was a Triton. He was one of them. They all lived happily ever after. They trained together, competed together, and managed their shared condition together. The virus was the dark, glittering thread that ran through the tapestry of their lives, a constant reminder of the sacrifice and the bond that made them more than just a team. They were a family, bound by blood, by water, and by the sacred, secret fire they all carried within them. And Leo, the once-innocent boy, had never felt more complete, more alive, or more loved. 1%

Any gloryholes or video booths in Cleveland?

In the heart of the wilderness, nestled within a secluded valley, lay the infamous Rock River, a sanctuary for naturists who sought to embrace their most primal instincts. This was no ordinary nudist colony; it was a place where the boundaries of decency were blurred, and the line between consent and coercion was often crossed. The young man, a naive and innocent soul, had stumbled into this den of debauchery, unaware of the horrors that awaited him. His name was Ethan, a 20-year-old with a heart full of dreams and a mind untainted by the cruelties of the world. He had been lured to Rock River by promises of community and acceptance, but what he found was a twisted web of desire and domination. The naturists, a group of gay men who reveled in their freedom from societal norms, saw Ethan as a fresh piece of meat, ripe for the taking. On his first night at Rock River, Ethan was drugged with a potent concoction, his senses dulled, and his willpower weakened. He was led into the woods, where the air was thick with the scent of pine and the echoes of his own terrified breaths. There, in the shadowy depths of the forest, he was violated by multiple men, their bodies pressing against his, their hands exploring every inch of his skin. Ethan's innocence was torn from him like a veil, and he was left broken and alone, his cries for help swallowed by the indiferent wilderness. As dawn broke, Ethan found his way out of the woods, his body aching and his spirit shattered. He stumbled onto the side of a lonely road, where a burly gay trucker pulled over, his intentions as clear as the lewd grin on his face. Ethan was too weak to resist as he was pulled into the cab, where he endured another round of brutal assaults, the trucker's rough hands and insatiable hunger leaving him bruised and bloodied. When the trucker finally released him, Ethan was left on the side of the road, a discarded and broken shell of a man. It was then that he was found by an older man, a kind-faced gentleman who promised him safety and care. Ethan, desperate for any semblance of solace, allowed himself to be taken in. The older man, whose name was Harold, bathed Ethan's wounds and offered him a drink, laced with a sedative that sent him spiraling into a dreamless sleep. When Ethan awoke, he found himself in a strange room, his body aching, and his mind foggy. Harold sat beside him, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "Welcome back, my dear," Harold purred. "I have some news for you. You see, I have a special friend, a black man who has a particular taste for white boys. He's been waiting for someone like you, and now, thanks to me, he's got you." Ethan's eyes widened in horror as he realized the extent of his captivity. He was led to a nearby house, where a tall, muscular black man awaited. The man's eyes roved over Ethan's naked form, and he licked his lips in anticipation. Ethan was forced to his knees, his mouth filled with the man's flesh, and he was violated in ways that left him sobbing and begging for mercy. The black man, whose name was Marcus, was a live cam performer, and he broadcasted Ethan's sodomy to a global audience, his moans and cries of pain echoing through the speakers. When the act was over, Marcus leaned down, his breath hot on Ethan's ear. "Congratulations, boy," he whispered. "You've just been given a gift. A gift called HIV. You're mine now, forever. You'll be my little camp whore, kept naked and fucked nightly by the men of Rock River. You'll take your meds, and you'll live out your days as a living fuck doll." Ethan's world crumbled around him, the weight of his new reality crushing his spirit. He was taken back to Rock River, where he was greeted by the very men who had violated him before. They cheered and jeered, their eyes filled with lust and hunger, knowing that Ethan was now their property, a plaything to be used and abused at their whim. And so, Ethan's life took a dark turn, his innocence lost forever. He was kept naked, his body marked with the scars of his captors, and his mind a broken shell of its former self. Night after night, he was violated, his screams of pain and despair echoing through the woods, a haunting melody that would forever be the soundtrack of his captivity. 0%

The last guy I sucked really gave me a good hard face fucking and I loved it! He was just pounding away at my mouth and throat and you should have heard all the gulping, gasping and just guttural sounds i was making., I loved it and so did he.

I agree but a few have taken offense when I’ve gently said something similar. I’m not into fit/lean guys but it seems many think I’m crazy for not wanting them.

In the decade since I first posted on this thread how much I loved being loose an able to take long thick size most guys can't, my hole is even looser now from huge toys/plugs and very heavy amounts of fisting--something is in my blown out buttCunt everyday. I have achieved the power bottom pig level of a hole that doesn't fully close and being told by a top it feels like he's "fucking an open window" is music to my ears. Many guys just jerk off in me now. And then there's the subset of tops who get off on fisting and then fucking and breeding a hole they can barely feel and then fisting their nut load deeper into my gaped manCunt. ...and I'm still training to stretch even more and enjoy even larger...

Good start for sure. If I am ever given a choice of the top using a condom or going in raw I always want it raw..I want all dicks going in my ass bare and not coming out til they go soft after cumming in me.

Are you sure? I think there will be more...

This is a full complete story.

Yes. It was bad enough I deleted my profile from it and Grinder will join it in March when my subscription runs out, for the same reason. Part of this is that most apps and site go through the phases of popularity to has-been, as guys move on to the next trendy site. Anyone remember gay.com? Orr Manhunt? Right now I use sniffies, Scruff and the fisters site, asspig; the latter is one of the rare ones that remains popular in spite of its time in existence.

Haven't ever had a friend watch me suck cock but have had plenty of wives/gfs watch while I suck their guys cock. Nothing hotter than looking in a girls eyes while her man's cock is in my mouth. Like when they join me but prefer to just have them watch. Haven't had many guys cum in my mouth, usually giving them head is warm up for them to fuck their girl. Cream pie clean up is my reward.

any no lim top/sado around

Can be a one off or the start of a small story perhaps @billyinri??

At least there is term for it, "side" that most people understand that they can use on the hookup apps now. For many years they had to get very creative with the text on their profiles that they did not fuck. Even BBRT, which is behind the times on adding "side" as a "sexual" position has added an oral only indicator that they can, and a majority of guys in Portland have set on their BBRT profiles if they still have one.

Once I get some regular guys to fuck me I think I'll become a proper pig.

After pretty much striking out for the past 2 weekends, I did get bred tonight at what was mostly a blue ball no mating dance at Steam, that was supposed to be a CumUnion party. I'm glad I will be in Palm Springs next weekend through the following weekend, I'm getting really desperate for some good group pig fucking, the fuck scene has been even slower than usual here in Portland this winter.