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I would not concede the point in the first sentence without substantially more elaboration. The parenthetical is quite reasonable. But it seems to me the more reasonable logic here is that "failure to police borders" is an enabler of illegal immigration and also of the international drug trade and some types of human trafficking. Absolutely agree about the in-group preference, and the difficulty of understanding other languages and culture. Granted, culture clash can generate friction. But it depends on how it is done. It is entirely possible to juxtapose cultures in ways that generate a lot less friction, but also generate a lot of benefit from the interaction of diverse viewpoints and cultural knowledge. A mutually beneficial juxtaposition can only happen, of course, if members of both groups can comfortably relax their fears of the other culture "changing the nature of their society." In the place and time in which I grew up, that was the future I remember expecting and hoping for, but it seems that vision has withered on the vine. Some of us were already there.

Good boy Joey!! Welcum to your new life as a Pozzed-up, toxic, Cock sucking, ass licking, faggot cumdump...good boy!!!!🧑‍🦰🍆💦💦☣️☣️😈🔥🐷🐽😋😛🏳️‍🌈

How times have changed. For the vast majority of men I hook up with status isn't even discussed and hardly anyone uses condoms. Every poz guy I know is on meds and undetectable, and the neg guys are on PrEP. A lot of the guys that know my status are turned on by it and fetishize it.

Damn I need to know what happens

OINK

I believe that discrimination at the door in Berlin only happens in specific situations (and at the cinema The Jaxx). I think Arab men are the most fetishized worldwide, lol. I don’t think they have any trouble getting into clubs anywhere in the world.

you can wear what you like at SOP. And it's not cold in there, whatever the time of year. Enjoy!

Please make some narrative progress. There's lots of directions to go in. Before you blow yet another bubble, revisit the earlier plot points you've created: Gray and Connor, Karl and Shiro, Rashid and Jake, Andy, Jamie, etc. Season 3 of this is just more of the same but without the progress.

I just can’t get enough of this fantastic story.

Guys, I wanted to ask if it’s OK to wear flip-flops during SOP? I forgot my yellow sneakers and was wondering if flip-flops or slides are allowed. Also, is it really cold inside this time of year? Last year I struggled with the cold after getting wet. Any tips for a cruising bar or sex club to go to on Saturday night? I’m having dinner with a friend, so I’d be heading out kind of late. Preferably somewhere with a 40+ crowd. And do you know any gay clubs that play pop music and where it’s not weird to go alone? Thanks!

It's a long thread, so maybe I already said this. Whatever, I'll say it again. LOL Most of the time - like 95% - I will say to my partner, "Is there anything I should know about you before we do this?" And most guys will be right upfront about it: neg on prep and doxy, poz undetectable, etc. Some men will play dumb and answer with, "In regards to...?" And I have to tell them I want to know about their sexual health, which leaves no ambiguity. Then they answer. I've found that asking the question in this way is not accusatory or suspicion, so if they have a status different from mine, they have the opportunity to say so without judgment. And getting past this allows us to focus on the sex we're about to enjoy (or not in some cases). I do this with fisting bottoms as well - I've got at least one friend who fisted and got pozzed through it.

This is way too fucking hot and twisted! Love it!

I got into a creative writing mode and wrote this. Please enjoy 🙂 — It is a sweltering year of melting ice cream and broken air conditioners. Archie Banks sits on the edge of the river that was once lined with daisies, now reduced to nothing more than weeds and pieces of broken branches that clutch on but never really let go. Clouds darken. He rolls up his checked shirt and skips a few rocks. After a while, he holds an image of a beautiful lady in one hand, creased and weathered by time, almost faded, but the smile still shines through. Parts of him resemble her, even when she is gone. Drops of liquid hit the picture, splash. He wipes the image and his face, and the clouds start weeping too, softly, and then much too strong. And that’s when he sees it. A body. Face down. Floating gently down the stream. He freezes. It passes him by, and he holds his breath, face whiter than the ceramic teeth his stepmother always flashes when she’s not beating him up. The body gets caught on one of those branches, and he does what any child would do—he makes a dash for it. To home, I mean. One foot in front of the other, stumbling twice, tripping on a vine, and passing out for a few minutes. When he gets home, his stepmother is quick with the belt, but he’s faster on his feet, even with a shoe missing, into his room, slam, lock, and under the covers. He begins to weep, shakes, and soon he is fast asleep. The next day. The rain clears. It’s a beautiful day at school, and Mrs. Sunny is at the front telling a story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf, about spreading lies that aren’t true, but Archie’s mind is elsewhere. Somewhere along the riverbanks, somewhere over a body that he isn’t sure is still there if he goes looking after class. After class, he goes looking. But the body is not there. Of course it’s not there. It’s probably rotted away or eaten by a bear. I should have mentioned that this story takes place in Canada, where bears do these sorts of things, the carnivorous ones, not the ones you may meet in a gay club, if you are that sort of person. He contemplates under the beating sun what he should do, whether to tell someone or to investigate. But who would believe him if he did tell? He asks himself the question found in the title of this piece. He doesn’t have to think for too long, for he sees along the river a piece of clothing that flutters in the wind. Torn from a shirt. Checkered. A clue. So he follows the river for as long as his little feet can carry him. The river bends this way and that, and he finds it—a shoe, wet from the rain, dripping down between his fingers and coating them in mud. Somewhere, far off on the horizon, the sun is packing her bags. Archie knows he shouldn’t wander this far from home, and if he’s fast, he can make it before it gets dark, before the yelling and the bruises. But there’s a pull, a gravity that beckons him to continue. It’s a curiosity in all of us that never really goes away, even when we’re older. Perhaps life covers it, dirt over a coffin, but it’s there, waiting to come out of the ground with one hand like those horror movies you weren’t allowed to watch when you were younger. So he continues. One bend after another until the only light that remains is the one from the moon. Full. Cloudless. He looks around, and there is no doubt in his mind that he’s a long way from home, but he never feels lost, because he can just follow the river back, one bend at a time. It’s comforting to know that, no matter where you find yourself in life, he thinks to himself. It is getting late though, so he walks back the way he came, through the rustle of the leaves and the singing of the crickets that muffle the sounds of his footsteps, until he is standing on the edge of the river. And there it is again. The body. This time, Archie does not hesitate. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he steps into the river, soaking his clothes, but he doesn’t care. He is a boy possessed to find out who this body is. And you might not be shocked to find out that the body, once turned around, missing a shoe and checked shirt all ripped and torn, is no other than Archie himself. His face is neither rotting nor bloated the way one might get if they’ve eaten too much at a buffet, but one that is calm and serene. Graceful, even. He reminds Archie of an alternative life, perhaps in another universe where things might have been different, happier, with his mum. Or in another universe where he no longer ceases to exist, to finally have peace. He holds the body up, and the moonlight shines her brilliance onto their faces, before the body fades, and there is nothing left but a boy standing alone in the river. He takes the picture of his mother and unfolds it. The image is broken by the creases, stained by years of tears, worn thin by the hands of a boy who has never truly known how to let go. He has been telling lies to himself, that everything is going to be okay, even when it’s not, that smiling through the pain will make it easier because that’s what people expect him to do. He has become the boy who cries wolf, but there is no one to hear his cries but those lonely nights by himself, under the covers, under the stars. And maybe the truth is, there was never a wolf. Maybe he is the wolf. The one chasing him since his mum’s passing. Pursuing him through dreams and silence. Leaving serenity at his doorstep on those restless nights, but never stepping in. He knows what he has to do now. So he takes a deep breath. Lets go. The picture falls onto the river, drifts away, and carries with it the body of the boy who has grieved. The light of the house shines brightly as he approaches. His dad sits on the porch, hugs him when he arrives. He does not ask where he’s been or what he’s been up to. His face is wet. Eyes swollen. “Your stepmother,” he says, “was eaten by bears.” “The carnivorous ones?” Archie asks. “Or the ones you find in a gay club?” He raises an eyebrow, then knits them tightly. “The former one,” he assures him. “It’s just us now,” he says. And for the first time in a long while, Archie’s smile is as full as the moon on that summer night.

I take loads with my buddy that looks pretty similar to me. We tell all the [banned word] we’re brothers for some pervy incest cumdumping.

I love how degenerate this thread is and that there are others like me. The other day I was hiking with my dad and brother. When we were in the woods I fantasized about them spit roasting me and swallowing their loads. If only they knew what a depraved slut I am. They think I'm straight. If only dad knew he could feed me loads every day...

stopped PrEP. Welcome all loads

I feel like I have finally found my people. I was drawn to cock since I was 3. My favorite porn in the 56k internet era was mouthfuls of cum. My fantasy is a 20 man blowbang. I would suck anyone who asks. This place is like a Church of Cock and Cum worship, and I feel at home. I don't know if there's some cocksucking gene, but something in the brain led us all here.

working from home 1st guy was a repeat from a local council worker who fucked me once before. asked it I was free, and came over. just like the first time he made me suck him hard, then lie flat face down, and then pushed in and pounded away until he bred me. cleaned up and was gone. 2nd guy was somebody I maust have chatted too on the apps and given my number too but didnt remember him. texted me and said he was close to my house and facied a wank. Told him I only wanted to btm even if just for a quick fuck, he said see you in 8 minutes. texted when outside and pulled up in a white van came up stairs, I sucked him hard got on all fours and he pushed in with a huge thick cock and pounded me until he just said cumming and flodded my hole. He was so thick i was glad of the first load for lube. I sucked him clean, he tucked his thick cock back into his pants picked up his jacket and was gone. off to Sitges Pride tomorrow so feel like i have got off to a good start for the weekend!

GHL7ZR5RK

Spoiler ALL cheaters DIE

Size is not relevant to me. Average or smaller are easier to take and relax with

ON PReP so I don't ask or care what hot hole I breed.

On the smaller side here but love fucking and breeding ass. Love to slide deep inside and cum a few times. Prefer fucking over sucking. I really love to fuck. So many want 8" hung though.

I have received numerous comments over the years for my cocksucking only a few that made the comparison to their wives or gf. Just more generic comments like best cocksucker ever, I have never cum so hard, etc