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That would take most of the fun out of the bathhouse for some of us. Do they at least allow you to leave the door of your room open? On the flip side, there are a lot of guys in the PNW that would love that kind of law, there are always more guys hanging out in the areas where sex is forbidden and guys that scrupulously avoid the play spaces. There's not much room cruising here either, for that matter.

I actually experienced this first hand. I had lots of experience with large black penises and have had many men push through the second hole, but there were two incredibly well hung kings who each “broke” me by getting so deep inside me and stretching this hole out in such a way that I was left completely flaccid and more importantly totally disinterested in using my dick anymore. There are definitely elements of physiology related to the stretching of the pelvic floor and reduction of tension in both sphincters, plus the prostate stimulation and the psychological aspect- so I can confirm that this is not totally untrue. Of the hundreds of guys who’ve topped me, it happened only two or three times and I only had one guy who could do it every time he fucked me. I miss him soooo much!

I can't find/remember where I read it this week... an analyst somewhere, "sometimes the market shoots first and asks questions later." seems so appropriate on both sides of the AI bubble!

Lucky bitch. I love it rough so while either option works for me within the boundaries of roleplay as I like it, “cruelty” as performative dom roleplay in a sexual fantasy situation works for me in that context as opposed to actual violence or genuine cruelty. It’s about the intention. But a mean rough dom top who uses me and doesn’t care about my feelings or pleasure is actually super hot to me when executed correctly

The Montauk Theater in Passaic, New Jersey It was worth the bus ride on a Saturday. It was jam packed. Later operated by Warner Theatres and Stanley-Warner. It had a great Art Deco style marquee. It was closed as a regular movie theatre in 1974. It soon reopened as an Independently operated adult theatre which remained in the building for almost 30 years. The Montauk Theatre was closed suddenly and without notice in May 2005.

A correction is unfolding while $BTC heads to 20k around midterms.

It varies by local jurisdiction. New York City does not allow sex in public areas in bathhouses. This restriction includes the steam room and dry sauna. We have hall monitors who will yell at you and possibly eject you from the bathhouse if you're caught. All NYC bathhouses are/were like this. Yes, the New York City Health Dept does send in health inspectors to check occasionally. One NYC bathhouse was shut down citing public sex being witnessed by an inspector.

It was a franchise company. The owner ("Master Franchise Owner") had the rights to a couple of territories to sell franchises. He was a former bank president, a really good numbers guy, and he hired me for my business management background. He was close to bankruptcy after the first year, following the parent companies model didn't really work for him. i gave him a few suggestions and he asked me if i'd run the company and he could do the books, so i became the companies VP. He gave me complete freedom to run things, so i used a type of consensus model where everyone got a say, and i got voted against more than a few times lol. But it worked, it was a 15m a year business when i left. After 20 years, he came to me one day and told me he'd sold the company, back to the parent company. He also told me it was transferring the next day. They had stipulated in the purchase agreement that he was to keep the purchase underwraps while he worked out the details for 8 months. He really was a decent fellow, but myself and those who built the business felt betrayed. The business was essentially us, the people. The new company gave me a very large signing bonus if i'd stay at least a year, which i did no wanting to make a snap judgement. The new owner was an international company with over 200 offices worldwide. I doubted they'd allow me to use the same consensus management methods i'd used to build the business, but gave it a shot. i'd pushed back against the Master Company because i thought their franchise fees were too high, and that ended up building trust with the franchise owners, and everyone ended up more successful. The parent company dismantled the system over the next year, and i watched as each of the people who worked with me to build the business, left, as did i after my year was up. There's a lot more to the story, but when i left, i tried to do the same method with a different company. They didn't like it either and i left after two years, went back to school and earned a BSN, and have been a critical care nurse since then.

Add my Telegram, no loads refused, blindfolded;)

Chapter 25: Ticking Clock City Streets. Interior of an Ambulance. 31-Oct-20XX. 21:29 MST. REDACTED location. The ambulance bucked as it took a corner too fast, suspension groaning under the weight of speed and bad decisions. Red light strobed through the back doors in a steady pulse, painting everything in alternating bands of emergency and shadow. Tex braced one boot against the bench seat and let his shoulder ride the wall, keeping himself steady as the siren wailed overhead. Gravestone lay strapped to the gurney opposite him, restraints cinched tight at wrists, ankles, chest. Sedatives had him still—for now—but Tex didn’t trust stillness anymore. He kept one eye on the rise and fall of that massive chest, counting breaths, watching for the smallest twitch. The blanket over Gravestone’s head shifted once, then settled. Tex didn’t blink. On the bench to his right, Rafi slumped against the cabinet, skin ashen, lips dry and cracked. The bite on his shoulder had been dressed, but it looked wrong even through layers of gauze—too dark, veins spidering outward like spilled ink beneath the skin. His breathing was shallow, uneven, each inhale a little too slow for Tex’s liking. “Talk to me,” Tex said finally, voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the siren. “Both of you. Start from the beginning.” Marco glanced at Kyle, then back at the road, hands tight on the wheel. Kyle swallowed and shifted in his seat, eyes flicking once toward Rafi before settling somewhere safer—anywhere else. “We were already on shift,” Marco said. “Late call. InfraRed.” Tex’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The nightclub.” “Yeah,” Kyle added. “Packed. Halloween crowd. Costumes everywhere. Hard to tell who was drunk and who was actually hurt.” Tex nodded once. “And Rafi?” “He went hands-on,” Marco said. “Did what he always does. Too fast, too brave. There was a guy on the ground in an alleyway—bleeding, disoriented. Then something else was on him. Not a person. Not—” Marco shook his head, searching for words. “It looked like it was wearing the guy. Like it was… layered over him.” Kyle jumped in, voice tight. “Like Venom. From Spider-Man. I know how stupid that sounds.” “It really doesn’t,” Tex said flatly. “Keep going.” Kyle exhaled, relieved. “Rafi grabbed it. Tried to pull it off the victim. It turned on him and bit him. Hard. Wouldn’t let go. Then it—” He stopped, jaw clenching. “It dragged the guy away. Just picked him up and ran. Into the alley.” Silence stretched for a beat, broken only by the siren and the rattle of equipment. “We called another rig,” Marco said quietly. “There was another injured guy. Head trauma. Thrown against a dumpster. Bad concussion. We had to leave him for another crew.” Tex’s eyes flicked back to Rafi. The man stirred, a low sound rattling in his chest. “And the thing?” Tex asked. “The Venom-looking thing.” “Gone,” Kyle said. “Went running off into the night with the guy. Thankfully, we were able to mace the fuck out of him.” Tex leaned back, letting the pieces lock into place. Multiple vectors. Mobile host. Rapid onset. Too familiar. His fingers tapped once against his thigh, then stilled. Behind him, Gravestone exhaled slowly under the blanket—too slow, too controlled. Tex shifted just enough to keep the gurney in his peripheral vision. “All right,” Tex said. “That’s enough for now. You did what you could.” Marco didn’t look convinced. Neither did Kyle. Ahead, the ambulance screamed through another intersection, lights bouncing off storefront glass and empty sidewalks. Tex squared his shoulders, mind already racing several moves ahead. This wasn’t a cleanup. It was an outbreak. Tex let the silence hang for a moment. The ambulance swayed as Marco adjusted lanes, tires humming against wet asphalt. The ambulance radio crackled suddenly, sharp and intrusive. “Medical Fourteen, immediately report current location and ETA to your destination.” Tex’s eyes snapped open. The voice on the radio was calm. Controlled. Familiar in the worst possible way. His jaw set as recognition hit. “Shit. Don’t answer,” Tex said immediately, voice cutting through the cab. “Kill the mic.” Marco hesitated only a fraction of a second before reaching up and switching channels. The radio went dead. Kyle looked between them. “Who was that?” Tex leaned forward slightly, bracing his forearms on his knees. “That,” he said, “is a man who should not be asking where we are. Seems like Krell is fucking everywhere.” Marco’s expression darkened as the name clicked into place. “Jesus. General Krell. My dad said that guy should have been court marshalled.” Tex nodded once. Marco let out a humorless breath. “My dad warned me about him when I was a kid. Said if his name ever came up, it meant someone already screwed up and was looking for someone else to blame. And to never let the guy recruit me.” Tex allowed himself a thin, grim smile. “Your dad’s smart. Wish he’d have told me the same thing.” The ambulance surged forward, siren howling louder as the hospital lights came into view ahead. Tex sat back, eyes flicking between Gravestone’s restraints and Rafi’s worsening condition. Whatever had happened at InfraRed wasn’t going to be an isolated incident. It was a preview. The radio stayed quiet. Tex kept it that way. The ambulance tore down the last stretch of road toward Clearview, siren screaming, lights washing the inside of the rig in red and white. Marco drove with jaw clenched, eyes locked forward, hands steady on the wheel. Kyle didn’t look at the radio at all. It crackled again. “Medical Fourteen,” General Krell’s voice said, clipped now, stripped of its earlier calm. “You are ordered to report your location immediately. Failure to copy will result in your termination.” Tex didn’t move. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. The radio crackled a third time, sharper, angrier. “Medical Fourteen, you are instructed to divert and return to central. That is a direct order.” Marco exhaled through his nose. Then, without looking back, he reached up and shut the radio off completely. The cabin dropped into a sudden, almost peaceful quiet—sirens still wailing, but Krell gone. “Sorry,” Marco said, voice tight. “Already radioed our destination when we loaded up our latest guest. Standard protocol.” Tex nodded once. “It’s fine. You were only doing your job.” Kyle swallowed. “He sounded pissed.” “Default mode for the guy,” Tex replied. “This just means he’s starting to realize he’s not in control.” The ambulance swung into the bay hard, brakes hissing as it came to a stop. Before the doors were fully open, a small trauma team was already moving—several nurses and a resident, all pulling on gloves as they rushed forward. “Multiple patients?” one of them called. “Yes,” Tex said, stepping down first and taking command by presence alone. “Both restrained and sedated. One is one of the paramedics on their rig. Both infectious. The paramedic looks to be critical.” The doors swung wide. The moment the staff got a clear look inside, confusion rippled through them. “Wait…Dr. Kade?” someone said, blinking. Another nurse frowned. “No, I literally just saw him outside the call room. Like—half an hour ago.” The attending slowed, eyes moving from Gravestone’s strapped-down form to Tex’s face. “That’s… not possible.” Tex met her gaze evenly. “It is if you have twins.” A beat. Then Trevor Kade appeared at the edge of the bay, scrubs on, pager clipped at his waist. He stopped dead the moment he saw Tex. “Toby…What the hell are you doing here?” Trevor asked. The noise of the bay faded into the background as Tex caught Trevor by the arm and guided him a few steps away from the cluster of nurses and equipment. The first gurney rolled past them, Rafi passed out and strapped down. The next rolled by, Gravestone’s bulk strapped down beneath the blanket like a too-large shadow pretending to be human. “Trevor,” Tex said quietly, keeping his voice level. “Look at me.” Trevor did, eyes still wide, breath shallow. “Toby—what is going on?” Tex didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, hooked two fingers under the edge of the blanket, and lifted it. Just enough. Trevor’s breath hitched. Color drained from his face so fast Tex thought he might drop. Whatever Trevor saw beneath the fabric—skin too dark, features too sharp, the wrongness pressed into every angle—it stole the words right out of him. “Is that what the fuck I think it is?” Trevor whispered. Tex lowered the blanket again carefully, like tucking a lid back onto something volatile. He stepped closer, angling his body so no one else could see Trevor’s expression. “That,” Tex murmured near his ear, steady and grim, “is Elias’s and my boss, Commander Briggs.” Trevor swallowed hard. “That’s not—people don’t—” “I know,” Tex said. “That’s why we don’t have time. Elias is on his way here with another one.” Trevor dragged a hand down his face, trying to pull himself together. “What?!” “Too many people around who can overhear,” Tex replied. “I’ll tell you everything, but we need to work fast here… One of the guys responsible is on his way here, and I can’t be here when he gets here.” Trevor looked back toward the gurney, then toward the hospital doors, jaw tightening as the weight of it settled in. “You said Elias is coming, too?” “Already on the way,” Tex said. “With Zero. One of our teammates.” Trevor closed his eyes for a brief second, then nodded. “Okay. Um. Call room. Now.” Tex’s gaze flicked once more to Gravestone—still, silent, restrained. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “So, we need a solid plan. Because if we don’t make one fast…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The blanket shifted once, barely perceptible. And Tex knew they were already running out of time. The automatic doors at the edge of the bay slid open with a sharp hiss. Tex looked up instantly. A familiar sedan rolled in too fast and braked hard near the curb. Elias was out before the engine fully died, coat half-buttoned, phone still in his hand. His eyes went straight to Tex, then past him—to the gurney. Behind Elias, Zero stumbled. It wasn’t subtle. One second he was upright, jaw clenched like he was forcing himself through something; the next, his steps faltered. He grabbed at his head with both hands, fingers digging into his hair as if he could physically hold his thoughts in place. “No—not here, he’s too… something’s—” Zero gasped, voice breaking. “He’s—he’s pulling—” Elias spun, catching him just before he went down. “Hey. Hey. Look at me,” Elias said, shifting instantly into crisis mode. “Breathe, buddy. Stay with me. Focus on my voice.” Zero didn’t seem to hear him. His black eyes were unfocused now. A raw, involuntary sound tore out of his throat as pain wracked through him, sharp enough to buckle his knees. Tex didn’t wait. He was already moving, shrugging out of the way of startled nurses as he crossed the bay in long, fast strides. Trevor followed half a step behind, expression grim and already calculating. “Clear space,” Tex snapped. “Now.” Elias looked up, relief and alarm colliding when he saw Tex. “He was fine ten minutes ago,” Elias said. “Then it was like something reached inside his head.” Tex was already pulling a syringe from his pocket. “Get back.” Zero tried to push away weakly, mumbling something incoherent. Tex caught his shoulder, steadying him just long enough to find the mark. “Sorry, buddy,” Tex muttered. He drove the needle into Zero’s neck and depressed the plunger in one smooth motion. Zero went slack almost immediately, weight sagging fully into Elias’s arms. Elias swore under his breath and eased him down as carefully as he could. The bay had gone quiet again. Too many people watching now. Too many questions forming. Trevor glanced between the two unconscious men—both looking very inhuman—and the third man, looking sicker by the second while rolling away each in his own gurney, and then back to Tex. “We can’t keep doing this out here. You just knocked whoever that was out in front of a quarter of the ER staff.” Tex nodded. “I know. We need to get all of them in the most secure rooms you have.” Trevor stood for a moment and finally turned to the staff, looking at one of the nurses. “Hey, is the new psych holding open yet?” The nurse could only nod her head as they loaded them. Elias helped lay down Zero onto a gurney. “Perfect, move all of these patients to the new rooms. Just… trust me.” The staff all nodded, and quickly took a turn towards the newest part of the emergency room. Tex looked at Elias, meeting his eyes squarely. “Gravestone’s sedated. For now. Krell is already trying to reroute to us.” Elias’s jaw tightened. “Of course he is. Any thoughts on what we should do?” Tex straightened, voice dropping just enough to keep it contained. “None that are good. We’ve got maybe minutes before this turns into a political incident instead of a medical one.” Elias took a breath, then nodded once. “Then we move. Lock it down. No more surprises.” Behind them, somewhere under a blanket and a web of restraints, something shifted—just enough to remind Tex that the clock wasn’t just ticking. It was accelerating. — Trevor didn’t give them time to argue. The moment the gurneys, complete with armed hospital security, were moving and the bay’s attention fractured, he grabbed both Tex and Elias by the arms and hauled them through the nearest door. The call room was cramped and dim, a narrow space that smelled like burnt coffee and antiseptic. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the noise of the bay in one blessed, fragile slice of quiet. Trevor turned on them, voice low and furious. “Okay. What the fuck? This is NOT what you both told me this morning at the apartment.” Tex and Elias exchanged a look. For a split second, neither of them spoke. Where do you even start when the truth sounds like a delusion? Tex scrubbed a hand over his face. “There’s no clean version of this.” Elias folded his arms, jaw tight. “And no short one.” Trevor stared at them both, eyes sharp, waiting. “Try anyway. And don’t sugar coat the details this time. What in the actual fuck did you two just bring into my emergency room?” Tex glanced at the door, then back at Trevor. “Our commander isn’t our commander anymore. Or at least, not in a way that matters.” That landed hard. Trevor’s mouth opened, then shut again. “You’re talking about your commander? Briggs? THAT was Briggs?!” Tex nodded once. “Gravestone.” Trevor went very still. “Enough with the fucking code names, Tobias. It’s not funny. ” “I know,” Tex said. “That’s why I’m not laughing...” Elias stepped in, voice steady but strained. “You know how we said there was a containment breach at Helixion. The military is now covering it up. Whatever was created didn’t stay contained. I know we shut the door behind us, so it must have gotten loose some other way.” Tex nodded before adding, “Yeah, that would be our dear friend Jack. He played all of us with his drugged up fool act. Got loose and took the rest of the smilers with him.” Trevor dragged a chair back and sat, hands braced on his knees. “And the thing under the blanket—” “Is our commander,” Tex said. “Or what’s left after an ambulance hit him.” Silence pressed in on the room, thick and heavy. Finally, Trevor let out a sharp breath. “And the other one? The guy who just collapsed in the bay? After you shot who-knows-what into his neck?” Elias’s expression tightened. “Zero…. Um… Mason Hawke. He’s… compromised. Not fully. But something’s reaching for him. They both were the last two uninfected when we escaped.” Trevor closed his eyes briefly. “Jesus Christ. You’re telling me both of them turned into that in less than 24 hours?” Outside the door, voices passed. Footsteps. Life going on like the world wasn’t quietly tearing open. Tex straightened, the gears visibly shifting. “Yeah. But we’ve got another problem.” Trevor looked up. “Oh, of course we do. Never fails with you two.” “Staff’s already clocking us,” Tex said. “Two identical guys where there should be one. Krell’s trying to reroute assets as we speak, and will likely be here himself to oversee the mess. We’re about to lose control of the room. I’m thinking we need to blend in.” Elias caught on immediately, smiling. “We don’t fight it… we become gray men.” “We disappear,” Tex said, nodding. “In plain sight. Unless you have a better idea?” Trevor frowned, glaring at both of them. “Care to explain to the guy whose ER you both just took over? You know, your brother… and your husband?” Tex nodded toward him. “I have an idea on how Eli and I both get out of here without getting arrested by military police. I dress as you. Lab coat. Badge. Contact lens if you’ve got them. I become a second Dr. Kade on paper and on cameras.” Trevor blinked. “You’re insane. Both of you are.” “Yes,” Tex agreed. “But it works.” He turned to Elias. “You scrub in. Surgeon. Scrubs and cap, gloves, the whole thing. No one questions someone who looks busy and pissed off.” Elias considered it for half a second, then nodded. “I… can do that.” Trevor exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I have a spare coat in my locker. And contacts.” He looked at Tex pointedly. “Hospital-issued scrubs. They suck. I’m gonna have to wear exactly the same thing. I think I might have my old badge in there too.” Tex cracked the faintest smile. “We’ll survive, bro.” Trevor stood. “Let me be clear. This only buys you some time. And I expect you both to tell me everything. No hiding any more of the important details.” “I promise, you’ll get all the info. Time’s all we’re aiming for,” Tex said. From somewhere deeper in the hospital, an announcement crackled overhead. “Code 200 is now in effect. Repeat, Code 200 is now in effect.” Trevor reached for the door. “All right. Sounds like the hospital is going into full lockdown. Locker room. We need to move fast. You both can tell me everything else you left out on the way.” As they filed out, Tex felt the weight of it settle fully in his chest—not just the danger, but the improvisation, the lies stacked on lies. They weren’t fixing this. They were stalling. And hoping it would be enough.

Welcome, new members; We look forward to hearing more from each of you; there are "threads" of all kinds of subjects being discussed, so share your comments too!

Neither do I. The entire point is creating a space where men can have sex in any way they'd like (with the usual qualifiers, safety, care, etc) It's seems to be a self-defeating business-model to offer men who crave sex with other men a place where guys can only fuck each other in limited areas. Fortunately, I've never lived in a city like that 💦

Hey man. In MO here as well. Top.

Thanks for your response. You may have noticed that often the original topic of BZ's "threads" wanders off into a different, even unrelated subject matter? That's one of the more interesting facets of Breeding Zone, in that it's the contributors and readers that have the freedom to add, subtract, multiply aspects of a thread, all within the confines of what we might call genteel discourse. That fact may not be ideal for pedants, but it is nevertheless the case. Which I did for years, in two different industries, publishing "trade" books, periodicals, business publications. The actual costs of producing, marketing, selling ads for, all the various aspects were common to each, despite the fact that the actual product of each industry could not be more different. One result of a "greater good" issue was not resolved by the government, it was resolved by business owners within x industry agreeing to work together to impact certain governmental issues. I don't particularly care for "Big Business" either, but then I have not been asked to solve those issues and I rather doubt I will be. Big Bro business is, by definition, interested in self-preservation first, customer satisfaction second, and skirting the legal requirements as tightly as possible. That said, Big Business simply is, and the rest of us have to figure out ways to nibble around the edges. Again, thanks for your incisive thoughts.

I've never understood bathhouses that did not allow you to have sex in open common areas at all. I suspect that in most cases started due to the legal environment they had to operate in. There are also quite a few bathhouses that have some areas where sex isn't allowed, and others that have a clientele that prefers that guys not fuck in the common areas and make there preferences known (huge problem where I live).

FUCK YEAH! MORE PLZ AND SOON!

Here's my take on the "responsibility" issue: For a short while, I see myself as the "caretaker" of the bottom. It's up to me not only to pleasure myself, it's up to me to try to make the "connection" as hot for the bottom as I can. Thus, I don't do questionable things to the bottom, I see him as a guy I need at that moment, and behave accordingly. Obviously, this viewpoint pertains to the fuckjoints. If I'm hosting a bottom, then my role is expanded to doing what I can to make the scene as good for him as I can. I dislike being being domineering, (unless it's a Bd/Sm scene, which would necessitate a prior "negotiation" in the first place). The way I see it, the better it is for the other guy, the better it will be for me too. Pretty simple ....

and this comment is way off thread topic, but I've always thought of either a "distance" tax (applied to physical distance of parts and finished goods/services) as a way to maintain physical communities...which is directly applied to a community redevelopment fund. But also a some kind of bigger-ain't-better progressive corporate tax system. I'm generally pro-business and pro-competition (in every sense), but I hate massive 1000s-of-employees type companies. They are, almost by definition, anti-competition. In my made-up world, we need a progressive tax system on corporate taxes like personal income. The first $10 million of annual revenue is $0%. The two items above are about building small and individual businesses.

I don't think Tops "just say" x, y, or z. Generally, we'll say what occurs in that particular moment, and often it's complementary (in a slutty sense) of the bottom. The hotter the bottom is for the load, the better the fuck. For instance: "your hole feels great - you've been taking a lot of loads and it tastes/feels fantastic" ... "you're a first class breedboy, aren'tcha" ... "what a hot cumdump ... your hole is beautiful after taking all those loads" .... on and on .... Now. It may well be that Tops who adore cumdumps will say stuff like the above to fan the fires of breedlust in the bottom ... the hotter the bottom is for more cocks/loads, the better the fuck for the Tops. That kind of breed-talk can backfire, but in the sleazier fuckjoints it'll almost always result in a hotter fuck. Point: Tops, skip the "you're so handsome" / what a beautiful tan / how long have you been working out?/ what a gorgeous smile/ bullshit. The bottoms want hard raw cocks pumping loads up their guts more than anything else.

I prefer just spit as lube, love that feeling of RAW bare cock in my ass. The tops appreciate not having to use lube when they pull their cock out. I start by slurping on their dick and getting it wet, then I turn around and guide their cock inside me.

Short but a good story.

I usually stay locked in chastity while being fucked, and I don’t cum. My role is to be a faggot fuckhole for tops to dump their loads into.