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Anyone still in this, forum, 44m looking for men in 50s and 60s, bottom here from south carolina

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I started in my mid 20s and they haopened over many years. There was lots of experiences in between but those were some of the big steps

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Chapter 26: Lingering Questions Clearview University Medical. Steighn wing, on-call waiting room. 21:36 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. Trevor had honestly not thought about Clark Grant in months. Not consciously. The morning had already felt wrong. Elias and Toby already at home before shift change—too early, too quiet, too coordinated. They were supposed to be on a mission, not to return for a while. His brother had a sprained ankle, and Elias looked like he was physically ill. They’d told him just enough about what happened at Helixion to make it sound contained. Clinical. Handled. Too little, though. They avoided specifics. Avoided eye contact at the wrong moments. Elias had stood with his weight subtly forward, as if bracing for impact. Toby had filled in the silence with jokes that didn’t land. Trevor knew that posture. He lived with it. Both of them were intentionally not sharing something important. Likely, something had breached containment. Something had gone sideways. And they weren’t telling him everything. He had let it go—for the moment. He had to sleep. He had patients to follow up on. He had charts. He had a schedule. And he had an on-call shift to worry about. In all honesty, he had compartmentalized. Which is what left his mind wondering while half-listening to the TV in the call room, going through old emails on his laptop. The name alone stopped him cold. Clark Grant. For a second, Trevor simply stared at it. He didn’t know Clark well—not in the way one knows colleagues. Clark never worked at Clearview. They hadn’t gone to school together, although his reputation was known across the field. He had only ever appeared for Julian Marek’s appointments. Always impeccably dressed. Always composed. Always frighteningly intelligent. Clark spoke about viral load like it was architecture. About resistance mutations like they were chess moves. He had a way of dissecting medical information that made Trevor feel less like the attending physician and more like a peer being evaluated. He had been almost aggressively emotionless. Until Julian spoke. Trevor remembered the way Clark’s posture would shift when Julian reached for him. A fracture in the marble façade. A warm smile, a soft laugh. The only evidence that something human lived beneath the precision. Julian’s infection had been wrong from the start. Resistant in ways that defied expectation. Aggressive beyond established patterns. Six months from initial detection to hospice. Trevor still remembered admitting him to the now abandoned Dumpf Tower—the old hospice corridor that hospital administration had long ago deemed too expensive to renovate. The air there always smelled faintly of dust and something metallic. The lighting hummed. Julian lasted two days. Clark lasted two minutes after the monitors went flat. Trevor had stepped out to give him privacy. When he returned, the room was destroyed. Equipment overturned. Glass shattered. A chair split. Clark standing in the wreckage, hands bloodied, chest heaving—not screaming, not crying, but radiating a grief so violent it felt dangerous. Then, just as quickly, the mask snapped back into place. Trevor had never forgotten that transformation. Now he looked down at the email. It wasn’t frantic per se—not in a way most people would recognize. But for Clark Grant? From the many times they’d spoken, it was. The language was sharper than Trevor remembered. Less controlled. He was asking—no, pressing—for updates on the novel HIV drug trial he had pioneered. Mentioning that none of the other trial sites had responded. Emphasizing how critical it was to know whether it had succeeded. There was urgency threaded between the lines. Trevor felt a slow, cold unease coil in his gut. Clark Grant did not lose composure. Not in the clinic. Not in grief. Not even in rage. At least not so publicly. If he was reaching out like this—personally, bypassing institutional channels, using Trevor’s private email— Something had shifted. Trevor leaned back on the call room couch, the television playing muted in the background. His mind drifted unwillingly to that morning—to the way Elias had carefully chosen his words when mentioning Helixion. To Toby’s half-smile. To the deliberate omission of detail. They had mentioned Clark’s name in passing. Too casually. As if testing how it sounded in the air. He’d given them what he knew, pulling up the contact information they had shared at Julian’s funeral. Trevor felt the same hollow tightening in his chest he had felt that morning when Elias’s labs came back positive. That same surreal sense that the world had tilted half a degree off its axis. That sense of realizing something terrible had already been set in motion long before he was informed. He remembered how clinical he had tried to be then—reviewing Elias’s numbers, evaluating options, refusing panic. He remembered how Clark must have felt hearing him explain Julian’s resistance panel. Knowing something was wrong. Knowing the system wasn’t behaving the way it should. Trevor looked again at Clark’s email. Near-frantic, by Clark’s standards. And for the first time, Trevor wondered whether Elias’s infection had ever truly been random. The television flickered behind him. The hospital hummed. And somewhere in the back of his mind, the abandoned hospice wing felt less like a memory and more like a warning. The overhead speakers cracked to life before Trevor could respond to the email. “Trauma level one alert. Multiple inbound. ETA seven minutes. All available trauma personnel to the ambulance bay.” The charge nurse didn’t knock. She burst into the call room, already gloved, already moving. “Dr. Kade, we’ve got at least two criticals coming in. One MVC, something about an ambulance versus a pedestrian. And some sort of dog bite maybe? EMS sounded… off.” Trevor was on his feet before she finished the sentence. The email from Clark remained open on his laptop. Unanswered. He shoved the unease down into the same compartment he’d used that morning. There would be time later. There always had to be time later. He moved fast, muscle memory taking over. Trauma gown. Gloves. Face shield. The ER lights were too bright, the air too sharp with antiseptic. Controlled chaos bloomed outward from the ambulance bay as nurses and techs fell into position. The ambulance doors swung open. And Trevor’s world tilted. For half a second he thought he was looking into a mirror. Tobias. His twin brother. Looking like he’d just been through hell. Standing at the back of the rig, jaw tight, eyes scanning the bay like he expected gunfire instead of gurneys. The same face. Same bone structure. Same build. The only difference was the posture—Tex carried himself like he was still in a combat zone. Around them, staff froze. “What the—?” “I swear I just saw Dr. Kade upstairs.” “Didn’t he just walk past radiology like ten minutes ago?” Trevor didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His twin locked eyes with him. There was no greeting. No smile. No explanation. Just urgency. Behind Toby, strapped to a gurney and half-covered by a blanket, lay something massive and wrong. Even unconscious, it radiated a presence that made the hair on Trevor’s arms rise. “Toby… what the hell are you doing here?” The surrounding noise dulled, staff glancing between identical faces in quick, unsettled takes. Tex crossed the distance in three strides and caught Trevor by the arm, guiding him a few steps away from the cluster of nurses and rolling equipment. The first gurney passed behind them—Rafi, one of the regular paramedics in their ER, unconscious and strapped down tight. The second followed, heavier, wrong in a way the human brain resisted categorizing. “Trevor,” Tex said quietly. “Look at me.” Trevor did. His eyes were wide, breath shallow, physician’s composure fighting something far more personal. “Toby—what is going on?” Tex didn’t answer. Instead, he hooked two fingers under the edge of the blanket covering the second gurney and lifted it. Just enough. Trevor’s breath hitched sharply. Color drained from his face in an instant. What he saw beneath the fabric—skin too dark, anatomy subtly distorted, something fundamentally wrong pressed into every angle—stole the words from him entirely. “Is that what the fuck I think it is?” Trevor whispered. Tex lowered the blanket again carefully, resealing something volatile. He stepped closer, angling his body to shield Trevor’s reaction from prying eyes. “That,” Tex murmured near his ear, voice steady and grim, “is Elias’s and my boss. Commander Briggs.” Trevor swallowed hard. “That’s not—people don’t—” “I know,” Tex cut in. “Which is why we don’t have time. Elias is on his way here with another one.” As if summoned by the words, the automatic doors at the edge of the bay slid open with a sharp hiss. 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 locked on Tex first—then shifted past him to the gurney. Behind Elias, a new person stumbled. It wasn’t subtle. One second he was upright, jaw clenched like he was forcing himself through something internal; the next, his steps faltered. He grabbed at his head with both hands as if trying to hold his thoughts in place. Trevor had seen catastrophic trauma before—burns, blast injuries, bodies torn open by forces most people only saw on the news—but nothing prepared him for Zero standing there in the shredded remains of his camo fatigues, fabric hanging in strips from a body that no longer fit inside human proportions. His chest was bare, skin darkened to an unnatural, slate-gray tone that was quickly becoming black, muscle carved and swollen as if overbuilt by design rather than training. Veins traced faintly beneath the surface like branching shadows. Trevor could even see what looked to be the beginning of horns threatening to breach the skin of his forehead. There was no sheet to soften it, no clinical barrier—just raw, altered flesh where a man should have been. Trevor’s breath caught despite himself. This wasn't an injury. It wasn’t disease progression as he understood it. It looked deliberate. Engineered. And whatever had remade this man had done so with terrifying precision. “No—not here—he’s too—something’s—” the man gasped. “He’s pulling—” Elias spun and caught him before he hit the pavement. “Hey. Hey. Look at me,” Elias said sharply, shifting instantly into crisis mode. “Breathe, buddy. Stay with me. Focus on my voice.” Trevor moved automatically to assist—and that was when he saw it. Elias’s free hand was pressed to his side. Too tight. Too deliberate. The shape of a compact handgun was poorly concealed beneath Elias’s coat, angled upward, muzzle resting discreetly against Zero’s ribs. Trevor froze for half a second. Elias met his eyes. The message was clear: If he turns, I end it. Trevor felt something cold slide down his spine. Tex was already moving. “Clear space,” he snapped at the surrounding staff. Elias looked up, relief and alarm colliding. “He was fine ten minutes ago. Then it was like something reached inside his head.” Tex had a syringe out before Elias finished the sentence. “Get back.” The smaller man tried weakly to pull away, mumbling something incoherent. Elias tightened his hold—just enough to steady him. The gun remained hidden but ready. “Sorry, buddy,” Tex muttered. He drove the needle into his neck and depressed the plunger in one smooth motion. Zero went slack almost immediately, weight sagging fully into Elias’s arms. The bay went quiet again. Too many witnesses. Too many questions. Trevor stared at Elias first—not at the unconscious man, not at the gurney—at the gun still pressed discreetly to the man’s side. Elias shifted slightly, sliding the weapon back beneath his coat as staff rushed in with another gurney. Trevor didn’t say anything. Not here. Not now. Instead, he turned back to Tex, jaw tight. “We can’t keep doing this out here. You just knocked whoever that was out in front of a quarter of the ER staff.” “I know,” Tex replied. “We need to get all of them in the most secure rooms you have.” Trevor pivoted toward the staff, voice snapping back into authority. “Is the new psych holding wing open?” A nurse nodded hesitantly. “Perfect, move all three patients there. Lock the wing down. No visitors. No exceptions.” There were no more questions. The command in his tone cut through hesitation. Staff moved. Elias helped lower Zero onto the gurney, one hand still hovering near his coat. Trevor noticed. He noticed everything. As the team turned toward the isolated wing, Trevor stepped close to Elias, voice low and controlled. “You brought a fucking gun into my ER,” he said quietly. Elias didn’t look at him. “If he turns, I won’t get a second chance.” Trevor swallowed. He hated that he feared Elias was right. Tex stepped in beside them. “Gravestone’s sedated. For now. Krell’s already trying to reroute us.” Elias’s jaw tightened. “Of course he is. Any ideas?” “None that are good,” Tex admitted. “We’ve got minutes before this becomes political instead of medical.” Trevor glanced back once more at the blanket-covered shape on the gurney. And at his husband, who had just calmly prepared to execute a man in his ambulance bay. “Call room,” Trevor said tightly. “Now.” Behind them, beneath restraints and fabric, something shifted—barely perceptible. But Trevor saw it. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure which terrified him more— What was under the blanket. Or what his husband and brother might be willing to do to stop it. — Clearview University Medical. Steighn wing, on-call waiting room. 21:54 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. The call room door clicked shut behind them, muting the chaos of the ER to a dull, distant hum. Tex stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch, already pulling the small black hard drive from his pocket. The anime stickers were peeling at the corners now, adhesive giving up after too many missions. Elias watched him carefully. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.” “Depends,” Tex said, plugging it into Trevor’s laptop. “You think Pixel would leave us something boring?” The drive light blinked. A prompt appeared. Elias folded his arms. “You crack it already?” Tex snorted. “Please. Pixel uses the same encryption key every time. ‘Standard.’ Which is hilarious for someone who thinks they’re clever.” He typed quickly—no hesitation. The drive unlocked. Folders bloomed across the screen. Elias stepped closer, shoulder nearly brushing Tex’s. “You’re sure this is from Helixion?” Tex nodded once. “Pulled it out of a pile from the lab. The MPs hadn’t even had a chance to log it into the inventory.” He opened the main directory. PROJECT HELLION. Elias let out a slow breath. “Of course they named it that. Has Krell’s touch for sure.” Tex clicked through subfolders—viral scaffolding, delivery systems, genetic edits, containment reports. Then he stopped. “…Wait. This doesn’t make sense.” “What?” Elias asked. Tex scrolled back up and opened the carrier documentation. “They weren’t even using HIV as the base.” Elias frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Everything you told me you’ve seen—” “—looks retroviral, yeah,” Tex finished. “But this? This is synthetic backbone engineering. Custom-built carrier. Designed from scratch. We don’t even have the ability to make stuff like this yet.” He pulled up another document, skimming the molecular diagrams. “What I saw in that temporary lab at Helixion,” Tex continued slowly, “was nothing like this.” Elias looked at him sharply. “Laymen’s terms, please.” Tex leaned back slightly, thinking. “It wasn’t clean like this. It wasn’t structured. It was… chaotic. Hemorrhagic markers everywhere. Cellular collapse patterns that looked closer to Marburg.” He shook his head. “Marburg spliced with retroviral behavior. HIV genetic markers all over the place.” Elias went very still. “That’s not possible,” he said quietly. “I know,” Tex replied. “But that’s what it looked like. Hemorrhagic pathology layered over immune manipulation. It shouldn’t have been stable. Yet, somehow it was. And this Hellion virus? It wasn’t even remotely stable.” He tapped the screen. “This? Hellion? This is tidy. Controlled. Military neat. And utterly useless.” Elias scanned the lead names. Lead Research Scientist: Dr. Clark Grant; Project Manager: Jack Blaine They both stared at the second name. “Jack?” Elias said, incredulous. Tex let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. That Jack.” The jittery, erratic, always-half-strung-out project manager who never seemed fully present the night before. “That guy couldn’t manage his own name,” Elias muttered. “He looked like he was perpetually coming down from something, and lost his mind in the process.” Tex scrolled through internal memos—budget reallocations, cross-department suppression orders, data silos. “This is coordinated,” Tex said. “Long-term. Strategic. You don’t pull this off by accident.” Elias shook his head slowly. “So he was acting after all.” “Or hiding behind the act,” Tex corrected. “No one pays attention to the screw-up in the corner. He really did play all of us for fools.” They fell silent for a beat. Tex’s eyes caught something else—an email in Trevor’s inbox. From: Clark Grant Subject: Follow Up on New HIV Drug Trials Tex clicked it open. Grant’s message was direct. Controlled. Curious. He referenced the novel HIV drug he had been pioneering—asking whether the clinical trials had produced meaningful results. Mentioning that other trial sites hadn’t responded to his outreach. Emphasizing that it was important to know whether the treatment had worked. Elias read it once, then again. “That tone,” Elias murmured. “He almost sounds frantic. Definitely not the Clark Grant either of us met.” Tex nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He clicked back to the Hellion directory. Near the bottom sat a document marked ADMINISTRATIVE ORDER — PROJECT HELLION. Signed: J. Blaine. Dated one week prior. Tex opened it. “Effective immediately, Dr. Clark Grant is removed from Project Hellion oversight. All independent research under his supervision is to be absorbed into Hellion central development.” Tex felt his stomach drop. “He kicked Grant off,” Elias said quietly. “And absorbed all of his research,” Tex added. They looked at each other. “Grant didn’t leave,” Elias said. “He was removed.” Tex nodded. “Guy made sure to point that out every chance he got to Krell. I thought he was just bitter about it, but…” “And now he’s emailing about his HIV drug trials,” Elias continued. “Which he no longer has access to.” Tex leaned back, thinking hard. “What if Grant figured out what Jack was doing?” he said slowly. Elias’s eyes narrowed. “You think he was trying to shut it down?” “Or undermine it,” Tex said. “If Hellion wasn’t built on HIV originally, but Jack folded Grant’s research into it later…” He trailed off. “…Then Grant’s drug might interfere with it,” Elias finished. Tex’s jaw tightened. “What I saw at Helixion,” he said quietly, “wasn’t stable. It was evolving. Like something that shouldn’t exist but keeps adapting anyway.” Elias nodded once. “If Grant developed a targeted antiviral—” “—and if that antiviral interacts with whatever Jack grafted onto Hellion,” Tex said, “then it might not just be a treatment.” Elias looked at him sharply. “It might be a countermeasure.” Silence settled heavily between them. Grant’s email suddenly felt less like curiosity—and more like urgency. Tex stared at the screen. “Maybe Grant wasn’t building a weapon,” he murmured. “Maybe he was trying to stop one.” Elias folded his arms tighter. “And if Jack cut him out because he got too close…” Tex nodded. “…then Grant’s drug might be the only thing that can slow this down.” The call room felt smaller suddenly. Outside, the ER continued humming—unaware of the war quietly unfolding inside a laptop screen. Tex closed the Hellion folder slowly. “Okay,” he said. “We need to find Grant. Like now.” Elias’s expression darkened. “And we need to figure out if he’s the solution to this nightmare,” Elias said quietly.

Load size is more important than cock size, @sub4oralcum has it right, I suck em all, no matter what size. Have only had a few tiny cocks, 3" or so, Had one guy who was smaller, 5 or so but damn his first load was huge and managed to feed me two more before he was done. I have big hands, the biggest down size to small cocks is the fact my hands are so big the small cock gets lost. Have had to just use a couple fingers with a few guys when stroking them LOL Cum in my mouth is the goal, how big the cock is makes no difference.

damn that hot i wanna learn how to do a successful cumdump like that really could u advice

Hey everyone, I am looking for breeders in Milan to flood my hungry hole. I can host or we can meet at a cruising club 😉

damn wish I knew how to get fucked by a cop

Another great chspter and looking forward to the bathhouse installment

Fuck yes!

@sluttydogboy I recognise many of those steps in myself as I have grown accustomed to things... the only extra step I had was PrEP. Thank you for writing up your journey!

Thanks for all the words of encouragement, once I'm back home I'm gonna do it. I can feel my body needs it.

Mistress looking for a long term sub or shot time sub to dominate and train for the main time Kik me : misjessicahm512 Teams: live:.cid.69084896b5a3ee54 Zangi number -1015610752

Emphatically YES!! I am absolutely a faggot pig bottom for older dominant men (of course I'll never turn down the opportunity to suck any cock)

These two installments give us readers some insight into what and how Dan is feeling and thinking. He admits that he is confused as to the ABS sex encounters. Dan's body clearly is far ahead of his mind in that it craves poz cock and cum in it. Obviously, Dan's socialization and education regarding HIV is prohibiting him from accepting that HIV can be a bonding element between top and bottom, and also a rite of passage for many gay men, especially bottoms. I believe @mancocois using these daily texts with Rick to condition Dan's mind to think in these terms, which I might add is quite realistic. Rick is also using his texts to maintain Dan's sexual desires toward him and his toxic cock with seductive suggestions that produce responses from Dan's body, namely the spontaneous orgasm that he has. I am betting the buildup with the professor leads to a major revelation for Dan. What this revelation is is not obvious, but I am sure when and how the professor and Dan hook up, it will be well worth the wait! (I honestly believed Dan and the professor would have already hooked up by this point) As usual, I eagerly await the next chapter(s) in Dan's journey into gay/poz sex.

I will be able to attend the IBC event at CCBC on Saturday night, which seems to be an unadvertised BearUnion. If anyone wants to hookup and fuck look for the 6'2" blond bear. I really need some uninhibited group pig fucking after being stuck in Portland for the last 2 months.

Just got opened up by a 9" cock. He fucked me in so many positions and throat fucked me between some of them. In the end he was standing and I was on my back on the edge of bed with him holding my legs up high. I held my hole open and he jerked his cock while slapping my hole and when it came time to cum he pushed it in and I held him in.

I miss Club 1350 and the Cumunions I attended there.

I thought Prof Post was going to make a move there… to help confirm Dan’s place as a cumdump and chaser. Maybe that acceptance will come from the last addition to the tour itinerary 😈😈