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An unedited draft I found in the old files. 1. On this day “Stop, stop,” I stammered, rising up and leaning forward to brace my forearms against the popcorn wall of Terence’s apartment and groaned - against my hyper sensitive skin, even the bumps on the wall felt like a forbidden pleasure. Terence kissed and nipped at my abdomen, “you getting scared?” he murmured, not a single note of judgement in his voice. I swallowed against the hoarse lump in my throat and sucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth trying to build some saliva so I could even simply just speak. Fearing his lost interest if I delayed too long, I simply shook my head no, looking down and locking eyes with him to make sure he saw. He smiled and continued kissing. I finally found my voice, “no… I just, I can’t hold myself there - hovering over your dick like that… thighs weak… fuck… high.” John chuckled, a low rumble that echoed in my belly, “I think that means you should sit on it.” “Mmm,” I moaned as he reached up to tweak one nipple, then the other, then both. “Yesssss,” I hissed as his careful ministrations brought me back to life. I slithered my forearms down against the wall, enjoying the gentle ribbing against my skin. I lowered my body again until once more I felt the head of his cock against my hole. This time rather than trying to squat over him, I folded my legs. He patted my thighs, now relaxed and straight, rather than taut and strained. “Better?” He whispered as he let his hands explore my backside, grip my cheeks, and once again begin to pry them open. The meth made it so that my mind actually thought it could feel his dick secreting its juices against the exterior of my hole. But I didn’t have too much time to dwell on that because I most certainly did feel it when his wiry fingers worked their way in, pushing his juices deeper into me. “Fuck yeaaaaa.” I looked down at him and grinned. He nodded to my right, “pick up the poppers and do a long hit, both sides.” I couldn’t refuse, despite the massive pounding in my head. I picked up the bottle wearily and looked down at him as I began the first sniff on my right side. “Inhale…” he murmured, moving one hand up to my chest so he could feel me take in the fumes, while the fingers of his other hand increased the speed or pressure or… fuck… whatever he was doing back there it was driving me crazy with anticipation. I held the hit - he likes it when I do that - but then I thought I saw the slightest nod so I released the hit, sinking down further against his wriggling fingers as I did so. These poppers were strong and we’d just opened them a short while ago. Immediately the vapors went to work, sweeping away my worries with a wave of warmth and perversion. I must’ve let out some kind of noise because he chuckled. With his one free hand he nudged the bottle to the other nostril. As I inhaled again, my ass grew alive to the feeling of every twist and turn of his fingers. The way his knuckles bulged and the edges of his fingernails were not perfectly filed down. I lifted my ass, not to get away, but to add the motion of sliding on his fingers. “Good boy,” he whispered as I exhaled. On instinct, at the bottom of the exhale I breathed in a little bit more vapor - the bottle was still uncapped and right there. Nothing gets by Terence, though. “A good addict always wants more,” he commented slyly, “go ahead do another hit, both nostrils.” I started again, and smiled as the pounding in my head transformed from the throb of discomfort to the rhythm of encouragement, pushing me to go further and sink deeper. Poppers work so quickly. By the time I was on the second side I felt him inserting all the fingers of one hand and then splaying them steadily inside of me, like a human speculum. His other hand insistently tweaked at my nips, sending pulses of pleasure up to my brain where they infused with the drugs and then raced back down to tell my cock to leak and my ass to open. “Time for something stronger,” Terence said, nodding at the side table, as I finished the second hit. I let out a groan of desire. Always. Always meth after poppers. He had expertly slid his cock through the opening in his fingers and now I could feel the crown pushing incessantly, desperate to get in. “Make you want it more,” Terence said as I picked up the bong. “I do want it,” I said, the desperation pushing the pitch of my voice higher as I clicked on the torch. That sound immediately sent a mental shiver that only added to my heightened state of arousal. “What do you want?” he teased. I didn’t answer, as I was now 100% fixated on the bong. My poppered up cross eyes watched as the crystal melted and the smoke started to swirl around the bong. I licked my chapped lips as I raised the pipe to my mouth and started to suck. My eyes followed those wisps as they raced from the bulb, through the bong, gurgled through the water, up the pipe and then down my throat. As my thoughts raced, I thought Terence had picked up some preternatural ability to time the flicks of his fingers on my nips with the bubbling of the water. Such pure fucking delirious pleasure, I thought. I continued to fill myself with that most delicious of drugs, my tweaker eyes carefully watching my torso expand while also making sure the wisps weren’t escaping through the bong hole. Terence doesn’t like that, waste of good meth, he had explained. Which is why I had to maintain some level of control while smoking with him. I had to time it just right… to stop the flame quite a bit earlier so that I could cleanly suck away the residual smoke without wastage. I closed my eyes as I reached the top of my breath, letting the rush wrap around me. I cried out as precisely in that moment, Terence’s other hand move from my ass to my other nipple, and now his fingers were furiously dancing around my most sensitive erogenous zones. “You’re…” I said breathlessly, “... in?” “Yes boy, you almost didn’t notice it with that hit, right?” He teased, bucking upward so I could feel the certainty of his dick in my ass. I grunted as, again, I involuntarily raised the bong. Terence laughed, “not like I wasn’t going to give you a hit anyway, but you gotta learn to keep better control.” I already had the torch lit when he said, “2 more hits then, punishment for trying to sneak one without my permission.” “Fuuuck,” I said around the pipe as I heated the bulb and felt his cock push deeper inside of me. “That’s it,” Terence said as I started to inhale again. “Get hungry for that fucking dirty dick,” I heard him say over the bubbling. Yes, I thought as my heartbeat quickened to match the throbbing in my brain. I want this dirty dick. “I know you do, boy,” he said, surprising me. In my altered state, I hadn’t realized I’d said it outloud. Clearly, Terence was aware of that as he smirked at me, “do the second hit now, hurry up junkie.” I whimpered as those words caused my dick to jump. “Love being your junkie,” I quickly uttered before I stuck the pipe back into my mouth, still coordinated enough to not let any of the precious smoke escape before I could suck it in. “Yeah, let’s get you back into that headspace,” Terence said, pinching my nips each in turn. I grimaced and whined but didn’t dare to stop sucking. I knew he was just teasing me. He started flicking them again and I pushed myself down further on his dick as pleasure flooded my body and filth surged in my mind. “Oh god…” I cried out as I felt his balls at the base of my ass and his fat crown deep in my guts, “it’s too–” “It was always too late,” Terence cut me off, knowing exactly what I was going to say. I looked down at him and in my high I saw his handsome face twisted. The drugs in my system pulled the shadows across his face longer and deeper into devilish proportions. “You knew you were going to sit on this toxic dick the minute you sent me that message,” he said, tugging me down by the nips. I curled my back so he could continue to fuck his disease into me as I laid my forehead against his. I saw his twisted smile and then closed my eyes, letting the demonic visage sharpen with the fresh drugs in my system. I felt his tongue against my lips and opened, letting our mouths explore each other messily as he continued to whisper to me between wet kisses. “There was…” he said before sucking on my tongue, “... no chance…” he spit and then leaned in to lap at the pool of his filth in my mouth, “... you were going to stay sober…” Fucccck. I was going to put down the bong and lighter, but with those words, I urgently opened my eyes and sought to bring the pipe into the small space between our hearts. He saw what I was doing and laughed, “good tweaker, but there’s not enough space for that to not burn.” I groaned in disappointment. “Now now,” he chastised, “where there’s a tweaker, there’s a way. Use the long nozzle.” Of course, Terence’s home was filled with every kind of apparatus one needed to get a good fix, and he had used most of them already to pump me up over the last few days. I lifted my head slightly to find the long black plastic nozzle. It was about a yard long and at the end of it was yet another bong firmly clamped to the table. As I brought the nozzle to my lips he took the lighter from me with one hand and stretched it out to light the bulb. “Now for this hit, I’m just gonna keep the flame going, you can swap between putting the nozzle in my mouth or yours or whatever, I’ll let you do what you want.” I nodded and furiously began to suck. He raised an eyebrow, “just don’t be too greedy, now.” I nodded and put the nozzle end into his mouth, then blew a cloud of smoke around his face as he sucked. I could even see him breathing some in through his nostrils. The metallic smell engulfed us as he spit the nozzle out and I quickly latched on to his mouth to take the shotgun. I took as much as I could but I could see the nozzle still streaming out smoke so I snuck the plastic in between our mouths. We lost ourselves in a hazy mix of hits, shotguns, slobber, and verbal filth. “Put that fucking pipe in my mouth.” And I did, not knowing if those words were even his or mine, the battlecry of a long repressed addict. He latched his mouth to my nose, taking in my hit that way. “Back and forth.” Again it didn’t matter whose voice it was. We messily clashed through the haze but our tweaker mouths on instinct found their way back to each other. As he finally stopped the flame after what felt to me like half an hour, we used each other’s lungs as balloons, recycling the precious chemical again and again, forcing every single bit to distill in our bodies. Incredibly, and this is precisely when I came to him, Terence’s free hand remained on my nipple the entire time, and now his other hand, no longer busy with the torch, found its way to my chest as well. Nothing, and I mean nothing, ruins me having my nipples played with. The sensations made every fiber of my body scream out for drugs. More drugs. Always drugs. When we finally finished, hardly a wisp of smoke escaped either of our mouths. “Fuck!” I cried out and he moved his mouth to one of my tits and began assaulting it with his tongue. “Yeah you fucking meth addict,” he said between nips and licks, “I know what you fucking want.” “Ugh!” I struggled under his assault, yet my grip was like an iron vice around his head, keeping his tongue and mouth right there. “Goddamnit,” I pleaded, “that makes me want the nastiest things.” “Uh huh,” he said, speeding up his licks, “tell me, boy.” “Fuck man… never pull out just keep that fucking poz dick in me, and then cum over and over again and over and again,” I said, my words garbling at the end. “And feed you more meth?” he earnestly asked. I nodded furiously, “get me hooked again goddamnit it, don’t let me stop, make me do hits nonstop as long as you’re in me and you’re fucking on my nips like that, god.” “Yeah? Hit that fucking bong again then!” There was no way I could pick up the bong in that state, so I simply popped the plastic nozzle back in my mouth. Now it was my arm stretching out to light the bulb. “Ohhhh fuuuuck,” I whispered as I took in a new hit. The barely subsided waves of pleasure now buoyed up again by a new flood of dopamine in my system. I felt the sharp sensation of my brain frying as I sucked again and again. “Do some continuous hits, until I say,” Terence demanded, then returned to his job of drooling over one nip. He quickly stuck the fingers of his hand into his mouth to get them wet before using them to tease the other nip. With his second free hand, he reached in between us to pull at my dick. I whimpered as I finally sucked to the top of my lungs and then forcefully exhaled my nose as fast as possible so I could suck from my mouth again, and quickly before anything burned or the smoke was wasted. I go from stone cold sober to desperate tweaker whore in 2 hits and Terence loved that about me. Continuous hits would push me even further, so would his amazing cadence of nip work. Fast flicks across the tip while I’m sucking to encourage me to do big hits; languid, hard licks and pinches on the exhales so I marinated in the surge of depravity each new hit brought. Inhale. I need to find more dick. I need to be ass up in a dark room. At a sex offender’s haven. In a conservative country without testing. Inhale. I need more meth. Can I put another pipe in my mouth? What if he starts peeing right now? While he slams? Inhale. Fuck… someone please tie me to a meth machine. I need to hotbox something. Inhale. “Shotgun this to me,” Terence demanded. I stopped the flame and brought both hands to his jaw, lifting his face to mine so I could push the meth into him. Feed his inner demon as he’d fed mine. We both whimpered and whined as we pushed each other’s straining lungs to go again and again, each one challenging the other to see who would have to break for fresh air first. Please not that. The door slammed. We broke free and I found myself panting, desperately drawing in oxygen even as my body tried to reject it. My head swam and my vision became speckled as if a sheet of paper next to a fire and showered by embers. I could hear Terence laugh and say hi to someone, but sharp yet muffled ringing in my ears prevented me from making out his words. I felt a hand in my hair that yanked me back. I became keenly aware of Terence’s poz cock pounding away at me as I looked up wearily at the face above me. My vision was fuzzy, my hearing was barely there. But I still could recognize him. “Good boy, Eric, welcome to Day 4,” Emilio said.

It's hot as a fantasy, although as someone with a very hairy ass, I need some lube to help things glide in without hairs clinging. It's just the reality of a very hairy hole, sadly.

I know that this is several months old, and all of that, but I have wanted to add some perspective to this discussion from a bit of distance. I don’t intend any offense or insult to anyone involved with the original discussion, quite the opposite I’m simply hoping that since some time has passed and some grieving has occurred, it can be assessed and processed in a new light. Both Ellentonboy and Brian Bonds brought up valid points in their respective posts, but each of them also reacted to the behaviors of others with anger which is extremely common during the grieving process. Neither of them did anything wrong, they were just humans being human. Ellentonboy mentioned that Brian had no idea how someone else was connected with the deceased, and that’s true, even Brian somewhat acknowledged that in his own post before making statements that Ellentonboy disagreed with. I find that Brian’s message was a little mixed there, and he really didn’t have the right to demand that other people behave in specific ways. No one has the right to dictate how another person gets to behave , thus it would have been better if Brian had worded it as a suggestion. Unfortunately, that’s not what happened, he was dealing with his own grief over the death of a friend of his and when humans grieve we often get angry for no reason and lash out at anyone and everyone for no discernible explanation. It’s just something that humans do, as if it’s hardwired into our brains. Brian Bonds did make a good point though, about what is generally considered appropriate or inappropriate as a topic of public discussion when someone has just died. Ellentonboy’s discussion of Colton’s music career was completely appropriate for public discourse, and I would think wholly welcome by both Brian and the late Colton. Remembering the person who has just passed through something that brought joy to a wider audience than another career they had pursued would have been the preferred choice for many such artists I think regardless of what that alternate career was. In fact, just before responding to these posts I was thinking about what I would have written at the time, and I include it below … Colton Ford was, like all people, a complex human being, who definitely marched to the beat of his own drum. The beauty of it is that he decided to share that with the world by changing gears and launching a music career. Thank you, Glenn, you were truly a wonderful person who was genuinely kind and true pleasure to be around. You are sorely missed.

Just call it whatever it is. Specific name like blue boy etc not poppers.

One hot scene, thank you for this

What should we call then?

In my defense, your dad sounds like he had more girth than mine, so I started at a disadvantage. Definitely haven't heard that in years.

Me next please daddy

I have never been told that. Lol

I had that happen to me recently here in Chicago. They said because I called them poppers I couldn’t buy them. I went somewhere else and bought them.

I think you and I can both attest this isn't true. LOL If a man wants a tight hole, I've yet to hear it. Back before I got loose all I was told is that I was "too tight."

When I go to the bath house or the video stores it seems that most of my breedings are with just spit. Tops don’t usually carry lube and I don’t like to Cary a bottle around either. That’s why spit is the most common lube. I went to a new fuck buds house yesterday and he pulled out some lube that was not as good as spit. I want as much of my tops dna in me as possible. Lol

as you should sir. you’re build to breed and it’s my job as a btm to let you enjoy yourself

I think that is yet another reason I am turned off with porn. The limited exposure I have seen it was a top telling a bottom how tight his pussy was. It makes me think that is what men want.

Sorry everyone, it has been quite some time since I could sit down and write. Should have the next chapter up soon.

wow!! hot, sperming cock of yours, plus a manly body❤ message me if you can/would like to 🙂

Regardless of political leanings, the economy is the most important issue. People supported Trump and the GOP overall in 2024 because they felt that Biden and the Democrats in general had not done enough to improve their lives and their ability to care for their families, and they promised to make it better. The economy has considerably worsened, so the party in power is being punished. I would like to think that there is some sort of turn against their philosophy, but I suspect hard economic times is most of it.

PART 2 - Our little BBQ slut. Weeks blurred into a haze of self-discovery for Greg after that wild Melbourne Cup BBQ. His ass still slightly more loose than he would have liked it to be, and an ache faint from the relentless pounding, a constant reminder of the hot, poz seed that had flooded his guts. What started as a one-off thrill had awakened something primal—he craved the rush, the degradation, the way his body surrendered completely. Piss play lingered in his fantasies, the warm streams marking him as owned, and those amyl hits? They turned him into a quivering mess, hole twitching for invasion. Was he a bottom slut now? Was there any point to denying it? The uncertainty of his status fueled each session he jacked off with fire, but it had been weeks since the BBQ so he convinced himself he was okay. Seeking some kind of anchor, Greg fired up his laptop one rainy evening, typing 'support for risky hookups' into the search bar adding to the many corrupted searches he had done over time. Sites popped up all clinical and judgmental, but he scrolled past them. Then, buried in the results, a forum called Breeding Zone caught his eye. Curiosity piqued, he clicked through. What he found wasn't support—it was a rabbit hole of raw, unfiltered confessions. Threads overflowed with guys detailing bareback gangbangs, chem-fueled orgies, and the intoxicating high of chasing loads from strangers. Stories of conversions, glory holes dripping with cum, asses stretched wide for anonymous breeders. Greg's cock stiffened instantly. He stripped down, lubed up, and dove in, hours slipping away as he sniffer his fading amyl and gooned to the tales—edging himself to near-madness, hand flying over his shaft while reading about sluts like him getting turned out in dark rooms. One post mentioned local spots for real action: an dingy old video and adult bookstore down a city laneway with an upstairs backroom cinema where gay men prowled in the maze and shadows. The anonymity, the flicker of porn on screen, the scent of sweat and lust—it sounded perfect. Heart pounding, Greg showered, threw on loose jeans and a hoodie to hide his growing bulge, and headed out. The unlight old club sign loomed down the seedy laneway from the street corner, the neon buzzing to no effect. Inside, the clerk—a bored middle-aged guy—took his cash. 'Amyl for sale too,' the man grunted, sliding a fresh bottle across the counter. Greg snatched it up, the familiar chemical promise making his pulse race, then grabbed his ticket and went up the old wooden stairs. The room was a velvet-black void, lit only by the massive screen playing hardcore porn as it echoed off the walls, with the wet slaps of flesh on flesh. A dozen or so figures slumped in worn seats or leaned against walls, silhouettes shifting in the gloom. The air hung thick with musk, stale smoke, and something sharper, acrid. Greg's eyes adjusted slowly, spotting clusters of older men, their faces etched with hard living, clothes rumpled. He eased into a seat near the front, biting the top of the amyl cap he cut open the seal with his teeth for a quick sniff. The new bottle of rush hit like lightning, loosening his limbs, making his hole clench in anticipation. It didn't take long. A burly figure in the row behind him leaned over for a look, exhaling a thick cloud of vapor that toward Greg's face—sweet, chemical, not quite smoke. Greg realized dimly, the fumes tickling his nostrils and stirring a forbidden curiosity. The man, grizzled with a salt-and-pepper beard and yellowed teeth, grinned in the low light. 'Fresh meat,' he rasped, shuffling closer. Two others joined, one skinny with greasy hair, the other stocky and flannel shirt unbuttoned, tattoos faded across his gut. They circled like wolves, pipes glowing faintly as they puffed and blew more clouds his way, the haze enveloping him, making his head swim even before he inhaled. Greg's resistance melted under the amyl's and new glow the men had breathed on him. He slid or melted even to his knees on the sticky floor, the screen's glow illuminating his eager face. The bearded one unzipped first, hauling out a thick, veiny cock already leaking pre. Greg leaned in, lips parting to engulf the head, tongue swirling around the salty slit. The man groaned, hand tangling in Greg's hair, guiding him deeper. Soon, the skinny one flanked him, feeding his slender dick into Greg's mouth alongside, stretching his jaw as he slurped greedily, spit dribbling down his chin. The third man stroked himself nearby, watching with hooded eyes. Lost in the rhythm—suck, swallow, gag—Greg barely registered the bearded guy's pipe pressing to his lips. 'Open up, boy,' the man murmured, igniting the bowl. Greg's eyes widened, but the high from the amyl and the cocks in his face overrode caution. He inhaled deeply, the harsh burn racing down his throat, exploding into euphoria. Heat surged through his veins, every sensation amplified tenfold. His skin tingled, cock throbbing painfully hard against his jeans, and an insatiable hunger clawed at him. He needed more—more touch, more invasion, more everything. The men sensed the shift, their prey now pliant and ravenous. Hands roamed, yanking off his hoodie, tugging down his shirt. Greg helped, shimmying out of his pants until he knelt nude, body exposed to the cool air and leering eyes. The skinny one dropped behind him, spreading his cheeks to lap at his hole, tongue probing the tight ring while Greg deepthroated the bearded cock, gagging wetly. The stocky man took his turn next, shoving into Greg's mouth with rough thrusts, balls smacking his chin. They maneuvered him like a ragdoll—bending him over a seat, the skinny one sliding two fingers into his ass, twisting and scissoring while the others took turns face-fucking him. Greg's moans muffled around shafts, his body arching back for more, the high turning him into a vessel of pure want. One by one, they bent him further: the bearded guy mounting him first, spitting on his hole before ramming in raw, the burn exquisite under the drug's veil. He pounded hard, hips snapping, while Greg sucked the stocky man's dick clean of his own spit. The skinny one followed, his lean frame allowing deeper angles, grinding against Greg's prostate until stars burst behind his eyelids. Sweat-slick and trembling, Greg rode the waves, cum from the first load leaking down his thighs as the second man added his own, hot spurts painting his insides. The cinema's other patrons stirred, shadows closing in, but before more could join, a familiar voice cut through the din. 'Well, fuck me, if it isn't our little BBQ slut.' Victor stepped into the light, phone in hand, a smirk playing on his lips. He was dressed casual—jeans, tight tee hugging his dad bod his eyes burned with recognition. 'Got a pic texted to me from a buddy here. Some eager mouth on his knees, sucking like a pro. Had to come see if it myself. You look wrecked already.' Greg blinked up at him, glassy-eyed from the clouds and cocks, words failing as drool trailed from his lips. The men paused, nodding to Victor like old acquaintances, stepping back to give him space. Victor knelt, thumb brushing Greg's swollen lips, then trailing down to pinch a nipple. 'Missed that tight hole of yours. Want another poz load to keep you company? Bet you're starving for it.' Greg's nod was feeble, a whimper escaping as Victor unzipped, his thick cock springing free—familiar from the party, already hard and dripping. He hauled Greg up by the arms, positioning him bent over the seat's armrest, ass presented to the room. The other men watched, stroking lazily, as Victor rubbed his head along Greg's cum-slick crack. 'That's my boy,' Victor growled, then thrust in deep, the slide easy from the fresh deposits. Greg cried out, the fullness grounding his high, pleasure spiking as Victor set a brutal pace—long strokes pulling almost out before slamming home, balls slapping against Greg's. The cinema pulsed around them, moans from the screen mixing in with Greg's own. Victor gripped his hips, fucking with possessive force. 'You're mine to breed again,' he panted, leaning over to bite at Greg's ear. 'Take it you didn't convert last time or your still so naive. Do you want to convert?' As he pushed deeper.' Greg autonomously pushed back, lost in the rhythm, the smokes high and amyl blending into oblivion. Victor's thrusts grew erratic, body tensing, until he buried deep and unleashed—rope after rope of warm seed flooding Greg's hole, sealing the night's debauchery. As Victor pulled out, a trickle escaped, but he wasn't done. He spun Greg around, feeding his softening cock into that greedy mouth for cleanup, while the seedy trio closed in again, ready for round two. The cinema had claimed its newest regular, and Greg surrendered fully to the darkness.

That’s certainly a valid position. I’d contend though that at least one party (or bloc) must take responsibilities for their actions or lack of actions n a parliamentary system. Conversely, in our system of government it’s very difficult to make major policy decisions.

At first I was going to argue that the premise of the poll question was misguided. I don’t think that’s it though. I think the poll question is fine and that public may indeed think we’ve gone too far on trans issues. (I think they’re wrong, but the data shows that’s what they think.) So my real concern is the phrase you’ve used to introduce the idea. “Will Dems pull back from pushing….” To me that implies that Dems have been making a major push on trans rights, which I just don’t think is accurate.