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Note: This entry relates to issues I’m still thinking about, and may be later revised if I do any more braining. —— As I read the topics and posts of this forum, I am often struck with a sense that there are two different communities here, existing side-by-side, intermingling as though they were one, yet profoundly different. I’m not talking about the poz/neg divide, or the Top/bottom divide, or the chaser/non-chaser divide, or the divide between CD/TG and M/M attraction. I’m referring to the divide between those who live this lifestyle and those who live it vicariously - those for whom this is fantasy. Fantasy has been defined as “the faculty or activity of imagining things, especially things that are impossible or improbable”. A related concept is Cloud Cuckoo-Land, which is a calque of the ancient Greek Νεφελοκοκκυγία, coined by Aristophanes to describe an imaginary place where unrealistic people metaphorically reside. A discerning reader of these boards comes in time to develop a sense that some accounts of sexual adventure have the ring of truth; others, the stamp of fiction. This is not to say that there is anything wrong with those writings that express an aspiration rather than an experience - each heart must have its voice. But there are points at which the two currents cross where the difference is illuminated in contrast. For instance, on the question of “whether a true cumdump should be on PrEP”, the discussion is peppered with opinions to the effect that ‘a cumdump should take ANY and ALL toxic loads’. This is not a statement of a reasoned view; it does not consider the realistic human elements of the question that occur naturally to a person who has lived the experience; they are expressions of an imagined situational model, constructed to titillate the imaginer. Within the confines of the imaginer’s mind, this presents no issue. But injected into the arena of public discourse in the guise of experience, it muddies the waters of debate. A similar phenomenon bedevils the entire world of online gay cruising. Two groups are in the same arena, at first glance all in pursuit of the same objective, but in fact incompatibly dissimilar. On the one hand are those men genuinely attempting to meet others for real, person-to-person contact; and on the other, those whose goal is to achieve titillation by purely virtual means. The result is that the second group gets its satisfaction at the expense of the first. In a hypothetical scenario in which this forum could be successfully segregated into discrete areas, one for those discussing their actual lived experiences, and the other for those expressing their unlived fantasies, what would be the result? Would each group flourish, enabled to grow through purity of purpose? Or would the groups falter, each needing something that the other provides? Can the fantasists fully indulge in their internal creations without a voyeur’s ingestion of accounts from a real world where truth excites more than fiction? Would those who have made the choices to live sexually adventurous lives have done so without original exposure to the products of fantasy? For my part, I find the problem particularly difficult in that the true narrative of my sexual life over the last 15 years is so outside the norm that it reads like fiction. Because of the hyperbolic statements and writings men make in expression of their sexual fantasies, I run the distinct risk of my real story being dismissed as fantasy. It is as though I have encountered an actual minotaur in an actual labyrinth and been actually fucked by him with his 11” bull-cock (true story; just substitute ‘marine’ for ‘minotaur’ and ‘Fort Knox’ for ‘labyrinth’) and nobody on earth will believe that it happened to me because, well, that’s outrageous, for God’s sake. I’m actually going to try to publish an explicit written account of my experiences, but I’ll have no choice but to change the names of people and places to protect the... well, to protect the complicit. And that will do nothing but give it more of the flavor of fantasy. It makes me want to climb onto the roof of the bathhouse and shout to all the world - “I HAVE BEEN FUCKED BY MORE MEN IN MORE WAYS IN MORE PLACES THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY BELIEVE AND I WANT TO DO EVERY BIT OF IT AGAIN TOMORROW AFTER A GANGBANG TONIGHT - I LOVE COCK AND CUM AND I GIVE SWEET, SWEET ASS, I’M A SLUTTY CUMDUMP SLUT AND I’M NOT ASHAMED OF IT ONE FUCKING BIT!” And I can hear the guys in the parking lot below going, “Pft. Listen to that. He’s probably never had his lips around a cock in his life. Bless.” So I guess those of us who are really, truly, bravely, boldly living the dream must take our satisfaction in the experiences themselves, separated from the world of sexual fantasy that swirls around us. Isn’t that ironic? This is ErosWired, reporting from Cloud Cuckoo-Land.

I figure after a couple of initial stories, I'd give you fine fellas the one you all came here for... I've never really considered myself a "chaser". I got fucked bareback for the first time when I was around 20, but I didn't actively seek it out. A guy I'd met at the local gay bar that evening took me back to his place and just stuck it in unwrapped. I wanted to say stop, but I just couldn't say no. From there on, I was hooked; although, I tried not to do it too often. Fast forward a few years and I turned into a total bareback slut. I found out that I really hated bottoming for a guy wearing a condom as it felt too uncomfortable. There was only one way to do it: skin-on-skin raw. From there on, it was only a matter of time. A few years (and a new city) later, I was logged on to bbrt and a guy visiting my city gave me a quick "Oink". I checked out his profile to find a good looking guy; not mucular, but not out of shape, who had a nice looking cock with a very pronounced vein on the top that started bulging under his skin right under the head. Checking the rest of his profile, I liked what I saw and then got to the bottom corner: My Status - Positive. I was super nervous, but intrigued at the same time. I replied back saying that I liked what I saw and unlocked my photos in return. We agreed that I'd meet him at his hotel room for an afternoon fuck. I arrived at his hotel with my heart practically beating out of my chest. I'd been fucked bareback countless times before that, but this was the first time I was going to get fucked by a guy I knew was poz at the outset. I wasn't sure if I'd go through with it, but a deal is a deal and I wasn't going to stand him up. He let me in, and we made out a bit - making our way over to the bed. We weren't exactly in a rush, and took our time; loads of kissing and slowly stripping of piece by piece. After a bit, I slipped off his boxer-briefs to reveal his rock hard veiny member. It wasn't that large - maybe around six and a half - but had a pronounced curvature to the right. It was quite beautiful, and I just had to get my mouth around it for a while. As usual, I took my time and let my top dictate when he was ready to move on. He let me go for a good bit, moaning in ecstasy the whole time; must have been about 15-20 minutes of it with me alternating between fast and slow. In the back of my mind, I started to wonder if he knew I was neg. It wasn't actually stated on my profile, as I simply put "ask me" as my status; needless to say, he didn't ask. He soon stopped my bobbing on his throbbing cock, and came around the back of me to give me a good rimming. Ever since the first time I had a guy do that, I found that a good rim job practically makes me beg for cock! Similar to how I prefer oral, I let my top just keep going rimming my hole until he's ready to stop - knowing that he's prepped my hole good and well for what comes next. He could tell that he was doing a good job as I kept moaning pleasurably and kept arching my back and ass into his face wanting him to bury his tongue deeper inside me. Soon enough, he rose up, spit on his hand and gently carressed my hole while he wiped his spit on his cock - no lube; this was going to be interesting. The moment of truth was here. He pushed his cock into me gently, and I slowly let him inside. A million thoughts were now going into my head. His cock felt good; his motion was accomodating (not too fast or slow); however, my nerves were getting to me. My top could sense that I wasn't fully relaxed, and offered to stop for a bit. After a short break, we started again; this time feeling a little more at ease. He kept pumping into me for a bit, lasting around 10 minutes or so, before he could tell that I was tensing up again. Fuck - why was I just not letting this happen! He slowly jerked his cock and said that he wasn't going to last much longer. That seemed to be all that needed to be said. At that point, something inside me snapped into place, and I asked him to go back inside me. He pushed slowly back in, and started working me again; beginning very slow and slowly picking up the pace. All of a sudden, I was far more relaxed than before; my top now noticing me fully release myself to his pleasure. He never said this out loud, but a small part of me got an inkling that he knew he was about to dump his poz load into a neg ass. Working his pace up a bit more, I could hear his sounds starting to change; the kind all tops make as their breaths shorten due to their bodies getting more tense in anticipation of release. I knew what I was about to get. My moans turned into "yeahs" and "fuck yeahs" and he started pumping harder. Next thing I know, he pushed all the way in, and let go. We looked deep into each others eyes as he grunted with every shot being emptied inside me. I reached forward and grabbed the small of his back to make sure he didn't slip out. I'd just (knowingly) taken my first load of poz cum. I suddenly felt free. My top could sense my relief - even though he never vocalised it. He stayed inside me until he softened up and fell out. I then reached forward and felt my wet hole; bringin my fingers forward, I saw a bit of white goo with a slight pink tint to it. That must have happened when I tensed up due to nerves. Whatever the case, I then discovered my affinity for the forbidden fruits of my sexual labour. We parted ways shortly after. He came back through town a few times afterwards, and we always made time to meet up for a repeat. To this day, I get the feeling that he knew he was likely the one that may have converted me. He made me into the bottom slut I've become, and I'll be forever grateful...