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I've been getting a lot of this lately - a Top decides he wants to fuck me, makes like he wants it, "Yeah, buddy, that pussy is all mine" etc., puts my body in position, fingers me up, checks if I'm wet, "Oh, man, that's a good wet boy cunt" etc., spreads my ass, lines up his hips, and... Limp noodle. Soft sausage. I mean, what? Now, to be sure, recently I've been servicing a more mature clientele, so I don't expect the raging steel rods of 20-somethings every time. I'm definitely not judging; I've been blessed in that at 50 years old I can still get it up, which is, when you think about it, actually wasted on a total bottom. But back in the early days when I did occasionally return the favor, I could tell instantly whether I was hard enough to penetrate an asshole, and when I wasn't. For guys who routinely Top, how can they not know? Also, how the fuck can they miss? What's with all this poking around? If you're 18 and a virgin, maybe, but how hard can it be to locate the hole with your finger, line the tip of your cock up with your fingertip, and slide it in? Yet over and over again, I get these guys jabbing me repeatedly over or under the target. This boggles me because all they have to do is look down and my fuckhole is right there. What do I need to do, get a target tattoo around my anus? I mean, it's not completely out of the question, but I'd rather do something more aesthetically clever. And then if they do manage to hit the spot, sometimes they'll ask, "Is it in?" What? You can't tell if it's in my ass? (Hint: If your cock is in my ass, you'll by God know it, because you'll think you've died and gone to Heaven. I'll make sure of that.) I absolutely don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm grateful for every single cock that even tries to fuck my tight hole, and I'm willing to take responsibility for possibility that I might be part of the problem - my ass has always been particularly tight, and I don't do a lot of stretching. I've never been fisted (though I've always been tempted to try), never played with huge dildos, that sort of thing. I sometimes slowly open myself up with an anal speculum, but I've always been kind of proud of the way I can milk a cock with my ass, and enjoy the pleasure Tops seem to get when they fuck me, so I haven't wanted to compromise that. I guess it's possible that the result has been that I've made the door to paradise a little hard to get into. Maybe? But I do know that some damn huge visitors have pushed their way in like a rhinoceros walking through a Japanese rice paper door (and left nice presents). So I don't know. I do my best to work with everybody. I spend oral time trying to stiffen them up, I assume all kinds of positions, I use my own hand to line them up, but the bottom line is that if a cock isn't at least hard to a certain point, penetration ain't happening, and even if you do somehow stuff it in there, you're not going to be doing any thrusting. So explain to me why some Tops try to do it anyway. Wishful thinking? No access to Viagra? Is it just a case of now that they have actually scored some fantastic ass they're not sure what to do with it? The thing is, I know that it's no good asking all you Tops to tell me what I need to do, because the answer is going to be different for every single Top. For some of you, it will help if I act more helpless; for others, if I act more aggressive; for some if I go down on you, for others if I finger myself; some will get hard if I growl in your ear, others if I whimper; some need their nipples sucked, some need them bitten. Whatever. It's all good. Just know that it's okay if the plumbing doesn't work right then. I'd rather you didn't try to force the issue if you know it's not going to work, because it just sets us both up to be disappointed. Just because you're not quite ready to breed me at that moment doesn't mean you can't Top me in so many other ways. Your masculinity is what turns me into your bitch in heat, so spend some extra time showing me who's Top and why you like my body, and spend some time telling me how you like me to pleasure yours. Before you know it, there won't be any need for wishful thinking.

I hadn't planned on it, and didn't expect it. Well - I didn't expect it. I was cleaned out, and lubed up. What I planned on, or at least hoped for, was a pleasant encounter with some willing top who might like the look of me and have some fun. You never knew at this campground, but it was a gay campground, so the odds were good, and even if the goods were sometimes odd, I didn't much care. But it was a crapshoot, because I was there alone, and it always seemed like the action happened to the guys who arrived with friends. Groups begat groups, action happened more readily within groups, and action begat... well, begetting. A guy alone found it harder to get noticed, to get selected, to become a focus of, shall we say, attention. Not that I'm ever looking for 'attention'. I don't care if they ever even see my face. For that matter, I don't care if I ever see theirs. One of my greatest memories from that place is the dark night where an unknown guy fucked me deliciously for a good ten minutes before he blew, then handed me over to another who plugged right in. The first guy then paused by my head and said to the first, a stranger to him, "You'll love that. He's got a fantastic ass." He left, and I never saw his face. This time, I wandered around for a while, finding no joy, and at last made my way into a shed where they kept a fucking bench. Two men stood nearby touching each other, and others stood in conversation around the walls. No one particularly noticed me as I stepped over to the unoccupied bench. I pulled down my underwear and bent over with my belly against the leather and my elbows and knees against the rests, not really expecting anyone to take the unasked-for offering. Nobody did for a few minutes. But then the two men touching each other suddenly began touching my ass, and soon, fingering my hole. Without a word, one of them lined his cock up and slid it forcefully inside; it was just the right size to stretch me open without much pain. His vocals turned heads. After a few minutes I felt him fill me, and then his friend swapped out and did the same. By the time he pulled out, I was glowing - two for the price of one! I started to raise up, but suddenly felt two fingers at the small of my back give me a little push back down. Slowly, I resumed my position on the bench. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the two guys standing beside me and the bench. They weren't moving to jump back in again, but I couldn't tell what they were doing. I only knew they wanted me to stay there. A few wordless minutes later, a different set of hands spread my ass apart and stroked my taint up and down across my hole, the finger probing inside, smearing cum in and out to lube the opening. Then an larger cock entered, and began fucking. The grunting was more gutteral than before, lower and quieter - a bigger man, who finished more quickly, but filled me just the same. After he pulled out, I started to raise up - but there it was again, a little push. This time, a pair of eager, uncertain hands. Hands that weren't sure quite what to do. Hands that kneaded my globes and my calves, a cock that smacked against my hole repeatedly, a cockhead that jabbed the wrong place a couple of times before getting it right, hips that pushed with a lot of energy. Some barely legal kid, probably. He blew in a few seconds, but it kept on going. He finally pulled out. Men clapped. When I was sure he was done, I raised up - A little push. This time, an older man. You can tell sometimes, because the hands stroke your ass with reverence, with appreciation, with gratitude for the gift they know they are about to receive. Fingers knew what to touch, and where. I know I gasped, and I know my face betrayed the reactions running through my body (it always does - remind me to tell you about the time with the lumi-lights). The fingers (multiple) took the time to visit my prostate and then stroke me to dripping before he mounted me. Viagra or no, he had no problem staying hard or completing the act, which he did with a shuddering sigh and pulses that I felt all through me. When he was done, there was silence in the room, and no one seemed to move. I felt a wave of contentment. I had not anticipated the chance to serve so many, nor the exquisite rush of having a roomful of eyes watch me do it. I pushed my torso up from the bench - A little push. What? A built guy positioned himself in front of me with his cock at mouth level. "Suck it," he said. I couldn't raise my head enough to see his face, and he was insistent enough that as soon as I opened my mouth even a little he jammed his cock into it. I lavished my tongue all around it, let it explore the hollow of my throat, but he quickly pulled it out again. "See this cock?" he said, turning it sideways so I could examine its thick, veiny purple size. "This is going into your ass, and then it's going back in your mouth." He disappeared from in front of me and I quickly felt his strong hands cleave me apart and position his cock to piston into my cunt. He was rough, and he took his time. My head bobbed up and down and my back arched from the brutality of the raw fuck. When he finally burst, he did it with a barking shout and yanked my hips back as hard as his muscled arms could bury him into me. After the pulsing stopped, he circled back around, panting, and said, "This was in your ASS," and thrust it into my mouth, tasting of cum, sweat and ass. I cleaned it off with my tongue. When he left, he smacked me on the ass. I lay there for a few moments, worn out. Not only unexpected, but more than I had had in mind. I gratefully got up - A little push. In all, twelve men fucked me on that bench. I have to assume the first two in some way silently invited the other ten to use what they had appropriated as their free giveaway cumhole. I don't understand the dominant male mind that finds such a thing a turn-on... I'm just glad they do. I wish more did. I wish more men would feel free to give me a little push. That's all it would take, any time. If you're a top who would enjoy doing something like that, can you explain what that feels like for you? Why you would enjoy doing it? I really want to understand. And if you're a top who wants to try it...

There's a motif in movies of the girl at her dressing-table, readying herself for her big date, taking the time to array and adorn herself, preparing to work magic and alchemy at once when she meets the man. Many times she finds an epiphany in the mirror, her soul looking back, or she flowers into song, so rich is the setting, so pregnant with anticipation and possibility, so fraught with potential consequence. It is an intimate window onto her that gives the viewer access to pathos when she arrives in splendor - or simply humble goodness - only to find that her paramour never intended to meet her at all. The analogy is far from perfect. A good many of us dedicated bottoms' wiles are centered around a more or less hairy rump, and, even if some of us do like musical theatre, we're guys, for God's sake. But in other ways there are some similarities worth noting - and worth pointing out, especially to certain of the always-tops. It's true that there are bottoms that don't think twice about dropping trou at any moment, and there's something to be said for spontaneity, but given time to prepare, I'd say most of us who take bottoming at all seriously invest at least a little 'boudoir' time preparing for any encounter, for a lot of reasons. Done well, it isn't always quick, and it isn't always easy... and it isn't always appreciated. My motivation for bottoming is the satisfaction I get from feeling a man's body cum in me because that is proof that I have made him feel orgasmically good - comfortable enough, and energetic enough, and powerful enough, and attractive enough to let himself enjoy the use of my body inside and out, and forget the world for a short while. Making sure he gets there takes work on my part. To start with, I always make sure he has a nice, clean hole to play with. I don't risk an accident that could derail the proceedings; I take the time to clean myself out thoroughly. It isn't comfortable, and it can be time-consuming, but it's the standard I set for my service. To pre-lube or not, to musk up or go natural, and the hairdo (if you've still got it) wants consideration. Body hair is tricky, because you never know what another man's preference is the first time you meet him. If you're pretty hairy, you can do something about it if you know he likes smooth skin (harder to go the other way without dressing in fur skins) but the degree of manscaping is a moving target. Again, potentially time-consuming, but I try to pay attention to detail all over my body, not just those places where his face is going to go where it wouldn't usually go. Likewise, attire. Now, you wouldn't think that a cumslut bottom would have any reason to spend time worrying about his clothing - it's going to be a temporary, if not disposable situation in any case. But it's all about the impression that sets the mood and the scene, that tells the story about the kind of man you have before you who is about to surrender his masculinity to yours and let you breed him. Choice of underwear (or whether to even bother), clothes that nearly fall off on their own, or duds that playfully defy the Top to claim his trophy, all this gets considered. Then, has the bottom got his kit together for traveling? That little box or bag of essentials to make sure everthing goes smoothly (or roughly) has to be got together. If the Top is into kink, this can be a very complicated affair. I can vouch. My BDSM bag to cater to the interests of discriminating Doms weighs pounds. Don't get me wrong - I don't primp and priss over myself in the bathroom. I want in and out of there as quickly as possible. I know there are plenty of guys who don't linger over it, and some guys say the grungier the better. I just know that the men who have fucked me the most thoroughly and enjoyed my body the most are the ones who appreciated my efforts in the 'boudoir', so that's why I make the effort for every single man who summons me. And that's why it pisses me off so badly when someone calls me for a hookup that's going to take me an hour and a half round-trip drive to another city, and when I get there, texts me to say, "I can't do it today" or "I don't feel like it" or "something came up" or "<nothing>". What the fuck? You let a guy rinse his guts out for you, spend an hour getting his body smooth enough for you to lick, pack all his sex toys for you to play with, drive 45 minutes on his own gas money, and you don't bother to tell him until half an hour after he's texted you that he's on his way that you're canceling? Without a reason? What's the matter with you? Maybe the guy in this case had a legit reason. Shit happens, and I'm fine with that if it's real. But I've been burned by men who do this much too often. I don't get it. I never get it. Tops are forever writing "I would love to eat your ass and breed you" and then, when the bottom says, "Okay," it's as though half the Tops didn't realize that was an actual possibility and that they might actually be called upon to perform. Again, what the fuck? Why do you people who do this, do this? I wanted to get my ass filled this weekend and lost my opportunity because of one guy who basically prevented my ass from being available to someone else who might have truly enjoyed it. Worst of all, it is so discouraging to me that it makes me question whether I'm wasting my time - whether I'm nuts to think that there are men who would seriously want to breed me. All I can say is, if you're out there, this ass is always, always eager for you. But if you're one of those game-player inconsiderate assholes who have no respect for the discomfort, time and effort a bottom takes at his boudoir for your sake, then piss off and please don't waste my time with your fantasy life. (I don't usually write rants, by the way, but dammit, I was ready for breeding today. Some guy or guys could have worked me for hours... )

There's a difference between being fucked and being bred. If you're a bottom, you know what I'm talking about - you know when a man is breeding you, and you know when a man is just fucking you. The question is, how do you know? How about the way he acts? Oh, no, that's not the way; And you're not listenin' to all I sa - wait a minute, that's Cher... I mean, part of it is the way he acts, the subtle shift in tone of his voice, the difference in the position and firmness of his grip, the angle of his hips when he mounts you - I'll never forget one anonymous guy at camp who got up behind me without a word, and even though I couldn't see him in the dark, I could tell the exact position of his body, the same position taken by male animals in the wild for pure reproduction. It became a purely instinctual act of two creatures, and he reached forward and gripped me by the back of the neck as his cock pulsed his seed deep inside me. When he had finished, he pulled up his shorts, and paused to look at me long enough for me to just make out his silhouette and the gleam of his eyes in the night. Then he was gone. Ironically, a comment like "I'm gonna breed your ass, bitch." is not necessarily a prelude to a breeding. It's probably a reliable prelude to a pretty solid fucking, but actual breeding requires a mindset on the part of both the Top and the bottom - although the bottom's mindset is optional (his asset is not). The Top must think of, and by diverse means, convey, that he has Power and is about to convey some essence of that power into the body of the bottom. The Top-As-Breeder must demonstrate that he is in control of the whole setting, that he has intent, that he is going to achieve his goal no matter what, and that he is equipped for the task at hand. When I say "equipped", I know what you're thinking. And you're not wrong. But the last time a man bred me, he was the most consummate breeder I ever encountered. He had it down to a science. This man arrived at the door of my cabin to look at some gear we had talked about earlier. There had been no discussion of hooking up. He carried with him a small bag, but I didn't pay any attention to it. After I offered him something to drink, we looked over the gear, then he commented, "Nice cabin. Is the bed over there?" It was; I showed him. He said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to fuck you." Well, then. After he got me naked on the bed, he opened the small bag he carried, and brought out a small anal lube shooter (legislation should be passed requiring every Top to carry one of these, loaded for insertion) and a small triangular pillow made of foam, covered in blue cloth. "I custom-made this for breeding," he said of the pillow. "It elevates your ass to exactly the right height and tilts your hips to just the right angle for me. Raise up." Height - angle - he must have taken measurements, because true to his word, he had me precisely where he wanted me for the deepest conceivable penetration, the smoothest, longest strokes, the most varied positioning of my legs, the greatest exposure of my hole, my cock and balls, and view of my face. He took his time about it, too, and when he finally unloaded inside me, packed his kit and left, my legs wouldn't stop shaking and my anus kept clenching. After my door closed behind him, I realized he must have intended to breed me from the first time he saw me earlier in the day. He had set his sights, moved on me without hesitation, taken complete control, and bred me like I belonged to him. Hm...I wonder how hard it would be to make an adjustable foam pillow...

Back to the bookstore for three more loads tonight, regrettably all swallowed. “Regrettably” as in “not bred deep into my ass”, but far be it from me to complain about •any• load another man wants to pump into me. At one point I had a cock in each hand and one in my mouth, trying to rotate between them and do them all justice. Still, there seems to be some dynamic about the adult bookstore scene that I’m not catching onto when it comes to sending out the message that “The fucktoy is in position: Gentlemen, start your engines.” I mean, I’m basically naked except for my boots, socks, cap, and a pair of backless jock-briefs. It’s below freezing outside, so it ought to be clear to even the slowest among them that there’s a •reason• my ass is on display, shouldn’t it? Yes, head is often the expected preamble to fucking, I get that. It probably didn’t help matters that the first guy I wrapped my lips around told the whole room that I was a fantastic cocksucker. (I dispute this; I think I probably give very mediocre head because my mouth is too small and I can’t deep-throat no matter how much I practice. An agile tongue can only take you so far. Besides, I’ve managed to suck my own cock before, so I can speak from experience.) On this particular Saturday evening, the cold westher kept some people home. Inversely, this also had the effect of bringing at least one homeless guy into the theater to sleep on one of the couches. I don’t blame him at all, but his presence And that of a clearly CD guy who looked basically like someone’s (homely) mother put a major damper on my general fuckability. Add to this the two gay guys who sat right outside the theater door and held a loud conversation about personal finance and home decorating (I shit you not) and it started to become difficult to maintain a hard-on, let alone score an ass-fucking. So far, the last two visits to the ABS have netted me five losds, but only one by breeding. I’m beginning to wonder whether I ought to stick to hotel hosting with ads that specify that I’m only taking breeders. The ABS might work out better if I used the glory-holes, but I’ve never liked that method. *Sigh* Men are strange animals. But my tongue sure likes the way they taste.

I believe in science. If you want to understand why something happens, the reason for it can eventually be understood if you apply science to it. I had been in a deep grey funk for weeks, and didn't understand what was wrong with me. Yeah, yeah, change of seasons, need a break from work, blah blah blah, not buying it. Exercise? No use. This was malaise. This was one of those oppressive, gnawing feelings that grabs hold of you and doesn't let go until it thunders. It was like an ache that wouldn't stop aching, an itch that couldn't be scratched, a hunger for which there was nothing in the fridge. In retrospect, I now think I really became aware of it when I logged onto this website for the first time. It had been a dry spell, and all the talk of juicy, sloppy, grunting, no-holds-barred bareback sex had my toes twitching. Also my asshole. A man had actually spent five years training my mind to accept a role as a public cumdump, but cut me loose without setting me up to actually perform. Now I found myself reading the posts of those who do, and realizing that my training was not for nothing. I can do this. It's not that I haven't done it before. I've shared in other posts about how much cum I've been pumped full of (Hint: It's never enough). It's just that I had never, until now, seriously considered the possibility of becoming a public sex worker. What do you call a man who gives his body away for free? Escorts and prostitutes have at least partly a monetary agenda. I don't, so I can't even accept the technical definition of "whore". I had never thought about it before. I had never looked at myself in the mirror and said, "Cumdump. You. Get busy." But the guy in the mirror was pretty persuasive, so day before yesterday, I put out my first CL ad, set up a QuickConnect on BBRTS, got a hotel room, propped my ass up with a couple of pillows, and thought to myself, Open for Business. There is some scientific research on the effect that sexual intercourse has on the human body. Of course there is; what else would pervy scientists be studying? The release of a whole complex of hormones and neurotransmitters have profound effects on mood and stress levels. But in my experience, there is an effect that can last days or weeks after a particularly good fucking - a glow that sticks with you not just in memory, but in your whole being, almost akin to a good meal that fills you so perfectly that you don't feel hungry for a long time. The first man who pushed open my unlocked hotel door fucked me just like that for a solid hour. He wasn't hard when he got there, and had a little trouble at first, but once he stiffened up, he was ruthless. He wasn't huge, either - a perfectly-sized cock for marathon fucking, and he knew how to use his tools. He loaded me up about a third of the way through, but he was nowhere near finished. Not long after he hit my personal "breeding zone" where I dissolve into a growling animal-bitch and assume nature's pose for reproduction. He knew exactly what to do with that. Later on, when he had started to soften up a bit, he still hadn't run out of ideas: He used his big tip in and out of my by now exquisitely sensitive hole, inoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinout... until I was nearly out of my mind. I only had one other taker that night, with a great big organ that ravaged my cunt very professionally. The fact that I had only two takers didn't bother me. It's a one-horse town anyway, and this was a case of quality over quantity. But the first Top cured me of my deep grey funk. What I had needed was a good fucking. Yeah, yeah, science, blah blah blah. I needed a man's cock in my cunt, and I needed his load shot deep inside me, and Mister, whoever you were, I'm grateful. Not only for the load, but for confirming for me that I truly am meant to be a cumdump, and that I'm right to start doing this. All you Tops, never underestimate the good you can do with a simple fuck. Sometimes, your decision to share your masculinity, your power, your energy, and yes, your load, with a bottom can make all the difference. Go forth and do good work.