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Today’s entry is brought to you by the Number 55. 55. Fifty-Five. Half-a-Benjamin-plus-five. Forty-five shy of a century - which is really what gets to the point. Today is my birthday, marking my 55th tour ‘round the Sun. Before any of you reflexively say ‘Happy birthday’, let me save you the trouble - I haven’t had one of those sine number 40, when I acquired a sense of Time, and I now positively dread them since 2014 when I nearly stopped having them. It’s not as simple as a concern about the naked ageism in sexual attraction among gay men - in some ways, that’s unavoidable. The science explains that sexual attraction relies heavily on visual cues that signal sexual readiness, reproductive viability, and robust ability to provide and defend. This is all back-of-the-brain stuff humans have been conditioned to over 50,000 years of selecting successful reproductive partners. The fact that these couplings aren’t going to be reproductive doesn’t matter; the same mechanism are in use. As a result, we like abs. We like muscle tone and taut skin. We gravitate toward hair that isn’t white, and isn’t sparse. These characteristics signal youth, vigor, strength, and sexual virility, and therefore advantage those that have them with extra attractiveness. Which is to say, they principally advantage the young. Not always, of course, and not for everyone. There are plenty of other factors. But where possessing a trait may advantage one man, possessing the opposite may not just not advantage another man, it may actively disadvantage him. Sagging physique, wrinkled skin, grey hair - Time is not kind, and while its effects may be forestalled for a while, it will not be denied. I have a couple of pretty decent profile pics of my ass. I rather like them. So do other people. But they were taken three years ago, and I believe in Truth In Advertising, so I think I’m going to need to replace them soon. I doubt my ass will look as good now. It probably feels better to a Top now than it did three years ago, because I’ve honed my technique, but you can’t see that. “Age is just a number,” some of you say. “You’re as young as you feel.” (I feel ancient.) “Fifty is the new Thirty.” (That would make all the 30-year-olds jailbait.) Sorry, not buying any of that. No matter how we try to whitewash it, there’s a reason there’s a general sense that maturing is a death sentence in terms of the gay lifestyle. It doesn’t matter that I get fucked plenty, or that a subset of men may be attracted to older men - that doesn’t change the fact that I’m now too old to put on certain types of slutty clothes and hang out in certain places; my body simply cannot pull it off. I would look ridiculous, sad, and possibly deranged. But all of that isn’t the big reason 55 is a kick in the teeth now. I suppose every person reaches a point sooner or later, if he lives long enough, where he suddenly realizes that there are only so many birthdays left, and he can count them so easily it startles him. Some men may not hit this reckoning until their 70s - my father has been like that. He turns 80 this year. My father, unlike me, does not have AIDS. For me, the reckoning started in 2014, when I survived the effects of the disease that was once an absolute death sentence. Now, a twentysomething who starts ART early before his immune system is destroyed can enjoy practically a normal lifespan. I wasn’t twentysomething. I didn’t start ART until my immune system was practically erased. I will not be getting that normal life expectancy. How many years I’ll loose, science can’t say yet, studies suggest on the order of 7-9. That points to an age of around 70 when ErosWired Has Left The Building. That means that as of today I can count my coming birthdays on the fingers of three hands, and not all of them will be healthy years, thanks to HIV. In a few years, who knows? Science may find a way to beat the Enemy Virus, and I might get an extension. For now, though, I can’t escape a sense of the inevitable approach if Mortality. Being rejected by a hott muscletwink because you’ve got a little silver in your temples or the crows have stamped their feet around your eyes can give you a taste of it - but at some point you can’t get the taste out of your mouth and you feel like a Dead Man Walking. Yesterday evening I was cleaning the kitchen and I stopped at an apple on the counter. It had been there, uneaten, a good long while. It wasn’t rotten, but it was soft, and the skin had wrinkled and become spotty. I paused for a moment, and looked at it. Then I tossed it. Just sayin’.

North of Home—June, 2021 I had had a couple of sessions with Ross, the man with the AMAZING rosebud, in his new home. I was headed up for the third time at the top of June. I took the sling, but I knew I wanted something a little different. Last time, when I was face fucking him with his head hanging over the edge of the bed, I seemed to have awoken something very sub in his nature. I packed accordingly… I have just finished setting up the sling and have stripped down to the now pretty filthy Fukdto jock and my boots. Ross, tall, good looking and maybe 10 + years younger than me, comes in. He is dressed only in an ancient, once white jock that has begun to lose its elasticity. I point to the floor between my legs. He kneels between my scuffed boots. “Start with my balls.” He gets them out of the pouch, leaving the rest of my hardening penis covered. He takes one, then the other into his mouth, leaving them wet and slippery. Now I take my cock out. I slap his cheek with the head. It makes a hollow sound. I wipe a drop of precum on his high cheek bone. Ross groans and opens his mouth to take me. I let him get me good and wet at his own speed. But soon I am holding onto the sides of his head and fucking his face. It feels great—and I can go deep. But I want to go deeper yet. “Sit on the bed.” I pull the ankle restraints out of my bag and begin buckling them onto him. He presents his wrists for the same treatment. “Swing around, so you head is over the edge of the bed.” He does it—in a smooth, graceful move. He opens his mouth expectantly. I straddle his head. I bend and lower my cock his mouth. And begin to fuck. Not too deep at first—just deep enough so he knows I’m in charge. I do three or four strokes and then pause, letting him get a breath. Then five or six. Pause. And again. This time, when I pull out he is panting. I shove right back in and go the deepest yet. I pull out—getting the long strands of deep throat saliva. I catch them in my hand and smear them on his face. He pants. I grab the hogtie clip. I fasten his legs to it. “Take a hit,” I tell him. The moment the cap is back on it I fasten his wrists to the clips. I press down drawing his extremities together. My cock finds his mouth and begins a slow fuck. He almost chokes—but Ross is loving it. I throat fuck him one last time. As deep as I’ve been ever. Again, I pull up deep throat slime. This time I smear it on my cock. I let go of the clips and turn him so his ass is where his head was on the edge of the bed. Then I grab it again and press down—raising his ass to the perfect height. My super wet cock slides into his open hole with no other lube than the deep spit. We both groan as I begin to buck into him. I press the hogtie down towards his chest. I watch his face struggle and accept that he can’t move. Even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t. He is lost in my raw cock ravaging his hole. I let up on the pressure as I pull my dick out of him. Ross rolls to his side—in a fetal position from the hogtie still holding his arms and legs together. I slide right back into his ass and fuck him with great wet slappings of my hips on his rounded ass. * We are in the sling. I have eaten his well fucked ass. I have done some lateral stretches with my fingers from both hands. I rise up and fuck him again—and suddenly stop. “You’re pissing in me, aren’t you…” he groans. It’s true. I am hosing his chute. It feels like a huge load. When it finally peters out, I kneel and stick my tongue in him. I can easily taste my pale piss, mixed with some precum. My lips suck his ass lips into my mouth. He gives the tiniest push and the flood of piss is pushed out of his ass and into my mouth. I swallow frantically. I am not going to waste a drop. When I’ve gotten it all, I stand up and fuck him hard—with my super engorged dick. “I have to piss,” he tells me. We trade places. He eats my ass while I lie back in the sling. And he’s good. Suddenly he stands and hoses down my balls and butt crack. Instantly he is kneeling and cleaning me off with his tongue. My balls, my perineum, my ass crack. The moment he has slurped all his piss off me, swallowing it all, I stop stroking and hold my cock straight up. It’s not much, but a shower of piss erupts and cascades down all the areas he’s cleaned—and he has to do it all again… * Ross is back in the sling. My left hand is deep in his hole. I slide my cock in with it and fuck my fingers. This is an old trick with him…but one he loves. I slowly wrap my fingers around my shaft deep in his hole. I jerk myself inside him. I switch hands—and add my cock again. “Double me. Please…” I re-grease. Both hands. I get the left in him easily, and just like I did with my cock, slide my right hand down the left arm until it joins the other hand inside him. Ross pants as I hold in place—and then reverse it to get both fists out of him. I do it again. Left. Add the right. A slight turn. Hold and get them out. I repeat it until that hot ass is worn out. “I still want your cock—but that’s it for hand,” Ross clarifies. We switch back to the bed. I fuck him on all fours. I kneel and tongue his over overworked hole to soothe it from this over two hour work out. I feel him push—his rose bud enters my mouth. He has incredible control. He can move it in and out of his body—and my mouth—as if he were fucking my face. I stop stroking my cock. His insides swell, filling my mouth, feeding me the precum and the taste of my piss. It’s too much. I stand up. My cock head pushes the mound of the rosebud. It pushes it back inside him, swallowing my cock in the process. I fuck no more than five strokes…and shoot. I stand frozen and not moving. I let his talented ass milk every drop out of me. Finally, I kneel. I whimper as he pushes out one last time. His perfect red rosebud, now streaked with my white cum. I open my mouth, he gives a tiny push and I take him inside, my tongue working every fold of flesh… The original post, with pictures of the restraints, is here: [think before following links] http://felchingpisser.blogspot.com/2021/08/hogtieing-ross.html

Near Home—June, 2021 I was just about to start a mini contract—but one that would allow me no time for play at all. I wanted to take a few hours for myself—to empty my balls. It was a Saturday night. But I could not find a man to fuck online. On any site. So off I went to the bookstore… It looks pretty dismal here, too. The parking lot is fairly full, but the men must all be in the arcade. In the straight theatre, there are two guys. Both are sitting very close to the screen—which translates to “leave me alone.” I sit and watch for a bit—but the movie is a “point of view” opus that leaves me cold. Through the low grating in the common wall between the theatres, I hear a chair scrape next door. I go to the gay side. One man is sitting and stroking. He is seated along the side wall, enjoying the decent bareback flick. I sit at the back and haul out my dick. The other man, a bearish daddy type, with a fairly full beard, nods to me—in a ‘welcome’ sort of way, not a ‘let me suck your dick’ kind of way. We stroke to the movie. We both seem to enjoy the talk that leads up to well photographed breeding—where, eventually, far more cum is pushed out of the bottom’s hole, than spattered around it. The door opens. Two men come in. One stands at the back and leaves quickly. The other finds a seat on the opposite wall to the Bear. He sits, opens his cut-offs and pulls out a long, thin hooded dick. We all sit and watch the movie, stroking happily and occasionally eyeing one of the other two. The door opens. A thin kid comes in—African American, just below medium height. He is wearing skinny jeans and a tee with the local university’s logo on it. His hair is cropped close to his skull. His handsome features smile as he sees our three white dicks being stroked. Without any talking or nods or sign language he walks to the long, thin dicked guy. He kneels in front of the spread legs, pushes the man’s hands off his dick and takes him deep into his throat. The guy gives a contented sigh to what is obviously an expert blow job. He lets the kid do all the work—and is shooting in no time. The sucker cleans every drop off him—so well that the guy takes out a fast food napkin to wipe himself up and puts it away unused. He pats the kid on the shoulder, zips up and leaves. The kid literally crawls across the floor to the big bear. The cock here is the exact opposite. A true beer can, not very long, but very thick. And cut, as far as I can tell. The Bear has stopped stroking and points his dick at the kid as he crawls towards it. In one movement, the kid swallows him down. I think about going over to work the Bear’s tits, but there is no time. The Bear is already convulsing down the kid’s throat. He grabs the kid’s shoulders and won’t let go as he bucks into the kid’s over stretched mouth. The Bear pushes him off his cock, buttons up and leaves. The kid stays in a huddle on the floor. I wait. Eventually his head comes up and he turns to me. “Please, Sir….” It’s a low whisper. I stand up—my cock jutting out, hard and throbbing. “Come here.” My voice is almost as hushed, but still commanding. The kid crawls to me. He just gazes at my cock. His hands, instinctively, go behind his back. “Please use me…” he breathes. I step forward. I slap my cock on his right cheek. And again on his left. “Open up.” He does. I push into him and let him do his work. He’s great. Great suction and even better tongue work. But if he thinks he’s going to get another load in 30 seconds, he doesn’t know me. He finally pulls off me, panting. I let him recover. Then I grab his chin and open his mouth for him. He ovals—and lets me fuck his face. After repeated strokes, I pull out. I notice his jeans are trying to tent with the tight fabric. “Lick my balls,” I tell him. I jerk my dick as his warm mouth is all over my hairy sack. I finally nod at him and he does his best to get me off at his own pace. He works really hard. He finally rocks back on his haunches—“What can I do to get you off…Sir?” I pause. Then. “Get naked.” “I can’t be fucked, Sir.” “Just do it.” He hurriedly stands and strips. He has a great natural body. And an incredible bubble butt. He kneels again. I let him suck. For a long time. I surprise him by kneeling myself in front of his kneeling form. My finger finds his tight pucker. I play around it, idly, as he pants. “I so want you in me, but I didn’t think that would happen here tonight,” he whispers in my ear. “Stand up and lean into my chair.” He does. Trembling a little. I turn, still on my knees, and bury my face in his ass. He may not have cleaned out—but he showered. I can taste the Dial soap. He whimpers as I tongue fuck him. His hand goes to his cock. I bat it away, stopping the rimming long enough to say, “Just enjoy it.” “Thank you, Sir.” I force myself to stop or I know I will want to fuck him. I turn his hips so he turns towards me. His hard, just above average, cock stares me in the face. I spit on it and pull him down so we are kneeling face to face again. “Kiss me. Taste your ass on my tongue.” His eyes widen. But he does it. And then groans as if I have fed him the most incredible delicacy. My finger finds his now wet hole. It pokes inside. Just. I break the kiss and bend him to suck my dick in this awkward way—but I want my finger in his pucker as he does it. He is moaning around my dick. I pull out of his mouth. Stand. He straightens up, still on his knees. My cock goes back into his mouth. I begin to drill into him. His hand goes to his cock—this time I let it happen. I am so fucking close. “You want my load?” I know the answer, but I want to hear him grunt out a “yes” without letting my cock out of his mouth. He makes some sort of affirmative sound. And I’m there. I fire volley after volley of hot seed into his throat—and then onto his tongue. He swallows it all. And licks me clean. It is only then that I see he has covered my boot with his own massive wad of cum… To see the original post follow the link: [think before following links] http://felchingpisser.blogspot.com/2021/09/what-can-i-do-to-get-you-off.html