Leaderboard

As we get closer to the day The Orangutang takes charge, I want to try a chemical enhanced party that gets filmed. I wanna fly so high and be so turned on that no load could get away. Be used like a wild porn party and get to see images of my face in a state of bliss of having cocks filling me up from both ends. Being sprayed and filled. Being fucked so loose and filled with so much cum that I could be DP'd and fisted, repeatedly. Could watch the video when I feel down. See the look on my face feeling a top unload. Hearing a top tell me he is gonna push his hand in deeper. Be told what a good little slut I am to take it all.

Like most of my hookups, I met Drew at one of the bars. We hit it off chatting at the bar and when we decided to call it a night I walked with him to his apartment since it was on the way to mine. When we got to his place he invited me up for a glass of wine. He had a tiny little studio in an old building, and he just had a kitchen and dining table with mattress on the floor. He poured some red wine for us and suggested we sit on the mattress as it would be more comfortable than the chairs he had. We were flirting quite hard and by the time we had gone through half a glass of wine we leaned into each other and kissed. We set our wine down and really got into it. After a couple minutes of just kissing it got really hot and heavy our clothes came off quickly and suddenly I had this hot guy with a build like a Nordic skier and a 7 inch cock on top of me grinding into me. He flipped around for a sixty-nine and we sucked each other for several minutes. I was absolutely in bliss feeling the attention he was giving my cock while having his perfect cock in my mouth. Suddenly he pulled off of me and rummaged around beside his mattress. I was on my back when he found what he was looking for, a bottle of lube. He got in between my legs and lubed up his cock and put it to my hole and started pressing in. He sank his raw cock all the way into me and then started kissing me and slowly rocking his hips. “Wow, you like it bare,” I said. “Yeah, sorry, I don’t have any condoms. I can stop if that’s not cool,” he said. “No, it’s okay,” I told him. “It feels better this way.” He wrapped his arms around me and started humping into me, occasionally kissing me with our tongues dueling. After a couple minute he suddenly shuddered and dropped onto me with a big sigh. “Yeah, you can cum inside me,” I said. He looked up at me. “Oh sorry, should I not have done that?” “No, it’s cool,” I told him. “That’s what I want when a guy fucks me bareback.” He pulled out of me, that perfect dick still rock hard. “You want to fuck me?” He asked. “Hell yeah,” I replied. He lubed up my cock and held it straight in the air and straddled me and with the tip touching his hole, he sank down onto my cock until he bottomed out. He rode me that way for a few minutes before getting on his hands and knees and letting me fuck him doggy style. After a couple minutes like that he flipped on his back and put his legs in the air. I sank back into him and fucked him until I blew a load into his ass. I collapsed on him and we cuddled for about an hour when we showered and I got dressed and left. A couple years later I was cruising grinder when I saw him on there. I messaged him and asked if he remembered me and he did. I was hella horny remembering his cock and was hoping to ride it. I noticed on his profile he was poz. He ended up inviting me over and we caught up for a bit until we finally started kissing. The clothes came off fast and I told him I can’t wait to get that cock in me again. I got on my hands and knees and he got behind me, working some lube into my hole. I saw him grab a condom and start to open it. “You don’t need that,” I told him. He looked at me, “you know I’m poz, right?” “Yeah, but undetectable, right?” I asked. “Yes.” “Cool, fuck me raw until you cum, and make sure you shoot that load as deep as possible. Also, can you film yourself entering me?” I asked. I pulled a small video camera from my pants and handed it to him. He agreed, and filmed as his bare cock slowly penetrated my unprotected ass. “I’m not going to last long bareback,” he told me. “That’s fine. Keep filming until you cum and pull out.” A couple minutes later his speed increased and suddenly he was dumping his raw load into me. I remember watching the video back and seeing his unsheathed cock back out of me, with a few drops of semen dribbling out after. Somehow I lost that recording.

To those that we leave behind. I am in my massage class. Outside, the rain is pouring, loud, relentless, and we stop, just for a moment, to listen. Melbourne has been sweltering for days now, the kind of heat that clings to your skin, the kind that makes you grab for a cone of ice cream, so the rain feels, for once, like a gift. There are five of us today, just five, and Gulchin is teaching us about releasing tight spots. We go into pairs, like always. One on the table, the other massaging. Someone mentions how she doesn’t have the stamina to see multiple clients in a day, how her body feels weak, unprepared. Gulchin nods, softly, as though she understands in a way only time could teach her. She tells us, she used to have that stamina, but not anymore. Not since her husband passed away, a year and a half ago. The air changes. She says it gently, almost like an afterthought, but her voice gives her away. Her body feels different now, broken in places that can’t be seen. She still loves massage, but the loss has made her dial everything back. The room falls quiet. Outside, the rain continues to fall, steady, steady. She notices the shift, apologizes. But then, stories start to spill, unprompted. One by one, everyone shares. The weight of loss, of grief, sits in the space between us, fragile, but real. Later, we’re practicing techniques, the elbow method, targeting knots deep in the back. The girl practicing has her fist clenched tight, her body stiff, and Gulchin moves closer. Let go, she says, quietly, but it echoes loudly through the room. The girl loosens her fist, unclenches, softens her body. The tension is gone. The technique works. But those words—let go—linger, hangs in the air. It feels like Gulchin isn’t just saying it to her. She’s saying it to herself, to the space all around us, to the grief that clings to her. She’s giving herself permission, the kind we never say out loud, to loosen her hold, to move forward, to just—let go. I think about those two words, and they rest heavy on my chest. Let go. I think about the things I hold onto, the way my fingers curl so tightly around memories, the way I let pain sit, stubborn, in my body, like it belongs there. Let go, I tell myself, again and again, like a mantra, until it starts to feel real. I don’t have to hold on to the past so tightly. I can leave the hurt where it belongs. I can keep the good, let the rest fall away, and build something new. The rain is still falling, steady, steady, as I sit there, thinking of all the things I’m ready to let go of. And maybe, just maybe, I will.

To Growth I am lying in bed, thinking about my previous two relationships, and I’ve noticed a pattern—something they both said to me countless times. I didn’t really think too much about it until now. They told me I criticized them too much. And the worst part is, I didn’t even know I was doing it. Not until I reflected on it later. Looking back, I can think of a few examples: on the way they cut their food, or the way they drove, or how they approached talking to people. I remember giving my honest feedback, offering suggestions on how they could do better, how they could work more efficiently. It came from a place of love—or at least, that’s how I saw it. But I don’t think they took it that way. Instead, they saw it as me belittling them, as me pointing out their flaws and imperfections. Over time, I think it wore on them. Their self-confidence eroded bit by bit. I remember them asking how I would feel if someone criticized me in the same way. I told them, honestly, I would appreciate it. I’m always striving to improve, always trying to become a better version of myself. Criticism, to me, feels like a gift—an opportunity to grow. I don’t remember how they responded to that. But I can imagine now that it probably wasn’t too well. I’ve come to realize that loving someone means accepting them for who they are—their strengths, their weaknesses, all of it. That’s been a challenge for me because I naturally want to teach people, to show them new things. But I’m learning that a student is only ready when they decide they are ready. And a good teacher knows when to step back and let them figure it out on their own. It’s freeing, this shift in mindset. I no longer feel the need to improve people who aren’t asking for it. Instead, I’ve turned that energy inward. I’m focusing on teaching myself, on creating an atmosphere of growth for me. I’m learning to see what I admire in others and letting go of the need to fix what I perceive as their flaws. It’s not perfect yet. I’m ironing out the kinks. But in those moments when I can truly love someone for who they are—no changes, no conditions—I feel a kind of peace that’s hard to describe. I’m beginning to trust that everyone has their own journey, their own challenges to overcome. And I don’t have to guide them. They’ll get there when they’re ready.