Philip

Thank you so much for your kind words and for sharing your experiences with Rich—it gave me a lot to think about. I really admire your approach to balancing independence with asking for help when needed, and I might just borrow a page from your book! My partner and I have been together for two years, so we’re still figuring things out, but your perspective is incredibly inspiring. Thanks again for your thoughtful reply, Jim.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m not good at this whole relationship thing. I doubt myself constantly. I think about how I’m supposed to be supportive, kind, and gentle, and lately, I don’t feel like I’m living up to any of those things. Take my partner’s hobby, for example. I encouraged him to get back into drawing, and when he decided to do it, I thought, “Good on him, that’s a great idea.” But that’s about where my excitement ended. He asked me for help upscaling one of his images, and while I helped a little, I got frustrated when he asked for specifics. I told him it was probably something he should figure out on his own and that I’d love to hear what he discovered. I said it as kindly as I could, but deep down, I felt guilty for not being more invested. Shouldn’t I care more? But honestly, I just don’t. Then there’s studying. We’ve been preparing for an upcoming muscular system test, and I dread studying together. Last time, when we tackled the skeletal muscles, it took forever. He kept forgetting things I had already memorized, and I felt like I was carrying more of the weight. The muscular system is even harder, and the thought of going through the same process again makes me want to scream. I know it’s awful to say, but I feel like I can learn much faster on my own. But isn’t that what being in a relationship is about? Tackling hardships together, being a team? If we’re not doing that, are we failing as a couple? Or is that just what society wants me to believe? I don’t know. I feel angry at myself for thinking this way—and, in a way, angry at him for making me feel like this in the first place. Even little things, like deciding what to eat, feel complicated. Tonight, I wanted something quick and simple, but my partner wanted to make soup, which required a ton of prep. Being the “good boyfriend” I’m trying to be, I offered to help. I chopped all the ingredients, we cooked together, and the soup turned out… okay. Some things were a bit raw, but it was fine. Still, I would’ve been just as happy with something microwaveable—something my partner doesn’t seem to enjoy. I probably should’ve spoken up, but isn’t eating the same meal part of being a couple? I keep asking myself if I’m doing enough, if I’m being the partner I should be. I try to hold myself to this impossible standard: always supportive, endlessly patient, putting the relationship first. But the truth is, I’m human. Sometimes I need space. Sometimes I need to study on my own. And sometimes I just want to eat something different. The hardest part is figuring out where these expectations come from. Are they mine, or are they ideas I’ve absorbed from the world around me? I don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t have all the answers, and I’m trying to figure things out as I go. It’s a work in progress, and I just hope that in the process, I’m not hurting anyone’s feelings along the way.

Writing and AI There was a time, not long ago, when I stopped writing almost entirely. I was convinced that the emergence of AI would be able to produce much better writing that I ever could. Honestly, it probably can. But recently, I’ve started to see things differently. Instead of feeling defeated, I’ve learned to work with AI, letting it sharpen my words and speed up processes that would’ve taken me hours. It doesn’t take away my voice; it enhances it. I’ve realized that using AI doesn’t mean my writing is any less mine—it just means I’m using the tools available to grow. Imitating and Wandering One of the best things I’ve done for my writing is to copy out passages from books I love. When I come across something that resonates, something I wish I had written, I sit down and write it out word for word. It’s like slipping into the mind of the author, seeing how they construct their thoughts. While I’m doing this, my own mind starts to wander. Ideas bubble up—sometimes unrelated, sometimes directly tied to what I’m copying—and I take notes on whatever comes to me. I ponder these thoughts, let it simmer until it’s cooked just right, and write about them, sometimes in a journal like this one, or on scrap pieces of paper that I’m sure will be misplace sometime soon. Autocorrect and Mindset When I was copying out passages, I used to turn off autocorrect to make sure I wrote everything as accurately as possible. It forced me to focus, to type carefully, and it improved my accuracy over time. But I was also scared of autocorrect, like it was a crutch that made me feel inadequate. If I relied on it too much, would I ever really improve? Lately, though, I’ve changed my mindset. I’ve started using autocorrect again, not because I’ve given up, but because it lets me write faster and focus on the bigger picture. It’s funny how something as small as that can shift your perspective so much. Sleepless Nights Some nights, I can’t fall asleep. My mind wouldn’t stop racing—work, my future, where I want to end up. It was like my brain was getting back at me for pushing these thoughts aside for too long. I once read that insomnia is your mind’s revenge, its way of forcing you to think about what you’ve avoided. If that’s true, then maybe this autobiography is my way of keeping the peace with myself. By pouring out my thoughts here, I can clear the clutter and start to see things more clearly. Not Knowing What’s Next I’m not sure what I want to do with my life anymore. I know I want to use my physical and mental energy for something meaningful, something that makes a difference in the world. But what does that even look like? Recently, I’ve been looking into freight handling, thinking it might be a way to stay active and contribute in some way. But after watching videos of the job, it feels repetitive—just moving items from one place to another. It’s practical, sure, but does it make an impact? Does it really matter? I can’t shake the feeling that I want to aim higher, even if I don’t know what “higher” means yet.

For those who know me very well, you’d know that gaming has always been a major pillar in my life, now and forever. I still vividly recall a day in primary school when I came home, and my mother told me and my sister that my dad had gotten us a present. I had no idea what it could be, but when I saw the Super Nintendo Entertainment System (SNES) with him playing Super Mario World, I was amazed. I had a go, but it was super difficult, and I didn’t play it much at first—my dad seemed to enjoy it more than I did. But this was the 1990s, and as a kid, there wasn’t much else to do, so I eventually started playing more. Soon, I was hooked. My parents, being responsible, tried to limit my screen time to about two hours a day. I still remember waiting for them to leave the house—to go to the shops or a friend’s party—so I could boot up the system and sneak in some extra playtime. Gaming quickly became more than just a pastime; it became an escape and a source of excitement. The next console I owned was the PlayStation One. At the time, my family didn’t have much discretionary cash, so I had to save up my lunch money to buy games. When we went to the shops, I’d hang out at EB Games, staring longingly at all the titles I couldn’t afford but hoped to play one day. Because of this, the few games I did own were incredibly special to me. I would spend hours replaying them, over and over again. This was a time before YouTube, Facebook, or iPhones—a time when gaming was one of the most immersive ways to lose yourself in another world. As an adult, my gaming habits have, of course, changed. I’ve had those days where I stayed in my room from morning till night, playing games with barely a break. I remember one particular day when I drank nothing but Up & Go, only left my room to use the toilet, and probably didn’t brush my teeth or shower. I wouldn’t be surprised if I developed bed cramps that day. But it was worth it, getting completely lost in the world the developers had created. It felt like diving into a book and never wanting to come back up for air. One game that changed the way I view gaming was The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. It was a masterpiece of open-world design, letting you explore the vast, beautiful world of Hyrule on foot or horseback. Up until this point, I hadn’t done much traveling, but this game opened my eyes to how stunning and magical the world outside my house might be. Inspired by the game, I started hiking around Melbourne and appreciating the natural beauty that was practically on my doorstep. Sometimes I’d pull over while driving through the countryside, park my car, and just stand there, taking in the scenery with the wind brushing against my face. Back then, I was single, so these moments were solitary, but they were peaceful and fulfilling in their own way. Another reason I love gaming is the sense of community it fosters, especially with new games. When everyone’s still trying to figure out the mechanics and strategies, there’s an incredible buzz as players share ideas and discoveries. I’ve written guides for some games to help others, and doing so has given me a deeper appreciation for the way they’re designed. I love breaking a game apart, figuring out how its mechanics work, and seeing how all the pieces fit together. That process makes gaming even more enjoyable—there’s not much else in life that works quite like that. Recently, I played a game called Nine Sols, which was one of the hardest games I’ve ever tackled. One boss fight took me six hours to beat—I rage-quit twice, swearing I’d never touch the game again, but I eventually came back and conquered it. I often wonder whether that was a good use of my time, whether I could have spent those six hours doing something more productive. The answer is probably yes, but the joy and satisfaction I felt after finally winning made it all worth it. I think that’s true for most things you enjoy in life—you invest time, face challenges, and sometimes question whether it’s worth it. But those struggles are part of the experience. Gaming is only going to get better from here, with smoother performance, more realistic graphics, and innovative gameplay. I, for one, can’t wait to see what the future holds. *** What was the first video game or console that hooked you, and how did it shape your relationship with gaming? Has a game ever inspired you to make changes in your real life, whether it was exploring the world, building new habits, or seeing things differently?

Writing has been a part of me for a long time now. I wasn’t particularly good at English—I remember struggling with grammar the most. Like most stereotypical Asian kids, I was particularly good at math and science, and those were the subjects I chose going into high school and beyond. Math only has one correct answer, which comforted me, while there really isn’t a right or wrong answer when it comes to English essays. That often frightened me. When I got my first job working at a yogurt shop, I took it upon myself to write weekly newsletters for the staff to update them on what was happening. I often got praised for the effort by my manager, which went a long way in building my confidence with writing. One day, I decided to do something about my lack of grammar skills, so I went and bought a grammar book—and you wouldn’t believe it, I actually liked it. A lot. It listed rules on when and where to use things like commas, em dashes, and quotation marks, and it helped improve my writing immensely. It wasn’t until I started reading lots of children’s literature, particularly A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket, that I began to understand something important: rules, like most things in life, are meant to be broken. Snicket had a particular knack for doing his own thing, for bending the rules of grammar to suit his style and voice. That was so captivating to me that I began changing the way I wrote myself. I started using more commas—particularly run-on sentences, which are always a no-no in the world of literature—but I love it. I put way too many commas in my sentences. A long time ago, I read a book about mastery that explained how everyone starts off as an apprentice. At some point in your learning, you reach a stage where you’re no longer simply doing what you’ve been told. You can experiment and start changing the course of history with new and innovative techniques. I like to think I’m at that stage now—taking words and sentences and bending them to my will. It’s sloppy at times, and for the most part, I’m sure it doesn’t even make sense. A parent once told me they’re just making things up as they go—parenting, that is—and I feel the same way with my writing sometimes. I’m making things up on the spot and hoping that it sticks, like spaghetti on the wall. And you know it’s good when it does.

@PozTalkAuthor Thank you so much for sharing such a deeply personal and insightful reply—it really touched me. I admire how you’ve navigated your journey with such self-awareness, from standing up to stereotypes and negativity to finding fulfillment in a relationship built on connection and balance. Your story about your boyfriend transitioning from seeing himself as hetero to building a life with you is so beautiful and profound—it says so much about trust, growth, and openness in relationships. Your reflections on intimacy as something deeper than just physicality are incredibly inspiring, and they’ve given me a lot to think about in my own journey. @PozBearWI Thank you so much for your thoughtful reply—and for noticing the avatar, haha! I really like how you put it: “sex has waxed and waned,” and that it’s all part of finding balance. It’s comforting to know that it’s normal to shift focus and step back at times to explore other aspects of life. I think you’re absolutely right—too much of a good thing can start to feel like too much! Taking a break to reset and rediscover what truly feels fulfilling sounds like exactly what I need right now. @hntnhole Thank you for always sharing your wisdom—it’s something I’ve come to really value over the years, even when it takes me a while to fully grasp it. Reading your reply made me reflect on all those nights I once thought were a waste of time. You’re right—those weren’t wasted moments; they were stepping stones, each one shaping the person I am today. It’s comforting to look back with that perspective and see how even those times had meaning. Your insights always feel ahead of their time for me, but they push me to think deeper and understand myself better. Thank you for that—it means a lot.

A lot has been going through my mind lately, so I decided to write it down. It goes something like this: Something that some people don't know about me, particularly if we've just met, is that I'm gay. I grew up in the 1990s, a time when homophobia was still quite the norm, and I remember going through most of my childhood in denial of this, which, as you might guess, isn't the healthiest thing to do. There was a time in primary school when the teacher talked about sexual identity and handed out a piece of paper with several questions on it. One of them asked how we felt about masturbation, and I didn't know what the word meant. I asked around the class, and everyone laughed, telling me I should google it. When we handed in the worksheet, I glanced over at someone else's paper and saw that he had written "it feels good," which only confused me more. In the same class, the teacher drew a table on the board to compare what supposedly differentiated a homosexual from a heterosexual. The class brainstormed answers like liking the color pink or keeping a room clean. Then one boy said he usually kept his room clean and asked if that made him gay. The class erupted in laughter. Deep down, I wished he was because I had a crush on him. For the years that followed, I kept my room slightly messy, just so I wouldn't be labeled. Things got better for the gay community as time went on, and I remember being around 24 when I finally accepted who I was. That's when I started dating men and exploring intimacy. The relationship I have with sex is a deeply personal one. I remember going to Club 80 back when it was still around and cruising for the first time. I was so nervous I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. PrEP wasn't available then, so l either focused on oral or constantly checked to make sure the condom stayed on, terrified of stealthing. When PrEP became an option at 27, things got wilder. I stopped using condoms entirely, and whenever a date went wrong or someone ghosted me, l'd spend the night at Wet on Wellington, trying to get as much action as possible. I went there a few times, sometimes leaving satisfied, sometimes disappointed. There were so many bottoms around that everyone had to share the "cake," so to speak. Outdoor cruising was another thing I got into. The anonymous nature of it was exhilarating, and I was hooked, especially when I was the only bottom in the toilet, and everyone lined up for their turn. But I also remember nights sitting in my car, parked outside, waiting endlessly for someone to walk in so l could follow. I'd bring my Switch, a book, or a podcast to pass the time, though my mind often wandered to my life choices. Was this really a good use of my time? Most nights, I'd drive home disappointed and vow never to do it again. But of course, I'd do it again. I always did. At 33, I met a wonderful man, and we started a relatively stable relationship. I think of us as a ship at sea-mostly calm waters, with the occasional storm that always passes. These days, it feels like we've anchored on a peaceful island, and it's nice. He's given me the flexibility to be with other men, and I take full advantage of that, though I've noticed something odd within myself lately. I feel bored with sex. "Samey" is the word l've coined because it all feels so similar. I'm not sure if it's a phase or a shift in mindset, but sometimes, even when I go to cruising spots, I don't feel like being there. I'd rather be doing something else, but I go out of a sense of duty-to be on my knees, giving pleasure, or taking someone inside me. It's like every guy has a penis, and after you've seen a dozen, you've seen them all. Sure, they come in different shapes and sizes, but once they're inside, it doesn't matter much. Sometimes, a man is on his knees giving me pleasure, and I feel... nothing. It's just a body with moving parts. It feels good in the moment, but it fades quickly, and I'm soft again. I see men on the street and no longer wonder what they look like naked or what their bodies are like. I suppose I've seen enough to know. Maybe I'm at a stage where I want more from sex than just the physical aspect. Perhaps I'm craving emotional bonding, something l've learned to dissociate from these encounters. Or maybe I've just had too much sex and need to step back for a while, to search for answers that elude me at the moment. *** Have you ever found yourself pursuing something out of habit or a sense of duty, even when it no longer brought you joy? What made you continue, and how did it feel to stop—or not stop? Do you think intimacy is more about physical connection, emotional bonding, or something else entirely? How has your view of it changed over time?

I have a day off work today, so I decide to spend some time at Pipemakers. Someone has recently taken the time and effort to clean up the sheds, placing carpet and chairs, and it's starting to look very comfortable. The car park is full of families nearby, but I ignore them and make my way through the back entrance, a part of the fence that someone has cut out, very discreet, and easy access to the glory hole shed. There's someone in there. l present my dick through the hole, lots of tugging but no sucking, so I leave. I make multiple laps around the sheds, but there's no action. I return to the glory hole shed and see a man riding another man: a power bottom. I stand and watch for a bit, but I get bored and leave. A little later, I'm standing in one of the sheds when a man with glasses appears. He quickly approaches me, rubbing his crotch, and I'm on my knees sucking him. He starts out quite small, but he quickly grows to a modest size. A crowd forms around us. I get him nice and hard, then turn around, happy that he enters me easily, no doubt thanks to my prep at home. While he's fucking me, I have another cock in my mouth. I'm alternating between two cocks now, but I want to focus on the man in the brown shirt I'm sucking. He's quite handsome, and I want him to fuck me next. The man fucking me doesn't come, so I turn around and start sucking him again, positioning my ass for the man in the brown shirt. I'm happy to say he enters me. He fucks me hard for a bit, comes, and leaves. I turn around, and the first man starts fucking me again, now more slick thanks to the cum inside me, but he still doesn't come. We stand and kiss, and he apologizes for taking so long. I tell him it's alright, the fucking was good. He smiles. Outside, we stand and make small talk. He asks if I come here often and if I'm online. Yes, and on Squirt, was my reply. We part ways. I make a few more laps around the shed and have some small encounters with other guys, but nothing much happens, just a lot of jerking off, coming and leaving. Later, I see a handsome guy sucking someone off. The guy asks him how many loads he's got. Two, he says, and I know it's probably time for me to leave: competition is rising. But the two of them just start jerking off together, and I think that's a wasted opportunity. I run into the man from earlier, the one with the glasses, and I finally get his name and tell him mine. I mention that it's probably time for me to leave since I'm getting pretty hungry. I suppose a diet of cocks and cum isn't going to cut it. He smiles, and we leave the place together. * * * P.S: I'm in the car now, trying to jerk off a load. Lately, I've been noticing that I'm a lot less enthusiastic about having sex with men. For some reason, it all feels very samey, a word I made up, meaning that everything feels so similar. Just cocks in my mouth and dicks in my ass. I think I've got an existential crisis on my hands.

TLDR: Only One Load Today, From My Partner Summer days here in Australia make me feel quite horny. It could be the warmer weather, the longer days, or a combination of both. I wash my bottom, and my partner drops the first load into me. For a long time, my partner and I hadn’t been having sex very often. I thought it was because we had reached that point in the relationship where sex wasn’t all that important—that what mattered more was the love we had for each other. But now I think it was because we were going through a rough patch. I wasn’t into him mentally or physically. Things are getting better, though, and so is the sex. I’m hoping his load will coat my insides for the night, but I get a stomachache soon after and have to use the toilet. That means washing out my bottom again. Later, I drive to Pipemakers Park. Sadly, there are only four cars there, which means the night is quiet. I walk around to the glory hole shed and see a man fingering the hole. He’s wearing a wedding ring, and I think to myself that it’s hot. He sucks me, and as I thrust my hips, he gets the message. The next thing I feel is his tight ass on my cock, and now I’m fucking him. This wasn’t part of the plan, I think to myself—I was planning to bottom. After a while, I pull out and leave. I make one round through the shed. There’s only one guy there, and I’m about to leave when I catch a glimpse of someone somewhat handsome. I follow him into one of the dark sheds. We feel for each other, and I pull his pants down. Soon he’s in my mouth. More people walk in, and I take turns letting them use my mouth. Someone dressed in all black turns around and presents his ass to us, but no one pays him any attention. I think to myself that there are quite a lot of bottoms tonight. The guy I’m playing with feels for my ass, which is always a good sign. I spit on my fingers to lube myself up, and he enters me. The fucking is short, and I have another cock in my mouth the whole time. I’m not sure if he comes, but he leaves soon after. I’m still in the shed when a guy in white with a beard tries to kiss me. His cock is below average—shorter than mine. He asks if I want his load. I say yes. He turns me around but struggles to get it in. He thrusts hard and starts humping me. Meanwhile, I’m sucking a tall guy in black. The bearded guy pushes him aside so I can focus on him, but he’s getting soft now. After a while, I stand up and tell him, “Not tonight,” and walk away. He follows me as I enter another shed where a small orgy is happening. Two guys are being fucked, and someone walks up to me. We kiss, and I end up on my knees, sucking him. He’s very rough, pushing in all the way down my throat. I gag a little before he turns me around and fucks me hard, kissing my neck and ears in a way that melts me. The guy in white is still there, watching. Again, he pushes the rough guy aside to try and fuck me. He struggles, and the other guy is back inside me. Eventually, one of them takes me by the hand, and we walk away from the shed, away from the crowd, and away from the guy who doesn’t take no for an answer. Outside, under the moonlight, I see that he’s Indian. We make small talk as we walk behind a large building nearby—a place I used to play many years ago. We kiss, and soon he’s inside me again. He’s very rough, pushing in balls-deep and moving me into all sorts of positions. There’s a pillow nearby, and he tells me to go on all fours. He mounts me. As I look around, with no one around but this stranger behind a random building, I feel a bit unsafe. How silly of me to follow him all the way out here. I could have died—I didn’t, of course—but it makes me think about the risks we sometimes take for sex. Perhaps it’s hotter in our imagination than it is in real life. I pretend to check my watch and tell him I have to go. Luckily, he gets the message, and we part ways. I make one last round to the shed. It’s the same men from earlier. I follow one guy in, and he immediately shows me his bottom, but I’m feeling tired and not horny anymore. He sucks me off, but I can’t get hard. I want to fuck him badly, but I’m just not in the mood. Driving home, I think back on the last two hours of sex. I wouldn’t say it was the best. I remember why I don’t visit Wet on Wellington anymore—a bathhouse. There were too many bottoms and too much competition. I think about the bottoms tonight. They’re fitter and more handsome than I am, so they probably got more action. It makes me realize how tough it can be to get sex sometimes. Then I think about my partner and how lucky I am to have him. With him, sex is there when we need it, along with the emotional bond that’s missing in places like this. Maybe I’ve been having too much sex lately. I think I need a break.

Aww, thanks man. I didn’t know you were following my writing escapades. I’ve been following yours too and jerking off to them quite regularly 💦🫶

I got four loads tonight. Here is the account of them. Pipemakers - 19 Dec 2024 1. I see you in the parking lot, tall and muscular, wearing a black shirt and singlet. You have a beard—the type I like. I think to myself that I want you inside me. You are the last of the four men who fuck me. You stand in one of the dark rooms, sucking me off before I suck you. Quite big, I might add. I turn around, and you enter me. You fuck in a slow, rhythmic pace, just you and me in the darkness, until you come, and we part ways. 2. I see you in the darkroom shed. We are watching two other guys fucking, and I suck you off. You’re nice and wet, and I turn around as you enter me. It doesn’t take long for you to come. I stand there, bent over, inviting others to enter me, but no one does. So, I pull up my pants and go for a short walk. 3. I am in the darkroom shed again. You’re wearing a black polo and shorts, and I suck you deep. I’m practicing my deepthroating skills, and you seem to enjoy it. I stand, and we kiss there in the dark. It feels quite romantic—my hands around your neck as if we’re a couple. I swap between sucking and kissing you until you’ve had enough. Then, you turn me around, enter me, and come soon after. I turn back, give you a few kisses on the cheeks, and leave. 4. We exchange glances very briefly before I stand in one of the dark sheds. You follow me. I waste no time pulling your pants down, and you fill my mouth with that dick that continues to grow. I deepthroat, and you moan as you enter me—slowly at first, then faster. You’re my favorite type: rough. You pull my hair, draw my body toward you, lick my neck and ears, and use my body as if you own me. I like to think you do by the time you finish inside me.

Friday, 1st December 2023. I am 32. One. Night-time. I read a post on Squirt that a new glory hole was freshly carved in the men’s toilet so I go check it out. I wait until very late at night when no-one is there. Sure enough, there is a glorious hole, large enough for a decent size cock. I put a dildo through it, suck it, pretend to get fucked by it. A fetish of mine. It would be cheating if it was the real thing. I then drive to Kevin’s. I don’t tell him any of this. Saturday, 2nd December 2023. Two. Morning light squeezes through the small opening of our bedroom blinds. I put on an eye mask to block it out. It is late morning, Kevin is awake, fingers my hole. He is very horny, hard as a rock, but I am still asleep. He slides his dick inside me anyway without any resistance; it is still wide open from the dildo last night. He fucks me deep and hard, on my back, on my stomach, on all fours, until he gives me a week’s load. Then we go back to for more sleep. Sunday, 3rd December 2023. Three. Rain clears. The sun breaks through the clouds. We are at a plant nursery, looking for a lavender and ficus tree. A lovely lady shows us around. “Feel how dry the soil is,” she says, referring to the ficus tree. “That’s how it should be. Many people kill it by giving it too much love, overwatering it.” I can tell she knows her stuff. “And don’t schedule for watering either. Each plant is different, like people, and so should be treated differently.” I leave the nursery. Fresh plants in my hand and new knowledge in my mind.

You’ve hit the nail on the head with this one! I struggle quite a bit at sauna getting loads because there are so many bottoms around!

You are spot on @hntnhole in your observation! He does get a kick out of "taking care" of me by wanting to pay for things, which I am still getting comfortable with. He is indeed very generous and we are still working on striking that very fine balance between him overindulging me and my own confidence in financial independence. It's been super fun using technology, especially AI, to help settle some of our debates--AI has really advance considerably in the past year or so! Two. We have indeed planted Areca's palm, but it is quite isolated in a planter box away from the main garden. I would love to see it spread like wildfire amongst the planter box as it is looking a bit bare(back) at the moment, but I'm hoping that I don't regret it later, as you said. Great to hear from you!

One. There is a weird dynamic between Kevin and me. He always wants to pay for things, including things that are mine, like my clothes, groceries. I strive for personal independence, especially financially, so we tend to clash. Recently, we have been using AI, ChatGPT, to help settle our debates. It acts as a judge, and we have two rounds to state our cases and rebut each other. The AI’s decision is final. So far, I have been winning. Two. We have started our gardening adventures together. In the past five weeks, we have planted palm trees, birds of paradise, herbs, and ferns. I visit Kevin on the weekend, and I look forward to seeing how the garden is progressing. Today, I noticed that a new leaf has formed on the bird of paradise, and the herbs are ready to be harvested. Spring is becoming a favorite season of mine, for new growth and opportunities are plentiful here. In Summer, we shall reap our harvest, and I can’t wait for that day to arrive. Three. We are watching a YouTube channel called Spanian. He is covered in tattoos and makes travel blog videos. Today, he is in District 4 in Vietnam tasting local eats. He stops at a local kebab shop, and we are laughing because that’s anything but local. Then, he stops at a deep-fried shop that sells fried cheese sticks and fried chicken wings, and we shake our heads at how westernized street food has become in Vietnam. If only, we think to ourselves, he had a local Vietnamese guide. Then he would experience the culture more fully.

Kevin is coming over tonight. I told him over text that we would be having pasta and asked if he could cut some basil to bring over. He has a habit of pruning the basil the wrong way—yes, there is a right and wrong way—so I sent him a picture of a basil plant with dotted lines to indicate where to cut it. I tell him that I will be having my daily nap and for him to wake me up by crawling into bed, give me a wake-up hug. I try to take my nap, but the news of Sam Altman returning to OpenAI excites me, so I stay up way too long to read all about it. I get a bit horny, so I go to Pornhub and watch some porn, jerk off, come, which relaxes me, and I am finally tired enough to have my nap, although it lasts only about an hour. Later. I can hear the door of my bathroom sliding open, and I know that Kevin is here, but I pretend that I am still asleep. I can hear his pants coming off; his shirt follows, and he crawls into bed with me, gives me a hug. “Well, hello,” I say, tired but glad to see him. “Hello there, handsome,” he says, gives me a hug. We lay there like that, hugging each other for almost an hour before I announce that I am getting hungry—it is almost 8 PM after all—so we get up from bed, put on our clothes, walk to the kitchen. Tonight, he is in charge of making the sauce. We have a routine going on when making pasta, which has served us well: he basically does the cooking, and I prep all the ingredients. I cut the sausages in two, squeeze out the content. Then, I dice the onion and the mushrooms. I give him the ingredients, and he begins to cook it. I prepare the sauce by emptying out the content of store-bought Napoletana, and begin to boil the pasta. By the time it is done, Kevin has finished making the sauce, and we combine the two. We don’t talk much during cooking beside the usual “here you go,” when I hand him the ingredients and the “thank you,” in response. We are focus on the tasks and there is a silent connection between us that speaks louder than words. The whole process takes thirty minutes from beginning to end, and we sit at the dining room table, marveling at our creation. “See,” I say. “This is why I much prefer to stay at home and cook. It’s cheaper and tastier.” This is true, and he nods in agreement. We open a can of Coke and share it between the two of us. It’s refreshing and hits all the right notes. I turn on the latest episode of Family Guy and we watch it until the very end. Later. We are in bed now. I am feeling very full and very tired. Kevin is giving me a foot massage. Soft autumn jazz music plays on our HomePod. We talk about what is happening in our lives in the form of updates, which are small short stories. I tell him about my car battery dying on me, and he tells me about the progress on getting his home insured from the recent burst pipes upstairs. The night is getting late—actually, it is only 10 PM—so we both go and floss our teeth, brush them. We tell Siri to turn off the lights, and before anyone knows it, the room is fill with snores.

Just came back from a Japan holiday. Tried out the cruising club, Dick Dogg, and got 4 loads within an hour just before closing time. Will love to come back there for sure when I revisit. Full story here

Friday 27th October: 7 fucks, 4 loads (1500 words) I am in Japan, Tokyo. My partner and I decide to check out the gay vibes in the city. There are two cruising clubs that seem popular, one called Volcano and the other called Dick Dogg, about a twenty-minute train ride from the city center. One problem: there is an age limit, 20 to 39 years, and my partner is a bit older than that. Second problem: they are strict on the length of your hair and often reject people who do not have a buzz cut or short hair. I google the reason why, and it says that short hair in Japan is often a sign of masculinity, and the club is obviously trying to target a very specific demographic. I have medium-length hair. Both clubs also encourage safe sex, no orgies, and sex must happen in private cubicles, which seems very restrictive, to put it nicely. We decide to check it out anyway. We make our way to Volcano, about a five-minute walk from a train station, down an obscure flight of stairs to the basement of a ramen building, a single door in a dark corridor with a sign saying "Volcano" and "Members only." A young man, handsome face, is ahead of us, pays for a ticket, and walks through a door. I see a naked man dancing under a glow of violet light, but the door shuts quickly and the only thing between me and fun is the ticket booth. My partner asks for two tickets, the man behind the counter scribbles something on a piece of paper, and I have a sinking feeling about what it is. We read the paper. "20-39 age" is what it says. My partner lies and points to the number 39, nods, but the man does not buy it and crosses both his index fingers, then points at me and puts up the OK hand gesture. So we decide to leave. We are now on the train to Dick Dogg. I try to cheer my partner up. I hope he is not too upset with the rejection. I had a feeling something like this might happen, so we agree ahead of time that if one of us gets rejected for whatever reason, then we both go somewhere different, and if no one takes us in, then we become intimate back at the hotel, which will be just as good, if not better. My partner says that perhaps it's better if I ask for the ticket this time around; that way, they might let me in and let him in as well without taking a closer look. Sounds like a solid plan. We get to Dick Dogg, which is on the third floor of a building no one would bother to take a second look at. We go to the ticket booth and I ask for two tickets, and the young man behind the counter says okay to both of us and we are in! He hands us a towel and our locker key. It is nude night tonight. I forget which hand to put the locker key on to tell others that I am a bottom, so I put it on my right hand instead, hoping for the best. I undress and immediately make a mental note to work out harder at the gym when I get back from holiday. It is 10 PM and this place closes at 11:30 PM. My partner and I agree to separate and have our own fun, meeting back during closing time. The cruising area is dim enough that you can identify people, their face, their bodies, and most importantly, their dicks. It is not dark enough that you have to fumble around with your arms in front of you, and I am sad to report that there wasn’t a darkroom even though it was advertised on their site. There are a lot of attractive young men with nice bodies, but not a lot of action happening, which is to be expected at any cruising club, I suppose. I wish so badly for a darkroom. There is, however, one of those rooms where you can put half your body through a cutout in a wall, resting your stomach or back on the bench provided, such that all that’s left of you is your ass in the room for others to use. I make a mental note to come back to this room. It’s probably 10.30 PM and still there are no action happening so I decide to sit down on one of the benches in a random room. A few men walk past, looks at me, moves on. One guy stops for a tad longer than usual, likes what he sees, brings his dick to my face, and of course I put it in my mouth. Average size. He kneels down and puts me in his mouth, and after a few seconds, we find ourselves in a private room where we alternate giving each other head. I really want him to top me though but he is talking in Japanese and I don’t really understand, so I turn around and motion for his dick to be inside me, but he doesn’t seem to take the hint. So I smile, give him a kiss on the cheek, and walk out of the room. I make my way to the glory hole booth, lock the door, sit down. A few seconds later, someone enters next door, puts his dick in the hole, and I suck it. He is a fast cummer, I swallow. He leaves. Another man enters, much bigger and thicker this time, but for some reason, only puts the tip of the head of his cock through the hole, and I try my best to put more of it in my mouth. He is teasing me, so I rage quit and stop sucking. He leaves. There is some action happening right outside my booth. I look under the door and I’m pretty sure a guy is sucking another’s guys dick and there is a crowd forming, and I’m stuck in my booth. I wait for about five minutes, twiddle my thumb like a nobody, decide that I needed to get out. I unlock the door and everyone scatters. I meet my parter somewhere in the dimly lit maze and he is bored. We decide to get the action going so I lead him to that room with the cut-out. I put half my body through the cut-out, lay on the bench with my stomach so that only my ass is visible in the room. There is a lube bottle attached to a string to the left of me but my partner prefers to use spit, enters me, loads me up in less than five minutes. He exits and immediately somebody enters, raw. I think this man is fucking me with his dick and a finger because it feels slightly odd—a bit like double penetration but not quite there. But anyway, he cums, exits. For the next two fucks, the men are using condoms which I don’t enjoy, mainly because there is too much friction with rubber and there are no reward at the end. I take it like a good bottom anyway. The forth men enters me raw, fucks for about 10 seconds and cums. I do like quick loads, but maybe this might be too quick for my liking. Fifth and six men uses condoms and the six man in particularly takes a very long time to cum; feels like 20 minutes. It’s getting a bit painful at this stage but I don’t move from my position. The seventh and final man enters me raw, also takes a long time to cum but it feels very good. Plus, his bigger than usual. After he cums, I lay there for a moment, hoping for more, but it seems very quiet all of a sudden. And my calf is killing me, having being on tiptoes the whole time. My parter asks for the time, I don’t know, so we head out. The floor is full of lube (and maybe cum?) and my whole leg and feet is covered in lube. I’m sure I left lubed footprints along the whole corridor. We check the time. It is 11.20 PM, almost closing time, which explains the sudden emptiness of the room. I wonder to myself if this place opens later, how many more loads I would have gotten. I go to the toilet and use an eyebrow-raising-amount of toilet paper to clean off the lube, clog the toilet, oppps. My parter tells me shortly afterwards that there is a shower so I use that to clean off the lube. We then take the train back to the hotel and we head back to Australia the next day. Feels good to have a bit of Japan inside me.

Mental well-being is crucial, particularly for gay men navigating this rather complex sea that we call "life." Today, I found myself wrestling with thoughts that I suspect many of us have faced at one point or another. I'm sharing this intimate narrative in the hope that it resonates with those of you on a similar emotional journey, as a reminder that you're not alone in this struggle. --- Something is weighing heavily on my mind tonight, so I decide to go for a walk to grab some fresh air, or at least breathe it in. It has been raining all day today, and the clouds still linger in the sky. I think it will rain later, but for now, I am safe. I did the wrong thing by comparing myself to someone else today. His name is Edwin Hung. I saw a photo of him on Facebook a long time ago, but I forgot to note down his name; today, his photo appeared on my Facebook feed, and I took this opportunity to stalk his profile. He is probably in my top five for most handsome men of all time. He is an architect, part-time model, and lives in Singapore. He is turning 36 this November. He was born in Malaysia. As a side note, I am quite impressed with my researching skills, although I sometimes feel that I could put my research skills to better use besides stalking men on the internet. And this is when the comparison began. I think about his life and how glamorous it looks on his Facebook and Instagram. He is traveling the world constantly, eating good food, and probably lives in a really nice house. The good life, as one might call it. His Facebook is filled with adventures with friends. And then I look at my life in comparison, and I’m working a job that pays below the average Australian. I don’t think I am as handsome as he is, as much as I like to be on a high horse, which in turn is standing on a pedestal. I don’t live in a fancy apartment in the heart of Singapore, and my meals consist of roast chicken and Up and Go to keep the cost down low. In short, my life pales in comparison to his, and it makes me feel a bit sad. There aren’t too many cars on the road tonight, which isn’t surprising because it is getting late. I see a lightning strike somewhere in the distance and, sure enough, the sound of thunder rolling in, a harbinger for the heavy rains that are forecast tonight. I decide to make my way back home, the thought of this man still on my mind. I know the life of an Instagrammer might not be as it appears. It is carefully curated to give people the impression that one is living a perfect life when, in fact, their life is anything but that. Edwin could be very stressed and work long hours at his architecture job, and having free time might be a luxury to him. His holidays, extravagant, probably, might come far in between, and although he shares many pictures with friends, he could be feeling very lonely inside. I don’t know what his relationship status is (well, it says single on his Facebook page, but who knows), but a loving partner is very hard to come by. I have dated for a quarter of my life so far, and I know that it is not easy in the gay world to find that perfect partner, someone who tries to understand your insanity and put up with your delinquency, which we all have to some degree, although we might not readily admit it. I look back on my life, and I am happy. I am not an architect, and I don’t live in a busy and rich country like Singapore. I don’t have too many friends, and I don’t eat fancy food every day unless you consider dried dates among the list. I am not Edwin Hung. I am uniquely my own person with my own strengths and weaknesses, trying to live the good life no matter how different it may be from others. I believe a large part of living the good life is the ability to touch other people’s lives through your existence, just being who you are. I hope that my existence has changed the lives of others, from being a significant part of their lives with my partner and friends, to people whom I will never meet through my stories that I share. And you know, that’s enough for me.

I want to document my experience when I was a single gay man. I’ve noticed that few people here discuss the health risks associated with gay sex, or perhaps I haven’t done enough research. There’s a lot of talk about the joy of unprotected sex, something I’ve indulged in during what some might call “my slut years.” I won’t claim to be a saint. In the past, I cheated multiple times out of curiosity for what unprotected sex felt like, but I was too afraid to try it. When my last relationship ended, I began taking PREP, frequented a local sauna (Wet on Wellington in Melbourne, Australia), and spent many hours there having sex with anonymous men. This two-year period also involved hookups from Grindr and outdoor cruising. For a while, it felt great; then, it didn’t. About six months into this lifestyle, I started experiencing constant diarrhea, and my bottom was quite itchy. I visited the Melbourne Health Clinic and was treated for gonorrhea and chlamydia. A few weeks later, I experienced similar symptoms and learned I had contracted gonorrhea again, along with hemorrhoids. At this point, I became hesitant about unprotected sex; I didn’t want to contract any more STDs. Nevertheless, a couple of months later, after recurring diarrhea, I tested positive for Mgen and was prescribed three different antibiotics. The increased potency of the medication led to more side effects, including diarrhea. I spent a good amount of time in the restroom, and I’m glad my job allowed for frequent breaks. It was around this time that I was diagnosed with irritable bowel syndrome (IBS). It’s hard to say if my actions and the subsequent medication led to IBS, but I’ve read that it can be caused by changes in gut bacteria. The last straw in my journey with STDs came when I tested positive for genital herpes. This disease has a negative stigma, and as you may know, it’s a lifelong condition. I’m currently on a two-year suppression medication plan, and I’m fortunate that I haven’t had an outbreak yet. I’m now in a loving relationship with a wonderful partner, who understands my past and the journey I’ve taken to get here. I sometimes wonder if I made the right decisions during those years, and despite the health issues, I believe it was the right path for me. It made me appreciate my health more and freed me from the nagging “what ifs.” My partner is open to the prospect of me having sex with others, but given the past STDs and us having to use condoms, the logistics of testing and treatment are not sexy at all. If you’ve stuck around to the end, thank you for reading. Just know that while gay sex can be a lot of fun, it comes with many health risks that I don’t think are discussed enough these days. Different people react differently to the symptoms associated with STDs. In my case, I got the short straw.

@lancguy14 Oh dear, this was such a silly (and funny) mistake on my end. I did a quick word search and found five instances of the name “Fernando” in the story, which I have edited to the correct name. Thanks for pointing that out. I hope it didn’t confused the readers, and if it did, please forgive me🙏. This is an original story that I have written. For those wondering about the name confusion, I posted a chapter from this story a few weeks ago called “Working Title: The Second Chapter,” where the main character was named Fernando instead of Matthew. I decided to include real places in the story (e.g., Wet on Wellington, Sircuit, Coles, Woolworth—actually, it should have been called ‘Safeway’) in the time period of 1990-2000’s, so I decided to go for a name change to reflect this. I thought the search-replace function I used replaced all instances of Fernando into Matthew, but it appeared that it missed a few times. In fact, back in 2017, I written a story called “A Series of Unfortunate Breedings” including the character Fernando and his sexual adventures, under a different username and pen name, so I decided to go back and finish this story (the majority of the original story has since been removed on Breeding Zone for violating the rules). The story you have read is the remastered version of this original story ☺️ @drscorpio Thank you for letting the story ride. I will keep the rules in mind for future stories ☺️

The Final Chapter To the choices that we make in life. Matthew makes a pit stop at the closest Woolworth to buy some duct tape. He uses it to tie the man’s hands and feet together along with his mouth and drops him in the boot of the car, and resumes his travels to the Grampians. The drive is fairly long, and they don’t reach the peak of the cliff until well into the night, when the moon has already made friends with all the stars in the sky. He pulls the man out of the boot of the car, who is still asleep from the drug, places him a few meters from the edge of the cliff, sits beside him. He stares at the man’s face while he is sleeping and a rush of emotions floods Matthew. He feels a dash of anger from being infected by this man, his life changed ever since. He never asked for this difficult life and it only took one night to change everything. He wonders where life would have taken him if he weren’t infected. He feels a sprinkle of pity for the man, whose time had not been kind to him, now very old and very sick-looking, laying there on the muddy cliff. He wonders how long the man has left to live. And most importantly, he feels a pinch of hope, for Matthew’s life is not over yet, there’s still a bit of time to live out his life, especially now that Somchai is a part of it. He wonders what Somchai is up to at the moment. The man stirs as the drug wears off and he immediately panics when he realises that he is bound and gagged. He begins to squirm like a worm, and in doing so, edges closer and closer to the side of the cliff. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Matthew says. The man continues to wiggle until he faces the edge and the edge faces him, his eyes widen, stops moving. Matthew sighs and pulls the man away from the edge, rips the tape off his mouth quickly and painfully, sits back down beside him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” asks the man. “Well, I was going to throw you off the cliff.” “Do I know you?” “You don’t remember me, do you?” The man looks at Matthew's eyes and he does remember, even though it has been a very long time ago. “You’re that kid from the truck stop toilet, aren’t you? Boy did I enjoy fucking you. Wish your old man had joined in.” The man laughs cruelly, showing what’s left of his stained teeth. Fury takes over Matthew and he punches the man right in the jaw, but he continues to laugh, though through obvious pain, blood dripping between the gaps in his teeth. “Go ahead and kill me,” says the man with the scorpion tattoo. “I’m going to die anyway, one way or another.” Matthew looks at the man and waits for him to continue. “And by the look of your face, you’re on the same boat as me. We are both going to die from AIDs, and there is nothing anyone can do about it, so we might as well let the world burn as we go down along with it. There is no beauty on this planet, just pain and misery.” The sun begins to rise very slowly from the east. The first light breaks the horizon and it creeps its way across the landscape and chases away the night. When the light washes over the man, Matthew can see clearly that the man is dying, not only from the outside, but within his soul. He sees himself in the dying man, like a mirror being held in front of him, and he is afraid of the person that he has and will become. Ending this man’ life, Matthew realises, will not give him closure, for the man had died a long time ago—metaphorically speaking—when he had given up hope on his life. He is a wandering shell that walks the earth, struggling by, waiting for the time when death comes knocking at his door. “You are wrong,” Matthew tells the man. “There is beauty in this world. You just didn’t find it in this lifetime.” Matthew takes a knife hidden in his jacket and lunges at the man, who is taken aback and yells for mercy. The knife slices the air and cuts cleanly through the tape bounding the man’s hand, freeing him. He drops the knife to the ground, looks at the man’s eyes for one last time, starts the car and drives off. The man is shaken by what he has witnessed, grabs the knife and slices the tape bounding his legs. He sits at the edge of the cliff for a few hours, pondering his life, his future and, deciding that there is none, pushes himself off the cliff. Matthew comes home just before ten in the morning. Somchai is still asleep, snoring, naked. He slides into bed and stares silently at him. Somchai’s face is peaceful in the illumination of the light that filters through the window. A few minutes go by and he opens his eyes, slowly at first, then much too wide. “Where were you?” Somchai asks. “I had to take care of some business,” Matthew says. The distance between them becomes non-existence as they hug each other. They embraced each other now, and they embraced each other for the years to come, past their wedding day, and past their honeymoon, and past the many difficult hospital visits that were yet to transpire. Matthew was happy for the remaining years of his life, now with the bottomless pit filled to the brim with the love that he shared with his partner, who had stayed with him until the very end. Sometimes, we can’t choose what happens to us when we are young, but we always have a choice now and into the future what happens to us.

The Fourth Chapter September 2001. Matthew is 25 years old. To the love of his life. At this point in the story, Matthew has had sex with hundreds of men, infecting each and everyone of them with the incurable strain of HIV. His soul is a bottomless pit that can never be filled no matter how many men that he sleeps with, but he truly believes that when he finds the man that had originally infected him, and carry out his revenge, that this bottomless pit can finally be filled and that death, whenever that may be, will come peacefully. It is a cloudless night in 2001 when he feels weak on his knees after releasing into a man at his job at Wet on Wellington. He had felt this weakening feeling before, but not to this extreme, and as the man thanks him and leaves the massage room, he collapses on the floor and blanks out. He awakes in the bed of a hospital, connected to monitors that beeps and buzzes all around him. A man is sitting there beside his bed and it takes a moment for Matthew to register that it is Somchai. He is asleep on the chair, head down, chin on his chest, snores softly. Matthew finds this kind of cute, in a way that he never felt for this man before. He awakes moments later and is startled to find Matthew finally awake and he closes the distance between them with a hug. The doctor comes in and informs Matthew that he had collapsed three days ago and has been in the hospital ever since. His conditions have stabilized and he is due to be released soon but the doctor still has one piece of news that he wanted to share with Matthew. He had been diagnosed with AIDS, which in this day and age with the current medication would mean that he needed to get his affairs in order, a saying which meant that he didn’t have much time to live. The doctor exchanges a look of sadness to both Matthew and Somchai and slowly exits the room. The sadness lingers in the air and does not exit even though the window is left slightly ajar. It smothers the two young men in the room and conjures up a steady stream of tears as they embrace one another. “You didn’t have to come here,” Matthew tells Somchai. “I know. But I wanted to,” he replies, and in that moment, from the way Somchai’s eyes look at him, and the energy in the room, Matthew knows that they hold a deeper connection, one that transcends the realm of this existence and into another one. It is nighttime when Matthew wakes up with his cock being serviced. Somchai has left for the night—doctor requests—and when he opens his eyes, he is surprised to see it is one of the male nurses that had come in to check up on him. He is quite good with a cock in his mouth and Matthew relaxes and lets the nurse do his thing. In a few moments, the nurse pulls down his pants and begins to ride his cock, ever so quietly as to avoid unnecessary attention, and in a few strokes he releases inside the nurse. He stays there for a moment to take it all in, squeezing his ass tight to milk every last drop but a few drops does manage to drip out of his ass and down his legs as he gets off, but he doesn’t mind and pulls up his pants and go off on his merry way to resume his job. Matthew falls back asleep. This repeats for the next few nights until he is released from the hospital. When the weekend arrives, Matthew heads back into Wet on Wellington to resume his job as a masseur, but life still has a few more curveballs installed for him. The Boss informs him that his service is no longer needed. “We can’t have you going around infecting people with HIV,” says the Boss. ‘It’s bad for business. If they die, who will come here then?” Matthew stays silent. He did not tell the Boss that he had been infecting people ever since the Boss had taken him into this role for the last seven years. He did not tell the Boss that there was no way of knowing whether someone had HIV, or any other sorts of bugs for that matter. And he did not tell the Boss that he too, probably has HIV after having sex with Matthew in the early days of his career. He remains silent and leaves the sauna early for the night and visits the nearby gay club, Sircuit, to drink away his problems, and it was on this particular night that he meet someone whom he wanted to meet for a very long time. Sitting at the bar, by himself, is the man with the scorpion tattoo on his right forearm. He looks much older than Matthew had remembered, but he would recognize the man from anywhere and anytime, and tonight, Sircuit is the where and now is the time. He sits next to the man and orders a drink, strikes up a conversation. He is surprised when the man does not recognise him, not even a little, and when he is distracted, slips a pill into his drink which sizzles and disappears. The bartender sees this but does not say a word, having witnessed too many acts of this kind to even care. The man drinks his glass, becomes drowsy, and Matthew offers him a ride home, carries him to his car, but drives in a direction other than either of their homes. If there was a place to dispose of a body, it would have to be the Grampians.

The Third Chapter July 1999. Matthew is 23 years old. To the love on one’s job. It is a hot summer night on Wellington Street as Matthew exits his car. He parks just around the corner, and begins waking to the sauna. The street is particularly empty at this time of the night, ten o’clock is the time, unlike the nearby street of Peel which is always busy with people, especially tonight, which happens to be a Saturday. He walks past the empty Anytime Fitness gym and walks into the building marked Wet on Wellington. He has a shift tonight, as he always does during the weekend. “Busy tonight?” Matthew asks the man at the counter. The man’s name is Somchai, a Thailander, very young and very pretty with diamond studs in both ears. He’s been fucked by Matthew many times, usually after his shift in the darkness of the upstair’s room or, once, behind the building in the alleyway, concealed by one or two dumpsters. “Getting there,” Somchai replies and blushes. “You’re early for your shift.” “Just seeing who’s around first, that’s all,” Matthew says. Somchai hands Matthew the key to the massage room and buzzes him through the door. “Before I forget,” Somchai says, “the boss wanted me to give you this.” He hands Matthew a small brown envelope. “What’s in it anyway?” Matthew takes the envelope and smiles without replying, walks away. He passes a few men in the locker room with towels wrapped around their waists, walks up the giant flight of stairs to the second level, and into the massage room. His client won’t be here for another ten minutes. He rips the upper corner of the envelope and empties the content, which contains a dozen or so packets of white patches and a note which falls to the ground. The patches remind him of Nicotine Patches but he knows what these are really for and he smiles nefariously. The notes simply says ‘Use Wisely. Enjoy, from the Boss.’ A knock on the door heralds the arrival of his first client for the night, a muscular guy with black hair and eyes the colour of chocolate cake. They exchange hellos and the man undresses, lays on his stomach, and the massage begins. Slowly, Matthew undresses too, until he is butt-naked, but the man does not mind, not even a little. The oil is slick on the man’s skin, and he almost falls asleep when he notices something hard poking at his face, and is surprised to see Fernando’s dick at his face. “Oh,” the man says, “sorry, I’m straight. I’m not into that sort of thing.” Taken aback, Matthew apologies quickly and resumes his massage. A few minutes goes by and something happens rather quickly that the man does not anticipate. A patch of something white sticks to the side of his neck but it is applied so gently that he never notices it. His heart beats faster and he becomes uncontrollably horny as the drug from the patch begins to work its magic all around his body. At this moment, Matthew smirks and begins rubbing a generous amount of oil on the man’s butt, fingering his ass with a finger, followed by another, much to the man’s enjoyment. Matthew attempts to feed the man his cock once more and this time the man is eager to feed on it as if he is starved. He can’t seem to stop himself. All the while, Matthew continues to finger his ass, and when it is ready, Matthew pushes the man down back on his stomach, climbs on top of the massage table, slides his dick inside the man with ease. It is tight, no less than that of a virgin, perhaps it might be given the straight acting nature of the man but nonetheless, it won’t be a virgin after tonight. The man winces in pain before he is overcome with pleasure and he rocks his bottom back and forth on Fernando’s cock. Soon, their thrusts are in sync with each other. It doesn’t take long for Matthew to come, thick and creamy, deep inside the man’s ass, which he tightens to milk down to the last drop. His dick slides out gracefully, still hard, feeds it to the man who happily swallows it in one go, cleans it while on his knees, cum dripping out of his ass and down the back of his thigh. The massage is over. Matthew kisses the man and slaps his ass as he exits the room as the next appointed man awaiting his massage walks in. This would continue for the next three hours in the massage room, and every man would be bred by Fernando, some more willing than others, but never as resistant as the first man of the night, but there is always the white patch of drug if he ever has to cross that bridge again. It is one in the morning and Matthew has finished his shift for tonight. A knock on the door and it’s Somchai who has also finished his shift. Somchai locks the door behind him and, like he does every night when he knows when Matthew finishes his shift, goes down on his knees without anybody asking and begins working on Fernando’s thick cock with his talented mouth. Somchai can taste the asses of the men Matthew has fucked throughout the night but he doesn’t care, and he offers up his own ass to Matthew which Matthew doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of. Somchai is nothing more than a sex toy which Matthew uses for his own pleasure, and he rewards Somchai for his loyalty with a load deep inside him. Matthew exits the room, down the corridor, and as he walks past the darkroom catches the glimpse of the muscular man with black hair from earlier. He is bent over with a cock in his mouth and a cock in his ass, and there are many men surrounding them all jerking off, and waiting for their turn with the man.

The Second Chapter April 1996. Matthew is 18 years old. He lived. He came. He conquered. Matthew wakes up in the middle of the night. It is two in the morning and his bed is soaked with sweat. He stays in bed for the next three days and he’s on his feet again on the forth, and his life precedes as normal on the fifth, although ‘normal’ may be too kind of a word to use here, as nothing from this point onwards is normal in the world of Matthew Taylor. He hears of the dreaded news one day at the doctor’s office, but much of this memory has become a blur to him. “’m sorry to say,’ says the doctor, sorrowfully, ‘that you are HIV positive.” These are the words that no one should ever hear, and definitely not to a boy of Matthew’s age who did not ask to receive this. “Now, there are limited treatment options …” continues the doctor, but Matthew does not register anything else from this point onwards. The world drowns out in white noise as he sees his future disappearing before his eyes, not wanting to die at such an early age. He weeps in his car and the sky weeps along with him on the drive back home. He weeps himself to sleep until there are no more tears to shed, even if he tries. Six month later. He feels different. He feels stronger. He feels hornier. Matthew's body is changing and he feels very powerful, so he goes to the gym on a daily basis and in no time at all, he is very muscular. He particularly enjoys the attention that he is receiving from the onlookers of men on the streets, at the gym, at school. He is at his best friend’s place and they are playing cards when his friend has to leave for soccer practice, so now he is home alone with his best friend’s dad, Scott, who has just arrived home from his work as an electrician. “Can I get you anything to drink, mate?” Scott asks. “Water’s fine, Mr. Anderson,” Matthew replies. “You know you can call me Scott. How’s school going?” “It’s going alright. Semester’s holiday is coming up.” Scott hands Matthew a glass of water. Matthew has never paid any particular attention to Scott before up until this point. He’s always seen him as his best friend’s dad and nothing else, but now, alone in the kitchen with just the two of them, Matthew finds him particularly attractive, with the scruffy two day beard and the tradie uniform that was in desperate need of washing. There is a scent that Matthew often releases, masculine and dominating, that seems to wither down men’s inhibition, making them more seductive, submissive. It was having an effect on Scott, the bulge in his pants becoming noticeably apparent and he begins to have difficulty diverging his gaze away from Matthew's own pants. He doesn’t know what has gotten over him. ‘Is everything alright, Mr. Anderson?’ Matthew asks. ‘Yeah, just have to use the bathroom,’ Scott says, and he excuses himself quickly. Matthew follows him, and he meets him in the bathroom splashing water on his face. They meet each other’s gazes in the mirror and for a brief moment, no one says anything, until Matthew begins to rub the bulge on his pants. Scott can’t take his eyes of it, although he does try very hard to do so. Temptation takes hold of Scott and he turns around, walks towards Matthew, pulls his pants down, gets on his knees, tastes him with his mouth. He is not particularly good at it, scraping Matthew’s cock with his teeth from time to time, and often gagging on the size. Scott’s eyes are closed as he rocks back and forth and Matthew wonders what he is thinking at this moment, on his knees serving another man for the first time, while his wife and kids are away. There is a slight guilt that runs through Matthew’s body on what they are doing and what will happen in the next ten minutes or so, but he brushes the thought and feeling away, the same way that you might clear a table by pushing everything on the floor, and fills his mind with lust and excitement as to what he is about to do to this man. He pulls Scott off the ground and they kiss. It is passionate and romantic that rivals that of his wife. They walk to his best friend’s room and he pushes Scott onto the bed on his back, removes his pants. Scott’s ass is hairy and tight. Matthew spits on his dick and on Scott’s hole and slides it in, slowly, until it is balls deep. He looks into Scott’s eyes, brown and a bit vacant, as he thrusts, slowly at first, then a bit faster, while Scott lays there silently. It is difficult to tell for sure whether Scott is enjoying the experience, from the silence, but it doesn’t matter because to Matthew, he, like any other men he had conquered, is just a piece of meat for his own pleasure. His life will be short-lived after the infection, like that of Matthew, but he has served his purpose of pleasuring men. It was unfair and unjust to shorten Matthew's life like that, with the infection, and he was determined to take down as many people along the way as he could for as long as he lived. “You will learn to love this,” Matthew whispers in Scott’s ear, releasing deep inside him in the process. He pulls his dick out and Scott is quick to put it back into his mouth to clean it. Indeed, Scott does learn to love this, and he is often found with a raw dick inside him on business meetings across the country soon after.