Van2man

**This is a work of fantasy and fiction. Any similarity to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. Nothing in this work should be construed as medical advice in any way** THE TEN – A Continuation (or Chapter XV, if you like) I never expected to fall in love with him…as I will explain, he wanted the relationship, but he didn’t want to be pozzed. It was 2 years after I moved from LA to Seattle, I had continued my pozzing adventures in the great Pacific Northwest. One of the main reasons for leaving LA was there almost seemed like there was nobody left to infect with HIV. Oh, new guys were always moving to LA, maybe to make it as an actor, maybe to escape from moralizing family members, or maybe just for the weather. But between widespread PrEP usage, the pool of available neg holes to knock up was becoming ever smaller. And when you factor in my poz buddies, Eric, Keith, Diego, Francisco and the other members of “The Ten” club, competition to claim a unmedicated neg chaser was fierce. Between us all in “The Ten,” we had successfully pozzed hundreds of guys, including dozens of flight attendants -- literally spreading our HIV strains around the world – but new conquests, as measured by the group text we would all send after another chaser got their upgrade, were happening fewer and fewer times. As for my own successful pozzings, the tattooed area across my abs now boasted an arc of 6 dark X’s, meaning I had 60 known pozzings under my belt – and probably dozens more unknown ones who were face down/ass up in a sex club, or just a neg pussy against the glory hole opening – “DON’T ASK, DON’T TELL!” Augmenting the row of XXXXXX spread across my midsection were 2 biohaz symbols, one above the row of Xs and one on my upper arm, a bright red teardrop of blood in the center of both biohaz symbols. And then there was the inked scorpion with the word “POZ” in the center of its body splayed across my chest that my friend and tattoo artist extraordinaire Eric emblazoned for me, and which got us so horned up, we recharged each other right on his tattoo chair. He even finished up the scorpion tat while his fat toxic AIDS-cock was still inside me after depositing a fresh load of virus into my poz cumhole. But eventually, there just wasn’t the available stock of neg chasers out there anymore, and the ones that once flew into LA for pozzing now could get it closer to their homes, as “The Ten” chapters sprung up, quite organically, in New York, Chicago, Toronto, Boston, Miami and Palm Springs. I had some of the ‘blame” for the Chicago branch being so prolific as my poz son Benny proceeded to infect his whole leather group, and they in turn distributed the gift across the Midwest. Suddenly, POZ was the thing to shoot for in certain gay/bi circles – a badge of sexual hedonistic honor. Eric told me he was training tattoo artists across the country in all kinds of biohazard and scorpion designs, and a big request was simply the words “POZ,” “TOXIC,” “INFECTED,” or “HIV” to get inked across chasers’ bodies when they got the inevitable upgrade to HIV status. So after my wildly successful, and I guess if you think about it – TOO successful pozzing career, I relocated with my job up to Seattle, a city I had visited a few times over the years but to my knowledge, was not home to anyone I had upgraded with my demon seed. My own seed remained unmedicated and my overall health remained good, despite the moderate viral HIV load. My last in-person visit with the idealistic Young Doctor in LA showed slow but steady progress of the virus and he told me I might be crossing over to official AIDS status within a year or so, and to think about medicating. Or maybe not, it was impossible to know for certain. What was for certain was I wouldn’t be inhibiting my strain with meds, at least not for a while yet… So, 2 years later I was still seeing via telehealth the Young Doctor, who himself had transitioned from a condom and meds advocate into a poz hungry cumwhore after a certain mass conversion party in Lake Tahoe. And my lab work that I had done every 3 months or so at his direction still made its way back to him to interpret, and even now, 2 years after he said I was fucking and breeding my way into AIDS-territory, I was still officially just “HIV Positive.” I was having too much fun breeding holes with my toxic seed, and when after 18 months in Seattle, I got my 6th X tattooed across my stomach, signifying 60 pozzings, I resolved not to slow down…not yet, anyway. Poz convert #60 happened much the same way a lot of them occur…Josh from Alaska read my profiles on BZ and Curious Chaser, slid into my DMs and a few weeks later, and following a quick brushing of his neg pussy, my lubed-up poz weapon was sliding into his untainted hole, forever changing his DNA, and changing him into a poz cumwhore. He told me that where he works on the pipeline, not a lot of guys are openly gay or bi, and even if they are, not a lot of them are on PrEP…plenty of opportunities for him to spread the seed to the Last Frontier among his burly oil worker buds. I welcomed Josh to my place with a hug…I could feel his body trembling in my embrace. He whispered softly to me “I need to do this…but I’m scared.” Reassuring him, I whispered back ‘We’ll go at your pace…but remember why you flew down here, remember why you need this,” followed by my grinding my jeans-covered poz weapon against him. We chatted for awhile…he’s “mostly gay,” but fucks women sometimes…there were a couple of pregnancy scares with them and he was greatly relieved when they turned up not pregnant. He’s an oil pipeline worker, which isn’t as burly or hard-working as it sounds – mostly sitting at a screen and watching product flow. But sometimes there’s a problem or something out in the field that requires manual intervention and Josh and a few buddies head out to repair the issue, usually staying at the field camps set up along the length of the line. He tells me once the issue is resolved, there’s not a lot to do in camp until the van arrives in a day or two to take them back. So, they naturally get up to what men get up to…he’s fucked all of his work buddies over the years and they’ve fucked and bred him, even the ones with wives and kids waiting at home. “We’re not allowed to drink on the job, so we find ways to entertain ourselves,” he shrugs, laughing and swigging his beer. It’s the first time he’s relaxed enough this evening to laugh. He continues, “I found myself fantasizing about getting poz, I resisted for a long time, but once it has you, it can’t be denied.” I nod in knowing agreement. Once he’s relaxed and laughing a bit, I lead him upstairs and offer my standard disclaimer that he can turn around right now and go. They never do…Getting him on the bed, and before he can change his mind, I begin my process with the brand new toothbrush I have waiting for him. Next comes my hard pre-cumming pierced poz missile. This isn’t a time to be gentle with it and I drill it deep into his guts, not stopping as he yelps and twists, until it’s balls-deep inside him, my free-flowing viral precum already leading the way. I remind him this is why he is here. “Feel that poz cock deep in you, man? It’s pozzing you up already!” I fuck him deeply and very roughly for about 15 minutes with my poz pole, withdrawing a couple of times to look at the small drops of bright red blood on my cock, I plunge it back into him and unload nine or ten shots of pure HIV-seed into the guy’s hole. I know I’ve just brought him into the Brotherhood, but of course, I follow standard pozzing protocol, plugging his mancunt and raising his hips on a pillow to let gravity assist. I fucked him again a further two times that night, always shooting copious loads of unmedicated toxic cum into the guy – as usual with The Ten members, once you become a mass poz breeder you shoot bigger HIV-loads, and the more your cock rebounds super quickly, ready for another unmedicated, toxic insemination! On the 3rd rough fuck of that evening, we even managed to break the bed, a couple of slats underneath the mattress splintering, with a loud cracking sound! In the morning, while he was still half-asleep, I turned him over and thrust my cock up his sore hole again, sealing the deal with another huge HIV-load in the guy’s guts. Josh flew back to Anchorage that morning, his hole wet from my seed, my strain already at work on his system. He pledged to send me a pic of the home test in a few weeks’ time, and I know from past experience what the result will be: 2 bright red lines meaning sweet HIV. When 3 weeks later the beautiful picture came from him, I quickly snapped a pic of his positive test next to my hard cock and posted it on my media. My 60th pozzing filled me with such pride at the accomplishment! As for the bed -- Josh, not to mention the steady stream of Northwest chasers had been in and out of it and the old bed had served me good, but it was time to upgrade my pozzing bed with something new. And that’s what found me later that day in this high-end, custom-made furniture store a short walk from the main tourist area of Pike St. I had walked past the store windows several times, looking at the sofa and chairs and another featuring a beautiful Shaker-style bed. From the window, there was just enough of a view into the back area where craftsmen would work on their furniture designs. That’s where I saw him, through the window, as people milled back and forth in front of the doorway, I craned my neck to see him better, leaning over one of his custom creations, his jeans shaping his ass beautifully. I didn’t believe in fate or whatever you want to call it, but seeing him there, even just viewing him from outside looking in, I had the same electric feeling in my loins that I get whenever I know I’ve just pozzed a guy, that indescribable rush of energy as my viral cum shoots from my rigid cock deep into a man’s hole, transmogrifying him and his existence forever. I entered the store, and lingered around the bed that I wanted, telling the saleswoman who first approached that I was just looking. She turned and walked away and I went back to looking at the hot young assistant on the phone. Finally, he finished the call and turned in my direction. With the saleswoman now helping someone else, I waved at the cute guy and he left the central desk and made his way over to me. He was a bit taller and leaner than me, probably around 6’2,” with medium-brown hair a bit of which fell in front of his eyes as he walked, brushing it back behind his ears which he probably has to do 100 times a day. “Hi, sir, I’m Tom…what can I show you today?” he introduced himself, outstretching his hand to mine. As I shook his hand, a jolt of electricity ran through my body – even more than the jolt I felt the previous evening impregnating Josh with my HIV. And just like that, Tom the furniture guy “had” me. “I think I’m gonna buy this bed,” I told him, pointing at the sturdy frame “as long as it is strong and put together well. I don’t need a flimsy one.” I smiled devilishly at him, waiting for him to take the bait. But he just said “It’s made by a local craftsman, and very well built. I can show you his catalogue and you can see his process if you like. I help him out in his studio from time to time.” He didn’t return my smile, just a friendly yet businesslike approach. Still, he “had” me, and a few minutes later, I was out the door, having bought a new bed and table set. “Will you be the one to deliver it?” I asked him, hoping he would take the hint, but again he stayed professional and we arranged for their delivery team to bring the new purchases in 3 weeks’ time. 3 weeks – just enough time for the fuck flu to hit a chaser after I’ve brought them into the poz brotherhood! When finally after three weeks, the call came that it was to be delivered, Tom’s voice was on the other end of the phone “Hello, Sir, we’ve got your bed ready to be delivered, but I thought you’d also be interested in some other pieces our craftsman had made, if you’d like to meet me after work at his woodshop, I can walk you through it all.” Needing no further invitation to see this hot guy, I quickly hopped on the light rail and made my way over to the address of the studio, which was in a run-down part of the city south of Downtown. I knocked on the heavy steel door and Tom opened up and appeared there, his messy brown hair half in his face, his arms straining against the tight T-shirt and his jeans cupping his ass. “Hey, Sir,” glad you could make it, welcome to my studio,” he said. “Your studio? You’re the craftsman who makes this beautiful furniture?” “Yeah,” he said brushing his hair back, and shaking sawdust from his hand, “at the store, I am just a sales rep, but here,” he remarked, turning around to the expanse of wood furniture, “this is my baby.” He leaned in a bit to me, “and I thought you might like a private tour,” brushing his hand against my arm, leaning further in for a kiss. “Unless I got the wrong idea…” “Oh hell no, man, you got the right idea – I’ve been thinking of you ever since I came into the store,” I replied. With that he reached for my shirt, unbuttoning the buttons down the front. Then, as he fully opened my shirt, he eyed the scorpion tat, the biohaz symbol with the blood-red teardrop, and the line of 6 X’s across my furry midsection. He stopped – a brief look of concern across his face. Looking at my tats marking me as a POZ predator, his demeanor changed instantly, from excitement to alarm. He stepped back. “OK, sir, we’ll have your furniture delivered by 10am tomorrow morning, thanks for visiting.” And he walked away and sat at his desk and busied himself with some paperwork. I took the hint…it’s a lot for someone to grasp. Before I pozzed up, I felt much the same way…even though it excited me, the fear outweighed the fantasy. I thanked him, and made my way home. As I came through the door, my phone chimed. It was him. “Sorry to cut you off there…maybe we should talk about it?” TO BE CONTINUED

Hey there, i'm back on this site now. And I have a surprise new installment of 'The Ten." Will be posted soon! Hope you like it

Fantastic!

Exactly. and anyone should just be able to walk up and mount the hole, no questions asked !

Indeed...anyone in that sex party or bathhouse situation should know what to do to stay neg (PrEP), and act accordingly to protect themselves...so IMO no need to say anything about status. In my experience, I haven't seen anyone use a condom at a bathhouse in years and years, and that's how it should be! (Despite there being bowls of them laid out for people).

you're doing great, keep it up!

great twist !