scotty2

The Restroom A delicate flower. Exquisite. Innocent. Ripe. He is looking at me, a gentle boy, soft as goose down, naïve. He shivers a little, eyes wide, deep, dark. I brush his black unkempt hair from his forehead. “Monsieur,” he whispers, a voice like honey. “Yes, boy,” I reply. He doesn’t understand my English. I touch my finger to his lips. He kisses it. Little playful kisses, a game. He grins, a beautiful smile, joyful. He giggles. “Monsieur,” he repeats, and I melt. I kiss his hair. A hint of grease, a tinge of shampoo. Flowers, soap, exotic fruit. He is a smoker, I can tell from his scent. “You’ve never kissed a man, have you?” I tease. He doesn’t understand. I laugh. He laughs too. I lean forward, hold his chin and kiss him. A soft kiss. Mint, beer. His mouth is eager. He groans. Shivers. I hug him, his denim jacket damp. He feels warm, and I kiss his head again. Outside, on the motorway that leads to Paris, the traffic rumbles. Cars and trucks crossing the country, transit, movement. In the restroom it is cold, water drips, scents of piss and disinfectant. My hands are on his back. They travel down. I squeeze his ass. “Oh, goodness,” I mutter. He whimpers. I cup his crotch. He’s big, I can tell. And rock hard. “Show me,” I whisper. “Show me your cock. Take it out and show me.” My tone is flat, firm. He shakes his head, confused. There is Gypsy in him, a darkness. I unzip his fly. He is nervous now. He glances at the door. His anxiety excites me. I am a hunter, and he is my prey. He stands still. Obedient. Frozen. I inch my finger into his fly. It is warm, a little damp. He hisses. I pull on the elastic. His pubic hair is thick and wiry, warm to touch. “Show me,” I repeat. I nod reassuringly. He squirms, a grimace of a nervous smile. His eyes plead, burning with lust, tormented with shame. He squints, then with a final groan he pulls out his cock. I grin. I am lucky. His cock is beautiful. Hard, too hard. So hard it is purple and vascular, uncut, dripping pearls of precum. His cock scents the air, making my mouth water. “Good boy,” I say softly. The Room He came with me. Followed me like a lost puppy. We are in my room now, in my room by the side of the motorway, a bland room. It is private, the door locked, no-one can see, no-one can hear. This is the room where his life will change, the room where our destinies will merge. He trusts me, adores me. I am older than him, a father figure. I want him, and I want to own him, to make him mine. He is undressed now, down to his underpants. Vulnerable and shaking, his skin white, his body a little soft, like a cherub. He hugs himself nervously, his large teen cock tenting in his red briefs. He tries to hide it with both hands. “It’s OK,” I murmur. He shakes his head, and suddenly hugs me. Now it is my turn to gasp and tremble. I almost feel bad, I almost relent. I almost want to extinguish my anger. I toy with making him leave now, leave before I change his life. “It’s ok,” I repeat. I take off my shirt. I am muscular and strong, an older man who works out. He looks at me, he is hungry. I can see it in his eyes. “Tattoo,” he says. I guess the word is the same in French. He runs his fingers over my chest. “Scorpion,” he grins. I laugh. “Yes, a scorpion,” I say nodding. He makes a grimace of approval. “Good,” he says in thickly accented English. “Yes, good,” I say. “Maybe. But they bite.” He shakes his head, confused. My Cock, Harbinger “Look,” I tell him. I drop my trousers, I unhook my massive cock from my briefs. I am conscious I haven’t showered. Yet the thought of the boy’s virgin lips on my ripe cock head excites me. It will be part of his defilement, part of the fall. His eyes widen. My cock is so hard. I flex it, I want to impress him. “Your first taste of cock,” I say, more to myself. He is looking at me like a kitten. I press down on his shoulders, and he collapses to his knees, my cock pressed to his sweet nose. He breathes in, intoxicated, drunk on my scent. I motion for him to stick out his tongue. He shakes his head, his mouth slack. I rub my uncut cock head on his lips. He makes a low growl. A little trail of precum glistens like lip balm. I cry out in sweet joy as his mouth opens and he takes most of my cock. He splutters and gurgles. My toxic seed awakens in my balls. Soon, my beauties. Soon. The Bed He is lying face down on the hotel bed, an offering, a sacrificial lamb. My French, Gypsy boy. His ass is soft, plump, hairless, white. I caress it, it’s beautiful, warm. I encourage him to hold open his cheeks, exposing the prettiest hole, forcing him to co-operate in his own degradation. He is exposed, his most private place on view, his balls hanging. I lower myself to lick him, man tongue on teen-hole, a heavenly tang, a taste of heaven. He is groaning, arching, a young virgin bitch in heat. He gasps into the pillow. I dare to introduce my finger, marvelling at the warm, tight sensation. I need to be inside him. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I murmur, my cockhead pressed to his pink hole. Purple flesh on white skin. He is squirming, trying to reach behind him. I take his hand in mine. “Relax,” I hiss. I hold a bottle of poppers to his nose. “Breathe.” He cries out, but my cock slides inside without mercy, gripped by velvet. I cannot hide my cruelty, my mask falls. I laugh, mockery in my tone. He cannot tell, he is in a trance, the trance of an 18-year-old with a big cock up his ass for the first time. I force more poppers into his sweet nose. He is open now, loose and damp. Conception I am close, my cock raw, swollen and dangerous. I fuck so hard that the bed is creaking. He sweats and writhes, his boy’s face screwed up, contorted in sweet agony. He laughs and groans. “It’s time,” I hiss, I feel my cum swirling, an ache that delights. I cannot hold it. “Fuck!!!” I scream, my seed shooting out of me, deep inside him. Potent seed. Bad seed. He turns round to kiss me, the face of an angel, eyes sparkling with life and bliss. It is done. I pull out, and my seed drips out, milky and alive. I lean forward and lick the foam. It is done.

I'd love to watch you do that

Thanks Bearbandit. It is a very encouraging thread and I am glad I started and glad that you contributed to it. I am aghast at why someone would be so unpleasant and so unsupportive at the retreat you had been on but good that you stayed. I am going to ask about the upper chest stuff at the gym tomorrow if my sinusitis calms down.

Yes, that is a good idea. Nearly always a comment is a kind of throw away unthinking kind of comment or unwanted advice or a crass observation and it doensn't happen often but boy, when it does it paralyses me. I know it is mostly in my head but it is tied up with childhood emotional abuse and quite difficult to shake off. I think it is a bit like coming out though, I am taking ownership of my body shape and saying (mostly to myself) "yes, this is wha I look like and it is not shameful. If someone says something like "gosh, do you know how many calories are in bread?" or "I noticed you've put on a bit of weight," what I hear is "You are greedy, you are lazy, you are unable to control your body and you are shameful." If I do end up putting on weight, after a bout of illness or a vaction for example, I actually feel guilt towards others, like I need to justify it to them, In the UK we have a TV programme called "How to Look Naked" and they take a woman who hates her body and make her go on a catwalk and then she cries and has a kind of epiphany.

Yes, this is good advice.....

lol, ok will do.....!

Thanks I will do that. Thanks for the good tips xx

Thanks that is a good idea. I will speak to one of the lads at the gym and ask them....give me an excuse to talk to the delectable sweeties who work there too!

Ah thanks. This helpful and supportive and you seem like a really kind man. I agree with what you say. And I identify with it too. Going to devoid some therapy time to this too. Nice pic btw;)

Here is a picture of me as I really am. This is what I look like, and I don't think there is much more I can do about it. I want to learn to love myself not hate myself

Yes, that is a good idea xx

Ah thank you Mike. But it is a kind of really deep agonising feeling, and I am covering it in therapy as of now cos it is a bit crippling. Just wondered where it comes from and what to overcome it.

Hi, thanks. I know what you mean about cumming too, but I feel no shame if I cannot cum at all, but identify with that feeling of being under pressure. And I think the body type in your avatar is ideal, very sexy indeed. But if it is my body I see it differently. Oddly, other signs of ageing in me trigger no shame. For instance I have a bald patch, but I just think it is funny and I joke about it and keep my hair cropped. My eyes have some wrinkles as a sales clerk kindly pointed out to me at Bloomingdales, asking me what skin cream I used. "Obviously not a very good one I replied," laughing. No shame. Bit of extra weight and I shrivel up like a worm in salt.

I decided to start a thread to get a bit of reality. It is about my body, and the way I was taught to hate it, and how I am trying to make peace with it. Here goes....When I was a boy I was sexually abused, once, by an adult who then turned nasty on me and spent the rest of my childhood tormenting me, about the way I looked, about my chronic socialphobia, about my interests and about my thinly veiled sexual orientation. At school a teacher started a thing going about my weight, as she saw it to use peer pressure to make me lose weight. My mother and father used my body as a battle ground, she feeding me and he saying I should be playing rugby (Purleeease!) The thing was I wasn't actually that fat as a child, when I look at photographs. My body is shaped so that my stomach protrudes a bit. I think it is called endomorphic or something. Throughout my adult life my weight has tended to fluctuate a bit according to my state of mind usually, and my routine. I am 6'1" and I have a 36 inch waist. I no longer weigh myself because it freaks me out, but I am about 185-190 pounds. I run 5K three to four times a week, walk an hour a day. I only eat healthy food apart from a piece of cake once a week. I don't drink except once a week, and I think about everything I put in my mouth. I have also been taking anti-depressants since April which might have contributed a bit. People occasionally make remarks to me about my body, usually in reference to my stomach, thinking it helpful to point out whenever I have put on any weight. For instance at the moment, I have been unwell with sinusitis and have no energy. I was on vacation in America for two weeks as well, and yeah, maybe I did put on a little. But when people say these things to me I feel like I am BEING ABUSED. This not vanity, it is not fishing for compliments or wanting attention. It is painful and confusing. It is the most agonising experience, an electric shock of shame. It paralyses me for a few seconds while I process it, it goes silent in my head, then the agony starts. For days I loathe my body, I stop and obsessively check my profile, I wear a T-shirt when I have sex..... I actually like guys who are not thin, it is my preference. When I watch porn and a guy has a tum, I love it. Big, muscly guys with six-packs? Less so. I like the feel of a guys skin who is a little overweight, I enjoy the softness of it, the silkiness. But in myself? It is self-hate, pure and simple, and whenever someone "helpfully" confirms that in me, it hurts so, so much. So how do I make peace with myself? I have described my routines above and to be honest I cannot do much more without a) feeling deprived and hungry all the time, and I am 46 and too tired to do much more than I do physically. Does anyone feel the same?

Hi How can I delete my account/profile? Thanks