Jnjbarebkhusbands

Chapter 4 - The conversion The world vanished into deep, rich black silk. He tied it firmly but not painfully behind my head, the knot pulling just enough to emphasize my helplessness. My other senses exploded into hyper-awareness, each one suddenly a raw nerve ending. I heard his measured footsteps on the concrete, moving around me, the slight scuff of his expensive shoes a deliberate punctuation in the heavy silence. I felt the cool, almost clinical air of the expansive room on my bare skin, a stark contrast to the internal inferno already raging within me. My pulse throbbed in my temples, a frantic drumbeat against the hum of the drugs already coursing through my system. Before he’d blindfolded me, the scene had been a blur of neon and shadow. I’d arrived already buzzing, a few tabs of Molly dissolving that pesky voice of conscience, an initial gulp of G loosening my limbs and my inhibitions. But he had upped the ante. He’d laid out the works: a mirror glinting with crystalline shards of Tina, a small vial of clear liquid, and a sterile pack containing a new syringe. “This is about more than just a fuck,” he’d said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my bones. “This is about surrender. Total, absolute. You want the payment? You earn the experience.” He’d insisted on the ‘booty bump’. A small, meticulous line of crushed Tina, carefully mixed with a drop of water, drawn into an oral syringe. The clinical precision of it was almost a turn-on in itself. He’d guided my trembling hand, the applicator slick with lube, as I eased it into my own asshole, pressing the plunger. The rush had been immediate, a molten wave of heat blooming deep inside, spreading outwards, sharpening every sensation, every desire. He’d followed suit, a shared intimacy of self-violation that bound us even before our skin touched. The Molly made me crave connection, the G made me careless, and the Tina… the Tina made me an insatiable, reckless animal. Now, blindfolded, his presence was a magnetic force. I smelled the sharp, chemical tang of poppers when he uncapped the bottle nearby, the scent tearing through the residual haze of the other drugs. “Hands on the table,” he commanded, his voice a gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate in the very air around me, cutting through my heightened senses. I obeyed, my hands flat against the cold, smooth leather of the examination table. The leather itself felt alive, cool and yielding beneath my palms. I heard the soft rustle of his clothes as he undressed, the material whispering against itself, revealing hints of the taut, muscular body I knew was beneath. Then his hands were on me, gloved in latex, slick with cold lube. They were impersonal and efficient, turning me around, guiding my hips to lie back on the table. He spread my legs, lifted them, adjusting me with a practiced ease that made me feel utterly dehumanized, yet thrillingly exposed. His fingers, deft and unyielding, began circling my asshole, dilating and stretching me, pressing deeply, exploring every inch of my opening without asking for permission. The clinical nature of it, the cold, latex-covered invasion, was its own unique kind of depravity, stripping away all pretense of romance or even mutual desire. I was a subject. An experiment. A vessel. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a frantic drum against the backdrop of my roaring drug-addled brain. The Tina had me rigid, my muscles trembling with a barely contained energy, my cock already painfully hard, ready to explode. The G had me loose and pliant, my asshole relaxed even under his relentless assault. The Molly had stripped away my fear, replacing it with a desperate need for all of it. Then I felt the head of his cock, blunt and insistent, at my entrance. It was bigger than I remembered from the hazy night on the couch, from the quick, anonymous touch that had initiated this dark bargain. A thick, veiny column, slicked with my own lube, pressing, prodding. “The poppers,” he said again, his voice a gravelly whisper right by my ear, the sound a physical vibration against my skin. He held the bottle to my nose. “Now.” I inhaled deeply, the ammonia fumes burning my nostrils, then blossoming behind my eyes, a dizzying, head-rushing explosion of pure, mind-numbing sensation. The world tilted, spun, and for a glorious, terrifying second, ceased to exist. In that same instant, as the chemical high erased the last shreds of my resistance, melting me into a puddle of pure, raw sensation, he thrust into me. It was one smooth, brutal motion. He buried himself to the hilt, stretching me to my absolute limit, filling me completely, a hot, heavy mass of flesh. I cried out, a strangled sound that was equal parts pain and overwhelming ecstasy. My body seized around him, accepting, yielding, desperate for more. The poppers hammered everything home, locking me into this moment of exquisite, agonizing pleasure. He set a punishing rhythm from the start, each thrust jarring me against the cold leather of the table, driving me deeper into the abyss of sensation. He was silent except for his ragged breathing, the animalistic grunts that escaped his throat with each powerful stroke. This wasn’t about mutual pleasure. This was about ownership. About transmission. About a transaction being fulfilled. Suddenly, a different cold sting, a sharp prick on my forearm, cutting through the haze. My mind, drug-addled as it was, registered the familiar sensation. A slam. He wasn’t just fucking me; he was initiating a different kind of penetration, a different kind of shared experience. I heard the faint click of the plunger as he injected something into my vein, then his own low hiss of satisfaction as, I presumed, he slammed himself too, a shared ritual of chemical surrender while he was still buried inside me. The second rush hit me almost immediately, a fresh, electric wave of Tina surging through my bloodstream, amplifying every nerve ending, every tremor, every thrust. My body became a conduit for pure sensation, my thoughts dissolving into a soup of insatiable lust and dizzying oblivion. “This is what you sold,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort, his hips grinding into me with renewed ferocity. “This is what you bought.” He wasn’t talking to me, not really. He was talking to himself, narrating the event, cementing the terms of our dark contract to the universe. One of his hands found my hair, tangling in it, pulling my head back, exposing my throat, my vulnerability. The other closed around my already throbbing cock, stroking me with a relentless, knowing rhythm that mirrored his own thrusts. I was babbling, begging, though I didn’t know for what. For him to stop? For him never to stop? For this glorious, terrifying oblivion to swallow me whole? The combined effects of Molly, G, Tina, poppers, and the fresh slam had me utterly unhinged, my body a puppet to his every command, my mind lost in a shimmering fog of pleasure and fear. I felt the tension coiling in my gut, the familiar pull of an impending orgasm, but it was different this time. Darker, deeper, tainted with the primal fear of the unknown, yet liberated by the utter surrender. My body was screaming, stretched to its breaking point, yet aching for more, for this relentless invasion to continue, to consume me entirely. “You’re going to take it,” he growled, his pace becoming frantic, erratic, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, each impact a punch to my gut. “You’re going to take my load. You’re going to remember this feeling for the rest of your life. The feeling of becoming.” His words, infused with the guttural release of his own impending climax, tipped me over the edge. My orgasm ripped through me, violent and uncontrollable, painting stripes across my stomach and chest as my cock spasmed relentlessly. I screamed into the blindfold, a guttural, primal sound that was torn from the deepest part of my being, my body seizing around him, clinging to him even as I bucked against the table. My climax triggered his. With a final, deep, almost guttural roar, he stilled, buried inside me, his body trembling violently. I felt the hot, pulsing release, wave after wave of his molten seed pumping into me, filling me to overflowing. The physical manifestation of the transaction. The moment of conversion. A tremor wracked his body, and he let out a long, low groan that sounded like victory, like a predator sated. He collapsed on top of me for a moment, his weight heavy and warm, his breath hot against my ear. Then, with a sudden, almost clinical detachment, he pushed himself up and pulled out of me. The loss of his presence was a physical ache, an emptiness that echoed the void left by the drugs now beginning their inevitable descent from their peak. I felt a cold trail of his come leaking out of me, mixing with the lube and my own bodily fluids, running down my inner thighs. He untied the blindfold. The sudden rush of light was blinding, harsh, cruel after the intense darkness. I blinked up at him, my eyes struggling to adjust, the fluorescent overhead lights throwing stark shadows across his face. He was looking down at me, his expression unreadable, a strange mix of exhaustion and triumph. Sweat gleamed on his chest, on his brow, the remnants of his exertion. He looked down at where his spend was already leaking out of me onto the black leather, a shimmering, sticky testament to what had just transpired. “It is done,” he said, his voice flat now, all the passion and intensity spent, replaced by a cold finality. He turned and walked away, his back to me, not sparing another glance. He began to dress, methodically, as if nothing profound had just happened. I was left lying there, shattered and transformed, my body still buzzing with the chaotic symphony of drugs and lingering pleasure, my mind reeling from the raw, undeniable impact of the experience. The $50,000 problem was finally solved, a debt paid in the most absolute currency. But a million-dollar worth of new ones, unseen and terrifying, had just begun to bloom in the darkest corners of my soul. The conversion was complete. I was no longer just me; I was a host, a vessel, irrevocably altered, carrying the heavy weight of a secret, and perhaps, a new life ticking inside

I apologize to some of you for the delay … but here is the link to the continuation of selling my status. Check it out !! I hope you will enjoy 😈

Chapter 3: The Preparation The message came on the morning of the seventh day. It was as terse and commanding as he was. Address: 2247 Crestview Drive. 9 PM. Do not eat after 2 PM. Shower before you come. Use the enema in the package. The other 40k is waiting. Another package had arrived that morning. This one contained a specific, professional-grade saline enema kit, a fresh, large bottle of poppers, and a black silk blindfold. Taped to the bottle of poppers was a small, clear baggie filled with shimmering, crystalline shards. Tina. The instructions were degrading, medical, and unbearably arousing. He wasn't just preparing me; he was programming me, building the chemical architecture for my own surrender. I followed his orders to the letter. I left work early, my stomach a knot of nerves and a low thrum of excitement. At 2:01 PM, I took my last sip of water. The afternoon was an agony of anticipation. I paced my small apartment, the baggie of crystal sitting on my coffee table like a malevolent diamond. I picked it up, feeling the sharp edges through the plastic. This was the key he would use to unlock me. At 7 PM, I began the elaborate, humiliating process. I laid a towel on the bathroom floor, my cheeks burning with a shame that only fed the growing heat in my groin. He wasn't here, but I felt his presence in every step, his approval the only thing that mattered. When I was finally, clinically clean, a hollow, empty vessel, a wave of dizzying submission washed over me. The shower was a ritual. I scrubbed every inch of my skin until it glowed pink and sensitive. I shaved myself smooth, the drag of the razor making me shudder. I stood under the scalding spray until the water ran cold, imagining it was his gaze. I looked at myself in the foggy mirror. My eyes were wide, pupils already dilated with fear and need. My body was trembling. I was perfect for him. I put on simple jeans and a tight black t-shirt. No underwear. Another unspoken command I felt compelled to obey. I placed the vial of poppers, the bag of crystal, and the blindfold in my pocket. The Lyft ride to Crestview Drive was silent. This house was different from the first—a brutalist masterpiece of black steel and tinted glass, a sharp angular silhouette against the night sky. It felt like a fortress. A laboratory for sin. He opened the door before I could knock. He was dressed in sleek black leather pants that clung to his powerful thighs and a tight black muscle shirt. He looked me up and down, a predator assessing his meal. “You brought everything?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. I nodded, wordlessly producing the items from my pocket. He took the bag of Tina, holding it up to the light. “Good. This will help you receive your gift properly. Come.” The interior was stark and intimidating. Polished black concrete floors, blood-red walls, and harsh, minimalist lighting. The air was cold and smelled of ozone, leather, and his dominant cologne. In the center of the vast, echoing room was a large, leather-padded medical table, equipped with sturdy straps at the ankles and wrists. My breath hitched. This was real. This was happening. Matt saw my look of trepidation and smiled, a flash of white in the dim room. “It’s for your safety. To keep you focused on the sensation. To keep you from running from the pleasure.” He stepped closer, his scent enveloping me. “The price is the same whether you are strapped down or not. But the experience… the experience will be infinitely more intense if you surrender to it completely.” This was the final gate. Walking out now would mean I had humiliated myself, flushed my pills, and taken his $10k for nothing. I’d be free, but I’d always wonder. Staying… staying meant total immersion. It meant getting the full, terrifying, exhilarating value of our deal. I looked from his intense eyes to the table. My cock, traitorous and eager, strained against my jeans. “I’ll stay,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I knew my boy would make the right choice,” he purred, his hand cupping my cheek. “Now, the gear. Let’s get you ready.” He led me to a low black sofa. He prepared the pipe with an expert’s efficiency, loading a large shard onto the screen. He lit the torch, and the familiar cloud of white smoke began to fill the glass bulb. “Inhale,” he commanded, holding the pipe to my lips. “Suck it deep into your lungs. Hold it. Let it burn away all that fear.” I obeyed. The hit was massive, a seismic shock to my system. The rush was instantaneous—a crackling, electric current zipping up my spine and exploding in my brain. Every nerve ending screamed to life. The leather of his pants, the cold air, the sound of his breathing—it all became hyper-sharp, intensely vivid. And the hunger… a raw, animal need began to uncoil in my gut. “Again,” he said, his voice already taking on a god-like resonance in my heightened state. He fed me another colossal hit. This one melted my bones. A dizzying, euphoric wave of pure lust washed over me. I was panting, my skin buzzing, my cock a rigid, leaking ache in my jeans. “That’s it,” he murmured, his own eyes glittering with dark intent. He took a hit himself, holding the smoke before leaning in and sealing his mouth over mine, forcing the potent cloud into my lungs in a searing kiss. I groaned into his mouth, my hands clutching at his shoulders. He broke the kiss. “Now, the blindfold. I want all your focus on what you’re about to feel.” The world vanished into deep, rich black silk.

The guy is selling his status for money…he needed to prove to the guy buying that he was negative when he started . Otherwise it is not much of an incentive to sell his neg status to a guy to poz him

Sorry for the delay - here is the continuation of “ Selling my Status” Chapter 2: The Long Week The next seven days were the longest of my life. It was a bizarre purgatory, suspended between my old self and the new one I had so recklessly, chemically agreed to become. The morning after my visit to Matt’s, I woke up with a crushing headache and a dry, chemical taste in my mouth. The memories of the night flooded back in a nauseating wave: the smoke, the commands, the camera’s unblinking eye, the toilet swirling with my future. A sharp, cold panic seized me. What had I done? I scrambled for my phone, my fingers trembling as I opened my banking app. The rational part of my brain, the part that was screaming, knew it was a scam. There would be no money. I had just thrown away my health for a drug-fueled fantasy and a promise from a stranger. But the balance was there. Not the $50,000, but a pending wire transfer for $10,000. A subject line: Good faith. Don’t disappoint me. The panic didn't vanish, but it mutated. It was now tangled with a terrifying, thrilling sense of commitment. It was real. The money was real. He was real. The days that followed were a study in cognitive dissonance. By daylight, I was a normal guy. I went to work at my bland office job, answered emails, attended meetings. I was quiet, withdrawn. My colleagues must have thought I was coming down with something. In a way, I was. I was incubating. But inside, a constant, low hum of anxiety and… anticipation… thrummed through me. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart leapt into my throat. It was never him. He was silent, letting the tension build. He owned the silence as much as he owned the promise. My body felt different. Without the daily ritual of the blue pill, I felt raw, exposed, vulnerable. I’d catch myself staring into space, imagining what it would feel like. The conversion. The moment of transmission. The thought should have horrified me. And it did. But late at night, alone in my bed, it was the only thing that could bring me to a shuddering, shame-filled climax. I was becoming the character I’d played for his camera. On the fifth day, a package arrived at my door. No return address. Inside was a single, small box of a popular brand of protein bars. Taped to the inside of the lid was a negative test result. His. Recent. And a note, scrawled on thick, expensive cardstock: *Getting everything ready for you. Be clean. Be ready. *- M* The message was clear. The transaction was proceeding. He was confirming his own status to assure the "purity" of the product. I was the product. The finality of it, the clinical coldness mixed with the dark intimacy, left me breathless. I slid to the floor, the test result in my hand, and cried. I wasn't sure if they were tears of fear or of relief.

Same here

This story is a continuation to the original “Selling my Status” which had been start by a former. The member closed their account so the remains unfinished and in limbo. I have resurrected the story below but as a nod to the original story and discussion here is the link … Originally - “Selling my StaruS” I know how it sounds, but trust me, I don't want to work for the rest of my life. I unfortunately had some some wild, luxurious nights in my 20s that have sunken me in credit card debt that'll be paying forever in me 30s unless I get it under control now. I just think this is the easier way out. I watched a documentary once and that is how I got the idea initially; I figured, if girls can sell their hymens, why can't men sell their status? I thought it was fascinating that it has become it's own fetish in an of itself, but admittingly I was not that into it personally. I'm already planning on spending my life on PrEP anyway, so in reality, nothing really changes. I get a payday, he gets a fantasy fulfilled, and get to knock out a chunk of debt. win/win/win. I had found a website to post my ad on, and after spending some time enjoying some stories, I got up enough courage to post a message below: "32 yr old, vers/bottom looking to sell my status. Currently neg on PrEP, but for the right price I'd be willing to flush what I have left, and meet up a week later. Only serious inquires please" It had only took a few hours before I had a few messages, but mostly low balls or jokesters. Then one subject line in particular caught my eye.... "Re: Selling my Status - Bidding 50k Hey boy, I'd be interested in buying. I'll have 50k up front in a week, but I want to meet up tonight to meet in person. Let me know if you agree, this offer expires in an hour. Also, bring your PrEP." I got giddy with excitement! That would at least pay at least 3 credit cards out, and was double the price I was ever expecting. I replied back and agreed to meet up tonight, will order a Lyft in an hour. He replied back with his address, and I jumped in the shower. This was going better than ever expected! After the shower I plugged the address into the app, he had lived an hour away, and the ride was a bit pricey. But the chance at getting 50k was too good to pass up, and even though he lived in the country side, his house was huge, on a big secluded piece of property. The driver dropped me off at the front door, and I gathered up the courage to knock after thinking about how crazy this was. I had figured if things go south, then at least I'm still on PrEP. He opened the door, I just realized I hadn't even asked him for a picture before coming over. I was surprised at how good he looked. He was a bit older than me, just a few grey hairs showing on his head and beard. He had his shirt off, and jogging pants with sneakers. "Hi, I'm Matt, nice to meet you." He reached in for a hug and I obliged, and slowly roamed his hands down to my butt before giving it a big squeeze. I blushed as he let go, and asked me to follow him to the living room to discuss terms. I followed him in and was shocked to find his coffee table was full of what looked like drugs and paraphernalia. I had only mostly only drank, and smoked a small bit of weed in college, so I immediately felt out of my element. Matt sensed my worry, and patted a hand on the couch near him. "We don't have to do anything tonight, I just have it outbecause that is what I do - sell them. How do you think I'd be able to afford this?" He smiled and laughed as I sat down. "So you mentioned you had a few things to chat about?" He reached for a blunt as I relaxed into the couch. "Do you mind?" he asked as he lit the end without waiting for my answer. "Not at all." He took a hit and passed it over to me, and I reluctantly agreed, not wanting to be rude to the man whose about to pay my way out of debt. I passed it back as the body high hit. He took another hit before passing it back. "Hey, relax, I can sense your still tense yet." I started an inhale as he got up, and returned back to the couch with 2 Gatorades. He handed one to me and I again took it, not wanting to be rude. I took a couple sips from it as he started to go over his terms. "So just three things, really. Number 1, I can tell you're not into this as I am, but I still want you to have a fun time. I'm going to get you a bit high tonight, it'll help take the edge off, and you will actually enjoy some fun tonight. Will be a little introduction to the next weekend." That sounded reasonable, as I nodded to him. I started to feel a little woozy, but luckily was still seated. I tried to keep my attention focused on him. He patted his hand again near him, like I was some kind of dog. It was demeaning, but again,didn't want to be rude. As I slid over, I stumbled and fell, landing my head in his lap. He laughed, and motioned for my to roll over, so my face was towards his body. "Have you ever done Tina before?" I didn't want to sound like a loser, but I didn't even know what it was. "I haven't yet, but am down for whatever. You're really helping me out with this." He reached over to the coffee table, grabbed a pre-loaded pipe and reached under my legs with his other hands, pulling my up so I'm sitting in his lap. I can feel how big he was, andlet out a tiny "oh." "Don't worry, like I said we won't have to do anything tonight. Let me show you how this works. When it's time, inhale, okay?" He took the pipe, and lit it with a torch underneath, as white smoke filled the chamber. He inhaled, and then leaned in for a kiss. As our lips met, I inhaled as he passed the smoke into my lungs. He pulled back. "hold it, boy." a more stern command than he had been before, but I did as instructed, until he had me release. The rush felt amazing, but the horniness is what drove me mad. I stared into his eyes, as he looked down and bit his lips. Apparently, I had slipped my hand down my waistband to stroke myself. "Good boy." He placed the pipe in my mouth and told me to hold the stem. I did as he instructed. "I'm going to light this, but don't inhale until I tell you. After, don't exhale until I tell you." He lit the torch, and once the clouds filled completely, I instantly sucked in a huge hit on his command. He motioned for me to sit up on the couch, and I did as instructed. "exhale boy, then strip and lay on your belly, head over the armrest." It was like a lightbulb for my inhibition left my brain, and just started instinctively following his orders. Within 30 seconds I had been naked on this man's couch, head leaning over anticipating the next instruction. anticipating the next hit. He stripped out of his pants, revealing a huge biohazard symbol just above his cock. He walked over to the couch so his cock was directly in front of my mouth. "Suck it, boy." Without hesitation, I immediately took him in my mouth, feeling more and more turned on as I kept thinking about his tattoo. "Number 2, we're going to make a video soon, with you flushing your pills down the toilet. Then you're going to look into the camera, and explain why you did it. This video will only be for me to hold as evidence, incase you regret this later. Agreed?" He started thrusting in and out, and I could only muster a mumbled "yes" as he increased speed. He grabbed my hair to pull my head up, as he stuffed a bottle under my nose. "inhale, and don't stop." I took 4 big hits before he pulled the bottle away. I was flying in pig heaven, my throat being annihilated, getting hornier and hornier thinking about a poz load being shot down my throat. Then out of now where, he pulled out and stopped. "Get your pills." I rolled off the couch, and grabbed them. "Smile for the camera, hold the bottle out to show what it is, then down the hallway to the bathroom. I'm going to follow you, watch you flush, then get on your knees and start confessing. Make it sounds good if you really want this." I should have probably stopped here, but my inhibitions were gone, and I wanted this. I wanted his poz load. No wait?! I wanted his money. What was I thinking? The camera turned on, and I switched into my new role, as if I was acting. I smiled, showed him my bottle, gave it a shake - I just got this 3 month's supply, only 3 pills were missing. I turned and walked down the hall, into the bathroom. I opened the lid of the toilet, and without hesitation, poured the entire bottle into the toilet. I lingered over the plunger for a second, but the damage was already down. I pressed it down, and watched my neg status was down the toilet. He motioned my down from behind the camera, and I reacted. I dropped to my knees, one hand toying with my soft cock. I looked up at the camera, and began. "I just flushed my Truvada pills down the toilet. I am currently neg on them now, but in a week I won't be. I'm doing this so Matt can Poz me, change my status forever. Convert me." Matt finally spoke. "Good boy. Now open wide, when I aim it at your mouth, you swallow, otherwise I want you drenched it in." I had only been confused for a seconds before he started pissing in me as I knelt on the bathroom floor. I had started rubbing my cock harder as he covered me in it, before it hit my open mouth. I've never done this before, but was proud to find myself swallowing the last spurts of it down my throat. As he finished pissing, he turned off the video and set it down. "Good boy. Now last thing, Number 3. Give me your wallet, I'm keeping your credit and debit cards so you can't purchase any more. I'm also keeping a copy of your license, just incase. I want a confirmed conversion, so don't think about trying to get any more pills This will go on for as long as it takes, but if you don't cheat, I'll have it done in one. Now get dressed and get the fuck out, see you in a week." He opened the door, and threw me out naked. I had just got the last piece of clothing on before a new driver had appeared to take me home. I had been so horny though, I asked the driver for a redirect to the nearest glory hole. I was too horny tonight to not swallow a load or two.

Like many of you fellow fans, I was taken in by the beginning of this story. His story was so infectious, I need to know how it ends. I have written a 2nd chapter but can someone tell me the proper protocol to take over this story. Can I just continue here or should I copy it onto my page and add the second chapter???

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Hey, how’s it going ?

P-Town is a great vacation destination … living in New England I had the opportunity to visit a few times but finally I was going during one of the season ’s busiest weeks the 4th of July week. A friend of mine who was a master and teaching me all about bondage / leather for several months asked if I would like to come stay in a condo he can rented with a bunch of buddies for a couple weeks during the peak. It was great view of Cape Cod Bay… access to the beach out front. He would take care of all the expenses for myself and a guest. There was only one catch (NO NOT SEX we were already doing bondage), but since he was a member of the Provincetown AIDS Support Group. We had to dress up as super hero’s while we were there. My guest dressed as Robin “the Boy Wonder” or he was Captain Condom (literally looked like he was wearing a body condom with a fuzzy cap with receptacle tip and fuzzy balls on each ankle) it was hilarious. He had already decided that I had a chest so I would dress up each night as the “Man of Steel: Superman”. We would go enjoy the bars for a bit but by Midnight we had to be walking Commercial Street where all the bars were up toward we’d have our pictures taken with party goers / tourists on the street. We would walk down the path to the chain link fence passing out over 500 condoms and several cum towels with the campaign logo printed on them - “On Me, Not in Me” After “gay” Pizza was closed up for the night the street would quickly clear. There would always be unopened condoms littering the ground and the path to the Dick Dock under the Boat Slip. I actually enjoy my time there as their Man of Steel it was a fun 2 weeks of that summer. The Irony of it all was my profile name on every website at the time including here on BreedingZone was BarebackboyMe.