Hotload84

I wanted to get POZZED because of a POZ Boyfriend I had in ’96. He was all I ever wanted in a guy, but we never did it bareback because he didn’t wish the virus (and the opportunistic infections and meds with their side effects) on anyone. He was just too nice a guy. After he died (even the good die young), I moved to NYC because it was allegedly a slut’s paradise. Not true - it was Gulliani Time. American hero, my ass!

Anyway, the bottom Line is, I BECAME OBSESSED WITH GETTING POZZED. I’m just a nice-looking buy who works out. Good bod, chem friendly, masculine, tight, BI (at the time). Just the type dudes like to convert. I’m actually more of a top, so it was more of a matter of attracting bottoms and convincing them to flip.

I tried for almost three years, generally seeing the same counselor four times. Finally he asked, "What are you trying to do? Catch the virus?" He’d hit the nail on the head, which got me leaking so badly, it stained through my shorts. Fearful of the consequences of being truthful, I lied. After each visit to the clinic, I’d head over to the West Side Club. Just before a guy would shoot, I’d ask "Your charged up?” or “You poz?" If the guy said "No," I’d move on. Numerous times I had NEG guys admit they were POZ when they saw what I wanted. And I’d hop back on ‘em (which was they wanted, too).

One guy told me I should try the East Side Club. Older Guys who were more likely POZ. I tried that, but many of them were not versatile enough to swing both ways. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I even cruised my doctor’s office in Chelsea. And I kept my eyes open when I walked past the GMHC AIDS place on 26th. It got to the point where I asked guys to take their meds while they fucked me. But I realized I was probably taking spunk from very low viral load boys. I was so completely obsessed, I started doing research on the impact of VL on infection probability. One day I read about this dude in the Village who’d infected his boyfriend with a drug resistant super strain. Of course, the names had been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. In very short order, I tracked ‘em down. It’s not hard to do once guys understand you have only the best of intentions—like getting pozzed. I’m certain they finally pozzed me 'cause I didn’t do any other fucking around while I awaited my latest test results with almost Dickensian Great Expectations. I got the last laugh on that stupid ass counselor. So I personally think you gotta do a dude with a potent strain or at least a very high viral load.

I do wish I’d been more intimate with the couple who POZZED ME. There’s nothing I can do to repay the debt of gratitude I and so many others owe them. Of course they’re dead now, so it doesn’t matter, anyway. Theirs was a strain made in heaven, and, by my best calculations, the answer to the prayers (and dying wishes) of at least a dozen other NEG and POZ guys whom I’ve bred.

I've recently acquired a taste for younger men, so when my business travels took me recently to Tucson, I let a room near the University, and, at a gay-friendly bar just off campus, easily picked up a kid, who couldn’t have been more than a sophomore.  Honestly, he looked barely old enough to drink, but he knew the right come-ons, telling me at the outset I was just his type, a nice mature Daddy, with lots of facial hair.  How flattering!  That made it easy. I drove a circuitous route to the motel so he couldn’t track me later.

From the moment we walked through the door, he wanted to give head, so I let him, but after a couple of minutes asked "You wanna rim my ass, too, kid?”

“Ohhhhhhh yeahhhh, Daddy!”

“Shove your tongue up my hole, nice and deep!  Taste my ass juices.”  He complied with an eagerness that suggested the time was ripe to crank the session to another level, so I announced “Okay, kid.  Now its time to get fucked!”

“No, man, I don't get fucked.”

"Too bad, shit head. When you walked through the door, is it possible I failed to inform you that you had given up your rights? Your ass is now mine.”

In the ensuing tussle, he quickly discovered his desire to escape was no match for my need to seed. In short order, my bare cock was soon gliding in and out of his hole, lubed only by my spit and his ass slobber. I could tell why he didn't like to be fucked:  his hole was as tight as any I’ve ever encountered, which meant every stroke must have torn up his rectum.

“Fuck, Daddy! You're not wearing a condom!”

Don't worry, Baby Cakes, my HIV hasn’t progressed that far.”

“You’ve got AIDS?”

“Technically speaking, NO, Baby Cakes. Just HIV.  HIV matures into AIDS.  As it will in your case. Wanna freak? It turns me on when fags freak.  Go ahead, freak out.  Maybe I’ll blow another load up your ass.”

Freak he did, shivering and sobbing uncontrollably for the next 20 minutes, feeling sorry for his future, which I’d just so unconscionably stolen.  I never did pull out, but rather, as promised, after only a few easy strokes, deposited a second deadly load up his ass.

Afterwards I wordlessly guided the dumbfounded youth back to my car, drove the same serpentine route to the bar, planted a twenty in his pocket, thereby officially designating the little fuck as a male whore, and told the shit to get the fuck outta my sight.

Somewhere in AZ there’s an ex-Angel, his previously pristine anatomy irreparably declining in the presence my death seed—because I willed it.  Which makes me so fucking proud when I contemplate the obscenity.  Welcome, junior, wherever you are, to the Sacred Order of AIDS.

Memorial Day Weekend I visited my old Boyfriend, Joey, and his new Lover in Phoenix. We’d split the year before when he moved. In the turmoil that followed, I’d played the field---and got POZZED---while Joey acquired a new Boyfriend.

He introduced me. I was impressed. I couldn’t have picked better myself. Ralphie was 26, 5’9” 145, a muscular, slightly feminine jock with shocks of wavy blonde hair so thick I was instantly jealous. I felt my Cock twitch.

One of the things Joey insisted on in his Mates was that they be DDF. Smoke Pot, or contract any STD, no matter how minor, and you were out---no If’s, And’s, or Butt’s.

I’d been like that till we split; and when I got POZZED, I blamed Joey; although I realized I was ultimately responsible for my Fate. It didn’t matter. My resentment was irrational, but intense nonetheless; and it festered.

So it was with contempt that I reviewed the Lab Report from Ralphie’s last HIV Test, and formulated a Plan to pay Joey back for his high-handed dissolution of our once sacrosanct relationship.

The next morning, I got up early. While I was still naked and Joey asleep, I awakened Ralphie on the pretext of searching for coffee. I told him I needed to get something out of my car. He accompanied me to the Garage, where I put the make on him, wrapping my arms around him, and kissing him deeply. The drowsy bastard tried to resist, but then Lust got the best of him. I had his shorts off in no time.

When I fingered his Hole, he begged me to wait. He went into the house, while I opened the trunk, pulled out my sleeping bag, and spread it neatly, doubled up, on the floor. Mindful of Joey’s eccentricities, Ralphie returned with KY and a Condom.

I ripped open the packet, and ostentatiously rolled the Condom over my Dick. I lifted his legs, lubed his Hole, and slid in. I Fucked him for ten minutes before whispering that I really preferred it doggy-style.

Ralphie was so hot, he didn’t care how he got Fucked. As he got on his elbows and knees, I pulled off the Condom. I moved in behind him and slid my bare cum-oozing Cock up his Ass. I pulsed slowly at first, but soon really got into it and rammed my Charged Load up his Ass.

When my orgasm subsided, I told Ralphie to wait and went to the kitchen. I put a squirt of Ivory Liquid in the empty Condom, and wet a hand towel. I went back to the Garage, made a show of displaying the pseudo-cum-Condom, and wiped the excess POZ Jizz from around Ralphie’s Hole.

Just in case he was one of those Dudes who Shit after Fucking, I lay down beside him for 20 minutes, whispering sweet nothings, so my Load would be absorbed in his bloodstream.

I wondered how long it would be before Joey inherited the Bug. Two weeks, maybe a month, knowing Joey’s predilection for Sex. Of course they’d tie it all back to me. But the damage would be done, and I’d cheerfully confess. What were they gonna do? Kill me? I’d already done that to myself. Don’t let anybody fool you. Revenge is sweet, saith the Lord.

From my first encounter with two guys in a cube in a bathhouse here in Los Angeles, I came away more horny and piggy than ever. I engaged in an orgy of sex in the darkened back room, where numerous Loads found my Target—so that the Tops navigating my Pussy found their Joy Sticks afloat in a morass of Jizm. You know how an Ass full of Cum makes that distinct squishy sound? Well, that fit me to a tea. I had taken between 10 and 12 Loads, presumably much of them poz. I don's descriminate - I'm happy to be bred by any guy. Spunk clung to my Balls and dripped down my thighs, and I reeked of the scent of Poppers and Cum—the signature stench of a Pig Being Bred.

When I got home I went looking for more, and found a Twink, 25, online. He ate out my Pussy, fed it back to me in oral tongue lashings, then spunked me again. Because the Spooge in my Mancunt had ripened with age, the onslaught was more messy than his predecessors. My whole apartment reeked of Poppers and Cream.

Before taking a shower, I squeezed out the Spooge—just to measure the volume—one viscous puddle, a full five inches across—a toxic potion, no doubt—the product of being bred again and again.

The 18 year old I'm dating is a really sweet kid. I almost LOVE him—at least as close to LOVE as I’m likely to get. It gives me such Pleasure to see how he’s progressed—from a Nerd to a Proud and Prolific Gay Man. And it gives me Great Pride to know I SEEDED HIM FIRST and HE CARRIES MY BUG. Great Feeling!

I’ve considered asking him to move in. Right now he’s rooming with two dudes: one about his age; the other, 24 or 25. Brian says they’re just Roomies, but I wonder. The Younger is cute, Straight, and not very bright. I'll get around to drilling his Ass. The Older is a Jerk, the type I’d POZ out of spite.

Brian is smart, but what he knows about sex, you could put in a thimble. I keep telling him to wait 12 weeks before getting tested—but he says he can never abstain for that long. He may be sharing my Bug with his roommates, including the Creep, and not even know it. I love it! Ignorance is bliss, so they say.

So my dilemma is—do I ask him to move in with me and enjoy the fruits of my labour—or let him circulate and do my Gifting for me? All of us should have such a quandary!

Brian and I went to Cleveland for the Fourth and hooked up with some Buds at the Leather Stallion. It was packed early on, guys prepping for Fireworks—getting juiced—and a lot of MANJUICE flowing down their gullets.

Six of us went to the Fireworks. We were pretty wasted by Dark, and, I honestly don’t know which DICKS went in what HOLES. I’ll bet a lot of families got eyefuls. Afterwards, we went back to the Club. About 20 of us stayed After Hours and slept there—butts and mouths all over the floor—and in Slings.

You know some NEG holes got bred. There were a lot of Preppy types there for the Holiday—checking out the “notorious” Leather Bar. I don’t think they realized how seriously we take our Gifting.

I seeded an guy who’d cum in for a Look-See.. Bad choice on his part. I don't think he planned to get Screwed. But I needed to Fuck. Brian was off doing some dude in the corner, so I gave him a Ruff-and-Tumble in the john. With the Gouging I gave him—I’ll bet he got a LIVE CHARGE.

YES, I BELIEVE IN POZZING—WHENEVER, WHEREVER, WHATEVER and WHOMEVER I CAN. It’s amazing the number of FAGGOTS who profess not to want it—but make it so easy.

I visited my old college roommate and his wife. We’d always been close. I had gone to their wedding. They gave birth to their Son the same year we graduated—named the Kid after me.

We've stayed in touch over the years. The Kid grew into a strapping young man, a fine looking youth, 5’10”, 160, ever so slightly effeminate. Great tan—but that was to be expected—they lived in Tucson.

To resolve your prurient interests—NO, I DID NOT FUCK HIM IN FRONT OF HIS PARENTS—it got better than that.

I ran into the Kid at the Gay bar I frequent when I’m in town. To say that we were surprised to see each other was an understatement. I looked away—giving him the option to flee undetected; but, instead, he came over to talk to his “Uncle”.

“Surprised to see you here, Uncle Ken.”

“The feeling is mutual, Joey.”

“Come here often?”

"Almost daily since I turned 21. Does my Dad know you're Gay?"

"Ever since College. How about you?"

“Both Mom and Dad know.”

What I never told anyone was my Status. That was for me to know and the World to find out.

“Did you guys ever Play?"

"A little, but I liked your Mom, so I let him date her; and look what happened….” I stared down at his crotch.”

He blushed.

“Joey, are you Bi or Gay?”

"Gay. Actually I prefer older guys like yourself. I don't go for the college crowd or married dudes.”

I got to thinking how hot it would be to Fuck my Namesake, the Son of my Old College Buddy. Serve him right for marrying that stupid Bitch. POZ HIM, if I really got lucky.

Joey finished his drink, swirling his glass so the ice cubes collided and tinkled. My move.

"Like to stop over my hotel?"

"Why not?”

"AIDS was why not. Though I wasn’t about to admit it.

No sooner did we get in the door, than he stripped off his clothes. I did the same. We scooted onto the bed and kissed and embraced. He had a lovely tight ass that begged to be fucked. And I was just the guy to accommodate him.

He went down on my dick, sucking and swallowing. All I had to do was lean back and enjoy it. When he came up for a kiss, I couldn't help wonder if he’d ever think of me as just “Uncle” again.

And me? What was I thinking? Dammed if I wasn’t determined to give him the Death Fuck. It’d be so hot—screwing this little Faggot I’d known since Diapers.

He kissed me, working my nips. I gave him the Judas kiss. He was already rock hard, no doubt fantasizing about my Death Stick.

He lavished spit on my shaft, mouthing my balls, tonguing my hole, till I couldn’t take anymore.

"I wanna suck you, Joey.”

"I’d rather get fucked, Uncle Ken. I've only been screwed by young kids and strangers. Now I wanna get fucked by my own flesh and blood.”

Though I wasn’t related, he’d cum regard me as Family, and was begging for it. That absolved me of guilt for what might be forthcuming. I’d been seduced. So I gave him the cushiest Rimming of his whole Fuckin’ Life. It drove him Bananas. He was so up for his Daddy-Fuck, that he moaned and begged me to Screw him.

So I lifted his legs and plunged in. It was CRAZY—WONDERFUL—ECSTATIC—POZZING THE SON OF MY EX-LOVER—infecting his AssCunt, his Blood, with my Venomous Precum, contaminating his Gonads with Death and Disease. I fucked him without mercy. The little Shit didn't even ask about Condoms. He just let me Fuck him, with nary a whimper! His younger boy lovers must have thrown him off guard. Maybe he was even a Chaser! I didn't go there. I pounded away for 10 minutes and asked him how he was doing, though I could tell from his moans and the way I assaulted his Prostrate, he was doing just fine.

"Shoot your Load in me, Uncle Ken. Make me your Slut!"

“My pleasure, Joey.”

I was getting hornier by the second. Had not the little Fucker begged me to do him? Was it not my obligation and duty to screw up his Puny Existence?

Suddenly I was back in College where I’d given four of my cohorts the Syph. None of them figured out it was me. I smiled as I watched them traipse back from the Clinic, humiliated, declining my solicitations for sex. I'd done that for the Hell of It—like I was doing it now. Only Syph wasn’t fatal. This would be, I vowed.

About that time I exploded in his gut with what must have been my Biggest Load ever. I could tell from his Tightness that he hadn’t Fucked much—which improved my chances of Bruising him up—which enhanced the odds for Infection—which caused me to spasm long after I’d shot. Besides, he’d been violently bucking back on my Shaft, which could only help matters. And when I exploded, he spewed his own fucking Load all over our stomachs and chests.

"Sorry I couldn't hold back, Uncle Ken."

"That's all right, Joey,” I gasped, as I lapped up what I could and sucked the rest off my fingers. The last Neg load of this poor Motherfucker was important to my Bug-ravaged psyche.

I made no effort to pull out, and let my diseased cum incubate in the dark, fertile warmth of his AssCunt. He, likewise, made no attempt to withdraw. He just kept his Ass plastered back on my Cock, clenching his Sphincter, milking every last venomous drop from my Shaft.

"Can you cum again?"

"Want me to?"

"Yeah. I love being fucked—by my Uncle.”

I hadn't lost the Erection that had seeded him—the most significant Fuck of his Life. He rocked back and forth on my Dick. It wasn't long till I spasmed again; and spewed forth a second, less generous, but equally toxic Load.

He was working his own Shaft by then, beating it hard, his breath cumming in gasps, so I slipped my lips over his piss-slit as his Cream gushed down my throat. After a lingering, passionate kiss, a thick rope of Cum tethered his lips to mine.

Joey was full of surprises.

"You’re POZ, aren’t you, Uncle Ken?"

"How’d you know?”

"Just a guess, really. You’re older; been Fuckin’ longer than me; had plenty of time to get POZZED. Did you give me the Bug?"

"You know it. Whether I’ve POZZED you or not is a different story, but I've bred others on the First Fuck."

"I'm not exactly a Chaser. But I'm glad it was you. I like keeping the Shit in the Family." There again was a reference to that flesh-and-blood stuff. Even I might begin to believe it. After all, they say POZZED BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER.

"If you take good care of yourself, you’ll last 20 years. You’ll cycle through Meds, until they all stop working. You’ll lose weight, grow weak, get hospitalized; and that’s it. Then all you can do is rely on the others you’ve POZZED to carry on the Tradition. That’s why GIFTING is so important.“

"Mom and Dad will assume it was one of my ANONYMOUS TRICKS. But I don’t look at it your way. I figure, in 20 years, there’ll be a CURE. I got no worries.”

"Yeah, maybe so," I affirmed, not terribly convinced. The Kid struck me as one who might never take Meds, in which case he didn’t have 20 years. Meanwhile, I was like floating on Cloud Nine—I’D JUST BUGGED MY EX-LOVER’S OFFSPRING. Served him right for fuckin’ that Bitch. I wondered how many of my other ex’s had Scions that needed attention. I was hard again by the time he walked out the door.

We had lunch the next afternoon, and I sat adjacent to Joey who tried to play Footsy under the table. On the way out, he whispered he’d stop by that evening. The rest of the day I basked in the glow of AIDS FUCKS—PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. I had a Client to prepare for, but let it slide, alternately dozing and watching TV, till there came a knock at the door.

When I was 20, and still NEG, I dated a cute little number named Greg. He was a sweet, innocent boy about my age, 5'4", great build, hot little butt, and I thought of his cock—6”, huge head, dark-coloured, bulging vein—as an ANGRY RED CLUB. Although I’m a TOP, I wondered what it would be like to take that ANGRY RED CLUB up my ass, figuring the head would be hardest, and after that the shaft would cum easy.

Well, while Greg's cock was hot, his ass was not to be believed!  Every time I looked at Greg's butt, I wanted in it; but whenever I'd maneuver my hard-on against his mancunt, he’d say he was not into ‘cock-tails’.  Ha-ha!  He said he'd been fucked once, and it bored him to death. How badly I wanted to 'bore' him!

Anyway, our sex life consisted of cuddling, sucking, and masturbating. Take a steady diet of that—and talk about boring! Greg and I went together for about three months; and while the sex was OK, he always left me horny. He loved to make out and cuddle, which was fine; but with a body like his, I wished he had more sex drive. After a few months, Greg and I drifted apart. I wanted more; and he wanted less.

Greg had a twin brother named Garrett, who was widely rumored to be poz.  Garrett and his BF Eddie would occasionally double-date, and once, when I asked Greg if what they said about Garrett was true, he nodded sagely, commenting that Garrett’s experience should be a lesson to anyone contemplating playing the field.

Maybe so, but that didn’t make him any less attractive.

Twin or not, Garrett was the exact opposite of Greg.  He was extremely devilish, always flirting, spouting risqué innuendos and licentious double entendres.  And, as you might suspect, considering his status, he was a hell of a lot sexier than Greg.

He obviously got around, in spite of his BF.  One night at a party a drunk approached us, and asked Greg if he was as big as his  brother. “I almost choked to death on the damn thing last night,” the playmate confided.

Three months after we’d split, I ran into Garrett.  I hadn’t learned any of the lessons Greg had in mind, because my cock was doing my thinking, and I went home with him.  It was weird being back in the same house, in the same bed, almost.  I was afraid of how Greg might react, but Garrett assured me he was gone for the weekend.  Garrett had a nice-sized cock too. It was smooth, pale, with a typical head. As with Greg, our sex consisted of oral.  A few weeks later I again ran into Garrett and told him how I wished he’d fuck my brains out.  Yes, my mouth was engaged before my brain was in gear.  He replied "I’d like nothing better.  Next time, for sure."

Six months went by. I was back at the bar; and Greg and Garrett walked in, arm in arm—like lovers.  Word on the street was that’s what they’d become, that Greg had apparently done an about-face, the brothers had 'rediscovered' each other, and now all three of them (including Eddie, the BF) were poz.

The guys split as soon as they got in the door. Greg saw me first.  Despite all the scuttlebutt about brotherly love, he seemed to be the same old, sweet innocent boy; we talked for ages about old times and old friends.

After a while, Garrett came over and gave me a long, searching glance, and then announced "Greg, I’ve met someone. You take the car."  I sat there speechless, recalling our one night together and trying to understand what I had heard of their present relationship.

As Greg and I had pretty much talked ourselves out, he took the keys, said how great it’d been to see me again, and kissed me goodnight and split.

No sooner had he left, than Garrett said "Seems like I need a ride home.  Can you give me a lift?"

I stumbled, “I thought you and Greg are….”

“A marriage of convenience. Comes from having a hot body under the same roof.  But we play whenever we want, with whomever we want. That’s our agreement. Comprende?  Let’s give Greg a chance to get home and fall asleep.  Or he’ll wonder what I'm doing home so early."  We stayed at the bar a while longer.

A few hours later Garrett and I sneaked in the house, and tiptoed up to Garrett's room, which adjoined Greg's, but it was obvious Greg wasn’t asleep. The sounds of bedsprings and oouh’s and ahhhhhh’s from behind the closed door painted a vivid sex picture of what was occurring.

“It’s just Greg and Eddie fooling around,” Garrett assured me.

In no time Garrett had me on my stomach, plowing my ass.  Then there was a distinct, quiet cough.  We paused, to see Greg, naked in the doorway, fingering the ANGRY RED CLUB.

“Jimmy, you still want my ass?”

Garrett pulled me up to my knees and gestured for Greg lay down beside us.  Greg then lifted his legs and I generously lubed his man cunt, working one finger, then two into his hole.  Garrett meanwhile liberally anointed my cock, lined me up with Greg's pussy, only to shove his big dick up my ass, which drove me into Greg’s hole.  Garrett also firmly grasped me by the waist and pumped my hole, which compelled me, in turn, to plow Greg.  I couldn't believe what was happening.

Ten minutes later Greg said, "Jimmy, I wanna fuck you.”

Garrett held the ANGRY RED CLUB straight up, and had me slowly descend on it.  I’d been right.  Once the huge head forced its way past my sphincter, I quickly engulfed the whole shaft.  Garrett told me to give Greg a kiss, and as I leaned forward, I felt Garrett’s cock explore my already occupied hole.  I was about to protest I couldn't take two, when Garrett, with brutal dispassionate cunning, rammed his dick into my distended pussy, right next to Greg's shaft

I screamed in agony, but my cock remained hard, sandwiched between my stomach and Greg’s abs.  On the bottom, all Greg could do was go through the motions, awkwardly plunging in an out of my aAss, an inch, maybe two.  Garrett, on Top, was calling the shots, fucking me like there was no tomorrow.  Tormented, I bellowed in ecstasy as I shot the last neg load of my life; and Garrett and Greg exploded their poz loads up my ass.

The next afternoon I limped to the phone to answer call.  The double-fuck had taken its toll.  It’d be days before my ass would recover.  Anyhow, Eddie, Garrett’s BF, was on the line, extending an invitation, on behalf of the trio, for me to move in.  I joked that I wasn’t sure I could take three at a time, but Eddie solemnly declared that was not a prerequisite—since he was strictly a bottom.  

Actually, there was no decision to make.  I realized that I was still in love with Greg, whose poz transformation suited me to a T.  And, although I was talking to Eddie, I knew the real invitation had been extended last night; and that I’d accepted.

Over the past 6 years, BAREBACKING and taking POZ CUM have become a way of life for me. I’m a CUM JUNKIE and have taken thousands of loads. I am highly promiscuous and like a variety of men. I’m such a CUM PIG that, daily, I exchange body fluids with an average of 3 of my fellows. That’s 20 a week, 100 a month, 1000 a year, give or take some. Over time, it’s become impossible for me to chronicle all my Flings, so let’s just call this a Synopsis.

The scene is TRAX, last Saturday night. A friend of mine had flown down from San Francisco. Of course, he’s a rookie in the HIV department. He’s only recently POZ. I got full-blown AIDS—got the KS lesions to prove it. That’s why I prefer to Fuck in the Dark.

I popped a Viagra before leaving home. Big mistake—we got caught up in traffic caused by an accident. My cock was on fire as we sat in the car. When we got there, the ease of parking more than made up for the traffic. Those of you know TRAX know it’s almost impossible to park after midnight. Again, no queue at the door. It seemed a slow night.

There couldn’t have been more than 400 guys there. On the weekend, it’s usually twice that. But for those of you unacquainted with such matters, a lot of times “Fewer is Better.” I told my friend to explore, and headed downstairs to the “Darkroom.”

A hand grabbed my ass. It was one of my Regulars. I always let him screw me, but its strange how his cock hurts. He’s only 5-1/2 inches and not discernibly rough, but his shaft always kills me. One night he was the first to do me; and my ass pained me so much, I had to go home. I wasn’t ready for that, so I ignored his advances.

There was this tall thin skinny Kid in front of me. He looked in his 20’s. I felt his Ass. It was Cummy. He was there for only one Purpose; and with the Viagra, I needed Relief. I pulled his Butt back against me and untethered my Shaft. I love an Ass full of Cum. I Fucked him for a good 30 minutes. With Viagra I can go on forever—much to the discomfiture of my Bottoms.

But I needed some Dick in me, and turned back to Killer-Cock, who was standing behind me. What the hell! I needed it bad! I lubed up his Dick and guided it in me. He fucked like a Rabbit. It hurt, but with Poppers, the discomfort was minimal. With one final jab, he shot deep in my Ass. A ton of NEG—or POZ— jizz ran down my thighs. I don’t know his Status, but for a NEG, he plays footloose with a lot of POZ dudes.

The next guy I’d seen on the Scene, but we’d never coupled. His was my age with a beautiful Biohazard Tattoo. I wanted to ask him who’d done that to him (I mean the Tattoo—not that I’d want one—I prefer an element of surprise). I went down on his 6” cock and PA.

I didn’t suck him for long. I needed to get Fucked. No need for Lube. Killer-Cock had probably given me enough Natural Lube for the night. As Tattoo shoved it in me. I took a hit of my Poppers.

The Poppers, his PA, his Biohazard Tattoo and what it told me about him—all of these combined for a natural High. I was like floating on air. The Dude wasn’t too gentle—I grabbed hold of a Bystander, who rammed his 9-incher down my throat.

Mr. Tattoo was bellowing something, but with the cacophony and amplified music I had no idea what he was babbling. He let out a loud moan and blasted his Deadly Cargo up my Hole. Four squirts and then, exhausted, he collapsed on my back. I clenched my ass muscle to milk every drop of his POZ JIZZ, the most precious kind. He pulled out. We exchanged a long, wet kiss; and he left.

The guy with the Monster Cock turned me around. I was dying for liquid refreshment, but with me FUCKING has always transcended comfort, survival and health. He wanted me to suck his 9-inches, but I begged him to FUCK me. It took him forever to line up with my hole. I grasped his Monster Shaft to guide it in me, but the stupid Fuck had wrapped it in Latex. NO WAY! THE CARDINAL SIN!

I rejoined my Buddy. Several joints later, I returned to the Darkroom where I took another 6 loads.

One guy fucked me, stopped short, and walked off.

I pursued him. “What’s wrong?”

He apologized for cumming in me.

“I PREFER it that way.”

He said it wasn’t OK, that he had “THE BUG.”

I kissed him and uttered the wisest of truths: “AROUND HERE, WHO DOESN’T?”

My California Buddy was fatigued and ready to leave.

On the way out, we passed a Muscle Boy in a Sling. I couldn’t resist. I hope the Cocksucker enjoys the Cross-Strain.

I think Gay Men have it all over Straight Men when it cums to losing their Virginity because we can do it three ways. First you fuck a guy; and, second, the guy fucks you; and third, the guy KNOCKS YOU UP. Do I make myself clear?

I've always been kind of Anal, even before I knew that two guys could Fuck and all about AIDS. FUCKING has always been a fixation with me, and when HIV came along, it was like Color TV. I had to be the first on my block to have it.

At age 6 I remember my best friend finger-fucking me. I can be sure of my age because his family moved away after first grade; and, sadly, we never saw each other again.

A few years later, I got this little toy rocket for Christmas, a simple thing really. It was hard plastic, about 6 inches long and thick as your finger. It fit tightly on a small base. The trick to it was to pour baking soda and vinegar into it, jam it onto the base; and the chemical reaction would send it soaring into the air. Exciting as my new toy was, I soon tired of it. But I kept the little rocket; and at 14, it became my first “Dildo.”

There was this boy in class I had a crush on. He was blonde, blue eyed, athletic, and a genuinely nice guy. Why wouldn’t I name my rocket after him? It wasn't until years later that the Freudian slip of naming my “Dildo” after my “Idol” sank in. In spite of my anal play and good grades, I was a very naïve kid.

Most of my early sexual experience consisted of hand jobs and some oral. From 17 on, I met guys who wanted to Fuck. I really wanted to accommodate them, but it never worked out. I was too shy, too insecure, too tense, and too TIGHT. Every time I tried it, the PAIN was intense. I couldn't relax; and to my displeasure, I remained—a Virgin.

When I was 20, I met Jay at a Frat Party. He was a cute Blonde with a killer smile, blue eyes, 6' tall, and very slim. He invited me back to his place. Once in the sack, I was amazed at what a kind and gentle lover he was. We made out forever, kissing and hugging, creating big ugly hickeys. Then he said the words I dreaded to hear.

“DO YOU FUCK?"

Oh, Man, did I want it! Between the conversation we'd had at the Party, and the tenderness and passion he displayed in the Bedroom, I was really turned on. And I wanted Him to be the one to take my Cherry.

But there was a problem—a thick 8” problem jutting straight out of his Crotch. The other guys who had tried to fuck me were all smaller, and it hadn't worked out.

I told him I was a Virgin, that I had tried it before, with no luck. He lay me on my back, pushed my legs in the air, and tongue-fucked me. Then, applying a ton of lube, he pressed in. I felt the familiar, excruciating PAIN.

He stopped, but the PAIN didn't, so he withdrew.

"WELL, SOMEONE’S GONNA GET FUCKED HERE TONIGHT; AND I GUESS IT’S GONNA BE ME."

He put some lube on my dick, rolled over on his belly, and, guided me into his hole. I pushed in, and while he was tight, he didn't resist like I had; and my six-inches slowly slid in. I lay there a moment, letting his inner heat engulf me, feeling his sphincter draw me into him, desperately trying not to cum on the spot.

Jay and I were Lovers for months, but our relationship was never really consummate—because he couldn’t screw me. One night, after we’d split, I was feeling extra horny and returned to the Campus. I had dropped out of school, but went back on occasion to visit friends or hang out.

I’d discovered this Gay Bar on the edge of the Campus. Plus there was a Cruising area near the Admin Building called “The Wall.” First, I checked out The Wall, but there was nobody there; so I headed over to the Bar.

After three rums-and-cokes, I was noticeably weaving and debated whether I could safely drive home. Hoping the jaunt might sober me up, I returned to The Wall. I passed by a Blonde in his 20’s. I looked over my shoulder, and he was gazing my way. He did an about face and got right to the point.

"Hi. I'm Chris. Got a place?"

I explained that I lived with my parents some 40 miles away. He said he had an apartment off Campus, but we’d have to be quiet so as not to awaken his Roomie. I learned he was a Grad Student and that he was POZ, but that he’d PLAY SAFE if I wanted.

The wheels started to churn. POZ? I’d never been with a POZ man before—that I knew of. What would it be like to take a lethal dose of POZ JIZZ, knowing it had the potential to kill? And, in turn, to have the Power of Life and Death over others? WHAT A GIFT! I knew I had to have it! My raging hardon strained against the fabric of my briefs.

I must have gotten real quiet, because he said: “Look, If IT bothers you, forget it.”

“I’m not sure of my Status. Guess I’ve lost track….” [i’d tested NEG two weeks before.] “…So it doesn’t really matter. In fact, I prefer to play BARE.”

He grunted his assent.

When we reached the apartment, he grabbed a couple of beers from the Frig and we settled down in the Living Room. Talking in whispers, we drank and undressed.

The couch was small, noisy and uncomfortable, so we ended up on the carpet. Before I knew it, Chris hoisted my legs in the air. He pressed my thighs into my chest, and kissed me. He greased up his dick, and liberally applied lube to my hole, slowly working one finger in, then another and another. He slid in me, A VERY FULL FEELING, but NO PAIN! Soon, he had shaft buried in my Cunt.

He rose up to apply more leverage. He pounded me harder and faster, plowing his Pole into me, hitting my Prostate, making me quiver.

He rolled me over and entered me from behind. He kept plugging away, like a Fucking Machine. It struck me that I was no longer a “Virgin.” I found that hilarious, and I giggled.

His face flushed with Anger; and he said he was about to fill me with POZ JIZZ, and see if I could laugh about that.

Laugh I did not. On the contrary, I bucked up against him to welcome the Toxic Intrusion. As he started to shoot, my ass muscles contracted around him. His Venomous Load spewed up my Mancunt. I thanked him, we kissed, and I left.

As I walked back towards the Bar, I could feel my cummy ass cheeks squishing together. At last I’d found the MISSING LINK: IT TOOK HIV TO FULFILL ME. I giggled my way across Campus and strolled back into the Bar. I'm sure not a few of the patrons wondering WHO had made me so happy. But it wasn’t a WHO—it was AIDS.

The next day, I went to see Jay. I told him the news.

"I DID IT! GOT FUCKED! I FINALLY GOT FUCKED!"

In one long, breathless sentence, I told him the story, but I could see that something was wrong.

"You’re one sick puppy, Eddie. He was POZ—and you let him do you BAREBACK. I feel sorry for you, Eddie.”

Realizing it was over between us, I said my good-byes and walked out.

As you might suspect, tight as I was, I converted on my very first Fuck.

Jay and I never did talk again, except for a glancing nod at the Bar. At the end of summer, he moved to Phoenix, and we completely lost touch. I entered into a relationship with another POZ dude and moved in.

As for Chris? I met him and his Lover (the mysterious Roomie whom we’d tried not to disturb), and the three of us got to be buddies. I never told Chris he’d been MY FIRST and MY POZ BENEFACTOR.

I was terminally horny at an early age, and poz by nineteen, but had no idea with whom or when. That’s fifteen years ago now. I haven't had a sick day since I converted. I’m not on meds and take good care of myself. I live for cum and was 100% bottom until I converted, then I started to top. It’s so awesome squirting poz jizz up a neg ass. I never tire of it. Each neg is different. I’m not fussy about age. Eighteen or ninety—long as they’re neg and of legal age. I’m not a Boy-Pussy-Chaser, but I get my share of young men. I enjoy mentoring the ones who can’t decide if they’re gay. They always turn out the same way.

I’ve always taken it bare, and only use a rubber when needed. Sometimes I meet a guy and really want him. I'll fuck him safe for a while, then get him all hot and tell him I can’t cum with a condom. They want it want it so bad. Still, some resist, so I get them wasted and do them. Some guys I don't give a shit about and just want to breed. Others I really care for and want imbue with my seed. For example, I've been screwing a twenty year old who works for me in a little seasonal garden center I own, and for which I hire each Spring a couple regulars and college kids for the nursery. This nice looking dude came in looking for summer employment. I liked him right off—clean-cut, preppy, good manners. I didn’t even figure him for gay, I just liked him and hired him for the showroom figuring he'd be good for business.

Two weeks ago he told me he was gay. Do I Mind! A total anal virgin! It didn’t take long to get him in the sack. I told him I was poz, that we'd play safe. He wasn’t half bad for a newbie, and I enjoyed his loads. Meanwhile, I kept feeding him bull about how being poz is not a big deal, how after ten years I was still healthy, and how great it was not having to worry, and how you’re not gay until you're poz. The ultimate crock. Then I told him the truth, that I wanted him poz. I went on saying eventually he would catch it sooner or later, and the younger, the better.

So last week he told me he was ready. I figured I’d strike while the iron was hot, but he freaked, so I decided I to play with him, and gave him the "Fuck of Death" speech, about how I was going to seed him with the load that would set him for life. You should have seen him try and squirm out of it, but I got - well - forceful. He didn’t take it very good, and since I couldn’t have him running back to mommy and daddy all flustered, I flattered him saying what a “real man” he had become. We cuddled all night. I screw him daily, and he’s OK with it now. I doubt he’s converted, but I’m working on it, knowing that some day he'll pass my bug around campus.

Another guy by the name of Dave also comes around the Center, clearly needing fatherly advice. Turns out Dave had come out to his dad, but his father didn't believe him, saying Dave would 'out grow it', that Dave was going through a phase. Gotta love those fathers who just can't accept that their sons may be, let alone are gay. Anyhow, Dave and I ended up in the sack, which was more his doing than mine. I can honestly say he is a born bottom. Like my twenty year old employee, I told Dave I was poz and we’d only play safe, but he wanted it bare, and wouldn’t take 'no' for an answer. Just the opposite of my employee. Pretty soon I accommodated his demands and conveniently 'forgot' the condom. He converted. I doubt he has ever told his dad.

I see him around. He’s still healthy and a real stud. I know he’s spread my bug around - a lot. That’s where youth has an advantage over middle age. The fuckers they’re screwing think they have nothing to fear from someone so young.

I’ve lost track of my virus and could go full-blown any day now, but it's a rush knowing that I've got all these cross-strains in my system. You gotta die sometime, and I like the idea of passing from AIDS.

What’s next? How about pozzing a gal through her boyfriend? That’s a real turn-on.

We met at the local park and checked each other out. He was a computer geek, 27, short choppy brown hair, and thick glasses. The only thing he didn't have was a pocket protector. But that's okay. Alan is cute.

Plus, he’s real thin, something I prefer in a bottom. And NEG. Make that past tense. He sported a good eight inches. Too bad he never got to use it.

Anyway, we hit it off. And I really wanted his ass.

His place wasn't free, and neither was mine. He claimed to have roommates, but I suspected he lived at home. So we went to a local motel.

We chatted awhile, but I grew impatient. I pushed him down on the bed, and kissed him all over, and tore off his clothes.

He was naked in less than five minutes. Alan was smooth and very thin. I felt his rib cage against me as I devoured his tits. His moans were suppressed and subdued, probably from constantly having family around. Regardless, I ravished his body, licking and teasing and nipping everywhere. I wanted to get him ready to plow. I knelt at the foot of the bed, and gave him a blowjob. I freed up my cock and lathered it with my precum.

I had Alan writhing and whimpering. I moved my mouth to his hole, and he nearly shot off the bed. He moaned and raised his ass to my lips and told me how great it felt to be rimmed. Soon, his Geek-Pussy was pulsing against me, begging for cock.

I lubed up my Death-Dick and lifted his legs. I looked him straight in the eyes and plowed into his mancunt. His face twisted in agony as he stretched to accommodate me.

“Wanna be fucked?” A rhetorical question. I was already inside him, and it was gonna happen if it hadda be rape.

“Pleeease,” he whispered.

I grabbed his tits and twisted ‘em hard. His mouth formed into an "O" as the pain and the pleasure hit him. With him distracted, I slammed into him. He screamed, but it came out as a yelp.

I grinned down at him and started my Power-Fuck, bouncing him on the bed like a lifeless rag-doll. My POZ cock knocked the shit out of him as my dick shredded his hole. His choppy hair sweaty, lay plastered against his forehead; his thick glasses, askew on his face.

I straightened up, and grabbed him by the back of the neck. Reflexively his thin arms flew about me as I pivoted him onto my pole. His full weight plunged down on my pubes, as I plowed away at his delectable manpussy.

“Oh God!” he cried, as I stabbed at his prostate. I watched in the cheap motel mirror, aroused at the sight of this 130 pound NEG impaled on my leaking POZ pole. If only he knew of the joys I wished to imbue!

I clamped on his neck and bit into him like a fucking CHARGED vampire, leaving a blood-filled POZ hickey on the base of his neck. I wondered how he’d explain that to Mommy and Daddy. Alan started to quiver, as grunts escaped from deep in his psyche. A wetness splashed on my stomach, and I looked down to find him spurting NEG cream. With each jab from my pole came another ass spasm and another splash of impotent NEG jizz. I hoped I could cure him of that.

After 5 or 6 spurts, he quivered and went limp. I ignored the pain in his face and his half-baked complaints he couldn’t take anymore. I was a man on a mission. Ten minutes later, I fired off my own pent-up volley—shooting gobs of POZ jizz up his well-abused ass.

We lay quiet and cuddled, 20 minutes or more, before I screwed him again. I tried to make the second fuck even more brutal, and Alan didn’t protest. He’d learned what to expect and what he deserved.

I gave him my number and told him to call, that the next time we’d do it at my place. All told, the afternoon cost me $45 and the pocket-protector I had committed to buy. In return, I hope it costs Alan…YOU KNOW.

I suppose that if it had not been such a hot afternoon (summer in Phoenix can be such a bitch), and had I not had my appointments canceled the last minute, I might have never gotten bored that afternoon.

And if I had not gotten bored, I would never have been POZZED, at least not that day. But as fate would have it, it happened.

How do I know?

Since our company had just been bought out, I’d been working 10-12 hours, 6 or 7 days, for the past three months. In other words, no sex. And continued to do so for another two months.

So I knew when it happened, right to the day, the hour almost. I bet none of you ever heard of a guy getting POZZED through a Tag-Team Event, but it happened.

I was a stranger in town, and had nothing better to do. I figured a movie was better than going back to my hotel room. I was attending a sales convention, and there was no escaping the group.

I picked a theatre that was showing an old Joan Crawford flic that I’d missed the first ten times around. It was on a side street and off the beaten track. I wanted to be sure none of my coworkers would wander in, and we’d be stuck with each other the rest of the afternoon.

I went in about ten minutes early. I had enough time for a cig, so I headed for the john. I’m not above cruising, but I had always heard that Phoenix is a pretty dead place, and what I’d seen the previous four days had convinced me. Just as I suspected, the john was dirty and DESERTED.

There were three urinals and two stalls. I saw peep holes in the stall doors, but no eyes peered back at me. The acrid piss and cum smell and the scribbled porn on the walls gave me a hardon. I hadn’t had sex for 3 months.

I pushed a stall door open and walked in. In place of a glory hole was a rectangular opening bigger than the proverbial breadbox—possibly an ill-conceived remodeling project put on hold. Intrigued, I sat down to see what would happen.

A scrawny Kid, of 18 wandered in. He kept his pants drawn over his knees so that I couldn't see much as he played with himself. Out of the corner of his eye I knew he was watching, so I gave my dick a few healthy whacks that brought ooze to my piss-slit. That was all the Kid needed. He motioned me to stick my dick through. I didn't waste time in complying.

His tongue darted over my cock, coating it with enough spit and slime to lube the tightest of asses. He was driving me mad, as he could tell from the way my dick spasmed. He tongued me down to the balls and mouthed each of them, while sliding his hand along my slick pole. I was afire with his hot tongue and his hand jerking my tool. Afraid that I’d pop in midair, I drew back through the hole to calm down.

I sat there for some minutes till the Kid stood and gave me my first view of his pole. It was a tad longer than mine and straight as an arrow with a heart-shaped head. It looked juicy and thick, and I wanted to suck him. But he seemed reluctant, and when I stuck mine back through, he whispered, "Turn ‘round."

I’ve been fucked many times, but never in a tea room, and was willing to give it a try. I expected to feel this hard shaft force its way in me. Instead his warm tongue dove into my crack. His hands spread my cheeks as he sought out ground zero. I gave him wide birth and pressed my ass to the rectangle as I wiggled my hips and fucked air.

Was it “good”? You don't know “good” till you’ve had it. He kept up his licking and tonguing till I was ready for anything. He lubed his fingers with Vaseline and stuck ‘em in me.

I felt the head of his tool probe my hole as he began the drive home. He plowed me gently at first, an inch at a time, till his meat thrust within me. I figured I’d taken it all, but with each stroke he pressed ever deeper. I gave a quiet sigh when he was all the way in. But I sighed too quickly, for then the real pounding began.

I had to straight-arm the opposite wall to avoid being thrown off balance. He slammed into me like there was no tomorrow. I cried out in agony, but the Kid gave me no respite.

Man, he knew how to fuck! He'd pull it all the way out until my ass would snap shut on the head, and then he'd drive into me with every ounce of strength he had left. I began to cooperate (even if it didn’t always feel so good hurt when he hit bottom).

Faster and faster he pumped, and I could tell from the passion with which his balls slapped my ass, he was ready to shoot. His POZ JIZZ scorched me like fire, and I jumped at heat and intensity of his discharge.

He kept his shaft in me till it softened, and the Bastard started to piss. I tried to pull off (I don't go for that shit!), but he had me by the hips and I had no place to go. When he pulled out, piss and cum exploded all over the place as vainly I tried to get back on the pot.

I was relieved to see that there was no blood, least none that I perceived, so I guessed the fucking hadn't been too severe. But the way my insides burned, I knew my ass had been severely abraded.

He handed me a note: "Got a buddy outside who loves to fuck. He’s got one much bigger than mine. Wanna meat him?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

"I wanna cum, too," I whined petulantly.

"My buddy’ll do ya. He's the best!"

Lured by the stunning endorsement, I couldn’t resist. The kid dressed and left.

*********************************** R-O-U-N-D T-W-O *************************************

I was a little surprised when his friend turned out to be a tall, rangy Black. He dropped his pants and sat down.

"My name's Pat. The Kid says you need it.”

As I debated whether to stay, the dude plopped his dick through the hole. I can honestly say that I have never seen bigger. It was a good 6 inches dead soft. There is a little of the Size Queen in each of us; and as a matter of principle, I had to have this one.

"Suck it, Baby!” he whispered, as I wrapped my mitt around it.

"Eat that big Motherfucker!" The combination of his melodious voice and the pulsing of his hips aroused me.

I shoved my ass up against that big black tool and braced myself for him to shove it in. But like his buddy, he rimmed me. His tongue had to have been nearly as long as his cock, for once he got started, it felt like I had several inches of tongue in me. And after the piss bath the Kid had given me, I was totally clean.

"Fuck my ass!"

I looked over my shoulder and saw him rubbing oil on his cock.

God! How it glistened! How long and black!

He reached through the glory rectangle, grabbed me by the waist, and rammed it in me. The pain was excruciating. I struggled to pull off, and it was all I could do to not scream. My intestines burned like hellfire, but there was no deterring him.

He screwed me like someone possessed. My asshole ached from being snapped open and shut so many times as he plowed in and out. Each time he thrust deeper, pain seared through my gut. I still didn’t feel his balls against me, so he wasn’t in all the way.

From his panting I knew he was close. He lunged at me savagely. Something inside me went snap, and the pain grew acute. At last his black balls came to rest on my ass, and I’d taken that huge piece of meat to the hilt.

My life boiled down to that single moment of passion, and I cared only for his pending climax. He plowed in a frenzy and drove deeper and harder. His throbbing manshaft rearranged my intestines, and cared not a whit for any negative consequences, and didn’t even consider the POZITIVE one.

With one pivotal movement he pulled out and plunged in all the way up to his balls. POZ JIZZ flooded my innards. I closed my eyes and pictured that huge purple snake spitting its poisonous venom into my guts. I grabbed my meat and beat it like hell as I shot the last NEG wad of my life on the opposite wall. I heard the pop of retreating flesh disengaging as he gingerly inched out, and I slumped down on the toilet to recover.

I had a little trouble with my ass after that, but my Doc, in whom I confide, reassured me I just needed rest. By the time I went in for a follow-up visit, things at work had calmed down, and I was back to my normal hours and sex life. It was then that Doc suggested an HIV test.

I was on the road back in Phoenix, when my cell rang and I got the POZ news. After a couple hours of meditation at the bar, I walked over to the little theater. The glory rectangle was still there; and when I spotted the dried blood on the wall, I knew that the Black Dude and the Kid had been at it again. Oh, yeah, I couldn’t waste the trip. I finally saw the Joan Crawford movie, and plowed a fatherly gentleman and a long-haired punk—BAREBACK, of course.

I love to go to the beach. Not for the sun, sand, nor surf. Those are added benefits. I go for the attention. I know that sounds immature, but it’s true.

I don't have the greatest body. I'm not overweight. I’m fairly trim, but don't exercise. My face is not distinctive. By society's standards, I’m average. But give me a pair of speedos, and I put on quite a show.

Though I’m blessed with an abundant cock size, what turns on most guys is the way it hugs my balls. I look absolutely awesome.

Women—and most guys—do a double-take at me in speedos. Young or old—doesn’t matter. I get plenty of attention. Gays hit on me, but I’m into STRAIGHT men. They have always been my preference.

MARRIED MEN, ESPECIALLY, TURN ME ON. And with their almost universal disenchantment with their spouses, conversion is child’s play. Whatever the case, I use my special talent to turn their disaffection to perversion.

After I got POZZED the game became more sinister—with stakes of LIFE and DEATH. I go for the true family types, the kind with kids; and, never do a FAGGOT unless he’s with a FEMALE.

I place my towel as close to Him and the Cunt as possible and give him a variety of views. When I finally get his attention, I smile and motion for him to follow. It’s like leading a sheep to slaughter.

On this particular afternoon I spotted a dude in his late thirties who walked along the beach with BITCH in hand. I followed them at a safe distance till they spread their blanket, and set up shop as close as advisable. It took almost half an hour before he overcame his reticence and stared directly at my cock. I was wearing bright red speedos which highlighted the crimson circle where my precum had soaked through.

I watched his manshaft grow. He turned over on his stomach to hide it. Though he was wearing sunglasses, he was OBSERVING. I smiled and motioned toward the woods.

I stood up and lingered, casually adjusting my speedos, as he gazed up at my crotch. The fictitious realignment finished, I took off down the trail, casting longing glances back his way. Along side were trees and heavy brush. The setup was perfect. Sure, there was an element of danger, but if the nature lovers stayed on the trail, we wouldn't be observed.

I began to think I’d misjudged him, and started back to hunt another dude—when I almost ran him down.

"Follow me," I urged, not waiting for his answer. Experience told me that since he’d come this far, he’d meekly follow. I moved off the trail amongst the trees and brush.

"I’M NOT GAY."

"THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

"I saw you looking at me and, uh, I’M NOT GAY."

"OF COURSE YOU’RE NOT. I saw your wife."

I took his hand and placed it on my crotch. This was the crucial step. You can never tell about a STRAIGHT guy when his MASCULINITY is CHALLENGED. Some guys panic or grow belligerent. In his case he did neither—his paw lay dead and lifeless on my shaft. I bucked my hips against him so my dick made solid contact with his palm.

"You're so hard!"

“I wanna see yours."

"My wife is just out there," he said, waving toward the beach.

"This doesn’t involve her. She wouldn’t understand. Look, I know you’re Straight. I don’t want you to do anything uncomfortable. Let’s take ‘em off together, and see what happens.”

He nodded. Some Straights you gotta spoon-feed.

We pulled them down together. There we were—two naked Fags (as the world would see us) checking out each others’ cocks, just yards away the crowded beach and the married Faggot’s spouse. He was fully erect—maybe five and a half inches, curved slightly to the right. He seemed astonished that I appeared so huge, yet wasn’t fully hard—I’m eight inches.

"Go ahead and touch it. I don’t bite.”

We could hear the beachgoers’ chatter, but were well concealed. He gripped my shaft. Involuntarily I spasmed. A gasp escaped him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not cumming—yet.”

He began to stroke me. He grasped my balls and squeezed them.

“Easy!”

"They’re so huge and hairy. Maybe full of cum.”

"You got good hands. You’re a natural.”

He caressed me more assertively.

I pushed him to his knees. My cock was inches from his lips.

"I can't do this," he said, jumping to his feet. But I wasn’t finished with him yet.

"Don’t go," I urged him.

“She’s waiting.”

“What time you tell her you’d be back?”

"No time.”

“Well, then…. I pushed him back down. He crossed the THRESHOLD as he took me in his mouth and milked me. (THAT’S POZ PRECUM YOU’RE SUCKIN’, FELLA! Score one for me and zero for wifey!)

He was so awkward, you could tell he’d never sucked before. But he had potential! He gagged a lot, and I overlooked it. It was all part of the learning curve. I leaned into him and was surprised at how much of me went down his throat.

"I WANT TO SEE YOU CUM!"

He started jerking me. The friction was stupendous; the build-up in my testicles, immense. The first gob splattered in his eyebrows. The next drooled down his chin. The third scored a direct hit on his lips. A thick rope of cum extended from my shaft to him.

Long after I’d run dry, he continued to beat me, like he couldn’t get enough. I was certain his thoughts were no longer on his pretty wife nor of the vows of monogamy he’d rejected.

At last he removed his cummy hand and stood. He had a strange expression on his face—a mix of pleasure and confusion. His dick was hard and I craved to have him in me.

"Do you have to go?"

He nodded.

"You can't go out there with that hardon. She’ll know."

"I’ll take the long way back."

"Fuck me first. Cum in me."

Though he shook his head “no,” his eyes lit up with interest.

"I need it. I want your jism up my ass. Only the two of us will ever know."

I guided his pole to my anus. That was all the encouragement he needed. He grabbed my hips and clumsily plowed into me. With no lube, his entry was excruciating. His thrusts grew urgent. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t purposefully being hurtful. The fuckin’ novice didn’t know no better.

"You’re so tight compared to her.”

So now I was in her league. Score two for me and none for wifey. A few more fucks like this and some guy’d replace her.

With a grunt that I was afraid even his wife might hear, he shot his wad. His cream surged up my POZ mancunt, and ran down my ass crack.

We didn't exchange another word as we tugged our shorts back up. I stayed behind a moment to watch him hustle down the trail. “I’M NOT GAY”—what a crock that was! ALL STRAIGHTS ARE CLOSET FAGS.

I spent last week in Southern California at a convention at a liberal arts school, east of town, near the Mojave Desert. It's an annual event, so I know the town and campus pretty well.

There's this kid, part of the summer school staff, I see doing setup each year. He was there again this year, looking sharp as ever.

I cruised him as usual, and this year he cruised back. He’s a real cutey. And while I'm no dog, I was surprised he’s into daddies. He appeared preoccupied and had a few of his worker bees around him. Against my better judgment, I approached him and did the chitchat thing. He came back at me all chatty, pretending to give directions when anyone drew near. His name is Eric, 24, grad student.

"Let me take you over there and introduce you to some people who might help you," he ad-libbed, when one of his worker drones walked up. Eric told the guy he was taking me to “Facilities.”

He grabbed my arm. I wasn't sure where we were headed, but I had a raging hardon beneath my business suit.

As we waked away, I asked what where we were going.

“Somewhere private.” He was taking me to the facilities warehouse—a room full of furniture, where we could get it off.

"Won't you get in trouble?"

"Nope. I'm crew chief and have the only key."

Eric let us in, and I followed him into a large room, piled high with chairs and tables, desks and podiums, and—lo and behold—a stack of mats.

"I could tell by the way you looked at me, you need it as much as I do. I don't know why, but I’m turned on by older guys. What do you like?"

I grabbed his shaft beneath his shorts; and, sure enough, he was rigid.

"You sure this won’t get us in the tabloids?"

He laughed. "I’m POZITIVE. What’re you into, man?"

"Take off those shorts, and I’ll show you.”

While he undressed, I skinned out of my suit and tie; and all the professional trappings fell away. The moment he pulled off his briefs, I went down on him.

He was absolutely turgid. I turned him round and slid my tongue between his ass cheeks, licking and slobbering on his hole, till his legs began to quiver.

"Oh, God, Man, that feels great! Does it taste randy?"

"Hell, no! It tastes Eric.” I glanced around. “Can we get more comfy?"

"Wait.”

He pulled the top mat down from the heap. We sixty-nined—him nursing my dickhead—and me, between his shapely legs, buried in his asshole. I got to thinking how such a succulent mancunt shouldn’t go to waste, and asked if he were into fucking.

"I prefer to Bottom."

"I'd love to screw you, but don’t have a condom. Have you?"

"No, but it’s OK. Just tell me when you're ready to shoot, and I'll decide if I want you to cum in me or not."

God! At least he kept his options open! "Have you done it raw before?"

"Not recently. But I need it now. So Fuck Me!"

Without further inducement, I checked his mancunt to make sure he was still wet. When my tongue’s in a guy’s hole, my cock is always hard. So it was an easy transition to rearrange him on the mattress and ride his ass. Eric groaned and pushed back against me. It was obvious he was no novice, so I queried him again.

"You done this before?"

"Not recently. My brother and I shared a room, and usually a bed, till he went off to college.“

"OH, GOD! I’M GONNA SHOOT!"

"DON’T WASTE IT, MAN! CUM IN ME! I NEED IT!”

SO I BRED HIS ASS! Afterwards, still inside him, I beat him off and guzzled down his jizz. We tongued and kissed for half an hour longer.

"I better get back," he said at last.

"Can we continue this tomorrow?”

"I don’t see why not."

I did him again the next day and the next three days in succession. Each evening I took him back to my hotel room for a nightcap. He never asked my status, nor about the rough sore on my tongue. So the last day I told him.

"I suspected. I really hope, if I’m gonna get it, it’s from a mature dude like yourself.”

He was really into seniors.

“If I turn POZ three months from now, or in the meantime, do you think I should tell the guys I fuck with?”

“What’s there to tell, if you’ve not been tested? And even then, it might be ill-advised. It’s senseless to rile guys up over stuff they can’t control—like HIV and AIDS. Just ruins relationships,” I said sagely—sucking on my KS lesion.

Until now I’ve told the Truth when guys ask my Status. I'm a lousy liar, and it's difficult for me to fabricate. I don’t look diseased, but I’m old enough know better and should have wised up long ago. It’s nothing short of miraculous that I’ve survived these 16 POZ years, so I got nothing to lose.

So it was with extreme reluctance I revealed my Status to a recent Trick who’d confided in me that he was NEG. The first couple times he had asked me not to cum in his ass—which no great shakes—since he bounced around like a Mexican Jumping Bean so I could barely stay in him. Though I did get off on fantasies of POZZING his ass, which I couldn’t resist.

But last night, with my shaft buried deep in his cunt, and inspired by one hit of poppers too many, he bellowed, "CUM IN MY ASS! DON’T PULL OUT! SHOOT UP MY BUTT!”

With his tight hole primed with ass juices, and my cock oozing precum, how could I resist?. It was FUCKIN’ INTENSE when I unleashed a tidal wave of VENOM that inundated his Manpussy and sloshed down his thighs!

By late Saturday night my venereal appetite was rekindled, and I searched on the Web for BOTTOMS who BAREBACK. I found several candidates and told them I didn’t use Condoms, but neglected to mention my Status.

I chose a young lad who met my prerequisites. I got him on the edge of the bed and plowed his sweet ass. I penetrated his Mancunt with ease, slid down his Anal Canal like a Disney Land Ride, and almost shouted an appropriate "WHOOOPEE!" when I came in an Avalanche. His Manpussy felt incredible, and it got better from there. We fucked through the night; and I OHHHHHHH ‘d and AHHHHHH’d with each load that I dropped—till I realized at sunrise that I hadn’t asked him his Status.

"YOU NEG or POZ?"

With his head buried deep in the pillow, he mumbled an incoherent reply.

“WHAT?”

“I SAID I’M NEG. HOW ‘BOUT YOU?”

“POZ,” I whispered apprehensively.

"THAT’S COOL!"

I was shocked! Not only had my previous night’s Fuck been a BUG CHASER, but this one was, too. He told me that he was going to KEEP MY POISON JIZZ UP HIS ASS ALL DAY. That’ made me cum for the umpteenth time. It felt like NIH~AG~RAH F~A~L~L~S !

My mind reveled in the possibility that I was POZZING him, and I wondered what I’d been missing these 16 POZ years! It was so hot CHARGING HIS NEG ASS that I convinced him to stay another half hour while I worked up a final death-dealing load. It was well after 8:30 when he departed.

The moral of the story is—we all make our own decisions and live with the consequences. Sometimes the circumstances smack of the Predestination; at other times it’s clearly Free Will. Regardless, I gotta tell you, I had a Blast with these two BUG-CHASING dudes. Though them I discovered a new brand of FUCKING. Anyone else wanna CUM over and BAREBACK?

It was a nice warm day, and I was feeling great, despite the constant, soaking night sweats. The latest tests confirmed it. My Viral Load was soaring, my T-Cells declining—despite the Meds. I decided to take my mind off things, and after work, headed for the park to wash and wax the Blazer.

I pulled in beneath a tree away from other cars, though there were lots of others taking advantage of our Indian Summer day. I turned on the CD player. The humidity was high, and the unaccustomed physical effort made me sweaty; so I pulled off my Tee to soak up some rays.

A black-haired dude pulled up beside me, and a blonde dude on the other side. I glanced at them, and we locked eyes. I got to thinking how waxing might not be so important.

The black-haired kid was twentyish, ball cap, with a very pretty smile. The Blonde was tanned, green eyes, and had a cool smile too. A group of Fags cruised by. A guy I’d done before massaged his groin in blatant invitation to pursue him. The car grew less and less important.

I couldn’t help myself. I was surrounded.

The dark-haired dude surveyed my crotch. The Blonde got out and sat down on a picnic table. He was wearing khaki shorts a size too tight, and I fantasized how nice it’d be to plug his needy hole. His sexy black-haired buddy joined him at the picnic table.

Because of the nausea from the Meds, I hadn’t Barebacked for a week and got to thinking how nice it’d be to GIFT a couple of NEG holes.

The black-haired dude must have read my thoughts.

"Love you to do mine." He meant his car, but I had his hole in mind.

“My pleasure.”

I glanced over to at the Blonde, who’s ears’d perked up at our exchange, his eyes aglow with carnal lust. I went over to a spigot to wash my hands and dried them on my Tee, which I stuck in my back pocket.

As I walked back to the Blazer, I noticed the two cunts were talking. I kinda figured they knew each other, and I’d already decided I WAS GONNA POZ one or both of them—if not them, then the Faggots in the woods—BUT SOMEONE.

So I locked up my car wash paraphernalia and sauntered down the path.

Five minutes later I leaned against a huge ass rock off the main trail. The area is well known as a great place to get your cock sucked, if you can fend off the damn trolls who offer bucks to suck your dick. For me it was a second income. But today I was giving it away.

It wasn't long before I heard footsteps on the trail; and; sure enough, it was Blackie and the Blonde.

Blondie nervously approached me.

"We just had to complement you before we left. We love your car—and body."

"AND I’D LOVE TO FUCK YOUR ASSES,” I deadpanned.

"WE’RE BOTH BOTTOMS.”

The effusive Blonde got down to business—working my tits—while his dark-hared friend dipped his fingers beneath my beltline—to explore my crack.

“SUCK IT!" I commanded.

The black-haired dude pulled down my jeans and devoured my thick eight-inches while his Blonde Buddy licked and slobbered on my balls. Blackie glanced up to gage my pleasure.

I rammed my shaft back down his gagging gullet.

The Blonde tongued my ass. I grasped his locks and sandwiched him between my buttocks. The little Fucker moaned, and in response shucked off his shorts. A trickle of precum ran down his yellow bush. It was now or never.

“I WANNA FUCK BOTH YOUR ASSES—NOW.”

I told them to lean against the rock. I probed their mancunts simultaneously and harshly One finger—two—then three. Reflexively they jerked away as I probed their holes, abrading them with dirty unkempt car-wash nails.

"CUT IT OUT, MAN!” the black-haired dude groused in discomfort. The Blonde slumped against the rock and moaned. Apparently he found getting his cunt roughed up appealing.

I shoved my whole hand to the knuckles up Blondie’s silken ass—AND TWISTED. If I’d had any lube I coulda buried my whole arm up the Little Fuck. But his bellyaching buddy awaited his comeuppance. The whole time I fisted Blondie, I’d kept my fingers up Blackie’s ass, despite his protests, and only pulled them out when I was sure my nails had cut him.

. "I WANT YOUR SEED, MAN! FILL ME UP!" he begged.

How I wanted to shoot a POZ LOAD up that MOTHER’S PUSSY CUNT! I penetrated him. He yelped and howled as salty sweat dripped off my chest and dribbled down his crack to sting my reddened cock.

I glanced at Blondie. An icicle of precum sagged from his cockhead, and I’d hardly touched the Fucker.

I plowed the dark-haired pussy and watched his ass muscles contract. Greedy Bastard! I smashed into his ass cheeks and pulled him tight against me.

"I’M GONNA SEED YOU! FUHHHHUCK! AHHHHH YEAHHHHHHH!”

My body spasmed as I shot a week of pent-up VENOM up his ass. He thrust back against me, milking every drop of TOXIN from my shaft.

"FUCK, DUDE, YOUR JIZZ IS SINGEING ME!”

I almost stopped to expound upon my theory that burning jizz was PROOF POZITIVE the BUG had taken. But Blondie saved the day by wrapping his thin arms about him as if to reassure him that getting POZZED was not so bad.

“How touching! And I got a GIFT for you, too, Studly!”

As I pulled out, POISON JISM oozed down black-haired’s crack and glazed his balls. I dipped my pole in the malevolent secretion and plowed into Blondie’s well-used mancunt.

I gotta tell you, I got this talent. My cock stays hard till I'm completely drained. And with another hole to POZ, I was far from that. But since I’d cum once, it’d take a while to shoot again. So I plunged in and out of him, with all the vigor I could muster. I wanted to screw the lifeblood out of Blondie.

"FUCK ME LIKE YOU DID RONNIE, MAN!"

How prophetic! I paused. OK. So at last I had a name. I like my fucks to be real personal.

"So what’s your name, Hot Fuck?”

Impatiently, he grunted, "Kevin. Cum’ on man. Fuck me! You can cum again, can’t you?”

Little Whiner.

“Watch out, Bitch! I’m gonna Fuck your Ass to Death!”

I screwed his butt for 30 minutes. Soon the cum-lube had dried up, and my shaft was gettin’ sore—a sure sign that the same was happening to Kevin. The little Fucker whimpered.

“I CAN’T TAKE MUCH MORE! SHOOT IN ME, PLEEEASE! ”

I pistoned my thick cock in his swishy ass, and Ronnie had his hands all over my tits and balls. That was the clincher.

"I'M CUMMIN, KEV! TAKE MY POZ LOAD!”

I’d let the cat out of the bag! Ordinarily I do not admit my status. It isn’t a wise thing to do. In this instance there were two of them and one of me; and civilization was at least 500’ away, if anyone else remained in the park. The sun was already on the horizon; and dusk was fast approaching. But wimpy Kevin pissed me off, and I wanted them to know what I was doing.

Ropes of POZ CUM shot up Kevin’s ass faster than his motor reflexes. Ronnie caught on real quick. His hands dropped off my tits and balls. His jaw dropped down, and he looked sick.

“YOU’RE POZ?”

Like greased lightning Kevin came off me, and in the fading light a fibrous strand of BUG-JIZZ connected him and me. Poor Kevin was too late.

“Yeah,” I responded, nonchalantly pulling up my pants, dragging my damp Tee out of my pocket. “Thought you guys knew.”

“How could we know?” wimpy Kevin whimpered. “You shoulda used a condom.”

“Sorry, boys. I ONLY BAREBACK.”

“That ain’t safe.”

“Know what a GIVER is?”

The ignoramuses gawked at me like weenies.

I turned and hastened down the path. Though they were harmless, it was dusk and getting cool, and I was wasted. And my assumption was correct—the park was deserted, except for the three of us.

As I backed out, I smiled. It’d been a perfect day. The two of them were made for an impaired immune system. If all life’s choices were that simple, the Blazer’d wait forever. I caught a final glimpse of them as they scooted up the path. In the headlamp glare they reminded me of frightened rodents. They knew nothing about me—not my name—nor where I lived. Certainly not that I’d progressed to FULL BLOWN AIDS.

Guys, there’s an old adage that goes, ”Watch out what you wish for….” Well, let me tell you I had a lot of bizarre fantasies—and they all came true—along with a lot more than I ever wanted or expected.

I met Troy in an AOL chatroom. We started off with the usual BS. Over time I revealed my innermost fantasies to him, though to my credit I confessed they were just—reveries. He got bored, said he was into none of that. Nonetheless, we continued corresponding. I came to think of him as just another internet acquaintance—because I’m your typical fortyish gay male and he, a 23 year old muscle jock—straight at worst, Bi, at best. So gradually I lost interest, and our chats became less frequent. One day he e-mailed me asking if I’d like to meet. My cock sprang to attention. We reconnoitered at a local bar. I get nervous when I meet new people, and that night I got very, very drunk. I said I needed to get home, but Troy told me I could spend the night with him. It was Friday evening, going on Saturday, and through my drunken haze the thought of bedding down with hunky Troy enthralled me. Big mistake.

No sooner did we reach his van, than he and two of his companions jumped me. They bound and gagged me, and threw me in the back. One of them slapped my ass, muttering what a fun night it was gonna be. Images of gay-bashings flashed through my inebriated brain. I thought sure this was the end. We drove for what seemed like hours, and turned off on a bumpy, gravelly road. The three of them got out. The rear door opened, and they dragged me to my feet. They untied my legs. It was so dark I couldn’t see a thing, but from the smells and night sounds, I knew we were in the country. They led me up some stairs. Troy fumbled with a key and shoved me in a pitch black room. They removed the cuffs, stripped me, and lifted me to a massive wooden table. I struggled, though I knew I wasn’t going anywhere without my clothing. Using rope and straps, they bound me, face up, spread-eagled, and went outside. I was strapped down around my chest and arms and legs, so I was pretty well immobilized.

Nothing else happened for a while; but I heard their raucous laughter and beer tabs popping. Finally they returned, beers in hand, and hovered over me. Troy pointed to the others. There were Todd and Timmy. The three T’s. All three were pretty decent—especially Timmy—the most gorgeous twink I’d ever laid eyes on—early twenties, tan, and built. Troy spoke. “This is Pussy Faggot Danny, my internet companion. Danny would be an all right kind of queer, ‘cept he’s got these disgusting fantasies regarding watersports and AIDS. So I thought we’d give him a taste of his own medicine, and see how much he likes it. In addition, we got a couple extra treats for Danny. Ever hear of Hepatitis-B, Danny Boy? I got it. And tonight I’m gonna share it with you.” “Todd here’s our Nurse. He’s gonna make sure you get our STD’s. He’s got the Clap—for the third time. He’s gonna give it to you. Hope you appreciate his pain. I asked him to skip the Penicillin until he got through with you.” “I’m sure you’ve noticed pretty Timmy, here. He’s your dream cum true. He’s got HIV. Know how he got it? Gang-banged by a bunch of faggots like yourself. He’s a little homophobic, so don’t push him.”

Troy handed Tim a leather gag with a ball sewn in it. The ball had a hole in the center. To help me breathe, I figured. Gorgeous Timmy bent over me, and my cock began to stir. He punched me in the balls. My nuts shriveled, I wailed. My high-pitched shriek resounded off the cabin walls. It didn’t even sound like me. Tim slapped my face, bloodying my nose. “Do that again, cocksucker, and you’ll regret it.” He hastily regagged me, and shoved a plastic funnel in the hole. Troy approached with a black butt plug. Todd and Timmy lifted up my legs. Sans lube, he shoved it in me. I screamed again, but, gagged, my cries came out like puppy yelps. Tears rolled down my cheeks. “Okay, Todd. Go to work on him.”

The nurse Todd lubed up a catheter and pushed it in my piss slit. My torment was intense. His veins stood out as he worked it in me. I cried in agony. At last it slid into my bladder. Yellow fluid filled the tube. Todd smiled in satisfaction. “First time I ever did that.” He connected the other end of the tubing to the funnel. Piss began to flow into my mouth. I coughed and gagged, but learned I had to swallow or drown in my own urine. Reaching in his pocket, Todd pulled out a syringe. From Troy, then Timmy, then himself, he drew blood. Three times I suffered their serologic injections. I ended up with Band-Aids on my arms.

At last they retreated to the porch. I was glad to be alone. How dare they do this to me! True homophobes would have done me better. At least I’d have been dead by then. But these Fuckers meant for me to live—and suffer! Beneath the gag a fatalistic smile crossed my face. I was totally at their mercy, but I was going to survive! When they returned, about half an hour later, all three of them were nude. I found myself admiring their youthful bodies. They had such taunt physiques, compared to my forty year-old body.

Laughing, they approached the table. One by one they pissed into the funnel. I swallowed madly, attempting to absorb their streams. I thought my gut was gonna burst. Their beer-diluted urine overflowed the funnel and ran down my cheeks and neck.

Troy said, “Timmy, give Danny Boy a good night kiss. He seems to like you best.” “Fuckin’ AIDS Whore!” Timmy growled. Anticipating yet another blow, I shut my eyes. A door slammed somewhere. I opened them again as a hand massaged my dick. I shuddered when I realized I was alone with sadist Timmy. Warily I awaited another unprovoked attack; but alone he seemed transformed. I grew sexually aroused. I’d forgotten the catheter till I spasmed. N ever had I experienced such an intense yet painful climax! Timmy disconnected the tube from the funnel and sucked my cum, and piss, down his throat. He removed the gag and kissed me deeply—spitting jizz and piss from his mouth to mine. God, that troubled boy was hot! He disconnected the tubing from the funnel and pulled out the butt plug. It had shit and blood all over it. He stuck the end of the catheter up my ass. My recycled urine, and theirs, flowed into my ass, puddling on the table beneath me.

He lit a cigarette and went outside. When he returned, urine was dribbling on the floor. He reconnected the tubing to the funnel, untied my legs, and raised them to his shoulders. His hard shaft probed between my legs. Between the blood and piss and shit, he entered me easily. That beautiful POZ man plunged in and out of me. I was torn between his superlative magnificence and the ugly disease I knew consumed him. Timmy thrust harder. His breathing came in spurts, his panting grew intense. That ravishing maniacal youth was close to cumming. “HERE’S HIV FOR YOU, COCKSUCKER!” He convulsed as volley after volley of his poison jizz shot in me. Exhausted, his noxious shaft quiescent, his handsome profile collapsed upon my chest. His sinewy forearms encircled me. He ravenously bit my neck till it was badly bruised.

Toward morning, Todd came in. With bloodshot eyes, he stumbled toward me. His need was obvious. He leaned over the table, his slimy shaft, glistening precum, bobbed up and down mere inches from my face. He worked his shaft as if to milk the precum from it. A greenish-yellow goo oozed out instead. “I’m gonna see the Doc on Monday, but tonight we party.” He pulled the bloody, shitty, cummy butt plug from my ass, and wiped it across my face. He undid my legs. I kicked and wailed my through the gag. He slapped my gut. “Stop that shit, or I swear I’ll cut you!” I acquiesced. Gonorrhea could be cured: castration was forever. After his violent adrenal rush, he had trouble getting hard again. He fucked me half an hour before he shot. At 9:00 A.M. the three of them removed the apparatus. Troy ran a wash cloth across my blood and cum and shit caked face. They let me dress, retied, regagged me, and led me to the van.

The morning sunlight blinded me. The place was someone’s summer cabin. Beyond the unkempt lawn, tall pine trees soared above the sequestered structure. I sensed a different attitude in Todd and Timmy. They treated me kindly, almost with respect—now that I was one of them. When we got back to the bar, Troy crawled in. He shut the door behind him. Air off, the summer sun baked the roof and made the inside suffocating. We were alone. His accomplices had fled. He unzipped, and his massive 8” shaft popped out. He untied my shoes and pulled off my jeans and briefs. “Remember this, Cocksucker.” His pole connected with my ass. So close to freedom, I had not the slightest inkling nor desire to resist. My second shot at Hepatitis B, I thought. He untied and ungagged me. I quickly dressed. He threw the van doors open to alleviate the stifling heat. By then we were both drenched with sweat. Afraid he might reconsider, I crawled on hands and knees towards the door. “You belong to us now. Keep in touch,” he yelled out after me.

The only other vehicle in the lot was mine. I staggered in a zigzag pattern toward it. I fumbled for my keys. By the time I got inside, Troy, too, was gone. I slept all day and into Sunday, awoke feverish and sick—three blood stained Band Aids on the bed stand.

I was NEG when my best buddy Jim and I started hanging out. Jim is POZ, and I get so aroused when he tells me about all the NEG’s he’s bred—still do. At first I didn’t know whether to believe him. But let me tell you—everything Jim says is true.

We took off for Toronto for the weekend and shared a room. Friday night we went out cruising and found this pretty boy alone and doing absolutely nothing. It was obvious the youth was horny. I wanted to see Jim in action, so we made our move.

Greg was 19 and had just moved to Toronto from a small town to go to school. He was so scared of AIDS that he’d never done ANYTHING with another guy. So he didn’t even know for sure that he was GAY.

You should have seen Jim’s eyes light up when Greg said that, and my cock throbbed. We enticed him back to our room “just to talk.”

We had a couple beers as Jim and I reminisced about our sexual escapades, both real and imagined; and Greg’s eyes widened. Of course we never mentioned POZ nor NEG. I had my latest test results in my wallet and showed Greg what they were like. I ad-libbed that we were Lovers and both NEG. With such convincing evidence in-hand, the youth believed me.

We talked Greg into having sex, just to see if he were Gay or not. We undressed him and positioned him on the bed. I sucked his dick, while Jim worked his tits and kissed him. When we got his hormones raging, Jim suggested he oughta try something a little more exotic—like getting fucked.

Greg agreed to try it once, to see if he were Top or Bottom. “For safety’s sake,” Jim made a show of putting on a condom, sans any lube, and went to work on him.

Of course, with a dry rubber, the lad was too tight; and, in disgust, Jim yanked it off, and lubed his naked pole. Even so, the kid let out some yelps before Jim fully penetrated him. I applauded both of them when Jim seeded him—and congratulated Greg on graduating to the Big Time, the Big Time being the World of POZ, though I didn’t use those words.

We had a couple more beers and Greg asked if he could come back the next night. We weren’t expecting him, when he called up from the Lobby. We did a repeat number, and Jim and I both plowed him.

Greg was really getting into it and asked for one more fuck. Sunday afternoon and evening Jim screwed Greg twice more—for 4 CHARGED loads. I added my own NEG seed, after that, mainly to work Jim’s POZ jizz into his hole. But we were leaving in the morning, and decided to play the final act remotely.

We called Greg a week later, both of us on the line. He was happy as a lark and thanked us profusely for helping him “come out”. He said he’d done a bit of cruising, but always planned on playing safe.

"Greg,” Jim said, as scripted, “I’ve got a bit of news. My test results came back today. I’m POSITIVE."

There was silence on the line.

"You’re kidding me; aren’t cha, guys?."

"No, Greg, I'm not. I’m serious."

The kid sobbed, “Shit, guys! I was afraid of this! I'm gonna die! How’m I gonna tell my family?"

He carried on like that for several minutes; and, on our end, we bust our guts and had to cover up our phones.

I said, “Calm down,” that getting POZZED was no big deal; that maybe I’d been POZZED, myself. I didn’t know.

Helpful Dan chimed in that now Greg could fuck and whore around with impunity. We phoned again two weeks later to ask how he was doing. Greg said he’d been deathly sick with fever and the flu.

The BREEDING concept is so fabulous! Last Sunday I got drunk and fell asleep naked on the bed. My buddy, Jim, who’d also had too much, climbed in beside me. He couldn’t help himself.

I cruised the Student Center to find a dude worth GIFTING. I ran across a drunken frat boy in an adjacent stall.

From the way his trousers jiggled I knew what he was doing. I slid my tennie between our stalls. He unlatched his door, and I moved in quickly.

5’10,” 160, tousled light brown hair, baby face, silken complexion—not too shabby. I knelt to suck him. He reeked of beer and bourbon.

The kid was definitely soused. But some guys need that as a stimulus, and I figured his inebriation worked in my favor.

He had difficulty staying hard—till I reached beneath his balls and stuck a finger up his ass. His shaft jumped to attention. I knew exactly what he needed.

I suggested we’d be better off in a classroom, where there’d be no interruption, and we’d have room to play. I guided him up two floors, since he was none too steady, and took ample opportunity to work his ass.

He stood by, sheepish and embarrassed, till I found an unlocked door. We entered. The only illumination came from the yellow sodium lamps outside.

From behind I unzipped him, pulled down his jeans and briefs, and bent him over a table. I told him to relax, that I’d do all the work. I knelt and rimmed his sweaty drunken butt.

He loved it!

Next step (I’m so methodical), I aligned my drooling shaft against his butthole and probed him.

“Been fucked before?”

“Just sucked a lot.”

“Wanna try it?”

No response. He was open to persuasion. I gently pressed my cockhead into him.

“Ouuuuchh, Man! That hurts! Go easy!”

I inched into him a fraction at a time. When he was at last impaled, I held my turgid shaft at rest, letting him adjust.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah, Man. Go slow and easy.”

Patiently I withdrew till I was almost out of him, then inched back in. I paused again, awaiting some signal of discomfort. None came, so I picked up the pace till I was plowing him full blast.

Aroused, he groaned in passion. I had him thinking with his cock. I reached around to beat his pole. Considering what I had in store for him, I wanted him to enjoy it. He started bucking back as I plowed in.

“You ready for my load?”

"No, Man, don't Cum in me."

“Not Yet?”

I fucked another 10 minutes, aiming for his prostate. His moans grew strident.

Again I asked where he wanted it. He ground his drunken ass back against my pubes. The jism boiled in my balls.

"I GOT A SPECIAL PRESENT FOR YOU, BABY!"

I shot my POZ load up his pussy, simultaneously jerking him till he shot his seed all over the table.

I pulled out and rimmed his ass, savoring the noxious mix of contaminated jizm and his ass juice.

I slapped his butt. The deed was done, and I was sated. I told him to go first, that I’d stay behind, so as not to arouse suspicion. In the dark, we buckled up. We mumbled stupid sentiments of thanks. Through his drunken haze he felt ashamed, but that would pass. He bolted for the door.

Alone again, I knelt over the table and licked up his boy jism.

Driving home, I pictured him—back at the Frat House, in his bunk, hung over, trying to forget, my special TOKEN OF APPRECIATION brewing in his Mancunt.

I cruised the University Towers last night.

The john was jumping. The stalls were occupied. The urinals were full. Two guys were at the sink and two leaned against the wall.

When a newcomer walks in, they all zip up till the intruder is appraised. But I was recognized-the dude went back to feeling up his neighbor, and the others took their cue from him.

The two at the sink were lovers, poz-guys I'd done before, and who'd done me-not really to my liking that evening. But one of the dudes against the wall had real possibilities-30's, short and muscular, with big blue eyes. He wore a shabby suit, a size too small, and had "MANMEAT" written all over him.

Two of the guys at the urinals were black, and out of circulation, anyway, since they were playing with each other. The third, a shriveled old faggot, was unappealing-the kind you save for when you're really desperate.

I never got around to checking out the fuckers in the stalls cause Mr. Shabby kept giving me the eye. I leaned next to him and groped my crotch. His compatriot moved off. He signaled back in kind and headed for the door. I followed.

He seemed to know the building well. We wound up on the tenth floor in a john I didn't know existed. It was unoccupied. He sat down in the furthest stall. I locked the door behind us. It was an original bathroom, not remodeled like the one below. The stalls were huge, with marble walls that ran from floor to ceiling, and full length wooden doors.

He unzipped my jeans and sucked me. I felt the jism boiling in my balls. I was gonna shoot, and didn't want that yet. I lifted him by the pits.

I pulled off his shabby jacket and tugged his shirt out of his pants. He wore no underwear and you could smell the man. He had great pecs and a nice firm gut. The guy worked out, or at least got lots of exercise. He'd shaved his chest and pubes, but that'd been days before, and an itchy, irritating stubble had grown back. I chewed his tits, and he gripped my head and drew me tight against his abs.

I blindly fumbled with his belt and tugged down his slacks and briefs. His cock was beer can thick. I stopped to take a gander. The head was red and leaking precum.

"Suck it," he commanded.

I got on my knees and took that Choker down my throat. I gagged, but got a decent rhythm going.

He sat back down and spread his legs as far as his trousers would permit. It struck me as particularly obscene, kneeling before a dude, sitting on a toilet, sucking his fat cock-but that's me.

He got up and leaned against the door. He spread his legs and invited me to rim him. I munched away. His butt hairs chafed my face, but I craved his hole-thick and pouty, pink and soft. I chewed it, licked it, dug my tongue in it as deep as it would go. His ass smelled musky, manly, sweaty, and just a little soiled.

When I eased up, he went to back to sucking me. He grabbed my balls and stuck his finger up my ass. There was no deterring him nor my reaction. I fired off five volleys in succession, and still his lips bobbed up and down my shaft, scarfing up the last drops of my jism.

We kissed and he passed semen and saliva back to me. It tasted salty on his tongue. He spit the part he hadn't swallowed on his hand, and lubed his dick.

He turned me round and butted his huge cock against my hole. I yielded compliantly. My pussy popped as he split me open; pain radiated from my mancunt.

The cum and spit had eased his entry, but not by much. He plowed into me. I gasped and cursed, but that didn't stop him, nor did I want it to. He paused a second as I grew used to his distended manhood, then pounded his humungous shaft in me. The squishy sounds of penetration, of balls and ass colliding, resounded off the marble walls.

"I'M CUMMIN'!"

The smell of jizz and ass juice perfused the stall. As he withdrew, the remnants of his frothy cream leaked from my ass and glistened on his dick. I knelt to lick the Fucker clean.

I kept on sucking that beer can dick long after I'd drained his jizz and precum down my throat. It seemed so natural-his shaft in me-in either orifice. He smiled smugly as I slutted on his pole.

He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up.

"YOU SAFE?"

Our budding relationship was too good to ruin with truth.

"YEAH, MAN, I'M NEG."

He turned me round and realigned his shaft with my sore cunt. With a single thrust, he sank in me. Again I experienced that wonderful stuffed feeling I've come to know and love.

We fucked for 15 minutes. He plastered me against the door and kept on plowing. The guy was indefatigable. He'd reached around and pinched my nips. I moaned in hedonistic agony. He dug a finger up my ass besides his pole. My cunt abraded painfully as his long nail gouged my pussy. His grunts rang sonorous as he grew close to breeding.

Tit for tat, I played with him, "YOU SAFE?" I didn't give a shit. I was merely being cute.

He enunciated each word as he assaulted me.

"I'M" (plowing hard)

"NOT" (impaling me deeper)

"SURE!" (payload on its way)

"Ahhhhhhh! FUCK, MAN! TAKE MY LOAD!"

Whereupon, divulging that he might be filling me with POISON SEED, he lunged forth with all his might and impelled a second wave of jizz in me. Simultaneously I shot my own huge wad all over door and on my hand.

His dick still lodged within me, he reached around and scooped up my jism dripping down the door and swallowed it. He pulled my hand back over my shoulder and licked the cum from off my fingers. He whispered that he was going in for his results on Tuesday.

"Actually I'm not as SAFE as I let on."

Confused, he stared at me. "YOU'RE POZ?"

I nodded, and wondered if I'd erred in my confession.

We kissed, and what a carnal kiss it was-the trademark of the Brotherhood who barter sex for HIV and AIDS.

A few years back, I saved up enough to buy a used White Van. I padded and carpeted the back, put in a cabinet and curtains. But I also added something special—a padded sawhorse with restraints, reinforced with crossbars and bolted to the floor.

On Saturday I walked to the local bar and picked up a sexy virgin—early 20's, auburn hair, blue eyes. I'm a sucker for blue eyes. I invited him back to my place. He said he didn’t fuck. I said okay.

I showed him my new van, and grinned when he told me he how much he liked it. I hoped he would. He was gonna spend some time in there. He wasn’t sure about the sawhorse, though. I demo’d it—lay down and had him bind and gag me. I let him try it. I bound his arms and legs and muzzled him.

My dick grew hard as I stared down at him—the perfect specimen—trussed up and gagged and at my mercy—if it weren’t for those damn clothes! They wouldn’t do. So using knife and scissors, I pealed away the garments till he was nude. Panicky and frightened, he struggled violently at the restraints and bellowed sobs of protest. But the device held firm, and all I heard were muffled cries.

He’d said he didn’t fuck—I wondered. Maybe he had changed his mind. With Vaseline I lubed him. I grabbed his hips and forced myself in him. He writhed and sobbed in agony. He hadn’t reconsidered after all. Nonetheless, I had my way with him. I plowed his ass and rammed it him. In short, I bred him. He wailed indecipherably as I climbed out and locked the door behind me. Perfect! I couldn't hear a thing.

I drove slowly to a leather bar and parked in the rear. One by one, I volunteered my sacrificial lamb to the bar patrons. It wasn’t long before I had a taker—your typical biker in boots and jeans.

We walked out to the van and climbed in. Pruriently he explored the youth’s anatomy. A hairy limb snaked between his thighs to squeeze his dick and cup his balls. His digits speared the Vaseline and cum-lubed mancunt. The youngster jerked reflexively.

"Nice ass.”

Hysterically the punk tugged at the restraints.

"He okay with this?"

"Was what he wanted."

The biker smirked.

The Dude was hard by the time he got undressed. He stepped between his legs and fucked him. He shot his jism in him and left.

Over the next few hours, I found a dozen studs, who eagerly mounted my young man. By the third load, the lad could do no more than blubber, which aroused his partners further. His hole overflowed with cum. The old cream kept gushing out with each new penetration. After each paramour departed, I rimmed his ass to keep him from soiling the carpet.

But the last dude was the TOPPER.

A hairy, balding, salt-and-pepper-bearded, beer-bellied truck driver, who reeked of gas and oil and exhaled fumes of Bud. He munched on a cigar stub soggy with saliva and too chewed up to smoke.

I took him to the van like all the others. With unkempt finger nails he scarfed up jizz leaking from the young man’s cunt.

"Guess I'm not the first to have him. I love a juicy fuck."

He unzipped and a huge mound of flesh spilled out, which hardened to a beer can cock, replete with a huge steel PA.

"Damn!" I muttered.

"Think he can take it?"

"He’s gonna have to."

He pressed the steel ring against the young man’s pussy.

"Hold on, Fucker. Gonna be a bumpy ride."

He shoved it in the youth, who writhed in pain and whimpered.

"You had your fun, boy. Now I gotta BREED you."

He forced his monster shaft up in young man’s hole. The kid rebelled in agony.

"SHUT UP, SLUT!"

He plowed away at the lad’s pussy, as tears of torment streaked down his cheeks. The Biker Dude plowed brutally in and out. His stamina was incredible. He’d fuck a while, slow down and rest his dick, luxuriating in the inner-warmth of the young man’s guts, then go back to screwing. An hour later, he was still at it. The boy lay silently in shock, all semblance of rebellion dissipated.

“I could screw this ass forever; but I gotta be at work in the morning."

He grasped the youngster’s hips and launched a final torturous assault.

"HERE CUMS PAYDAY, KIDDO! The Biker, wracked by multiple orgasms, shot his jism in the punk.

"Great fuck! I needed that."

He stuffed his cock and balls back in his jeans, the front of which were dank with ass juice and cum from all the other studs.

"Hope ya liked that, Buddy Boy. Felt like I shot a gallon of poison jizz in you."

As he climbed out, he turned back to the youth.

"You understand, don’t you? I’M POZ." He giggled as he walked away.

I looked back at the startled youth, whose eyes had opened up to saucers.

“Me, too,” I volunteered, taking out my hankie to dry his tear-streaked face.

The summer night had grown cool. I threw a blanket over him and drove back home to find him clothes. Turned out, he couldn’t walk so well. I helped him negotiate the stairs. He begged me not to send him home since it was almost morning.

Sunday afternoon when he awoke, he sucked me. I reciprocated several times. I stayed away from his man-pussy though, since he was obviously still quite sore.

I ordered pizza in for lunch and took him out to dinner. He took a real shine to me. I attributed that to Stockholm Syndrome. We chatted over dinner, and I unapologetically explained that I’d simply had my fun with him.

I saw at the bar once after that. He’d converted. We drank to that. I offered him a ride, but he declined a second visit my White Van.

I met Brandon, a local guy, online. He’d made no bones about being a POZ TOP and into BAREBACKING.

I accused him of being a GIFT GIVER; and he replied he couldn’t be, because a Bottom’s odds for getting POZZED were 1 in 50,* so it was unlikely he’d ever POZZED anyone on the first Fuck.

I wrote back that I was NEG, a BOTTOM, and, since we were almost neighbors, we ought to get together. We set up a date for two days later.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I quickly spotted his blue van. He was leaning against the bumper, smoking. 5’9”, 155, bleached hair, wrinkled tee and cut-offs. I pulled up beside him, in my office duds; and we set off down the jogging trail.

A footpath veered into the woods. I took it and approached a tiny clearing, littered with tissues and used condoms. I dropped my slacks and pushed down my briefs, to piss.

Brandon came up behind me and reached around to pump my gushing shaft. My yellow stream overflowed his fingers. He turned me round and wiped his hand across my lips. We kissed, and his 6” slipped between my legs. Huge testicles, compact with Toxic Jizz, compressed against my thighs.

He pushed me to my knees and fucked my mouth. His balls raked against my chin, an invitation to palm his naked Sac and milk it.

Aroused, he turned me round and bent me over. I grasped a tree trunk for support. My ass was in the air and my legs were spread. I moaned in passion, and not too quietly, as the sun rays and summer breeze cavorted on my naked butt in concert with the hot tongue rimming me.

He arose, and grasped my hips, and pressed his bare cock against my sphincter. It felt so good, him easing into me, even though he’d used no lube other than his spit. I faced the trail; and, through the trees, caught glimpses of guys and gals cavorting past, as I cried out in pain and pleasure.

He pulled out, removed his cutoffs, briefs, and tee, and arranged them on a bed of leaves. He lay down on the blanket he had fashioned. His 6” shaft, glistening spit and slime and precum, winked up at me.

I knew the fallacy of “1 in 50” – the odds for a Thousand Faggots getting POZZED. But I was not a Thousand. I was One. Some guys POZ from Precum, while others take a thousand loads—and nothing. Which was I?

I straddled him and guided his throbbing Cock into me and eased down till my ass connected with his pubes. I began the rhythmic pulsing which I knew would spur an avalanche of Venom up my ass. It was only minutes before he groaned in hedonistic agony that he was cumming. Emboldened by his proximity, I ground away till torrents of his Poison Jizz invaded me.

He got up, brushed off his shorts and tee, and left me naked, standing there, his lethal Load dripping down my thighs.

I’d shaved that morning, and in my haste to get to work, had nicked my Mancunt several times. I reached behind and worked a finger up my ass. As I suspected, my digit came back laced with Pink.

At work that afternoon my Hole felt open, fucked and gratified. My briefs grew damp and my thighs sticky as his pungent Cream drained out of me. It’d been just hours since I’d been Fucked and already I craved replenishment of his Charged Seed. I skipped my nightly shower and sat down at my PC to write him.

The odds for a neg bottom getting pozzed: * 1 in 50 per Dr. Jeffrey Klausner on Gay.Com, Source: http://channels.gay.com/health/hiv 08-08-02 ** 1 in 200 in the January, 2002 issue of the medical journal "Sexually Transmitted Diseases" Source: http://www.planetout.com/pno/news/article.html?2002/01/14/1

Thought I’d relate what happened at the theatre yesterday. I try to go there once or twice a week, sometimes over lunch, sometimes after trade school. To give you an idea what it’s like: it’s long and narrow and has a dozen of cubicles. There’s a cinema, the bathrooms, followed by the suckatorium, and beyond, the backroom, dimly lit, with sling and private 'viewing booths'. Something for every taste. You get a wide variety of guys in there, and I look younger than my age—16, maybe 17. I get my choice of men, since youth is at a premium. A year ago I came down with Hepatitis B—the doctor said I’m a carrier. Of course the guys here never ask me if I’m clean; my baby-face beguiles them. They briefly ponder how someone so young got in, and then approach me. They think they’re gonna be the first to seed me. Breed me, maybe—but not seed me. They’re a thousand loads too late for that.

Yesterday I went there over lunch. The guys at the front desk know me. I’ve made it with two of them, and when they’re on duty they let me in for free, but yesterday, after paying my admittance, I went into the suckatorium, which was a hallway lined with cubicles each of which had one or two glory holes. It was deserted - bummer! But I did come across two guys in the backroom. An older fucker spread a young dude’s cheeks. A chill crept down my spine. Anonymous fucking is such a turn-on!

I wandered back into the suckatorium where I listlessly fed coins into the slot. There was a three-way on the screen, but I hardly paid attention. My heart jumped a beat when the adjacent door creaked open. It was the old dude from the backroom. I hoped he had a load left in his balls. The dim red light in the next cubicle went momentarily went dark, then his massive shaft lunged through the glory hole. Oh God! Talk about a fantasy cum true - it was the most fuckin’ beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on: red and raw, fresh from fucking, coated with slime, shit and ass juices. Thank God - the guy hadn’t yet cleaned his cock off. So, there I was, staring at his filthy dick. I wet my lips, inhaling the musky smell of ass and cock and cum, and went at it. His cock was even thicker than I thought and almost immediately my jaw ached from the distention I experienced as he rammed it down my throat. I licked and sucked, and when he thrust all the way to his root. I gasped for air on the out-stroke. It was hard not gagging, but I did my best, only regretting that I couldn’t take it up the ass.

Ten minutes later I found myself in love with his rod. I was slobbering on his fuckin’ man shaft like the slut whore that I am. I fell into a tonguing-sucking-licking frenzy. I’d have done anything he wanted. Some bozo entered the adjoining booth, and whispering through the glory hole behind me, egged me on. The old fart had me tongue his balls, ranted on about how good it felt, grunting that sleaze balls such as himself loved working over young guys like me, converting us to sex pigs. Man - I was a mess! My eyes watered as he resumed ramming his cock down my throat, while my enthusiastic audience-of-one urged me to swallow the old fart’s load. As this scene progressed, the sleazy old cunt asked me "Where do you want my dirty seed?" "Up my ass" I replied, but the old fart chuckled "Not likely, kid," so, with one stupendous effort, I took his rod all the way down my throat. It was all I could do to keep from gagging. Each time he withdrew his cock from my throat I grunted "Gimme that load, man" and after a couple of rounds of in-and-out, the old fart whacked off and sprayed his jism down my throat, on my face and in my hair. It was POZITIVELY awesome! He grunted this was his third load in one day, mumbled what I thought was some remark approaching a 'thanks' and left. So there I was—drenched with HIV and horny. I used my fingers to cleanse my face and swabbed my tongue to savor the last of his toxic man seed. I massaged the venom onto my gums, a trick I’d learned to make the flavor last. The jism in my hair just had to wait, since I’d forgot my comb. I figured it’d dry into gooey gobs before I got a chance to comb it out.

As I stumbled to my feet and unlocked the door to my cubicle, the bozo in the adjacent booth simultaneously unlatching his door. With a finger he pushed my door ajar, and stood there insolently contemplating me. Except for the two of us, the suckatorium was deserted. Compared to him, I must have seemed a worthless piece of shit, a young male of slender build, 19, 5’6, 130. “Heard you have a taste for dirty cum, kid. You take it up the ass?" I nodded. He stepped into my cubicle and latched the door behind himself. How shall I describe this bozo? A lumberjack? Nah - there were no lumberjacks in my town. Construction Worker was more like it. He sported a grey scraggly beard, 40 to 45 years old, overweight. He had a noticeable beer belly that was covered by a flannel shirt. He also wore a pair of dirty jeans and muddy work boots. Not exactly my preferred type, but beggars can’t be choosers.

He undid my pants, and pulled down my briefs. My buckle hit the floor with a dull thud. He twisted me about so my ass faced his crotch. I knew exactly what was coming next. Thank God! He unzipped and dropped his drawers, and pressed his smelly dick against my love canal. I never got a good look at it so I can’t describe it for you, except to say, the way he rammed it in me, without any lube, not even spit, his cock was more than adequate. Damn, it hurt! But I didn’t care. The fucker plowed me furiously, plunging into my ass in one fell swoop, his balls slapping against my ass cheeks. He reamed my ass, sawing in and out, and frankly I was so horned-up I didn’t care who fucked me. With only a few strokes he moaned and blew his dirty seed into my ass. I actually felt his poison spew into my guts. He left, not bothering to close the door. It stood agape at 45 degrees. I reached behind and felt my hole - it was extremely sore from the dry fucking - and - yes - when I lifted my fingers to the screen I could see I was bleeding!

New arrivals mulled around. My sexual thirst remained unquenched. I opted to be late for class, which was a small sacrifice: I lived to FUCK! That was my life purpose. Pants and briefs around my ankles, my hole dribbling man cum, I turned my ravaged pussy toward the door, inviting any and all takers. A cute business type in suit and tie obliged. His golden wedding band glistened in the screen light as his wedded shaft invaded my ass.

Good student that I am, (and thorough motherfucker), I had done my homework. About ten percent of gay men have had Hep B, and about seven percent of those who have had it are carriers - and yeah, I'm one of 'em. If I infect another guy, tough shit: he's old enough to know the risks. And anyway, it’s no worse than catching HIV or AIDS. So I’m not really doing anyone any damage. HEP B is active in my body fluids - semen, blood, saliva, urine, and even feces. So, as far as I'm concerned, there’s no such thing as playing safe, no matter what the other guy wants to do!

I'd like to tell you a little story. It's about something we've all heard about and many of us fear. It's about HIV. How I went about converting.

Perhaps this is a little too abrupt for you, this blunt disclosure of my status. A lot of you get queasy discussing AIDS. If you are one of those, this story is not for you.

My lover and I met about a year after I divorced my wife. I’d been browsing for a masseur. I’m not into paying for sex, but I’d been promoted to a new position and wanted a special celebration.

I’ll bet you're saying, "His BF is a prostitute!" Well, I didn’t intend for him to become my Lover. We hit it off and I wanted to see him on a regular basis as a person, not a client. He agreed, long as I understood that he was a “working boy”, and there could be no expectations, other than for a mutual good time.

The early days were interesting. He was always on the go, doing tricks, clients, friends, fuckbuddies, parties, etc. Get the picture? It wasn’t long till I wanted more of him to myself.

I’d never had unsafe sex. Sure lots of straights and marrieds cruise the parks and bookstores, and get off on the sleaziness of cumming in any hole that presents itself. I did get off on sleazy, but never played unsafe. Until one night, that is.

That night this sexy BF sat on my hard, bare dick. Maybe you can remember the first time you came bareback up someone's ass For me it was mind-blowing, since I’d never done it raw. And, incidentally, I’ve NEVER used a condom since—with him or anyone else.

He was ecstatic as my seed pulsed into him. I don’t know how many times he’d been fucked since we’d met nine months before, but he was sure enamored of my jizz inundating his gut.

It seems odd that I yielded so readily to unsafe sex, since I’d always been so careful with everyone else. He was blatantly promiscuous, and to me that spelled “high risk.” Sure enough, a week later I was diagnosed with genital herpes.

My first thought was that I’d contracted it from him; but there was no way to tell, since herpes transmits so easily. I told him I’d have to lay off sex for a while. He got checked by his doc, and got a clean bill of health.

Both our docs suggested an HIV test. We talked about what would happen if one of us came back poz. He seemed concerned, but not afraid. He knew the odds, considering how promiscuous he'd been. I wasn’t as unflappable as he, so it was great having him around to talk to.

I figured we were getting pretty tight since we discussed so honestly and openly the hardest things to share. Death and disease are not your typical infatuation topics. That weekend we headed to Palm Springs. I got my results back the day before we left. His weren't due back for a week.

I’d tested neg. As I walked out of the doctor's office, I breathed a huge sigh of relief—but things change, and today I feel much differently.

Anyway, I was almost clear of herpes. I had been taking my meds regularly, and didn’t think I could infect him.

Actually I was so horny to fuck him and cum in his ass, we didn't even check into our room. When we got to the Bed-and-Breakfast, we went skinny-dipping. But I had one thing in mind, and, damn, if we didn’t do it in the pool. That was hot! We had a wonderful weekend of laughter, love, and sex.

The week after we returned we reminisced about our trip. For both of us, the pool was numero uno. For him it was doubly memorable.

First there was a couple in the hot tub across from us who’d watched us fuck. So BF had a voyeuristic streak! I hadn’t been aware of that or them.

The second was my BF’s fantasy that I might be giving him herpes or he might be giving me AIDS—his test results weren't back yet, remember?

It is one thing for two guys having high-risk sex to consider the possibility (no, probability) that they might infect each other. It’s something else to eroticize about it.

Disgusting? Absolutely. Sick? Positively.

The only trouble was—that was my fantasy, too!

We got so horny discussing AIDS that we simply had to fuck then and there. We raced to the bedroom so I could screw him and eat my cum out of his ass.

After that we made a pact. If either of us tested poz, the one would pump the other full of contaminated jizz. If one of us became infected, he had a duty, obligation, to knock up the other. How many nights did I fantasize about breeding him! To do so would be a dream come true.

As time went on, we fell deeply in love. Ours was always an “open” relationship that allowed third party trysts with whomever we wanted—but afterwards we always shared our dalliances.

Our lives became intertwined, and when I bought a condo we moved in together. But we retained a sexual autonomy most relationships can’t stand. Our sex lives were especially full back then. We made glorious love together, augmented by adulterous flings. Maybe not so much on his part. His escort work had dwindled considerably. But I more than made up for everyone he didn’t do.

It was during one of those dissolute affairs that I got nailed. I tested quarterly—not because I was scared of HIV—but because I wanted to know as soon as possible. I wanted it to happen. One morning I woke up in a night sweat and got tested the next day. I had sero-converted.

Can you imagine what it's like to hide a smile when your Counselor tells you you’ve converted? I was neither sad nor angry. I was thrilled!

It was a lunch time Thursday when the Counselor told me. I rushed back to the office to call BF.

I couldn't wait to fulfill my part of the bargain. I got rock hard with an erection that could cut glass. I couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt to be carrying the Virus, with which I would soon infect my Lover. It gave me such an erotic high, I could barely function for the rest of the day. I couldn't wait to get home to impart “THE GIFT.”

I leaked precum all afternoon, and took every opportunity to taste it with the knowledge that the BUG was present in that salty, slippery fluid. I knew BF would relish it on his tongue and lubing his tight hole. When I arrived home that afternoon, I was greeted with passionate hugs and kisses at the door.

The Gift I had to share with him aroused us in the most magnetic way. We were so high with lust that we lost our appetites as our dinner conversation turned erotic.

"I want my poison cum soaking in your ass all night. I've been thinking of nothing else ever since I found out. I need to breed you."

"Knock me up. Make me join the Brotherhood. P-l-e-e-e-a-s-e!"

Such were the sentiments we exchanged that weekend. We called in sick, so we wouldn't have to work on Friday.

We spent the next three days doing it—in bed, the living room, the kitchen, bathroom and garage—everywhere—fucking and sucking. Barely a drop of poison jizz escaped us. I fucked him 13 times. And, in between, I sucked him, he fucked me, or I ate my noxious cum out of his ass. He was sore and I was worn out by Monday morning.

Although he didn't get his test results for several months, I knew I’d pozzed him. I knew it with every drop of caustic cum he took.

That weekend was 6 years ago. We frequently have poz and neg guys over for bareback sex, relishing each drop of toxic jizz we share. Do you believe in reinfection? We certainly do, and it gives us special pleasure when the poz loads we take rejuvenate the Bug in us, despite our meds. Perhaps we’re shooting for a Superstrain.

I have not been ill with HIV-related complications. But BF was hospitalized once for loss of weight. He’s gained it back, though, and then some, and has been healthy ever since.

We’ve never regretted THE DECISION. Our Conversions defined our lives and solidified our love. I still get hard reliving his. So we continue to share the BUG. But that’s a story for another time.

It's been a little over two years now since I got the letter that changed my life. Like any other day, I came home from work and checked the mail. There was a hand-printed envelope on linen paper. I opened all the other mail first, saving the best for last.

Inside was an invitation to a weekend party. It was from Tom, a guy I’d met at the baths. Tom was an easy-going sort, who made me to open up to him. Among other things, I admitted that I found conversion stories sexy and appealing.

Tom told me he was POZ. By legal definition, he had AIDS, but to look at him you’d never know. Seeing him fucking and sucking at the baths made me want to be like him and POZ.

I’d fantasized about getting AIDS and passing it to others, more than I cared to admit. Up till then my fantasies had been confined to my imagination. They could hardly have been otherwise, since I was neg.

But now I had a invitation to a weekend party of his. It emphasized a group of “POSITIVELY-MINDED MEN,” and " BAREBACK SEX." No misinterpreting that. It was a Conversion Party.

My dick was hard and dripping. No way could I turn that down. A weekend with a group of horny guys into HIV and AIDS! Fuck, yeah, I wanted to attend! The invitation was RSVP. I called Tom up and told him I was coming.

The party was three weeks off. I daydreamed about it constantly, replaying my twisted fantasies in my mind. I told myself I was headed for a king-size let-down. But it could turn out to be the kind of sick symposium I’d dreamt about.

The party was set for Friday night till Sunday noon. The invitation said clothing would be checked at the door, so I needn’t worry about what to wear. I'm decent looking guy and in good shape, so I didn’t expect I’d disappoint anyone. And, judging from what I’d seen at the baths, Tom’s tastes in men and mine were similar. The others in attendance would be at least a pleasant eyeful.

I told my lover I’d be gone till Sunday noon. We have a really open relationship. We’ve teased each other about who’s the bigger whore, and who'd be the first to catch an STD and pass it to the other.

I rang the doorbell, and this cute little guy about my age opened up. He was wearing only briefs, which did little to mask his heavy cock and balls.

" I'm Mike. And you are?"

"I’m Joey."

He picked up a list of attendees.

"Got it." He crossed off my name and pointed to a door.

"You can undress in there, and I'll lock up your clothes and valuables. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve been doing this for three years now and haven’t lost a hankie.”

I entered the bathroom off the hall and slid out of my jeans, sneakers, and polo-shirt. The house was well-appointed and expensive.

I returned to the hall wearing only my briefs and found Mike greeting a little doll of a boy who looked no older than 20 or 21. His name was Sam.

Mike introduced us . “Give me your briefs,” he said. "Everyone else is nude. I'm just wearing since I’ve got to answer the door."

His extended hand waited for my underwear.

The guys appraised me as I stripped.

My dick had grown semi-hard, and Sam was titillated.

"I gotta get a piece of that before I leave. Sure hope you’re one of those.”

Sam entered the bathroom to undress, not closing the door as I had.

Mike winked as he folded my clothes.

I wondered what Sam meant by "one of those."

Mike told me to go on back and join the others.

“You won’t have any trouble finding them. Straight down the hall. Just listen for the music and the voices.”

A dozen guys were lounging about, sitting, standing, lying, drinks in hand, talking and laughing. A quick assessment told me I'd been right. They were all quite nice.

One guy was fiftyish, a daddy-type for sure. Another looked like a high school kid. And everyone else was somewhere in-between. But they had one thing in common. They were all appealing—good-looking, healthy (I supposed), sexy, American males.

A couple of the guys came up and introduced themselves. One handed me a beer. Another pointed to the joints on the table. I noticed Sam, now nude, had entered and was socializing.

Guys were still arriving. And some were getting pretty soused. Personally, I hadn't had much to eat and the cocktail and the weed quickly took its toll. I suspected others were feeling likewise.

About that time Tom appeared. Apparently he'd been waiting for the last guest to arrive, because Mike, the greeter, came in behind him. Tom turned down the music and called for quiet.

He welcomed everyone and said he was glad we could attend.

"You all know what we’re here for, and that’s lots of good sex. But apart from that, I know a lot of you have personal objectives. You know who you are—so I won’t go into that.

I hate to restate the obvious, but there are ground rules. Oral is okay, but stick primarily to fucking. Make sure when you cum, it’s in someone’s ass. . Switch positions often—and I don't mean missionary and doggie-style.”

Guys giggled nervously.

"I mean be top as well as bottom. Give as well as you get. Share your seed. Change partners often. Don’t do the same guy twice till you’ve done us all. Charge up as many guys as possible. Take as much ass-cum as you can. And anyone found in the possession of a condom will be asked to leave.”

"There are 20 of us here, not counting me. 12 of you are neg, and 8 are poz. That puts the odds at 40% of taking a charged load. Don’t ask anyone his status nor reveal your own, which could change at any minute."

I felt my knees go weak. This was a party planned around RAW FUCKING with guys into AIDS and HIV, an assemblage of Gift Givers and Bug Chasers. These guys, like me, were out to fuck and be fucked raw, HIV and AIDS be damned.

"Don’t be too quick to wash the cum out of your ass. But bath and shower, replete with towels, are down the hall and on the right. There’s also the john where you came in and one downstairs. The den has porn vids running continuously. Same with the rec room in the basement. Both are good places to catch a catnap. You’ll find plenty of snacks in the kitchen, but please avoid that area between 7 and 8 AM and 4 and 5 tomorrow. That’s when the caterers come in.

“As most of you know, there’s a variety of lube and weed and poppers at the bar. Do anything and anyone you like."

Tom’s last risqué remark sparked a massive, marathon orgy. Guys were pairing up everywhere. They were piling onto couches and the pillows and mats that lined the carpet.

A hungry hand groped my ass, and I turned around to find Mike, the greeter.

"Ready for some action, stud?" His throbbing cock betrayed concupiscence.

"Sure am."

We wound our way past a maze of tangled bodies to a vacant mattress in the corner. He fell on top of me, and his dickhead probed my ass.

He hastily smeared some lube on me, and used the rest to coat his cock. With two powerful thrusts he entered me then paused as I absorbed his fullness. Our lips connected; our tongues entwined.

He slid his big dick in and out of me. He fucked with slow, deliberate strokes, almost entirely withdrawing before plunging in me to the hilt. I matched him stroke for stroke, meeting his invading shaft with my eager cum-hungry ass. I wanted to milk the cream out of this man. I moaned in lust for the d-i-s-e-a-s-e.

"Fuck me, Mike. I want it," I said between his thrusts.

"What do you want, Joey?" he asked as he pulsed into me. "Tell me what you really want."

"I WANT YOUR POZ CUM, MAN. I WANT YOU TO PUMP ME FULL OF H-I-V!"

That sent him over the edge. His pounding became furious.

"YOU’RE SO FUCKIN’ TWISTED, MAN. YOU WANT MY VENOM IN YOUR ASS.”

"Well take it, then!"

"Shit, yeah, Mike. Cream my ass! Please shoot in me!"

He lunged forth viciously as his thick cock spasmed in my hole. Hot blasts of noxious seed violated my guts. The deadly virus invaded me with every fiery jab. I ground my buttocks against him to absorb his lethal load.

He stopped, hips jutted forward, his dick impaling me as far as it would go. We lay there in the aftermath.

Quietly he said, "You're pretty obvious about being NEG. Don’t give it away. Everyone here wants POZ JIZZ, either to infect or reinfect them. Keep ‘em guessing. Don’t disappoint by letting them know you’re neg. You may not be much longer."

With that he pulled out and wandered off, seeking someone else to poz or be pozzed by.

I didn't waste time worrying about his status. If not him, then someone else would do me, I was sure. Ravenous, with unfulfilled carnality, I approached the bar in hope a beer might quench my prurient thirst. A fortyish guy did the same. After a minute of small talk, he cut to the chase.

"You wanna fuck or be fucked first?"

"I want to fuck you, dude,” I said. I gotta get this load up someone's ass before I cum."

Unceremoniously we made our way to a mat, and he raised his legs to take my seed. I imagined I was poz and was infecting him. For all he knew I was. Regardless, the tight mancunt beneath his balls proved a succulent receptacle.

It didn't take me long to shoot. We traded places and his dick slid easily in my cum-lubed hole. As he drew close I licked the purple bruises on his neck. Wet with spittle they seemed to glow. KS lesions? Probably. The guy had AIDS.

Suddenly inspired I pummeled my ass against his pubes to meet the penetration of his noxious cock. And when I felt him tensing, I ground my ass against him, to suck out every drop of toxic cum.

He winked at me as he withdrew, but I clasped my hands behind his back and wouldn’t let him go. He knelt there, staring down at me, a cynical smile transfiguring his face.

He held his right arm out to me, palm up and turned away, revealing a large lesion, halfway between his armpit and his elbow. He pressed it to my lips, and I began to lick and suck it till the skin around it reddened.

He stood straight up, his ankles planted firmly against my ribs. His cock, now shrunken to a fraction of its former mass, spewed forth a golden stream aimed directly at my gaping mouth, but raining down on neck and shoulders, dribbling past my ears and pits, onto the surface of the rubber mat. The guys around us applauded.

His defecation done, he set out in pursuit of other pleasures. Hastily I retrieved a towel to dry myself and the urine from the mat.

From there, the party blurred—whether from the weed, or beer, or lack of nourishment, or merely from the aberrant thrill of being a participant in such decadent behavior—I cannot tell.

For the next 36 hours I fucked and got fucked by guys at least as debauched as I. It became obvious, as time went by, from casual conversations and off-the-cuff remarks—I was in good company—with men as hell-bent on self-annihilation as myself.

As the party went on and guys got spent. A lot of us were eating or dozing or merely watching, and only a few were actively fucking as the rest of us egged them on.

When I fucked before the group, I heard them urge the top to poison me. I wondered if there was a single neg present who had escaped at least one charged load. I was soon to get an answer.

Near noon on Sunday Tom had each poz guy stand up for accolades.

7 of my 15 loads were POZ. The second guy I’d fucked, the guy who pissed on me, actually did have AIDS. My rod ballooned as I as I recalled each episode.

The young man, Sam, hadn't been so fortunate.. He was the sole participant who had managed to avoid every poz guy present.

Defiantly, he lay down before the group and raised his legs. He dared any Giver to step forward and pump a charged load in him.

Tom intervened before anyone could react. “Being poz the longest and having fucked the least, I figure I deserve first crack at you.”

We all cheered as our host plowed into Sam. After Tom, a couple other poz guys mounted him, in what turned out to be, for Sam, a very effective climax.

Tom reminded us that, in a week or two, we might get sick. He’d hosted these poz parties annually for the past three years, and we’d be invited back. He kept a roster of similar affairs with other groups and individuals. If anyone remained unconverted, a rematch was available, with himself or one of his poz buddies. He urged us lucky ones to share the seed, overtly or covertly. I took his words to heart.

12 days later I fell ill and stayed home from work. In the coming months I was a nervous wreck till I got my test results.

. That evening I had my dick up my boyfriend’s ass as usual, in the intimate fuck you do with someone you've screwed a hundred times.

"I got my test results back today."

He flinched, but kept on fucking.

"So you’re pozzing me?"

"I guess."

We kissed, as he pushed up to accept my jizz and welcome the inevitable. His acquiescence turned me on. I must have spewed a cup of venom into him.