Hotload84

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.

On business in the Midwest, I decided to spend the weekend in the city. I went up with my buddy, Wendell. We hit the Traxx on Saturday night, and got there about 11:30. I always thought Midwesterners were hot, but that night they were extra hot. I ordered a second beer and needed to take a piss. Two fags were at the urinals. I figured they were friends or lovers, since they were dressed alike with biohazard tattoos on their shoulders. I took the urinal next to theirs. I had a raging hard-on, but couldn’t help it. That always happens to me in bars, and I really had to piss. So there I was, my 7” jutting up as I tried to redirect it down. At last a reassuring flow of yellow spewed forth to allay the escalating pressure in my groin. In other words—I pissed while hard. I guess that impressed the biohazard boys. They turned to watch me. As the one next to me began to piss, his Lover jacked him off. Piss splashed in spurts in the bowl next to mine. “I’d love to take that up my ass,” I said. The Pisser said he’d be happy to oblige—but needed a few more beers to beef up his reserve. His Lover smiled, and told me he’d never been able to piss HARD like me. I told him he could shoot in me, HOWEVER. That cinched it, and we made a date for 2 AM. I didn’t want to blow my load just yet, so I opted to suck cock. Sure enough in minutes I had five eager volunteers surrounding me. Meanwhile my bud wondered what was keeping me and strolled into the crowded john; and there I was—doing my best to satisfy all cummers. I sucked off the five dudes—taking their loads in my mouth, but one landed in my hair. As I combed it out, my horny bud kissed me to suck their jizz out of my mouth. I told him about the tattooed guys as we walked out. Wendell and I have messed around a lot. We’ve never questioned our partner’s status. The guys we’ve done have either told us they were neg (as we told them) or told us nothing at all. It’s better not to know. But making it with two poz guys who advertised it on their shoulders was too overt for Wendell, who preferred to sit this one out. At 2 a.m. the guys were waiting. I explained my bud just wanted to watch, and that we were at the Westin ten minutes away. We hopped a cab and headed for our room. The three of us started messin’ around at once, as Wendell sat in the big easy chair. I stripped completely and blew the studs; and they took turns at rimming me. The Pisser had some poppers and I offered him some lube. He worked my hole—stringing precum from his shaft and blending it with oil. He was wearing a thick metal cock ring, which made his dick veins pop like crazy, and was really oozing precum. My ass got really slick. Effortlessly he slipped it in me, and in seconds was pissing up my ass. Things were, to say the least, intense; and I suggested we retire to the bathroom. Carefully, with him still in me, we tiptoed to the tub. He pissed in me again and pulled out. It was all I could do to hold it in. His Lover stripped and stepped into the tub as the Pisser opted out. My new tub-mate pushed me down, propped my legs upon his shoulders, and started playing with my hole. He asked for a plastic cup, and Wendell handed it to him. He pissed into the cup, filling it to the brim, then filled a second one halfway. He motioned to his bud, who spread my ass cheeks with his fingers. With my hole gaping open, my tub-mate poured the first cup of piss in my ass, and then the second. A yellow stream of urine ran down my thighs. I was about to lose it all, but was ordered by the dudes to keep it in. I struggled to comply. The lovers began jacking in a cup. I grinned at Wendell, who mouthed “Hot!” as he massaged his crotch. They shot their loads, which filled the cup with an inch of cream. The Pisser spread my cheeks again, and my tub-companion poured the cum in me. My shaft was hard; but I dared not touch it, for fear of losing it all. I was enjoying myself too much for that. I remembered the butt plug in my bag and asked Wendell retrieve it. He handed it to the Pisser, who lubed it in the cum cup and rammed it up my ass. My load of piss and cum secure, I jacked ferociously and shot cream all over myself and on the tile wall behind me. The eager lovers scooped it up and licked it off their fingers. The Pisser pulled the butt plug out of me Piss and cum exploded from my hole, splashing my ass and legs and the thighs of my companion. The bio-boys, ever so polite, helped me up; and we showered and toweled off. The three of us sauntered into the bedroom. There was Wendell in the easy chair, stripped naked and massaging his hard shaft. It was 4 AM., and I figured we were done. But I was wrong. My tub-companion hadn’t fucked me yet. He pushed me on the bed and once again hoisted my legs to his shoulders. Like the two of us were meant for that position. The Fucker plowed me for half an hour. As he plundered my ass, the Pisser worked three fingers in my hole. The Fucker gave a final thrust and planted a third poison load of jizz in me. Pulling out, the Pisser shoved his big-ass dick in me so fast that barely a drop of cum was lost. He wasted no time in burying his own poz seed in me, only he kept it in me by laying there, atop me, his huge prick planted up my ass, trapping the two fresh loads of venom in me. I was pinned beneath him. The Fucker knelt between Wendell’s legs, drooling on his shaft. Old Wendell acquiesced at last. He gulped down Wendell’s cream and licked his lips, as he approached the bed With the Pisser’s dick still impaling me, he planted his lips on mine, and spit Wendell’s jizz, the part he hadn’t swallowed, smack into my mouth. It was going on 5. Reluctantly the Pisser pulled out. We exchanged names and numbers, and the bio-lovers left. As I stood up to lock the door, cum was running down my leg. Too gutted to clean up, I scooped it up and swallowed it. Wendell must have felt as fatigued as I, because, silently, he flipped the light switch; and we collapsed on our respective beds. There’s such a thing as being too tired to sleep. I lay there thinking about the Traxx and the bio-boys, and the loads of cum and piss I’d taken. I reflected on the last time I’d taken loads I absolutely knew were poz, and thought those were the first. Biohazard symbols danced in midair above my head. In the adjacent bed Wendell tossed and turned, as poz jizz leaked from my ass, soiling the sheet beneath me. He rose to go to the bathroom. I heard the toilet flush and lay there motionless as he approached my bed. After what seemed like eons, he crawled atop me, and we embraced. He sucked my ass, savoring the poz seed of the biohazard studs. Without further ado, he shoved his sizable Prince-Albert up my hole. I took my fifth load of the night. We slept like that, Wendell’s dick in me, trapping the seeds of poz and neg. I pulled off the slumbering Wendell and sat down on the toilet. Piss and gobs of gunky jizz spewed out of me. I gazed down at the toilet bowl. Gangly gossamers of neg and poz wafted on a sea of yellow. I didn’t flush it.

I met this guy on AOL and wrote that I admired him for being POZ and wanted to convert. He came over Wednesday night and fucked me. He shot two poison loads in my me. At first I begged him for his toxic seed and pleaded with him to breed me. It was so fantastic when he shot that first lethal load in me! A dream cum true! I guess I was the sickest guy on earth to have craved so blatantly this fatal disease; and he, the second sickest, for having passed it onto me. But that's the way we were. After cumming, he kept his dick in me so the venom would penetrate my vitals, then, for good measure, started plowing me again. My pussy was sore when he pulled out, and I sucked clean his poisonous shaft. I figured that he was one who could cum but once, and I'd already been sated. So I was surprised and a little dismayed when he penetrated me again. My legs were on his shoulders and held in place by hell-bent arms and hands, as he rammed his death-rod in me. I begged for him to stop, that I'd had enough. It hurt so bad. But he grinned and plowed me harder. Desperate, I tried to squirm away and push him off; but his was the advantage. I hurt from trying to fight him off, and my hole burned from the pounding. I crumpled back upon the mattress. The last of my resistance dissipated. Tears filled my eyes as the irrevocability dawned on me and ambivalence overwhelmed me. I'd asked for this, and now was helpless to prevent it. We both screamed when he came, I from pain and he from pleasure. His hard cock flexed within me, as wave after wave of contaminated jizz spewed into my violated bowels. He collapsed upon me, and we lay like that, I pinned beneath him, his toxic shaft penetrating my lacerated hole, and I realized I loved it. When we recovered, I sat astride him, and guided his blood-streaked cock again into my pussy. Despite the throbbing, I rode him passionately, massaging his noxious loads further in my innards. I shot the last neg load of my life onto his stomach. I sucked clean his fetid shaft and licked my impotent jizz from off his body. We kissed and writhed in celebration.

I met Carl through a personal in a gay publication. He was British, in his late 40's, stocky, and laid claim to a hefty 10 inches which loved to fuck ass. We I got to his hotel, he stepped into the bathroom, and I walked to the dresser. I saw the bottle of AZT, so I knew he was POZ. He came out of the bathroom naked, so I stripped too. He was every bit endowed as he’d advertised. I just hoped he liked to fuck as much, too. We lay side by side on the bed. He had me lick and suck his balls, and kneel to rim his hole. I did so enthusiastically. He rolled me on my back, forced his cock down my throat, and face-fucked me till I gagged. Pulling out of my mouth, he climbed atop me, dragging my legs to his shoulders. He forced his entire 10 inches up my ass. He plowed me hard and really slammed into me. It seemed he was going to fuck me to death. He muttered something about cumming, and started to pull out, intending to shoot on my stomach. But, quick as a flash, I grabbed his shaft, and forced it back up my ass. When he realized what I was doing, he didn’t resist. He let out a groan, and fell forward on me, driving his cock deep up my ass. Even though he was moaning and thrashing, I could still feel his venom splatter inside me. I was so turned on, I shot the biggest load of my life. It pelted his chest and rained down on my stomach. I thanked him, kissed him goodbye, and sero-converted several weeks later.

I hadn't been fisted for nearly a year till David warmed up to me at the Christmas party. I guess we were both slightly drunk. He frankly told me I turned him on, and he'd like to tear up my ass. He had a reputation for doing it long and hard and showing no mercy. Hot as he is, I jumped at the opportunity when he invited me home. He is a gorgeous macho dude who supplements his natural endowment with tats, and multiple piercings, and a P.A. His leather jacket and pants almost make me cum at the sight of him. I couldn't wait to get my clothes off. I didn’t have to. He did it for me. He shoved me down on the bed and jumped astride me. I acquiesced because I knew what I’d cum for. I needed his wrist and fat cock up my ass. He had a special room for his playmates. A plastic sheet lined the large double bed. Cans of Crisco and sundry jars and tubes and bottles littered the bedstand. In a minute my mancunt glistened with Crisco, and ten minutes later he was in up to his knuckles. The swelling, the fullness inside me made me feel sooooo good. He didn’t go in past the wrist, in deference to my lack of experience. But I felt him stretch and open his hand as his thumb and long nails assailed my hole. When he pulled out there was a mixture of Crisco and shit on his hand, but he assured me that was the finesse part of fisting. He wiped himself clean on my chest. It was then I noticed his nails, which were longer than those of most of women. I imagined what they had done in my ass, and precum gushed from my piss-slit. He lifted my legs to his shoulders, aligning his shaft with my mancunt. Without warning he plunged into me to the hilt. The fisting had left me so horny that I welcomed the intrusion—but in a matter of minutes his P.A. bit painfully into my ass. I was about to urge him to stop, tell him I couldn’t take anymore, when his whole body shook, and he shot his poz jizz into me. David is one of those guys who is quite open about his status, and brags about only doing it bareback. That made my conversion so erotic—like playing Russian Roulette with the odds stacked against you. We still get together now and then, always in his special room. He alternately fists and fucks me, and sometimes both, only now he goes in to the elbow. I let him have his way with me, do whatever he likes, because he is my mentor. He gave me the freedom to fuck with abandon. And he taught me the new Golden Rule—do unto others as David did unto me.

Just to get away, I visited my buddy, Jimmy, a guy I roomed with in college. He introduced me to his new boyfriend, Randi (32, 5'6, a trim 135, blue eyes, blonde, and very, very fem). “Randi and I are a couple,” Jimmy announced, “because we’re both neg, and we’re gonna stay that way. We don’t play around." Somehow I doubted that; but I was tired, so after dinner and a little TV, I hit the sack. My last waking thoughts were of slim, lithesome Randy, and how I had told neither of them I was poz. Early in the morning, I wandered into the kitchen to find Randi, wearing only a towel, making coffee. Since we were alone and Jimmy was asleep, I decided to test Jimmy’s theory. I was horny, and Randi was pretty; and I had nothing to lose. His back was to me, so I stole up behind him, and nuzzled his neck and ears. “I’m so pleased you and Jimmy had me cum over, ” I whispered, nibbling his lobes. My hand slid under his towel massaging his buttocks. To my delight, Randi bucked back against me like a bitch in heat. Wondering how far he would go, I pressed my finger to his hole. Again, he pushed back so hard I slid all the way in. He led me to the garage. A twin mattress lay propped against the wall. Randi gave it a nudge, and it plopped onto the floor. He spread his towel upon it so daintily. I pushed the amorous Randi onto his hands and knees and rimmed his ass till he was dripping wet. I groped his dick to check his arousal, and was he ready—rock hard and drooling. I pressed my death-dealing cock to his hole and penetrated him to the hilt, I got to where I was really pounding his ass, and he loved it. It didn't take long before I shot my first poz load deep into his tight neg hole. I slowly withdrew, careful to leave as much of the venom in him as I could. He twirled around, threw his arms about me, and kissed me. "You are neg, aren’t you?" A little too late to ask, I thought, but for his benefit I assured him I was clean. I made small talk long enough to ensure that my poz jizz would take. I didn’t want him running off to the bathroom where he could dump most of my seed down the drain. As it turned out, Randi didn’t go to the john until after we’d breakfasted. Later that day, Jimmy made his second mistake. (His first had been sleeping in.) He ran off to buy groceries, leaving the me and Randi alone. I was lying on the bed reading a mag when Randi ambled in. I wasted no time in stripping him down, all the while kissing and caressing him. Randi boy went down on me. Fearful that Jimmy might soon return, I hiked his legs to my shoulders, and fucked him. He grimaced as my hard cock tore into him. No lube at all that time, and I skipped the rimming and spit. My dick burned from the friction, and I knew, if I were irritated, I must be tearing him up inside. A copious flow of precum and Randi’s sweet ass juices soon made us both feel sexy, and I rammed my second poz load of the day up his dry, lacerated mancunt. Again, I carefully withdrew, leaving as much poison in him as possible. I held him in my arms and caressed him, which was easy because he was a sucker for love and romance. Sunday morning, the day of my departure, I was showering when Randi sauntered in. I had him under the flow so quickly he hardly had a chance to disrobe. I soaped up his back really good, and especially his crack, and spewed a third lethal load into him. We rinsed and toweled off together. Thank god, Jimmy slept late! Jimmy called me three months later to tell me he and Randi had split. Turned out the little whore had cheated on him, and now they had both tested poz. I commiserated with Jimmy about his fate and the fickleness of boyfriends. The way I see it, I really did Jimmy a favor. Having a boyfriend you think you can trust, only to find out he’s screwing around, is no laughing matter. I have only one regret. I’ve lost track of Randi. After three wonderful fucks and a double conversion, I’ve cum to regard him as a formidable stud. Maybe I’ll get his number and invite him down. Reinfection would be my intent.

I went to the baths last week. As I cruised the halls, I paused at the door of this muscle-bound bear with an incredibly thick cock. It was obvious he worked out. In response to his come-hither gesture, I entered. I sucked him, but when I went to sit on his dick, he said no—NOT WITHOUT A RUBBER. I asked why not. He said he only played safe. I mean, like I wasn’t born yesterday. I replied I ONLY DID BAREBACK. Exasperated, I said I needed a break. As I walked out of his room, I vowed to have my way with him. I wanted his poz jizz up my ass. I cruised the TV room, which was huge, lit only by the screen of a dim old projection TV. It was deserted except for this guy in the top tier of seats in the very furthest, darkest corner. With all the other seats in the theater vacant, I ascended the stairs, stroking my dick, and sat down beside him. His hand slid beneath my towel, massaging my hardening shaft. My towel came undone. I pushed it aside. He cupped my balls, and dug his nails into my hole. He was the same guy who’d fucked me two weeks before. Proclaiming how badly he needed to screw me, I invited him to a three-way. I led him by the hand out of the TV room and down the hallway to the room of the bear. He was still there, playing with that amazing dick. I asked if he wanted some company. He nodded. I bent over to suck him, pointing my ass in the direction of the ravenous cock behind me. With my left hand I let my towel drop; and with my right, I pushed the lube the bear had on his bed stand back towards my bud. Oily fingers assailed my asshole. His initial thrusts caught me off guard, forcing the bear’s mammoth cock down my throat. I gagged. My hands flailed for support, coming to rest on his breasts. I began to twist and squeeze his tits. All three of us groaned. The bear’s dick slickened in response to my expert cocksucking and tit play. I was in queer heaven as my bud’s cock thrust home. The Fucker moaned loudest. He was ready to shoot. Pounding me harder, my lips connected again and again with the bear’s hairy pubes. Our trilogy of passion grew louder until gobs of hot cum shot into my hole. Unceremoniously he pulled out, wiped his cock on his towel, and exited. That left me poised over the bear, passionately consuming his delectable love tool, savoring the poisonous precum oozing from his piss-slit. His palm brushed my balls as his fingers dove to my hole, massaging fresh cum in and around my mancunt. In one spontaneous motion he pulled me to the bunk, flipped me onto my back, and knelt astride me. Gazing into his eyes I saw not the gentle bear I’d been sucking, but a sadistic monster in insatiable heat. His engorged dick, thick to begin with, seemed swollen to twice its previous girth, purple with blood and slimy with precum. He lifted my legs to his shoulders and brutally rammed it home. Of course it didn’t matter. My buddy’s cum provided all the buffer a gay man could ask for. Only he didn’t just fuck me. He plowed me—as if mine were the first mancunt he’d ever ravaged, and he couldn’t get enough. At first it was great! I really enjoyed it. This self-proclaimed manwhore had successfully seduced the gentle poz giant!. But he bucked in and out, and his intensity surged. The pain grew excruciating as the cum from my first fuck expired, and I prayed the onslaught would end. After 30 minutes, the friction between us diminished, and I suspected the new lube was blood. At 40 minutes he let out a shriek so vociferous, it resounded throughout the entire bathhouse. Wave after wave of contaminated manseed spewed into my inflamed intestines. So inundated was I—that I was unaware that he’d withdrawn—till I perused his thick cock still fully engorged and frothy with red and brown cum and ass juices. I’d had an involuntary bowel movement—that explained the shit. As for the blood—it felt like my rectum was torn. We lay together, sated warriors in the militia of queer debauchery, appalled at the extent of our atrocities, yet ready to despoil any unwitting prey. A puddle of cum and shit and blood drooled from my anus onto the bed sheet. I had to get to the crapper. I retrieved my towel and stood up. “You okay?” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ll live.” He rubbed his fingers over the bed sheet, into the slimy mess of blood, shit and cum. He held his filthy digits up to my lips, and I sucked them. He smiled. “You turn me on, Guy.” We exchanged phone numbers, and I got the perception that the gentle bear would never be gentle again. We kissed passionately, lustfully. He spit his saliva down my throat. and I sucked it in avidly. This bear was my mentor, and I owed him for the biological blessing he had bestowed. A dribble of cum and blood and shit tickled my leg, forcing me back to reality. Half limping down the hall, each jarring step tormented my rectum. I knew I’d be laid up for awhile, and again, after that, when the flu finally hit—but I’d received the fuck of a lifetime and the gift for eternity.

I hope all you guys who were playing in the back room of the Cell Block last Friday had as good a time as I did. The floor was already sticky with hot sleazy cum when I arrived. I’m an experienced bareback bottom, so it didn't take long to get into the swing of things. When the first anonymous cock lined up behind me, I dropped my briefs and took a hit of poppers. He fingered my hole, and his shaft soon followed. One guy after another dumped their loads in me. One of the regulars asked me if I’d be interested in some really huge dick. Nine inches, plus. "Send him over!" “He only does bareback.” “So do I.” I turned around; and, sure enough, there was this huge cock. The rest was history. I hung around waiting for my next sperm donor I was high on pure energy and kept fading in and out, but I do remember some really hot dudes dicking me. A buddy of mine, who watched the action, counted at least 8 guys fucking me. One guy shot 3 times—without ever pulling out. Then there was this guy who wrapped his arm around me, stuck his tongue down my throat, and something cold and rigid up my hole. Turned out to be a beer bottle. He raised it to his lips and mimicked taking a swig. When I realized what he was wanted, I ass-muscled some of the spent loads into the bottle. He stuck 3 fingers up my ass to the knuckle, twisted them around, and sucked a pungent mixture of shit and cum off his fingers. This incredibly fat dude pounded the hell out of me, so I had to grab the wall to keep from falling. A hot "daddy" asked me if I wanted more cum up my ass. "Fuck, yeah!" I responded. He’d neglected to tell me he’d been saving it up for a month. Near as I can recall, I took at least 12 loads that evening. Thanks to all you guys who left their DNA in me. And to those of you who didn’t, I’m still looking for new mutant strains of HIV to rot my ravaged body. I know lot of you poz guys out there can help. And if you’re neg, maybe I can return the favor. Your boy, David

My best friend Clint and I decided to go camping in the hills of southern Ohio where we’d gone to college. Just to relive old times and chill out. I drove down on Thursday and met Clint in the hills. We set up our tent, finished the campsite by mid-afternoon, and decided it was time for cocktails and smoke. Clint started rehashing the good old days, when we had played together in 3-ways. He was amazed that we’d done so many of the same guys together, and I was still neg while he’d turned poz. I half-joked that, as many risks as I’d taken, and continued to take, my conversion was imminent. He quipped that guys like me would never convert without an Act of Congress and Divine Intervention. As the afternoon wore on, the booze flowed freely as did the smoke. It didn't take long for me to really tie one on. I just lay back and fell asleep in the comforting warmth of the afternoon sun, to the rustling of the leaves, and Clint’s familiar banter. When I awoke, my head was buzzing. It was night, and a campfire was glowing. I tried to get up, but couldn't. My wrists and ankles were bound to some stakes, and I was lying face down on a foam rubber mattress. I was also butt-naked. Clint was sitting beside me fully clothed. "What the fuck’s going on?" “Good evening, sleepy head,” he drawled. “That little something I put in your drink worked wonders. Those knots are from my scouting days, so don’t even try. I feel so lousy about you still being neg, I’m gonna convert you.” I demanded he untie me, and called him every name in the book; but he just laughed and ran his hands down my back. He massaged my ass cheeks and worked his thumb into my crack. He disappeared into the tent and came back with a brown paper bag. He told me it was time to begin my initiation, so I might as well relax and enjoy it. He shoved poppers in my face, and I was flying. From the bag, he produced an assortment of dildos, and said he intended to do me some serious damage before he mainlined me. I begged him to stop this insanity, but he rambled on about how I’d thank him someday; and the sooner we got started, the better, because this was not necessarily going to be pleasant; and how he was doing what he thought was best for our relationship—AND PROCEEDED TO RAM AN UNLUBED DILDO UP MY ASS TO THE HILT! God, that stung! I screamed! Clint told me to go ahead and yell my head off. No need to gag me. Nobody was near. He’d checked that out while I was asleep. He gave me more poppers, and continued his assault with various dildos. He knelt to show me the dildo he was using. They’d grown progressively larger. It was pink and tapered and covered with pointy latex spikes. But it was also covered with slime, ass juice, and blood. A little maniacally, Clint grinned, "Ready for the Feature Presentation, Buddy Boy?" It came as a relief when he pushed his fat 7-inch dick into me. Compared to the dildos, it was nothing compared to the pain I’d experienced; and his precum actually provided some lube. Clint started pumping my butt, telling me how good I felt. He picked up the pace and rutted me like a buck in heat. My ass was so sore it was almost numb. The sweat from his forehead dripped onto my neck and drooled down my back. He grabbed my shoulders and pistoned me passionately. Finally he pushed all the way in and lay still. “Here comes Pay Day, Buddy Boy!” he whispered,” as the Fucker spewed what seemed like a gallon of poz jizz into my mangled and mutilated butt. He grunted like a pig, and after a few more strokes, pulled out. I could see by the firelight his cock was covered with blood, my blood. He wiped his dick on a washcloth, then used the same washcloth to streak blood, shit, jizz and slime onto my face. I suspected I resembled a bloody Indian. "Love You, Buddy Boy. And maybe now you and I can be one." He rolled a sleeping bag under my thighs and left me there an hour for me to incubate. When he untied me, at midnight, we had a major knock-down-drag-out. Good thing I have a sense of fair play, or I’d been out of there in an instant; but as it turned out, we slept in each others’ arms until daybreak. Two weeks later, I got sick as a dog, and stayed that way for a week. Clint was with me the whole time, and we’ve been lovers ever since.

I didn't mean to do it. I can’t help myself. I get carried away, overcome by my lust. I was turned on when we met. He was my ideal of a son—a little older than what you’d expect, but, nonetheless, my ideal of a Boy. A perfect fit. He was, at the time, Neg. And I was Poz. We’d anticipated meeting for months. We knew each other’s likes and dislikes. He liked my cigars. I liked his boyish good looks. And when we kissed, it was a dream come true. That first lingering kiss seemed to last forever. He had my stiff, dripping cock out of my jeans, and fell to his knees giving me one of those heartfelt blowjobs guys only dream of. I was still smoking my cigar, puffing so hard the room clouded with smoke. When he rose to kiss me, I swapped cigar-spit for that great precum taste. I decided then and there I had to have him. I loosened his belt, and his jeans fell to the floor I teased down his briefs, and slipped my dick between his legs. The way he opened up convinced me. He WANTED it, even though he didn't want bareback with a POZ guy like me. His reluctance doubled my resolve. I was going to convert him. I had my hands under his shirt, working his nips, caressing his body. I gently turned him around, kissing his neck and nibbling his earlobes. My stiff meat found his ass crack. I pushed hard against him. He fell against the wall, bracing himself, mouthing a protest—but by then I had a nip in each hand. My cock found his puckered rosebud, one of those that seemed to scream to be violated. When I pushed in, he went rigid. “Don’t do this to me, Daddy." But I’m one of those guys who, given an inch, will take a yard; and I already had a “foot” in the door. I reached around and kissed him. "It’s gonna be OK. Just relax," I whispered. I had my dick almost all the way in. He wanted to resist, but his physical body needed it bad. All the time I was caressing and comforting him, telling him everything was fine, when it wasn’t. He shuddered and bucked against me. "Take me, Daddy! Make me your Boy!" From then on, he was mine, meeting my every thrust. As much as I was fucking his ASS with my DICK, he was fucking my ROD with his HOLE. I was into heavy strokes, fucking him hard. When I get a hot ass like that, it doesn't take long. "Where do you want it, Boy?" I asked, as if giving him a choice. He bucked so hard, that, had I decided to pull out, it would have been difficult. I plowed him unmercifully. The poison cream gushed out of my shaft into his innards. Again and again his sphincter muscles contracted. His whole body writhed. I was sure he was cumming.

I found my way to a "Neg Only" party a couple of nights ago. It was great fun. I had to "apply" by email stating that I was neg and DDF and attach a full frontage pic and mug shot. It’s to my advantage that I’m young, and have a job that takes me outdoors and gives me lots of exercise, so I’m always looking tan and fit and healthy. My cock jumped when the door opened, and I spied the nine neg asses lined up to greet me. I was a "first-timer" which meant I had to act discretely, but that didn’t alter my objective which was to poz, poz, poz! Myself included, there were two tops, four bottoms, and four versatiles. I started off with a married bottom named Troy, 28, blonde and blue-eyed, a PA transplant, so sweet and horny. We sat on the couch and made out. When he offered me his ass, I told him to sit on my dick and fuck himself silly. Eventually I pushed him onto his back, drew his legs to my shoulders, and pistoned until I delivered my first poz load of the night in his sweet virgin ass. Afterwards, I kept my dick in him to make sure my charge didn’t leak out. Mike, a 30-something Italian top, came up from behind and slammed his shaft into me. He pulled me off Troy, and stuck his dick into Troy’s sloppy ass. He alternated between Troy’s poz-filled ass and my long-pozzed hole. All the while I watched his reddening cock for abrasions. My mind worked feverishly on schemes to get Mike on the bottom. What a great affiliate he’d make! I ruefully recalled the "Ruffies" (date rape pills) I’d left on the dresser. I’d have to have Mike over one evening real soon. I got to screwing Davie, a 23 year old Korean, till he decided he’d rather be screwing me. Javier (Jay for short), a Latino with a short, fat dick, and a very cute Redhead joined us. The four of us ended up on the floor with Davie sitting on my dick. The Redhead crammed his shaft down Davie’s throat while Jay fucked me. I was in pig heaven! Kevin, our host, interrupted to bring us some poppers, and soon we were flying. Someone suggested double-dicking. Jay pulled out of my ass to slip into Davie’s hole beside me. Davie was a bit ambivalent about being double-fucked, and the Redhead offered his shaft as a diversion. Kevin fed Davie a tremendous whiff of poppers, and Jay slid into Davie with ease. What a wonderful sensation! My dick was in Davie’s pussy, pulsing beside Jay’s throbbing cock. It sent shivers all over my body. I blasted my second poz load of the evening into the Asian’s neg ass, dousing Jay’s cock with my virus. The Redhead replaced me, joining Jay in double-dicking the Asian. Davie moaned as my cumload-lubricant greased the two dicks engorging his mancunt. I watched them shoot into Davie, Jay first, then the Redhead, and salivated as they ground my bug into Davie’s damaged rectum. I dozed for an hour before approaching my final conquest—Joey, this short little guy, with closely cropped hair and brown eyes and the neatest little ass you’ve ever seen on a gay man. Without saying a word, I led him to a corner and rimmed him. I had already cum twice, so I knew my third load wouldn’t cum quickly. I fucked Joey mercilessly for 30 minutes, till he complained he was sore, then 10 minutes later I shot hard, fast, and furious. I figured I’d torn him up pretty good. It was only after cumming that I kissed him, lubriciously filling his mouth with my spit. He dug it. I’ve kept in touch with each of them. Of course, they think I’m neg. But that facilitates my objective—which is to poz them all. Key is to convert the tops who’ll infect the others. The virus’ll spread like wildfire, each of them thinking the others are neg. Then I’m gonna host a "Poz Only" party, and see who shows up.