pigskin

I’ll be there. Biohazard party on Friday, lots of breeding at Bull. 

On 3/7/2023 at 11:39 PM, LDNbttm said:

Any idea which places (apart from Horsefair) is the best place to get loads?

The Boots. No dancing, more fucking. 

I’ll be there. 

On 8/22/2022 at 4:08 PM, naughtymat22 said:

Hey guys, just joined this page and glad I found one. Visiting Folsom for the first time this year. Can anyone shed some light on how to find out about BB sex parties? Someone suggested the Biohazard one, but I’m not POZ. 

If you're bugchasing: Biohazardmen party on Friday can be an option. Officially only for Poz men, but no one checks of course...

I’ll be there. 

And since April 1st, proof of vaccination, recovery or a test are no longer required. Masks only on public transport. 

Let’s meet and breed!
 

On 11/16/2021 at 10:18 AM, cuminboyz said:

It is TOTALLY why I am who I am today. Its super clear.

To be fair I was already a kinky little boy, but they steered me into the perversions I have now.

I cover it briefly in my profile description. Here's the longer version.

In the mid to late 90s I was 10 years old. Like I said, I was KINKY. Hornier and younger than any kid I've met. By 10 I'd already been:

- fucking my own ass with carrots from the fridge...

- sucking off moms boyfriends dog and trying to get it to fuck me...

- borrowing an early digital camera from the school lab "for a project" and using it to snap naked pix of me sucking the dog...

- and finally being humiliated in school when I tried to play "show and tell" with another kid from a higher grade, and he got his friends to come too... when I pulled out my cock first and asked to see theirs, I instantly became the school "fag" "gay" and "queer".

It was the school incident that did it. I now had names for what I was into. I was a latchkey kid (mom worked nights, no dad) and I had the Internet. So I went online and quickly found gay places... and others like me.

I didnt say my age there, as I didnt want to get kicked out I just said that I was younger and the city I lived in. A guy replied and said he was from my area, and we emailed. I told him how young I really was. He didn't have a problem. We chatted about what I liked and I even sent him the pics of me and the dog (this is a key fact for later).

He soom suggested I meet him to chat about gay life in person. I was eager to meet another fag like me. So he arranged to pick me up and stay a night and we'd go to a party.

OK in hindsight obviously a sex invitation. But I was a dumb naive kid. I figured it was a normal thing to have gay parties. So I told my mom I was doing a sleepover at a friends (she never checked) and he picked me up from the street corner at 3pm.

He seemed high energy (I later learnt it was "tweaked") and super excited about the party. He lived outside town, like on a bit of land... it was dark when I got there so I really had no idea exactly where it was that day. Yup, big red flag in hindsight but this is why kids get in cars with strangers.

Literally the moment we got inside he closed and locked and deadbolted the door. He had a boyfriend (also tweaked) and the second the door was locked he POUNCED. Like grabbed me. And then so did the other guy.

I thought they were going to murder me. I screamed and yelled. But nobody was in earshot. They wrestled me into the bedroom and ripped off my clothes. Handcuffed me to the bed. Then they got naked and started to stroke and pet me (and them). They smoked something (later I learned crystal) and shotgunned some into me. I had a rush and felt weird. I was still thinking they were gonna kill me.

And then one lubed up his cocks and RAMMED my ass. Like, balls deep in 3 massive thrusts. No time wasted. If I hadn't been using those carrots in my ass already, they would have split me open. As it was it HURT. I screamed  bloody murder and bawled.

Many years later I figured out they had partially torn my sphincter... the unintentional side effect is that from then on I had no problem taking big cocks without much warmup. So, not all bad 🙂

So all evening, night, and the next day they fucked, sucked and molested me over and over. They kept going with the help of the drugs... and kept me up with occasional shotguns if i got drowsy.

They covered all the sex bases. Anal. Oral. Forcing me to suck them. Whips. Pissing in both my holes (I peed on myself). Having me fist them. So much more. And they took photos of me doing it all.

I later figured they knew they were poz, high viral...and HIV being a semi death sentence back then, decided to indulge some pedo rape fantasies while they could. I dont know if they pozzed me then, or later (I'll get to that).

Their insurance was to scare me. They knew where I lived. They had their photos and my dog photos. They said they were sending copies to their friends (which they did) and if I told anyone they raped me, they or their friends would come after me, my mom... and publish the pics of me so everyone would know what a slut whore faggot I was. To their credit they had it all figured out.

They dumped me back at home at the end of the weekend, and I was so sore I pretended I was sick and stayed home from school for a few days.

They figured they'd seen the last of me. But I was a kinky horny kid... who had never had an adult male pay any attention to me. And here were 2 guys who'd spent the weekend paying attention to me. Loving my body and saying how hot and beautiful and tight I was (also that I was a dirty slut, which I kinda knew, and that validated me and my dog [banned word] stuff). Here were guys who wanted me and found me sexy like nobody else did... found every inch of my body worth exploring... and I got their penises stiff. Gays, like I was. With big penises, and I liked penises. And, they hadn't killed me, right? And after it hurt, it didnt so much, and I even felt so sexy excited about a lot of what we did. And there was an excited thrill about the danger and adventure (and maybe some of that was also the crystal, but I LIKED the crystal, too. And I didnt know any other gays in real life. And so on and on went my thoughts. And as I thought my cock got hard every time.

So a few weeks later, one little 10 year old slut whore... emailed the guy and asked if he could have more please, sir...

Over the next years a lot of fucking went on. They did know other pedos and they fucked me too. And later on, I wasn't the only kid who came to their sex parties.

So all that... made me who I am. Easy link. I like anonymous bareback sex with anyone. I like pozzing, stealthing, cum, piss, chemsex, boys... everything they did to me, they made me too. They taught me how to be a [banned word]. Thanks guys.

 

ABSOLUTE PERFECTION😈

17 hours ago, PatientZero said:

As a kid, I always liked getting sick. It meant I could stay home from school, and the symptoms gave me a masochistic pleasure. I loved colds, I loved allergies, I loved sinus infections. Eventually I graduated to pneumonia, bronchitis, even the flu. Most curious of all, however, is that I would purposely spread this perpetual disease of mine, in meanspirited pranks and typical childhood mischief. I would spit into my friends’ food when they weren’t looking, and watch in sadistic joy as they degenerated into sharing my symptoms. I didn’t grow out of this phase either. As I came of age, I discovered the apex predator of the germ kingdom. AIDS. Incurable. Untreatable. Unsurvivable. While most adolescents rush to lose their virginity as soon as possible, I rushed to get pozzed.

When I was 17, I attended a party at a local fraternity. In a grueling marathon of gay sex fueled by weed and liquor, my ass had accrued seventeen different sperm samples. By the end of the night, a cocktail of different HIV strains was stewing in my bowels. A handsome Latino twunk named Adam pumped me full of his seed ten times over. A broad-shouldered man with a chest full of hair named Sergei made me swallow eight mouthfuls. A crowd of pretty Asian boys and cute black hunks encircled me and jerked themselves until I was bukkaked. I wallowed around in their infected cum like a pig in mud. I could feel poisonous seed coursing through my veins. I could feel its potency rotting my immune system with such incredible, arousing power. It was the truest ecstasy. The first thing I did afterwards was go get tested, to confirm what I already knew. When the nurse handed me my positive results, I celebrated that sheet of paper like it was my college diploma.

Speaking of which, at around the same time, I got an internship at the busiest hospital in my hometown of Springville, where I processed lab results. I worked in the very same lab where I received my diagnosis, as a matter of fact. Anyways, I wanted my newly infected bug to worsen. In fact, I wanted to be the vector of the gnarliest, nastiest, most potent bug ever. So I refused treatment, you ask? No. I took my prescription of darunavir just like the doctor ordered until the symptoms nearly vanished. Then I stopped medicating until my fever grew back full force. Then I resumed treatment until my bug once again teetered on the brink of death. Rinse and repeat indefinitely. The result was a viral mutation; a superbug that had developed an immunity to all possible treatment. I was essentially a mad scientist, having genetically engineered a deadly bioweapon using myself as the guinea pig. Now that my body was the vessel of an impending natural disaster, what was left to do? Spread it, of course.

Every night after my shift at the lab, I went to the local gay bar and fucked every single man that would have me. Some were easy as pie, fetishizing barebacking or even being fellow bug chasers themselves. But most demanded I wear protection, so I went around with a wallet full of a dozen condoms that I had to restock every night. Did I mention that I cut the tip off of each condom the night prior? Yes, there was not a single man who could escape the bite of my venomous cum. I stealthily planted my seed deep in their assholes where they would never find it until it was too late. The sluttier victims would openly bathe in the corrosive acid that bled from my tip, swallowing every drop after fellatio or wallowing around in a puddle of the stuff. Knowing how ruinous and radioactive my cum was, I’m surprised it didn’t melt their flesh on the spot. They would almost always remark on its bitter taste of decay; an eerie hint that they had just been fatally poisoned.

And remember; I work at the local blood test lab. Whenever someone came in concerned they had HIV, I would be the one to handle their paperwork. I would analyze their blood, they would of course test positive, but I would forge a false negative printout sheet and hand it to them. There’s nothing I cherish more than seeing their sigh of relief when they read that terrible, terrible lie. And so they would be sent back into the world, unknowingly spreading their disease further and further. And even if they did know, it wouldn’t matter. I didn’t contaminate their immune system with a normal STD; I impregnated them with an invincible tool of bioterrorism. I singlehandedly fostered an entire generation of either untreated or untreatable HIV, and finally after eight years of patiently waiting, the rotten fruit of my labors have been made manifest.

The irreversible change seemed to happen almost overnight. Once upon a time, Springville seemed to be the poster child for sexual hygiene. Now, it looks like town straight out of a zombie apocalypse movie. Men shamble the streets, deathly ill beyond treatment. Everyone is stricken with nigh-fatal fevers, their brains painfully boiling in meningitis. Pneumonia and tuberculosis slay the population like the Black Plague. I have unleashed an AIDS epidemic upon Springville. It is now a quarantined dystopia, a breeding ground of disease. A decade ago, the death rate here was 573. Now? 986 and growing. It’s the deadliest city in America, making even Detroit seem like a paradise. I write this remorseless confession on my deathbed. My AIDS-linked meningitis is terminal. I tried to seek treatment, to savor the sickness for as long as possible, but every last hospital and medical clinic within a hundred miles is overcapacity. I die with a smile on my face, knowing my horrible fate is shared with thousands others, and it’s all my doing.

Fucking hot story, man!