NYBBGUY58

PS: for constipation, I use Miralax. If you're ever on medication that could cause that problem, check with your doctor about Miralax. It's tasteless and gentle, but you have to allow time (a day or two) for it to work. My gastroenterologist had me take it every day at one point, I don't think it will interfere with any other meds but be sure to consult your doctor before taking it.

Wow, you've gone through a lot! I've had problems with post op MRSA infections, but aside from that and waiting to heal I haven't been prevented from having anal sex. In my case HPV was complicated by having HIV: my immune system wasn't strong enough to prevent infection. When I switched HIV doctors, he changed up my meds so my health improved overall, and I've had many fewer problems. To my knowledge, none of the guys who have fucked me have experienced any issues. I agree it sounds like the pain meds were what really messed you up, but more importantly that's what your doctor said. Hope this helps! HPV is really more or less ubiquitous from what I've heard. Everyone has them, the issue is that some strains can advance to cancer. So just keep up with regular check ups, allow yourself time to heal after any procedures and you should be fine.

HPV infection is extremely common. I've been getting treated for years but a colorectal surgeon. They take frequent biopsies and remove anything that looks remotely problematic.

They could, er, open up an entirely new market if they did a cum slut edition...

Oh, no. Did I really miss that? OOPS, not commenting on something I said. Sigh. Tired after a long day at work...

The no safe word is concerning; I guess I get the height thing, he's looking for someone shorter that he can dominate. But this ad drips bad attitude. I like being dominated, but not by someone who gets off on being unkind. The best encounters are always to some degree mutual, in my opinion.

Usually end up in doggy or flat on my stomach. I've read that doggy is actually easiest on the back, a consideration at age 63. It also lets me reach back and stroke the top's balls and possibly reach his ass. I do kind of like missionary, but not many tops are all that into it. The real answer is, which position does the top want to give it to me, since the overriding kink is pleasing whoever is fucking me!

It's all plausible, I agree, but as you point out there's no way to know if it's true. There are convincing arguments for spontaneous mutations - HIV is nothing if not extremely mutable - that also raise the question was it designed to be so. I more incline towards that whatever happened it was exacerbated by the lack of coordination between nations, general incompetence and extreme shortsightedness. Like any other environmental mess, I think that all we can do is cope with what's here and move forward as best we can. I concede that at 63 I'm a little jaded about these things. If I'm lucky I have another 17 years left to live which changes one's priorities.

It's more a thing in parts of the world (South American and Africa) where there are populations of monkeys - bushmeat, they call it. It's an available and important source of protein. Not sure how it works as a vector to spread an illness like HIV, unless it was along the lines of someone cuts themselves and the handles the meat, enabling the virus to infect them.

I should have been more clear - it was more an example of the range of things I have heard. When people are afraid, all kinds of things are said and believed in an attempt to control things. I stick to this works, good, I don't really know how my computer works either, but I use it!

Good to know! I should've checked before I "spoke"...

Your reasons for starting treatment soon is spot on, but I'm honestly not sure what is or isn't true about HIV. And I don't care. Let me explain... I was diagnosed at a early point (1993), and had heard all kinds of wild conjectures: that HIV was purposely unleashed to kill particular populations (except that it can infect anyone), it was a side-effect of a vaccine or other medical treatment, it escaped from a Plumb Island lab, and on and on. Sound familiar? I had friends who became extremely ill in the mid-to late 80s and early 90s and they tried all kinds of things, including drinking their own urine, bitter melon enemas, large doses of vitamins, etc. Once diagnosed I opted to do some Chinese herbal medications as symptom control, along with acupuncture. My spleen had to be removed because it was eating my platelets, and I had several life-threatening bleeds. But I didn't seriously try alternative treatments until I had a terrible reaction to the D-drugs (as they were called) Videx and Zerit, coupled with hydroxyurea and who remembers what else. I ended up with peripheral neuropathy (still bothers me a little) and pancreatitis, dropped a ton of weight and had to discontinue treatment for months (all because my doctor wouldn't listen to me, but oh, well). At that point I tried things like glucosamine, chondrotin, chlorophyll and creatine all of which did one of two things: nothing (best case scenario), screwed my digestion thereby making me sicker. Finally my doctor put me on the newest medications (at that point Crixivan was fresh out of the lab) and that's when I began to improve, though I had to recover from the alternative treatments, too. My t-cells sank to below 200, placing me officially in the category of full-blown AIDS in spite of a lack of any major opportunistic infections. At this point, my t-cells have rebounded to low normal (in the 500s) and I was able to weather break-through COVID this past November (vaccinated+booster). So who knows what works? Who knows what "really" causes all this? I've heard it argued that the criteria for establishing a virus were totally violated - no one has "seen" an HIV virus. At this point, I don't care. Medical science has come up with medications that work, keep me and others alive and can prevent transmission. I'm fine with that and with a purely, crudely pragmatic satisfaction with things as they are.

Last weekend I got 6 loads from 3 friends with benefits, appropriately diverse - 1 Nordic/North European; 1 Latin/Mediterranean/1 Asian. Wish I could have managed at least one from an African American, but I'm 63 and can only take so much...

Working on the next chapter...sorry I'm SO slow...

This is great news! Thanks for posting it. Too late for me, obviously, but I'm so glad that PreP options continue to expand.

I can only speak for myself: it wasn't exciting in the least. Of course, I was diagnosed early on before there was any effective treatment, so it was very anxiety producing to say the least. Having HIV changed my life in all sorts of ways that I couldn't have known about prior to experiencing it., both for the better and the worse. Sorry if my answer is disappointing...

I have been mostly undetectable or very low viral load for about 5 or 6 years since I switched doctors. One guy who I topped bare was a nurse, and his benchmark was anything below 1000(?). I had been consistently lower than that for years on the prior medication regimen, but with the current set of meds, I don't think my viral load has gone higher than 40, perhaps 60. For reference, less than 20 is when you're now considered "officially" undetectable.

That more than fine, there should be room for everyone here. It's your body and your choice and if anyone pressures you or belittles you about your choice, they're way out of line and can go fuck themselves. If I'd had the option, I would have used PReP to avoid becoming positive. I'm older - 63 - and my first physician's opinion was I likely caught HIV before anyone even knew it existed. I've been able to make a good life, and have had a lot of support and met wonderful people along the way. And having HIV certainly created some limitations as to what I could do with my life.

Amen!

I don't really focus on size...any will do. In my case sucking (along with rimming) is foreplay prior to getting fucked. I have the strongest gag reflex on either side of the Mississippi, and as long as there's enough dick to reach from him to me, it's all good!

Very interesting question, thought provoking. In some ways I had a couple of peak experiences in my 20s as a devoted little bottom boy. One left me so incredibly aroused that I freaked out and never saw him again (really stupid of me); the other was an intense sexual connection and the only guy I ever slept with comfortably, and that was in a 3/4 bed! There was also an older man who was partnered, so we only saw each other a few times - very hot dominant man. Since then there have been a number (😘) of different men (I'm 63), some who approached the first kind of peak but never the second. Currently there's one FWB whose tastes are the perfect complement to my own. I feel satisfied and completely accepted by him, which isn't the kind of thing you have every day. But I never found a man I could sleep with so comfortably again. The answer is yes and no in this regard for me I guess. Then there was the period where I actually branched out and was more of a verse, which has changed because I had radiation treatment for prostate cancer, and sexual function ended up changing dramatically. (Trimix helps a little, but not the same.) For that there's one guy with whom I had THE most intense orgasms, he is an incredible bottom. He's very patient with me in our infrequent get-togethers now. In my case I would say the answer is I'm content with what I've experienced in the past, and what I have now and find joy in learning who the guys I am with are sexually and what "does it" for them. Even as a top (I've experimented a little also with an FTM), the instinct to please carries over from my bottom-boy origins. Sex is a specialized form of play that can be a lot of fun, especially when taken as a a way to discover and share with another person.

Thank YOU! Glad you enjoyed it...

Okay, it only took three years to finish writing this...apologies for the long hiatus. ____________________________________________________________ Chapter 26) “Good morning,” my mom greeted as Mike and I joined them in the kitchen. Dad was sitting next to her, both of them in their usual places at the table, nursing mugs of coffee, dressed casually for a quiet weekend day. Maxi trotted over, tail wagging, to greet us and engage in his favorite past time: begging for food. “’Morning,” Mike answered, a little sleepily; I also mumbled a “Good morning” back. Mike and I had fucked a few more times the night before, then dozed off. We woke around midnight and I insisted on brushing my teeth, so we staggered to the bathroom to “get ready” for bed. After that, we’d fallen asleep immediately, still tired from our long flight, the day’s hectic schedule and strenuous sex. We took a quick shower together and threw on some clothes before joining my parents for breakfast. “How was the dinner?” I asked, pre-empting – at least temporarily – the coming catechism as I took out the blender for Mike to make his smoothie. “Was the fundraiser a success?” I hoped that would hold them for a bit. “It was more than successful,” Mom said. “Aunt Dita was thrilled, and the dinner was good, too…” “If you like rubber chicken,” my dad chimed in, looking up from reading the Saturday newspaper. “Ken,” my mom remonstrated him, giving him an exasperated look, “it was delicious, don’t be such a grouch. How…” she began. “Was the Times there?” I interrupted, staving off the inevitable interrogation for another precious few seconds. Mike was adding sliced banana to the yogurt, soy milk, blueberries and protein powder in the blender. In a minute he’d be ready to turn it on, helping to further delay the maternal inquisition. “Yes, Dad and I were photographed, and they asked me who I was wearing. How…” “Oooh, maybe you’ll be in the Style section,” I said bouncing in my chair, not having to feign excitement about my second-favorite part of the paper. “‘New York Times columnist Miriam Sachs sparkled in a vintage Norman Norell cocktail dress paired with pearl jewelry, a look that was anything but basic…’” I began, composing the possible photo caption. “Maybe I can get you assigned to writing photo captions,” my mom said with an affectionate smile. “How was your…” “Sorry,” Mike interrupted, gesturing at the blender. “That’s okay,” I said before anyone else could reply, “let ‘er rip.” The ensuing racket made conversation impossible for another minute or two. But as Mike joined us at the table… “How was your dinner?” Mom asked. I glanced at the time on the microwave; six minutes since we’d joined them, a personal best at delaying a conversation I didn’t want to have. I loved Mom, but she tended to go overboard quizzing about every detail – it was her journalist’s mindset. And I was especially worried that the subject of the “piano thing” would inevitably come up and I wasn’t ready to go there. Yet. “Great,” I said cheerfully as I spooned yogurt into a bowl and added muesli in the vain hope that a monosyllabic, non-committal answer would satisfy her. “Did you all have a good time?” she added, including Mike in this question. And she’s off… I thought snarkily while I chewed and swallowed. “Yeah, Em’s great,” Mike said between sips of his breakfast drink. “You survived it?” my dad interjected. “The two of them for a whole night can be a lot to take.” Yep, right on schedule. Mom would ask a million questions and Dad would jab and make sarcastic comments. “Ha-ha,” I said dryly. “They practically speak their own language…” Dad continued. “Oh, unlike you and Uncle Jeffy,” I interrupted, “yakking away about Flooplesdorf versus Herkimer and whether the court was correct in finding splinters…” My mom snickered audibly. Dad threw a dirty look in her direction. “That’s ‘scienter,” my father corrected pedantically. “It means knowledge of wrong-doing.” He seemed to direct his clarification at Mike, the potential lawyer-to-be. “Whatever,” I said back with a shrug, entirely aware that I’d used the wrong word. “How was the food?” Mom asked tamping down her amusement and steering to a less controversial subject. “It was perfect, thanks Mom,” I said, and Mike nodded his agreement. “Em says you’re the only person anywhere who makes meatloaf that’s delicious, and the pureed parsnips were wonderful. Did you try a new recipe?” I wasn’t lying about the parsnips, but I was positive she hadn’t tried anything new, just spinning out innocuous subjects for as long as possible. “No,” she smiled, gratified by the praise anyway. “So what did you do after dinner?” Shit. The very question I was hoping to avoid. “Oh, uh, we caught up on school and how things are going. Em isn’t that happy at MIT,” I threw out casually, pouring myself a mug of coffee and taking a sip. “I know,” my mom said. “Aunt Dita said she’s looking into transferring.” Damn. I’d been counting on that for a five-minute digression. I applied myself to shoveling down yogurt and muesli as if it were the most important thing I would do that day, hoping the conversation had reached its natural endpoint. “Darr and Em are hysterical together,” Mike said, grinning reminiscently. “I spent half the night laughing.” Oh, no…please… “You haven’t heard their routines over and over,” my dad said. “Just wait.” Mike looked surprised and puzzled by my Dad’s attitude. I should have warned him and asked him to avoid the topic of… “It’s obvious they’re really close,” Mike said. “I learned things about Darr I didn’t know.” Goddamn it. No more stalling possible. Unless… “Oh?” my mom prompted. “Yeah, I didn’t know he was a piano prodigy.” There was an uncomfortable silence. A similar silence had probably followed King George III’s being informed that the American colonies had decided to declare independence. “Yes, he went to Julliard Prep,” my mom said brightly. “His teachers said he was quite gifted.” “We watched some of his YouTube videos, the concertos he played with orchestra.” “Really?” my mom said, pleased and a little surprised that Mike was that interested. Dad was pointedly ignoring this exchange in favor of the Business section. So far, so good. Maybe I was going to get off easy? “We even talked him into playing for us a little,” Mike continued. “I’m surprised he’s not a music major,” he finished pointedly. “That was his choice,” my dad said without looking up from the paper. Fuck. Dad wasn’t so engrossed in reading the paper that he wasn’t following the conversation. It was clear that this was still a sore point, the events of the past few months notwithstanding. I sighed inwardly, braced myself and waded in. “Not 100%, Dad. You didn’t give me any warning…” “I told you I would call someone to set up an audition for you, but you’re the one who said not to bother since you weren’t going to the best school possible,” my dad interrupted, reminding me. Just like a scratched CD, the same thing over and over. I tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow my annoyance, but the knee-jerk response kicked in. “I got into Julliard and the Manhattan School of Music. You’re saying two of the most exclusive schools in the country weren’t good enough as a back-up for Yale?” “We told you that you we wanted you to get a real college education not go to a trade school,” my Dad said dismissively. “You’re leaving out that you said it would be safer than staying in New York and that you had to show confidence in the University. Didn’t that work out well?” I said sarcastically. Two could play the but-you-said game. “Hey, I would have called my contacts at Yale before you applied, but you said you refused to be the George W. Bush of the piano world,” Dad said. “I. Want. To. Succeed. On. My. OWN!” I insisted for what felt like the thousandth time. “Ken, Darren,” my mother said clutching her forehead, “please, you’ve had this argument over and over again.” “Mr. Leibowitz, with all due respect, Darren misses piano,” Mike interjected. “He sits in the window seat in our room, listens to music and just stares at…I don’t know what. But he’s unhappy.” Mike had started politely, becoming more heated as he spoke. “I think he should be studying music, he loves it and he’s incredibly talented…” “You think so?” my dad interrupted thoughtfully, considering for a moment. Then he seemed to make a decision. “Okay, fine. You’ve made your case. Darren can study music…” “Really?” I interrupted, excited. “If he stays in New York.” I was confused. “You mean now?” “I mean now.” Idiot! I chastised myself, having recognized the calculating expression on my dad’s face a fraction of a second too late. I should have known he’d agreed too easily and that there’d be a catch. I shot a horrified look at Mike; my mother seemed to have frozen. “But…but…I haven’t even finished a year of college…it…it’s too late…to apply anywhere for spring,” I stuttered anxiously. “Well, Mike has convinced me that I was wrong, and you should pursue your dreams. But why go back to the University? You’re the one who called it a ‘shithole of a school,’ remember?” He’d obviously been storing up that last comment for months. “Do I have to decide right now?” I said in a small voice, still dazed. Dad could always reduce me to a complete shambles in minutes. “Take your time,” he said with his wolfish litigator’s smile. “You’ve got a few weeks.” “Excuse me, I need to…” I said, trailing off, caught my breath, then pushed my chair back abruptly, stood and turned to leave the kitchen. “Sweetie, you haven’t finished your breakfast,” my mom objected in a worried voice. “I’m not hungry. Give it to Maxi,” I snapped over my shoulder. “Darr?” Mike called, following me. “Ken,” I heard my mom say sharply, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I missed his reply, likely because all I could hear was the loud ringing in my ears while I replayed the conversation and wrestled with the choice I’d been given. ————————— “I can’t believe him. God fucking goddamn it!” I half screamed, half groaned while I paced back and forth in my bedroom. Mike was sitting on the bed watching me anxiously. “Honey, I’m sorry…” “It’s not your fault,” I choked out. “I should have warned you, we should have talked about it.” “I just thought it would help if it came from me instead of you,” Mike explained, sheepishly. “I figured they sort of felt like they owed me a little, and you’d said your dad was angry about what happened.” “I know you meant to help. It’s a…touchy subject, and Dad hates feeling at a disadvantage.” I kept on pacing; I was afraid if I stopped I’d explode or cry. Either option would be completely humiliating. “Sweetheart, please calm down.” I continued to pace. We were quiet for a few minutes if you didn’t count the sound of my blood boiling. “Darr, maybe your dad is right?” Mike said tentatively, breaking the silence. I stopped and stared at Mike, shocked. “If you stay in New York, you could take piano lessons, audition for schools, and you’ll be safe here. You won’t have to worry all the time, and constantly look over your shoulder,” he continued. “I can’t stay here. If I do that he wins,” I argued. “Honey, what if it’s a…test? If I support you staying here so you can study music, then no one can argue that I’m with you for myself.” “That’s ridiculous and you don’t know my dad like I know him. He’ll hold it over me forever.” I paused a minute. “And I’ll miss you…” I said, feeling my eyes sting. “Aw, sweetheart, I’ll miss you, too. But it’s only for what, six months? After graduation, I’ll come straight to New York and get a job. I could be a personal trainer at a gym, find a job teaching phys-ed at a school, or if I have to I could work construction. I’ll get a job at McDonald’s, anything.” “What about law school?” I demanded. “I’ll figure that out later.” Mike said. “Oh, wonderful. And if it doesn’t happen, then it’s my fault,” I said. “Well if you don’t stay here and study piano, then it’s my fault you can’t do what you should be doing…” “No,” I interrupted, “I’ll figure out something. I’ll take lessons back at school, there must be someone I could study with. And maybe I could take some music courses, too? My dad doesn’t have to know everything I do.” “And when he sees your report card?” Mike asked. “What’s he going to do, demand a refund? And there’ll be the settlement from the lawsuit. We could take our share and go wherever we want.” Mike was shaking his head, his eyes closed. “Darren, I can’t do that to your mom and dad. They’ve been good to me, paying for me to come here with you and taking care of all the expenses. It wouldn’t be right.” My insides twisted, I was short of breath. Tears warred with fury, so I consciously chose anger and resumed pacing. “I guess Dad was right about everything,” I said bitterly. “A few months with me is more than enough.” “What are you talking about?” Mike demanded. “You’re ready to give up and leave me here. You’re still the Prefect, right? So you can go back to school and find some other guy,” I said brutally. “You could have any of the others you want. Maybe Aiden? He’s really hot…” “I can’t believe you,” Mike said angrily. “I’m trying to do the right thing…” “Oh, yeah, sure,” I snapped, interrupting his explanation. Mike stood and interrupted my agitated pacing, grasping my shoulders and giving me a little shake. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Don’t ever forget that.” “So that means I’m supposed to be a good boy and do whatever you say?” I snarled back. “No, it means…” he began, and then he took a shaky breath, visibly trying to dial back the emotional temperature, “we’re sherbet, right?” It was the last thing I expected; I made a sound that was some combination of a sob and a chuckle turning away to fight for control. He stepped up behind me, wrapping his arms around my torso and pulling me close. “That’s bashert,” I mumbled. “You know what I mean,” Mike whispered in my ear and then trailed a line of kisses behind my ear and down my neck. “No fair,” I moaned. He didn’t stop – what’s that saying about fairness, love, war…? His hands were under my long-sleeve t-shirt, pushing aside the soft fabric to caress the skin of my abdomen; my back arched and I groaned, fighting surrender. But I didn’t want him to stop, either. Maybe if it’s good enough he won’t want us to be apart…maybe it’ll convince him…I rationalized desperately. Now he was unbuckling my belt, sliding down the zipper on my cords, pushing my briefs down and out of the way. I heard the rasp of his zipper and felt his hardening dick brush my thigh, then graze my butt. Just that light touch completed shattered any resolve. I wanted him more than anything else, would give him whatever he wanted. Anything to keep us together – I couldn’t lose Mike. I turned toward him and pulled him down for a kiss. Once our lips met everything else was obliterated: all my worries, Dad’s ultimatum, everything and anything else. There was only Mike and me, the taste of his lips and tongue, his muscular arms around me, his cock throbbing against me. I stroked the soft skin at the nape of his neck, exploring his hairline, his closely cropped hair tickling my fingers, and moaned into his mouth when he delicately stroked my ass crack. “Fuck me, please,” I begged in a husky whisper. “I need it, I need you.” Mike lifted me easily and dropped me on the bed, then covered my body with his, his rigid dick probing my abdomen and captured my mouth in a searing kiss, tongues tangling, breathing accelerating, pulses pounding. His warm, muscled body weighed on me, pinning me in place. I could feel his chest hair against mine as he started to rub his cock against me, pre-cum easing the friction. He kissed the corner of my mouth, then his lips followed the line of my jaw to my ear while I gasped and squirmed under him, then moaned aloud once he began kissing and licking my ears. “We belong together,” Mike whispered against my ear between kisses, “nothing will ever change that.” He moved to kneel over me, his dick and balls hanging out of the fly of his jeans, his immense cock rigid, twitching, pre-cum beading at the tip as he scooted forward to bring it to my mouth. I eagerly met him halfway, applying my lips delicately to the head with tiny, teasing kisses, working my way down the shaft. He moved further forward, pressing his jean-covered balls against my face. “Sniff my nuts,” he ordered in a low voice, grinding the worn denim against my face, “inhale – deeper,” he demanded. My own dick was rigid, I was completely aroused by his dominance, whimpering with pleasure as I obeyed. “Let me hear it, sniff out that crotch, now start kissing, nice little kisses on my balls. You love my balls, don’t you boy?” “Yes, yes,” was all I was able to get out between kisses. “Lick them then, taste my jeans, that’s it, keep going, don’t stop,” Mike demanded as he moved forward, my head between his legs. He brushed his ass over my mouth, settling himself with his ass crack right on top of my nose, pungent man scent filling my nostrils. “Smell. My. Ass,” Mike commanded. “Get that man stink in your lungs, you know you love sniffing that funky asshole of mine.” I obeyed immediately, loudly inhaling his musky scent. “Now kiss that man’s ass, keep kissing my top hole, make me feel good, oh, yeah, fuck yeah, lick right where my ass crack is,” Mike said on a groan, rubbing the rough seam against my mouth. I turned away for a minute, the pressure a bit too much. “Don’t move your fucking head,” Mike barked, squeezing my head between his thighs. “I’m going to smother you with my ass,” he said, letting more of his weight press against my face. “Never pull away from me.” I kept my head in place with some effort, I could only manage to inhale shallowly, redolent with his scent. “That’s it, obey your man,” Mike said, then stood and shed his t-shirt and jeans revealing that he’d gone commando, a savage grin on his face as he flexed and showed off his body for a minute, squeezing his dick with his hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he rasped out, then positioned himself over a corner of my bed with his legs spread. “Get the fuck over here and smell my balls.” I submitted immediately, my breathing ragged with excitement. Mike had never been so dominating before, and it was driving me wild; I was panting and moaning as I positioned myself under his big balls. His wiry pubic hair tickled my nose as I inhaled the powerful odor of his pubes. “Lick my balls,” he snapped, “yeah, that’s it, keep going, now get your nose in my asshole, start sniffing that shithole…yeah, boy, now lick it, taste that man’s ass. Eat me, don’t stop…ah,” he groaned gutturally. “Time to fuck now.” Mike grabbed the fuck sheet out of his backpack, folded it and put it under my hips, then grabbed the jar of Vaseline from my nightstand drawer, stuck his fingers in for a glob that he smoothed over his dick, using the remaining bit on my asshole, putting a finger up my rectum, then adding a second and a third finger. He pulled my legs over his shoulders roughly, positioning the head of his cock against my pucker. “Brace yourself, bitch” he said and rammed his cock inside of me, my sphincters clenching painfully, then releasing as he began to pump in and out, his thrusts brutally hard. “This is what you like, take it, take my dick,” he said huskily as his hips pounded against me, his thrusts gaining force and gathering speed, the slap of his skin against mine getting louder. I could still smell and taste his dick balls and ass on my face, along with our comingled sweat as Mike drove into me, not letting up for a moment, nothing soft, just the sheer power of raw fucking as he exerted complete control over me. His shaft was angled against my prostate, massaging it, as I strained against his iron hold on me, my own excitement starting to peak. “Take it,” he murmured, “the cum is boiling in my balls, I’m going to shoot my charged load up inside your sweet little hole, breed that ass of yours, mark you as my mate…here it comes…ah, Ah, AH” he groaned in time with his thrusts, burying himself balls deep inside of me. I could feel his cock pulsing inside of me, probing my prostate until I couldn’t hold back any more and shot with him. My cum shot up between us, hitting my face; he covered my mouth with his, inhaling my gasps and moans while licking the cum off my face. We gradually calmed, breathing slowing, his kisses become melting and sensual as post-orgasm relaxation kicked in. “You know I don’t want to leave you, right?” Mike asked. My gut clenched and I could feel my eyes sting. Nothing had changed… “But…but…we just made love,” I exclaimed. “How can you...?” I broke off as tears threatened. “Get off of me,” I said, pushing at him ineffectually. “Honey,” he began. “I said let me go,” punctuating my demand with a hard shove against his chest. He pulled out, saying “Sweetheart, please…” “Don’t you call me sweetheart,” I barked, “you fucking liar!” “We can make it work,” he promised. “We can Skype or video call on Facebook every night, and it’ll be June before you know it. You’ll be so busy with lessons and practicing, anyway, and I’m going to be swamped wrapping up the semester and graduation. Anyway the rest of the frat is…” I tuned out – Mike’s words making no sense, cold spreading through me: the chill of betrayal. “You’re not the only guy in the world,” I interrupted, taking refuge in fury. “There are other guys who want to be with me. In fact, both the bodyguards my parents hired over Thanksgiving fucked me in this bed the last time you deserted me because you were so concerned and worried that you decided to be a total asshole,” I snarled, struggling into my t-shirt and corduroys, my voice getting louder and stronger. “What?” Mike shouted angrily, shock and hurt registering on his face, I noted with savage satisfaction. I was pulling on my boots, preparing to leave, to go anywhere to get away from him. He had put on his own clothing rapidly, and grabbed my arm, restraining me. “Who needs you? Go back without me, see if I care,” I spat at him, unleashing my hurt and fury. Loud, insistent knocking at my bedroom door cutting off our argument. Now the fuck what?

Aiden Ward is still around, I think, but I don't know how active he is at this point. Part of the transition is probably also the availability and acceptance of PreP.

There is a chapter 25 posted already. When I get back to NYC, there's a chapter 26 that I have to complete, and a start on chapter 27.