rawloadstaken

Two loads today: a HUGE load from a huge ass-splitter at Peeps Too, and a second big load from a smaller cock at Imagine That in Bend.

The one at Peeps was kinda funny: I could barely get my mouth around him, and he grinned and asked "anal?"

I think i had him in my ass before he finished the word.

I kept his load in me during the whole drive, and that was enough lube for the second guy four hours later. 

I'd like to be a bit slutty this weekend.

Other than Imagine That, any thoughts on the best places in Bend to get loads?

I'm beginning to wonder if I should change my UN to reflect more of a versatile attitude. Considering I'm topping > 50% of the time anymore, I think it's a bit disingenuous to refer to myself as a bottom.

Then again, I suppose versatile bottom would be a reasonable change. I mean, I still love hot throbbing cocks up my ass, plowing me and blowing their loads into my guts, it's just that I'm also enjoying breeding and seeding the asses offered, and I'm liking some of the head I've been getting.

So I have been toppy as hell the last couple of weeks, and as much as I bitch about not getting as much cock as I want, I haven't had too much trouble finding a mouth or an ass to take my load. Sometimes it takes a few minutes, but eventually, given enough time, I'll see fingers sliding along the rim of the glory hole, and then I know it's time to make my dick happy.

I have found one amusing element, though: the times I have to dress up a bit for work -- nicer slacks, button-down shirt, loafers -- I've had guys pushing into the booths on each side of me, and I'm usually in some guy's hands within 30 seconds of dropping a dollar in the receiver.

I'm not arguing that it's nice to blow a load while dressed up, but I'm wondering why it makes so much of a difference. I mean, all other things being equal, I'm still the same person: I still have the same face, I still have the same hands, and I still have the same dick.

Is this common?

I think I need to head back to the baths

I'm fairly sure that the 14th is going to be FurFuck at Hawks PDX, but I'm not sure if I want to go then, or if I want to go during Lights Out.

Decisions, decisions.

Oh, one other note: I'm heading to Eastern Oregon in a couple of weeks to visit family, so I'll likely start cleaning out a day or two in advance. I usually like to at least try to get a load or two on my way out of town, and I used to get at least one late night load at Imagine That when I got into Bend, but Yelp indicates that it's now shut down.

I'm going to call later on today -- just in case it is, and the phone number's been assigned elsewhere, I don't want to wake anyone up -- but if it has, I feel sorry for the horndogs in Bend who used its gloryholes, as it is ... or at least was ... the only game in town.

Didn't get any cocks in my ass this weekend, but at least I managed to swallow a half-dozen loads.

I will say this much: it pisses me right the hell off when someone comes into the other booth and contorts until they see your face, then turns around and walks out the door.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not hung like a stallion, I don't have a hairless and chiseled body, and my face is not one that will launch a thousand ships, but I don't think I'm that hideous. And I know people have preferences, and I shouldn't let it bother me, but damn it, if there are only three people in the booths, and the other one is locked in a private booth, repeatedly hopping into the next booth, scoffing, and then walking out is more than a bit rude.

Grrr.

Okay, done whinging.

I now return you to your regularly-scheduled jacking off.

Grrr ...

Welp, I guess it's time to get back on BBRT ... and Squirt, and M4SNow, and A4A, and ManHunt, and ...

Okay, I'm going to make a controversial statement, but it's one I hold dear to my heart:

I get fucking infuriated when people refer to PrEP as "training wheels."

I take PrEP because I choose to. I take PrEP because I enjoy bareback sex, and always have. I take PrEP because I want to take PrEP. I take PrEP because it means I don't feel stressed out when I'm being bred.

I don't take PrEP because it's training wheels, or because I secretly want to be pozzed, or because I want the thrill of slowly going off of it, or because I want someone to tell me to go off of it, or because I want someone to force me to go off of it.

Does this mean I avoid HIV-positive play? Hell no. A cock is a cock, and a load is a load. Besides, I take loads at the ABS, in a sling in a bathhouse, blindfolded in a hotel room ... how am I supposed to know what their status is? That said, I do not wish to seroconvert; thus, I made the informed, personal decision to start -- and to keep -- taking Truvada.

I take it because I fucking love taking anonymous loads, and by being on PrEP, I have fewer personal concerns, as it's tied to lessening the risk of becoming HIV-positive.

Lessening.

Is it possible I still will at some point? Yes, it is. Nothing -- nothing -- in life is guaranteed.

As an example, I almost became a father years ago because -- even though my partner was on the pill for PCOS, and even though her PCOS naturally lowered her ability to become pregnant, and even though we used condoms, and even though we used spermicidal foam -- I impregnated my partner.

And so I got a vasectomy.

But here's the thing: I didn't get a vasectomy because it was "training wheels" for having my balls chopped off, I got it because I didn't want to risk getting someone else pregnant.

You see, to me, other people saying PrEP is "training wheels" for giving into their actual desire of becoming HIV-positive is as ludicrous as me saying that blood slamming in order to become HIV-positive is "training wheels" for that person's actual desire to blood slam in order to become infected with Marburg hemorrhagic fever.

Neither is accurate, and both are offensive.

... okay, maybe the Marburg comparison is slightly more offensive, but still ...

Look, I know I'm not going to change anyone's minds, but Jesus, dudes, please try to remember that different people take PrEP for different reasons, and not because they're all secretly planning on dipping their toes into the poz swimming pool.

Seriously, bottoms, please clean up.

I understand the drive -- really I do -- to have a cock in you as often as possible. To want those loads. To crave the feeling of anonymous nut flooding your guts and oozing out as you walk.

I know how difficult it is to suck on a gorgeous cock and not be able to stuff it in your ass. To feel that regret, to feel your pucker twitching, as though by drawing in the air around it, it will also magically draw the cock into your guts.

I fully appreciate the unfettered desire -- hell, let's be honest: the deep-seated need -- to be plowed raw and left dripping and sweaty. To be nothing more than a fuck-hole. To exist, at least for a time, as nothing more than a cumdump. To take not just anonymous cocks and anonymous loads, but to be -- in and of yourself -- anonymous.

But your filth fucks it up.

Are there guys who like four-wheeling through the mud? Absolutely. By the same token, though, there are those who prefer our motor trips to be on clean, empty streets.

And tops, please: hygiene, hygiene, hygiene.

Don't get me wrong: I love cheese. The smooth spread and deep rich flavor of triple cream Brie? Luxurious. The toothsome texture of a parmesan wedge? Phenomenal. The funk and crumble of a good Gorgonzola? Be still my beating heart.

Self-produced? Ah ... no. Just ... just no.

And yes: when I know I'm -- as the adage goes -- "clean as a whistle," clean, it's relatively easy to persuade me to do AtM. That said, if I approach you before I've had you in my ass, and you already smell like you've been cock-diving in a dumpster filled with rotting squirrel anuses, I'm fairly sure I'm going to be turned off.

So come on ...

Do I like to fuck? Love it.

Do I like to be fucked? Love it.

But I'll be honest: even though I'm versatile, and even though I love all permutations of [[human with cock] + [human with holes]], between being subjected to rank phalli and rather a large quantity of egesta, I'm beginning to wonder if a life of celibacy wouldn't be a better option.

Had to cancel on the thick-dicked top: work has been kicking my ass lately, and two hours of sleep per night just isn't cutting it anymore.

With any luck, though, I'll be able to hit Hawks for FurFuck, but -- as much as it pains me to admit it -- I may also just stay home and sleep.

I plan on getting my fuck on again soon -- my hole is hungry for raw cock and hot seed -- but right now, I'll live vicariously through the kinky fuckers I'm following.

Plow on, dudes. Plow on.

Wish me luck: if all goes well, I'll have a thick-dicked total top at my place around 6:30 Thursday morning, and he'll hopefully be buried in my ass by 6:45.

He asked me if I wanted him to come inside me.

Hm. I'm chatting with him on a bareback site, my profile photo is a cummy ass, and my chat handle is rawloadtaken.

I'd take that as a yes. 

Okay, Xtube's taking too long for my impatient ass, so I uploaded the video on Tumblr and Twitter.

Uploaded a new video to my FetLife account. Once it's converted on XTube, it'll be up there, too.

For some reason, I seem to have been jerking off a lot lately. I'm sure I have no idea why that might be.

Today is Friday -- thank heavens -- and I have the weekend off.

I went by Peeps Too on the way home, chatted with a friend behind the counter, got some change, and headed to the booths. It took less than five minutes before I was balls-deep in a tight-bodied twink.

I'm not sure how long I fucked him for, but it was at least three dollars worth, and then I blew a five-day load into him. I kept pumping for another minute or two, just to make sure I was tapped out, then slipped out of his cummy hole.

Buttoned up, came home, and now I'm hard as stone just thinking about it.

Goddamn, but I love being versatile.

Last night I went to the ABS near my office to try my luck, and to see if I could perform after the last disastrous encounter.

I took one nice, average length, uncut cock down my throat, and got a huge, delicious load out of it a few minutes later. Hot, hot, hot.

I went a couple of booths over, dropped trou, and started stroking my dick. A hot young Asian went into the booth next to me, dropped some money into the bill collector, and knelt down for my dick. I pushed it through the glory hole and he started sucking me, and *damn* was he a good cocksuicker. Once I heard his belt and zipper, though, I knew where this was going.

Once he started lubing me up, I got even harder, and then it was some pressure, and a long, smooth glide into his ass. He was the one pumping: he'd get almost to my head, then push back -- on a couple of occasions, slamming back -- onto my cock.

He fucked himself onto me for a good five or six minutes until I could not hold it any longer, and I unloaded in his ass. He pulled off and sucked me clean, then kept stroking me and pushed me back into his ass. I fucked him for another ten minutes or so until I blew a second load, let him clean me off, and tucked myself away. Yes, it's possible -- possible, mind you, but not absolute -- that I could have come a third time, but I was getting a little sore, and I did have appointments to keep.

TL;DR, yeah, I can still perform, and yeah, I can still fuck a nice ass and feel good about it.

As my birthday approaches ... again ... damn it  ... I'm debating what I want to do with that time.

• Should I go to Hawks, the Oregon Theater, various ABSs, hit up CraigsList, and use both apps and websites to collect loads?
• Should I take a one or two day trip to Seattle to visit Club Z, Steamworks, Hawks, and hit up the Seattle sites and apps for loads?
• Should I fire up Skyrim, get a haircut, sit down for a manipedi, and grab a pizza?
• Or ... or ... or ...

Oh, don't get me wrong: I know what I should do, I'm just not sure of what I will do.

It's funny, really.

I have Viagra at home, my doctor is willing to prescribe Cialis, and one of my friends swears by Levitra.

Here's the issue: I don't need them; and, even if I did, even if the side effects were unlikely, I'd be terrified of them.

In my vanilla life, I practice photography, and I would not be effective at composing a shoot or editing the results if my vision were tinted blue, if I lost the sight in one eye, or - heaven forbit - if I were to go blind.

Paranoia? Perhaps. Then again, with everything else that's happened ...

I'm just not sure I want to dick around with them.

I got to thinking about all of the play I used to have, and I got to thinking about all the places I've been to have it.

Thinking back a few years -- quite a few, I'm afraid --- we used to have a bathhouse in downtown Portland that was the definition of sleazy: run-down, sticky floors, threadbare carpets, and odd ... stains ... on some of the walls, particularly near the gloryholes.

Two of the GH cubbies were just the right size to be able to back up to the hole behind you and still easily reach the cock in front of you, but the rest were just a little too far apart for that. The sling was busy, the downstairs had fuck benches and a couple of standing cubbies, and the upstairs had a steam room that never stopped reeking of cum.

There were so many dark corners and out-of-the-way rooms that it was easy to have as much public play or private space as you wanted.

Ah, Club Portland.

It's where I got my first facial, had my first bukkake shower, and first got fucked in front of a couple-dozen guys during public play. From the cage to the cross, that place was messed up.

We do have Hawks, and I think the venue is in many ways better than -- or, at the least, not as dangerous as -- Club Portland, but there will always be a special place in my heart for the venue that turned me onto bathhouses in the first place.

Last night was a nightmare . Suffice it to say that half of what happened made me ill -- not to mention very uncomfortable -- and the other half infuriated me. He rode roughshod over my hard limits, and there were a few times I was terrified, but he was between me and the door, and I just froze. I just agreed with whatever he wanted -- I said what I'm sure he wanted to hear -- and I hate myself for it.

Yes, I did it to protect myself, but that doesn't get rid of the feeling of shame, or disgust, or the stinging from scrubbing myself raw in the shower.

I think I'm going to take some time off from bottoming: I can't get some of the images out of my head, or the bile out of my mouth.

It's going to take some time for the bruising to fade, it's going to take even longer to trust 1:1 encounters again; and, to be honest, right now I'm not even sure I want to go to the bathhouses or theatres.

I just had a 38 y.o. hottie tell me he wanted to fuck me and unload in my ass, then apologize for being so forward.

And who says chivalry is dead?

Leaving work tonight, I was -- as I often am -- horny.

I went to Peeps Too in Beaverton because (a) it was closer than Mr. Peeps in Aloha, and (b) because I like the staff better.

I grabbed my change, chatted with one of the lead clerks for a few minutes, we swapped some very corny jokes, and I headed to the glory holes to drop a load, all the while thinking, "I'm going to get head, or fuck some ass. I want to pump, dump, and leave. I want a mouth or an ass wrapped around my raw dick."

Then I got into the booth, and a fat, uncut dick was being pumped on the other side.

Damn right I dropped to my knees.

It took close to ten minutes, and I was shivering and grunting while he was skull-fucking me, but he finally blew a huge load in my mouth, and it was delicious.

I stood up and realized that -- at some point during that rather enthusiastic blowjob -- I'd shot my load in my jeans, so I dropped trou and started wiping up. I was pulling up my trousers when I saw a hand come through the hole and thought, "what the hell. I'll let him suck me off."

He was good. He was very good. Very, very good.

I gave him my second load, and my balls are still empty.

So yeah, I got the head I wanted, and I drained that guy's cock the way he deserved.

"They're still gon' put pictures of my derriere in the magazine
 You want a piece of me? (You want a piece of me?)"

Britney Spears, Piece of Me

---

Because if you do want my derriere -- if you do want a piece of me -- I'm offering it during Wednesday afternoon's Happy Hour at Hawks PDX, and I'm planning on being a sling and darkroom cumdump during Wednesday night's Lights Out, also at Hawks PDX.

C'mon guys, load me up: you want it, I need it, and you'll be donating to both Hawks' bottom line and my empty bottom.

I'm debating posting links to my Twitter or Tumblr images instead of uploading them here -- primarily because that way I won't be eating up my size allotment -- but I don't want to be that guy who rides the edge, the one who risks running afoul of the policies.

I like my reputation where it is, thankyouverymuch.

Ah me.

What to do ... what to do ...

I love hearing those three little words when I'm with a guy.

"Suck it, bitch."

In completely unrelated news, I swallowed nine loads at the ABS tonight.