ErosWired

Thanks!

I set myself up in a hotel room in our nearby third-rate wannabe-city and posted a CL ad as an all-night, door open, cumdump bottom, just to see what, if anything, would materialize in such a limited environment on a Saturday night from 9pm on. Answer: Not a lot. Except. The first man who walked in the door had a difficult time getting hard, but once he did he fucked me for a solid hour, even though he planted his seed deep in me about a third of the way through. It was an anon load, and he left a very nice jock behind; I don't know whether on purpose or not. The man who followed him a little later had a much bigger cock that had no problem getting hard, and he reamed me for half an hour in the whole Kama Sutra of positions before I realized that he had stealthed me by putting a condom on. It's now 2am, I'm still ass-up, the door's still unlocked... here's hoping.

I was wondering if there is a listing somewhere of the current Moderators/Staff for Breedingzone, in case someone has a question and doesn't want to bother the Administrator all the time. I occasionally notice profiles with "Staff" on them, but have no idea how many of them there are, or whether they're assigned to certain areas. I'm a staff member on a completely unrelated forum elsewhere (hard to imagine it being more completely unrelated), and we all have separate areas there, so I wondered if that's the case here. Forgive me if I've overlooked such a list somewhere, but I couldn't find it. ErosWired

I’m an absolute submissive bottom. I can’t recall a single time among the (very) few times I was asked to fuck someone that I came. Usually I can’t even stay hard. For that matter, oral doesn’t do much for me either unless the guy is -phenomenal- at it. It doesn’t help that my cock is a bit above average size, because guys seem to want to gravitate to it, especially at the bathhouse while I’m trying to steam. I’ve had guys walk by and strip my towel off of me while I was relaxing with my eyes closed. I’m halfway tempted to get a cock tattoo that reads “Please Enter At The Rear”. Topping just feels *wrong* to me, unnatural. I *know* what I’m for, and that’s being a man that stronger, more aggressive, more masculine men use for pleasure. That’s my role and I’m good at it. Always do what you’re best at, that’s what I say.

I used to have fair luck with Manhunt before I realized I wasn’t vanilla-flavored and Doms liked the taste of me. Then I had a little luck with Recon, but I live in the back of beyond and trying to find willing cock within a reasonable drive using an app entails a lot of uncertainty, and risk of wasted time and opportunity, for much too little return. If I want to be pretty sure of success, it’s the nearest bathhouse (3 hours away) or gay campground (2.5 hours away). If this site comes up with a system that guys in the wastelands like me can use to finally put our asses to regular use, you’ll be my hero.

Not every submissive appreciates that term. I have always been a submissive, and have responded to just about every term Doms like to use for us, but I don't like "faggot" or "fag". I think it's because I grew up in a time and place where being identified by your peers as a "faggot" was a bad, bad thing and led to ostracism or worse. The term bears too much stigma of discrimination for some guys to find anything arousing about it. Call me a cunt, fine. Pussy, fine. Slut, whore, bitch - knock yourselves out. I resemble those remarks. Just don't call me a fag. I don't have a thing in particular for straight guys like some men do (cock is cock is cock), but maybe a preference for being called "faggot" is more common among those who like to imagine being taken by someone straight? Just speculating.

I should mention that I have no problem with a guy who meets me and for whatever reason realizes it just isn’t going to work - that happens, and it’s nobody’s fault. At least he was good enough to follow through and tell me face-to-face. I don’t, however, understand this: I once agreed to meet a younger guy at a restaurant for dinner and see where things went - dinner was on me. We met, chatted a bit, placed a drink order, and then he excused himself to go to the restroom. After a couple of minutes I just happened to glance out the window to see him walking away down the sidewalk. No “gotta go,” no lame excuse about his grandma’s birthday, no fuckyouverymuch, nothing. I mean, he skipped out on a free dinner at a nice restaurant with no strings attached - who does that? That guy is the main reason (though by no means the only reason) that I never deal with anybody younger than their later 20s. Young guys are flakey like a bowl of cereal.

I will never, ever flake on anyone unless I'm fucking bleeding to death. I've been flaked on so many times it's gone from being irritating to laughable back to irritating again. I'm up front about my age, all my images are of me, and I don't misrepresent myself, so what you see is what you get. Everything in my profile is true, not a bunch of exaggeration or BS - nobody can say I've ever done a bait-and-switch on him. I try to avoid giving any reason for a guy to have second thoughts. Yet evidently they do. What ticks me off so hugely about it is that I take bottoming seriously, to the point that I spend time at it - I take the time to clean myself out, make sure I'm clean on the outside as well, shave smooth in all the right places, try to be as reasonably attractive as my made-for-radio mugshot will allow, make sure my tools n' toys are clean, packed and ready to go, and then drive usually an hour or so to get to the man's place because that's how long it takes to get to civilization from where I am. And lately, over half the guys have let me know either after I've been on the road for half an hour or after I've arrived at the destination that they "can't make it tonight." Really? Really? I'm addressing you Flakers now: Have you ever given yourself a full series of enemas in order to be cleaned out for fucking? Do you have any idea what a bottom does to get his body ready for your pleasure? And you have the brass balls to blow him off after making him do that plus waste a two-hour round-trip drive? When you could have instead met him and had some sweet ass delivered with a smile? What the hell is wrong with you? I could have made you feel soooooooooo good...

I'm a vocal bottom and I can. not. help. it. I've had Tops reach around and cover my mouth. (Actually, they may just be grabbing hold of my face for fucking leverage, so it's all good.) I don't scream, though, as far as I know. Moans, groans, incoherent pleading, loud heavy breathing, grunts, the whole catalogue of I'm-Being-Bred noises. But there's a particular point sometimes at which I surprise even myself. I'll hear this low, gutteral growl, very animal-sounding, and for a second I'll wonder where it's coming from, and then I'll realize that I'm the one making the sound! It happens when the sex reaches the True Breeding point and my body, I guess, knows what it's doing and what it's for, and my voice responds in kind. I sort of like it when it happens.

A big, big (like linebacker big) military man called me up twice to service him. His fucking huge black cock was every bit of 11 inches and I couldn’t quite wrap my long fingers all the way around it with one hand. I would start out in top, trying to impale myself on that monster, but both times this just made him more eager, and he flipped me onto my belly like a doll and sank that spike balls deep inside me with one single thrust, letting his full body weight crush it in. Amazingly, it didn’t hurt either time, but he bred me so naturally, so deeply, and so forcefully and so completely, it felt like that was how nature intended it all to work. I also remember a man at camp in the pitch darkness who worked over my assring with his fingers for ages, stretching me, until I thought he must be planning to try to fist me (that would have been a first for my tight little hole) but it turned out that all that preparation was just him getting me ready to take his cock! Even then, when he entered me I thought he was going to split me in two, but I breathed deep and let him fuck. After a short while, he pulled out and said, “Had enough?” ”Well, that depends,” I said. “Have you?” ”No,” he replied. ”Well, back at it, then,” I said, and he rough-fucked me with that weapon for at least another ten minutes until he filled me. Afterward he thanked me and told me he didn’t get to do that very often. He kissed me on the lips and walked off into the dark, and I never saw his face -or- his cock. Oh well. I did my duty.

This is fascinating. Do you find that the positive aspects of this are persistent and carry over into both men's view of race in society? In other aspects of life, does each man then feel less unequal in his day-to-day interactions because he can say to himself, "I fuck men like you all the time" or "men like you breed me"? I have greatly enjoyed being bred by many men of color - one in particular was one of the most dominant men ever to have taken me, and will forever stand out in memory. But the question of race never entered into it for me, perhaps because either a ) race genuinely doesn't matter to me (I don't care whether a person is black, white or purple as long as they have a brain) or b ) I automatically submit to any man. It interests me that some men of color might gain an additional benefit from using me because of the color of my skin. I don't take that as a negative, just as an extra way that I might be able to provide a value-added sexual service.

A PA should not result in this kind of problem. Normally, the metal of the PA, being smooth and non-reactive enough that it doesn't harm the Top's cock, would be too smooth and non-reactive to harm your ass as well, and unless his PA was a huge gauge, the friction likely wouldn't have been enough to cause a fissure, although it's not out of the question. An anal fissure, however (and I've had surgery for one) does not usually present mucus as a symptom. Normally, the symptoms of fissure are bright red blood passing with stools and severe pain on passing them, sometimes lingering afterward. The mucus does suggest something else going on, and calls for a visit to your physician. This thread is getting older, and I hope by this point the OP has found some relief, but the immediate thing to consider in these cases is how to pass bowel movements without triggering the anal spasms that cause agony. Diet is key, and lots of fiber is critical, including drinking fiber supplements. Stool softeners can help. Sitz baths. Be cautious with things like enemas, however, because unregulated flow through the anus can make matters worse - diarrhea can actually be a cause of fissure. Anal fissures are no joke, and are not an uncommon problem for bottoms. Our lower holes weren't designed for things going into them, no matter how convinced we are that that's what they're for. I hope the OP will give us an update on how he fares.

I'm very much a sub bottom, and it's only important that I have an orgasm if the Top desires it. I don't really care that much for myself whether I have one; my personal gratification comes from feeling the cock breeding me and knowing that another man has chosen me to exercise his dominance. I love helping other men feel that kind of pleasure, and feeling the power in them when they do it, and seeing the glow in them after they cum in me. My former master went to considerable lengths to change the way my mind deals with orgasm. He wanted to see what would happen if he confused the ecstatic pleasure that comes from orgasm with negative feelings that would make me not want to cum, yet feel unable to resist it anyway. He used Pavlovian training techniques as well as electro and suggestibility technique, sometimes causing me to feel terrible pain just as I would shoot. Eventually he was able to train me to cum on command without ejaculating, and would just say, "Cum" over and over until I begged him to stop. He wouldn't, and even those dry orgasms became hell. Later on, a really good hypnotist used this trick to make me shoot hands-free. (You'd think that having an orgasm any time anyone said or typed "cum for me" would be fun, but you'd be wrong. Strangers do it to me all the time now. Because of my master, I cum for strangers on demand. Well, I guess that's not a bad thing.) The upshot of all this is that I don't even think about whether or not I'm going to cum now if I'm with a Top. I just know that if he demands that I orgasm, I'm going to do it whether I want to or not. I call that a win-win.

A Top who breeds me deserves to plant his flag of ownership on my body, and I always make sure I hold it all in as long as possible to absorb as much of him into me as I can. I absolutely love the feeling of drifting off to sleep knowing that my ass is full of men's cum that is binding into me in an irrevocable way. As others have mentioned, however, there are occasions when I have an allergic reaction to the proteins in some men's cum, and my body lets me know that it has to go. I can usually tell it's going to happen because it burns my skin, especially my lips if I'm lucky enough to get any of it on them.

Your questions all hinge on what you mean when you use terms like "unnecessary risk", "play safe", and "healthy". You have to ask yourself, for yourself, at what point any risk is "necessary" for you to feel sexually fulfilled. Is barebacking absolutely a necessity to you, or could you live without it? The answer to that question comes first. If the answer is no, you couldn't, then you have to look at what you mean by "safe". Barebacking is not safe in the meaning of "risk-free". It cannot be made entirely safe. There are inherent risks that can be significantly reduced, but never completely eliminated. And like any gamble, each time you spin the wheel, you take a chance. But it's not the same chance every time. The chance you take is cumulative. For instance, if you're a neg bottom with a poz top not on meds, your base chance of getting HIV (I know you're asking about all STDs, but I'm using HIV for the math here) your base chance of getting the virus is 1.43%, or about 1 in 143 loads. Does that mean that if you take 143 loads you have 100% chance of getting HIV? No. You could, as seaguy says, be one of the lucky ones. But your chance doesn't remain 1.43%, either. If you take 143 loads, your risk will have amounted to the inverse of your chance of coming away clean (98.57%) multiplied by itself by the number of attempts (143), or about 12.8%, meaning you will have a 100%-12.8%=87.2% chance of getting the disease with a 1.43% risk. If you're a neg top with a poz bottom and you're cut, your chance is about 63% in 909 fucks. Uncut, it's about 63% in 161 fucks. According to CDC and other studies within the last five years, the risk of transmission over ten years of sex for a committed male couple unprotected came to nearly 100%. If they used PreP alone, their risk came to 98%. If they were committed to condom use, their risk was 76%. If they were using ART, their risk was 25%. Note that these numbers are based on specific approaches to prevention, and aren't necessarily translatable to other STDs, but if you know the general statistical chance of getting an STD from a single type of encounter, the math is sound. The point is, there is no "safe". There are only shades of risk, and the more you play, the greater your risk grows. But if you weren't going to play the game, you wouldn't be here, right? So now you have to look at what you mean by "healthy". I was not one of the lucky ones. I not only got HIV, my tests came back false negative until mine turned into AIDS, dragged my cell count to 49, and a fun combo of pneumonia and fungal meningitis nearly killed me. That was followed by a case of shingles and a case of mulloscum that would not go away for months, chronic fatigue, dietary change, ART-induced diabetes, and changes in my metabolism. I'm now at risk for cancers that I wasn't at risk of before. I haven't missed a single dose - not one dose - of ART since I started it in September of 2014, and my cell count still hasn't topped 320. Unless science steps up to the plate sometime soon, I will be taking these pills for the rest of my life (which I could not afford without the company's assistance) and my life expectancy has dropped to about 75 years. I'm not sick, in the sense that I feel well and I haven't had a cold or the flu or anything like that in three years, but I have to be careful. There are some things I simply can't take the risk of eating. I know that my body simply does not have the moxie to fight off a major infection, and if I get one, that could be it for me. So there's healthy, and then there's "healthy". That's the possible price tag, my man. Nobody can tell you but yourself whether that kind of life, and those kinds of sacrifices are a price you're willing to pay for the experiences you want. And even if you take care with HIV, there are still monsters out there, like HEP C and treatment-resistant gonorrhea that are no joke, and even herpes is incurable. You wanted to know what's realistic - that's real. It's the real I live in. But I don't live with regret for what I chose to do, and I don't harbor any hard feelings for whoever pozzed me, even though I certainly didn't want it. Chances are he didn't even know. I just hope he discovered his status soon enough to get treated. And I hope you take care.

There's a difference between being fucked and being bred. If you're a bottom, you know what I'm talking about - you know when a man is breeding you, and you know when a man is just fucking you. The question is, how do you know? How about the way he acts? Oh, no, that's not the way; And you're not listenin' to all I sa - wait a minute, that's Cher... I mean, part of it is the way he acts, the subtle shift in tone of his voice, the difference in the position and firmness of his grip, the angle of his hips when he mounts you - I'll never forget one anonymous guy at camp who got up behind me without a word, and even though I couldn't see him in the dark, I could tell the exact position of his body, the same position taken by male animals in the wild for pure reproduction. It became a purely instinctual act of two creatures, and he reached forward and gripped me by the back of the neck as his cock pulsed his seed deep inside me. When he had finished, he pulled up his shorts, and paused to look at me long enough for me to just make out his silhouette and the gleam of his eyes in the night. Then he was gone. Ironically, a comment like "I'm gonna breed your ass, bitch." is not necessarily a prelude to a breeding. It's probably a reliable prelude to a pretty solid fucking, but actual breeding requires a mindset on the part of both the Top and the bottom - although the bottom's mindset is optional (his asset is not). The Top must think of, and by diverse means, convey, that he has Power and is about to convey some essence of that power into the body of the bottom. The Top-As-Breeder must demonstrate that he is in control of the whole setting, that he has intent, that he is going to achieve his goal no matter what, and that he is equipped for the task at hand. When I say "equipped", I know what you're thinking. And you're not wrong. But the last time a man bred me, he was the most consummate breeder I ever encountered. He had it down to a science. This man arrived at the door of my cabin to look at some gear we had talked about earlier. There had been no discussion of hooking up. He carried with him a small bag, but I didn't pay any attention to it. After I offered him something to drink, we looked over the gear, then he commented, "Nice cabin. Is the bed over there?" It was; I showed him. He said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to fuck you." Well, then. After he got me naked on the bed, he opened the small bag he carried, and brought out a small anal lube shooter (legislation should be passed requiring every Top to carry one of these, loaded for insertion) and a small triangular pillow made of foam, covered in blue cloth. "I custom-made this for breeding," he said of the pillow. "It elevates your ass to exactly the right height and tilts your hips to just the right angle for me. Raise up." Height - angle - he must have taken measurements, because true to his word, he had me precisely where he wanted me for the deepest conceivable penetration, the smoothest, longest strokes, the most varied positioning of my legs, the greatest exposure of my hole, my cock and balls, and view of my face. He took his time about it, too, and when he finally unloaded inside me, packed his kit and left, my legs wouldn't stop shaking and my anus kept clenching. After my door closed behind him, I realized he must have intended to breed me from the first time he saw me earlier in the day. He had set his sights, moved on me without hesitation, taken complete control, and bred me like I belonged to him. Hm...I wonder how hard it would be to make an adjustable foam pillow...

True confession: My ass is my weakness. For some, you grab their cock and you grab their soul. A few get weird about their nipples. For very, very men, it's the stomach - give them a piece of pie and they're putty in your fingers. For me, play with my cock all you want; it's a soldier (it definitely stands at attention and shoots) that can take your abuse. You have to know what you're doing to work my nipples, they're funny that way. But just start a fingertip down the valley at the base of my spine and my whole body starts to pay very close attention to what you're doing - or about to do. Run a tip across the portal and I gasp. Press in just a knuckle length, and I can't keep in a little telltale moan. Explore deeper, and my whole body begins to react involuntarily, loosening up, positioning for penetration whether I want it or not. Touch my prostate, and my body will betray me without a second thought. If I feel your tongue there, all rational thought collapses and can't be restarted, replaced by a single desperate drive: Please. Fuck. Me. The longer the tongue remains, the more desperate the drive, until it becomes a mental scream. I once kept this weakness a carefully guarded secret from Tops, especially Dominant Tops, and particularly from Sadists, who seemed to take great delight in discovering how much control they could obrtain over me, and how easily, with an attack on my ass. One such discovery, by a Dom Top named Master Rick in Cincinnati, led to my first realization of what sexual submission to another man truly felt like, when it wan't just pretend. The experience changed me forever. I had traveled two and a half hours to visit this man at his invitation. He had been looking, he said, for someone who fit my description, and apparently he liked what arrived at his door. Not a lot of time was spent in pleasantries. He told me to strip in front of him next to a bed that had been fitted with ropes for attaching to restraints. He had me lie down on my belly spread-eagled and tied dow my wrist cuffs. Then he ran his hands over the globes of my ass. This was a bad sign. If he had been a cock-and-balls man, he would have had me on my back right off to enjoy looking at his new toys, but instead he couldn't wait to get his hands on my backside. An ass man. Sure enough, I soon felt his thumbs slide down and part my halves to expose my hole, and heard him say, simply, "Nice." Again, true confession: I don't remember a lot of the details that followed, because they went on a long, long, long, long time. There could not have been a square millimeter of my body that he did not touch at least twice, and he penetrated every orifice. My violation was absolutely complete, and he had not even fucked me. At last, he had become satisfied with his exploration and sampling of my body and raised me up on my knees with my chest on the bed and my ass in the air and began finger-fucking me. He enjoyed doing this more than I can remember most men enjoying anything. He kept at it, sometimes slow and leisurely, sometimes pistoning and rough, sometimes one finger, sometimes more, trying different fingers on for size, trying different pressures on my prostate. He became so engrossed in it that he gradually pushed me upward so that my back was flat against the wall and my lets hung outstretched, all leverage lost; I was completely at his mercy (actually, as it happened, lack thereof). After he had finger-fucked me for about ten minutes past eternity, it grew uncomfortable and I wanted him to stop. I said, "Could you stop?" but he just grinned and continued, and I realized that this Dominant had me exactly where he wanted me, and this was going to end when he wanted it to, and not before. My whole attention suddenly narrowed onto the small ring between my legs and the sensations coming from it - sensations caused by another man against my will. The more they continued at that point, the more right they felt. My body itself was correcting my thinking, teaching me how to take on the role that I was born to play, helping me to understand where my body and mind belonged in the world of all other men. He did fuck me later, and twice more before I left the next day. I left with much more than three loads of his seed in my body. He had planted another kind of seed in me, the knowledge that my weakness is simply evidence that I am meant for men to breed. Anytime, anywhere. But I won't say no to pie.

Thanks! That compliment is *nearly* as good the other ones. And as to sampling the subject matter... who knows? It's a small planet, and it hasn't finished fucking me yet...

I don't mind what the Top calls my hole - what I want to hear in his voice is the tone that tells me he knows he has the power to breed another man and make him take his seed. Whatever word he uses to convey that in his own mind works fine for me and makes me want to respond in a way that makes him feel even stronger. Words can be a rush.

ErosWired, joined a couple of weeks ago. I've tried a hell of a lot of things, and they led me down a lo-o-o-ong rabbit hole where I discovered men who taught me something about myself - they taught me that I had something to offer, and that there was a reason it felt so good to give it up. One of those men took me, for a while, as a thing he owned, and spent a lot of time and effort training me to accept my new place as a willing, eager hole for men to breed. If that sounds fictional or fake, it's not. It's what happened, and it's what I am. I'm grateful to that man for what he did, and for what he made me into. I wouldn't have it any other way. Breed me like the Man you are.

Our culture has the strange dichotomy of valuing humility yet paying attention to braggadocio. Usually, when someone makes a claim like, "I am the greatest!" we aren't going to take him at his word - we expect him to prove it with a TKO in the third round. Advertisers have become so accustomed to using superlatives that if a motel calls itself "Best Value" we don't stop to think about whether it actually is the best value, we just assume it's cheap and we don't turn on a black light in the room. Ever. So how does a guy go about letting other guys know that he gives good ass without making himself sound (a) like a braggart (b) like a narcissist (c) insufferable or (d) desperate? Indeed, if one gave great ass, how would one personally know? Autofellatio is one thing (been there) but auto-fucking, at least to the point of credible critique, is not possible. The only way to know is to rely on the reports of those who have experienced it, and the only way to convey it to others in an honest and unbiased way is to share those reports without embellishment or modification. Kind of like a Consumer Reports for Ass. For myself, the best thing I can do is relate the events of a day at my favorite camp: One day at camp, I was leaned over a picnic table, and another guy was seated on one of its benches. He was giving head, I was giving ass. I didn't know him, but we were a pretty good full-service team that day. The guys who only wanted head went to him. The guys who wanted to fuck took me. Sometimes he warmed them up and then passed them along. Every now and then he would lean over and mutter to me, "Here comes a big one." He had a habit of understatement. They were a lively bunch, with a spirit of camaraderie and joie de vivre among them - it wasn't one of those weird gang-fucks that happens in darkened silence, but a chatty affair that suggested that the men were at their ease. The atmosphere seemed to encourage them to express their views, and I was so taken (well, yes) that after it was all over I actually wrote down what I could remember of it, mostly because it was flattering, but also because I was pretty sure no one would ever believe me. As I was being ass-fucked, this is what I heard: "Your ass is amazing!" "Ohh, my fucking God, I do NOT believe this." "Shit, man, where did you learn to do that?" "Guys, this is the sweetest ass you are ever going to fuck." "Oh, that is good, good man-pussy." "OH, YES. You are going to be my fuck toy all. night. long." "Holy Mother of Fuck." "I don't believe it. I just came, and I'm a total bottom." "Oh, yeah - His cum as lube for my cock in your ass... OH FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!" "Kentucky throroughbred ass." "Oh my God, he's milking my cock..." "I hope that ass gets fucked regularly." "Dude. Best ass ever, man." After a while there was a lull in the action and everyone except my head-giving buddy and me cleared out. He looked at me oddly for a second, then got up, circled around me, dropped his pants, and fucked me until he came. Then he sat back down and said, "So that's what that was all about." All the others could be written off as the jabberings of men in the throes of a sexual haze, but this guy was from Consumer Reports, testing the product. His comment is the proof. I give great ass. If I say so myself.

I stumbled across this quite by accident: (That's a transparent lie, of course. It wasn't accidental at all.) Read the part where it says "Serving Size". 1 cup (240 ml) (70 ejaculates). The accepted standard single serving size for cum is 70 loads. No wonder I'm starving. I remember the first time I tasted cum - it was my own. I was a young teenager, and wondered what this stuff was, and put some on my tongue. I don't remember what I thought at the time. I do remember the first time I thought of taking it straight from my cock to my mouth, though; I was all for it (and much, much, much more flexible) and was incredibly turned on as I watched my own cock swell to the point of bursting like looking down the barrel of a gun. But when I popped, something odd happened. My aim was good and I got a mouthful, but at that moment, all the eagerness to do it instantly evaporated, and I found myself with a mouthful of cum and no sexual desire. I was torn between swallowing it and spitting it out. Swallowing it would mean accepting what I had just done. Spitting it out would mean having to deal with it further. I swallowed it. I don't know if that choice marked a major life choice or not, but it wasn't the last time I lined up my cock for that shot. In fact, I kept working at it until no aim was needed, and I could suck my own cockhead. The feeling of my own cum shooting into my mouth is somehow not the same as taking another man's load - it's a double-mind-rush of orgasm and explosion of taste and acceptance of penetration at the same time. Alas, my youthful exuberance came back to bite me later in the form of a ruptured spinal disc. It may have been a high price to pay for the experience of autofellatio, but I won't say it wasn't worth it. I only know it ain't happening again.To be honest, my mouth has never been my favorite hole. I would ten times rather take your load in my ass, and I only feel truly bred when a man has taken me like a stud takes his bitch or his mare. But today... today I need my Recommended Daily Allowance.

I like that observation. I have always made it a point to pay the Top some compliment afterward even if he wasn't all that. In a busy anon group I haven't always been able to speak individual praise afterward... but I'm a vocal bottom. Can't help it. I figure I'll end up saying something out loud that most Tops would take as a compliment.

There's a motif in movies of the girl at her dressing-table, readying herself for her big date, taking the time to array and adorn herself, preparing to work magic and alchemy at once when she meets the man. Many times she finds an epiphany in the mirror, her soul looking back, or she flowers into song, so rich is the setting, so pregnant with anticipation and possibility, so fraught with potential consequence. It is an intimate window onto her that gives the viewer access to pathos when she arrives in splendor - or simply humble goodness - only to find that her paramour never intended to meet her at all. The analogy is far from perfect. A good many of us dedicated bottoms' wiles are centered around a more or less hairy rump, and, even if some of us do like musical theatre, we're guys, for God's sake. But in other ways there are some similarities worth noting - and worth pointing out, especially to certain of the always-tops. It's true that there are bottoms that don't think twice about dropping trou at any moment, and there's something to be said for spontaneity, but given time to prepare, I'd say most of us who take bottoming at all seriously invest at least a little 'boudoir' time preparing for any encounter, for a lot of reasons. Done well, it isn't always quick, and it isn't always easy... and it isn't always appreciated. My motivation for bottoming is the satisfaction I get from feeling a man's body cum in me because that is proof that I have made him feel orgasmically good - comfortable enough, and energetic enough, and powerful enough, and attractive enough to let himself enjoy the use of my body inside and out, and forget the world for a short while. Making sure he gets there takes work on my part. To start with, I always make sure he has a nice, clean hole to play with. I don't risk an accident that could derail the proceedings; I take the time to clean myself out thoroughly. It isn't comfortable, and it can be time-consuming, but it's the standard I set for my service. To pre-lube or not, to musk up or go natural, and the hairdo (if you've still got it) wants consideration. Body hair is tricky, because you never know what another man's preference is the first time you meet him. If you're pretty hairy, you can do something about it if you know he likes smooth skin (harder to go the other way without dressing in fur skins) but the degree of manscaping is a moving target. Again, potentially time-consuming, but I try to pay attention to detail all over my body, not just those places where his face is going to go where it wouldn't usually go. Likewise, attire. Now, you wouldn't think that a cumslut bottom would have any reason to spend time worrying about his clothing - it's going to be a temporary, if not disposable situation in any case. But it's all about the impression that sets the mood and the scene, that tells the story about the kind of man you have before you who is about to surrender his masculinity to yours and let you breed him. Choice of underwear (or whether to even bother), clothes that nearly fall off on their own, or duds that playfully defy the Top to claim his trophy, all this gets considered. Then, has the bottom got his kit together for traveling? That little box or bag of essentials to make sure everthing goes smoothly (or roughly) has to be got together. If the Top is into kink, this can be a very complicated affair. I can vouch. My BDSM bag to cater to the interests of discriminating Doms weighs pounds. Don't get me wrong - I don't primp and priss over myself in the bathroom. I want in and out of there as quickly as possible. I know there are plenty of guys who don't linger over it, and some guys say the grungier the better. I just know that the men who have fucked me the most thoroughly and enjoyed my body the most are the ones who appreciated my efforts in the 'boudoir', so that's why I make the effort for every single man who summons me. And that's why it pisses me off so badly when someone calls me for a hookup that's going to take me an hour and a half round-trip drive to another city, and when I get there, texts me to say, "I can't do it today" or "I don't feel like it" or "something came up" or "<nothing>". What the fuck? You let a guy rinse his guts out for you, spend an hour getting his body smooth enough for you to lick, pack all his sex toys for you to play with, drive 45 minutes on his own gas money, and you don't bother to tell him until half an hour after he's texted you that he's on his way that you're canceling? Without a reason? What's the matter with you? Maybe the guy in this case had a legit reason. Shit happens, and I'm fine with that if it's real. But I've been burned by men who do this much too often. I don't get it. I never get it. Tops are forever writing "I would love to eat your ass and breed you" and then, when the bottom says, "Okay," it's as though half the Tops didn't realize that was an actual possibility and that they might actually be called upon to perform. Again, what the fuck? Why do you people who do this, do this? I wanted to get my ass filled this weekend and lost my opportunity because of one guy who basically prevented my ass from being available to someone else who might have truly enjoyed it. Worst of all, it is so discouraging to me that it makes me question whether I'm wasting my time - whether I'm nuts to think that there are men who would seriously want to breed me. All I can say is, if you're out there, this ass is always, always eager for you. But if you're one of those game-player inconsiderate assholes who have no respect for the discomfort, time and effort a bottom takes at his boudoir for your sake, then piss off and please don't waste my time with your fantasy life. (I don't usually write rants, by the way, but dammit, I was ready for breeding today. Some guy or guys could have worked me for hours... )

Bear with me, now. I have been aware of the existence of anal tattoos for a while, but have not given them proper consideration, as in, actual concentrated contemplation, before now. But seeing a picture of a person's ass with octopus tentacles seeming to explode from the central orifice begged a question, and, with a minimum of Googleinvestigation, hey presto! - Yep, all the way to the center. A Google image search on certain topics is not for the faint hearted. You never know just what you're going to get. What I did discover from a cursory... inspection... is that anal tattoos appear to be predominantly a female thing, but somehow I question whether this is actually true. There were male examples. Most common were butterflies and stars (including starfish) as well as sunbursts (of a sort) and tribal-ish treatments, as well as text messages of various descriptions, largely along the lines of "<insert cock here>". Not all, however, were so inviting. One example: a ring of barbed wire, which would make one think twice. A spiderweb, complete with realistic-looking spider facing inward. An actual spider. A very realistic-looking starfish (for those into fucking sea life) and oh, yes, an octopus. The correct plural of which, for your information, is octopodes, but if you have fucked more than one ass with an octopus for an anal tattoo, you have earned the right to call them what you want as far as I'm concerned. Not all text messages are welcoming either. One said simply, "Let it be." Another was a plainly instructional "Spit First". Male anal tattoos tended to be more star or burst-like, or tribal, with angular or graphical forms. One had his hole surrounded with what appeared to be target sight from a ranged weapon (perhaps, suggestively, a missile launcher). I did not find any with animal renderings, although I did see one with ornate flower petals.* Explain, please: Why? Why does anyone do this? I am tatt-less, a tabula rasa, so to speak, not because I fear the pain of the needle (a former master immensely enjoyed skewering both my testicles with long needles one day) but because I hesitate when I think of confronting my 80-year-old inked self and trying to explain why I though it was a good idea. Trying to explain why getting a tattoo around my anus seems like a bridge too far. Because I've never been under the tattooist's needle, I can't empathize with the pain of getting a tattoo there, but given that being rimmed instantly has the desirable effect of turning me into a mindless slut, I can only think that the opposite sort of treatment would have an effect as potently undesirable. Yet people find reason to endure it. How common is this in men? How many bottoms have taken this leap? What have they chosen for their design? Tops, do you find this a turn-on or not? I don't really understand why anyone would think to do this in the first place, but what really scares me is that I'm almost afraid that, for the right man, I could be talked into it. Nothing ostentatious, mind you, no octopodes. Something tasteful. Is that possible? Is "tasteful anal tattoo" an oxymoron? Your thoughts? *In Japan, the chrysanthemum is associated with the anus because of the visual similarity of the blossom, an a "chrysanthemum tryst" meant gay anal sex. It's the centerpiece of the Japanese Imperial flag. Just sayin'.