ErosWired

The Works in Indianapolis. Broad white and blue stripes. I don’t know that I would call them luxurious - God knows they must go through some vigorous hot water washing to come out clean after all that cum and lube - but they are reasonably nice, and plenty big. Not beach towel big, but really-too-modest-for-a-bathhouse big. It’s almost as if they expect men to bathe there and need to dry themselves. Absurd.

I’ve never understood the appeal of having one’s cockhead bathed in stomach acid, but I’m not judging. One thing that might possibly be helpful (your mileage may vary) is acupressure. There are four different acupressure points said to be good for suppressing the gag reflex, and at least one of them is borne out by a scientific study. Try googling ‘gag reflex acupressure’ for references.

The illness that I am quite certain was my seroconversion put me in the hospital in 2011. Among the tests I was given to determine the cause of my illness was a test for HIV infection. That test came back negative. False negative. Because of that false negative, they treated my symptoms until they diminished and finally sent me home saying they thought it was some kind if virus but didn’t know what kind. As far as they knew, however, it wasn’t HIV. Their test said it wasn’t. Three years later I was back in the same hospital with a CD4 count of 49 and a viral load of 85,000. Because I had gone untreated for three years after a seroconversion serious enough to hospitalize me. Because of medical ignorance, overconfidence, incompetence, or some combination thereof. To be fair, I also had had some of the shittiest luck conceivable - after that false negative, I had three other HIV tests also come back false negative. Three. That’s four in a row. What are the chances?

I grew up in tobacco country before the buyout. People on both sides of my family grew it for a living back then. They also smoked it, chewed it, spat it. I know the odors of Nicotiana tabacum from it growing in the fields, to hanging in the barns, to floating smoky in the air, to stagnating in moist cups full of spit. I’ve been places where you couldn’t take a step without putting your foot where someone had spat his juice on the ground, or thrown his cigarette butt. I remember brass spittoons in use. When men in the family went out in the fields to work the tobacco when it was damp, they would come back in afterward and undergo what folks called “the shakes” - what we now realize was nicotine poisoning. Every damp leaf they touched acted like a nicotine patch. My father smoked. When I was a boy, I would spend the 5-hour drive to my grandparents’ house huddled in the floorboard of his car because he thought he could just crack the window at the top to vent while he smoked in the car. I’m an asthmatic. My father is now living with half a lung and no bladder. His most recent cancer screening came back clear…so far. My father’s mother smoked too. I remember it well, because of an evening she would sit and suffer from her “smothering” - emphysema. My mother’s father smoked as well. He died in agony of lung cancer. I never remember my mother’s brother that he didn’t have a lit pipe in his mouth. He died of cancer that had metastasized through his body. My sister has tried to stop smoking several times, but its claws are so deeply embedded in her that she always goes back to it. I have no doubt whatsoever that I will bury her because of it. My dad once told me that tobacco paid for my college education. It’s a shame I will never live down. I loathe tobacco in all its forms. I hate it and it hates me. It has hurt and taken away people I love and it only takes a whiff or two to of its smoke to start shutting down my lungs. Suffice it to say that smoking is an instant turn-off for me. Hooking up with a smoker in a smoker’s environment is out of the question. Servicing a cigar-smoking Dominant is out of the question. I will avoid kissing a smoker if at all possible, and if I am aware that a man is a smoker, I do not offer my mouth as an option for his cock. Anyone who thinks smoking makes you ‘cool’ or ‘hott’ or ‘edgy’ is, in my eyes, a fool with a death wish.

Some of us grew up in a place and time when “faggot” was a cudgel to attack us with. I was being called a fag by boys trying to hurt me before I even knew what it meant. So I am very conflicted about the gay community ‘reclaiming’ the word for itself. The problem is that it isn’t being reclaimed by gays as a universal identifier and a source of pride and empowerment; it’s still being used as a derogatory by dominant men over submissive men, except now it’s being used by gays on gays. Checklists like the OP’s are problematic because they force me to acknowledge that, by someone’s measure, I am absolutely a faggot. All those hateful, hurtful boys years ago weren’t wrong. Neither are the Tops with their cocks buried deep inside my body, painting my most vulnerable, intimate space with their ejaculate who call me a faggot even as they use me for their own homosexual pleasure (they, of course, are not faggots by this measure). But it’s not a name I choose for myself. I don’t embrace it, even though I embrace my place at the bottom of the male sexual hierarchy. I don’t take pride in it, even though I take pride in my ability to serve. I don’t identify with it, even though when the Top rutting my slit says, “You’re nothing but a faggot whore, aren’t you? Say it.” I’ll reply, “I’m a faggot whore, Sir.” because it will please him. You’re going to call me what you’re going to call me. But I’ll define myself.

A bit more background - the term originates from orangutan, one of the great apes, which has reddish fur. The comparison to a person with red hair is generally considered derogatory. Personally, my idea of Heaven is Forty-Seven Ginger-Headed Sailors:

Because all Neurotypicals are emotionally irrational from my perspective, my preferred option for how to respond to men is to - as uniformly as possible - leave the door open, face the other way, and take them up the ass without ever having to look at them.

Heh. People being encouraged to get close to me is not a problem I often have. I find it’s usually not anything I will have said that inadvertently acts as a lure; more often it’s a case of needy individuals who will glom onto anyone with reach and are selectively oblivious to any hint or suggestion that their attentions are not wanted. I might compare them to ticks in the tall grass - they will leap onto anything warm-blooded that walks within reach, bury their head beneath the skin and start draining the life out of you, can be hard to dispose of, and can leave you with a lingering problem.

With The Flash, though, you’d have an upsides and downsides. Downside: The fuck would be over practically before it started, but Upside: he would probably recover from his refractory period in seconds and be ready to go again. Downside: Friction blisters on your anus.

Here’s the link to BadDragon Dildos. 😳You’re welcome. [think before following links] https://bad-dragon.com/shop

Pain is by no means a requirement to be a submissive. Submissive does not necessarily equal masochist. I’m not a big fan of pain myself in general, and certain types of pain are out of the question - I can take a flogging, but you’re not whipping me with a single-tail. Nope. Plenty of scenes involve no pain at all, just power exchange and/or humiliation and/or mindfuckery. And yes, BDSM requires not just planning, but also negotiation. You don’t have to definitively label yourself a Dom or a sub any more than you have to firmly choose Top or bottom. You can play either role when the mood strikes. My former Master used to say that in reality everyone’s a Switch, but I do have to differ on that - I don’t have a Dominant bone in my body. What you like you’ll naturally gravitate toward as you explore. Just remember a couple of constants to always live by in the lifestyle - ‘Safe, Sane and Consensual’ and ‘Your Kink Is Not My Kink’ (each to his own). One other thing: If you’re going to use ‘Bluedragon’ as your username in kink circles, someone is eventually going to expect to be fucked with a blue dragon dildo. I’m just telling you. You may as well shop now.

That must be awkward. Have you considered having them removed just to be rid of the hassle?

Here’s the CDC’s fact sheet on HPV (Human Papillomavirus): [think before following links] https://www.cdc.gov/std/hpv/stdfact-hpv.htm Best to get the information straight from the source. A couple of things to note - • There is no cure for the virus itself, only treatment for the symptoms it causes - and it may cause no symptoms for years. • HPV is so common that the CDC anticipates that practically every unvaccinated sexually active person will get it at some point. • The vaccine is only recommended for people up to a certain age; after that, its usefulness is questionable, probably because anyone older who has been sexually active has likely already been exposed and developed a native immune response. I disagree that it’s prudent to assume it’s not a cancer-causing strain. The prudent thing is to assume it is, and get the warts removed immediately, followed by a dose of vaccine.

It always struck me that Superman must have an extremely frustrated sex life because there is no way he could ever let himself go. If his thrusts didn’t shatter your pelvis, his cumshot would probably go through a body like a rifle round. And if you tried to look into his eyes while he orgasmed - Ooh! Sorry about the heat vision… And Bruce Banner? Don’t make me horny. You wouldn’t like me when I’m horny.

The analysis that follows delves somewhat into my own speculative psychoanalysis, so take it for what it’s worth: Certainly there’s a strong tendency toward introversion. In a broad sense, a desire to avoid ‘entanglements’ could relate to a general discomfort in dealing with superficial social interactions of any kind (I loathe small talk); and to an overall difficulty in managing interaction with others on a deeper emotional level. Trying to interface with a Neurotypical’s emotion-laden psyche is like treading a minefield with a blindfold on. On the whole, I find humans rather unpleasant to deal with in person in any extended capacity; if one doesn’t behave in the way that most closely aligns with their expectations, they almost invariably become hostile to a greater or lesser degree. But as far as friendships go, I can’t say that a concern about ‘entanglement’ has ever entered the picture. I have very few friends, but those I have I value deeply and fiercely. I am extremely selective about whom I chose for friends; the most important criterion being that the person has a clever, inquisitive mind and is never boring. I do not, as I think on it, ever think of any of my friends in a sexual way. Sex would be a banality that would dull our mental interaction with each other; it is unnecessary. It might help to explain that I long ago bifurcated my own psyche into two divided parts that had grown so incompatible at puberty that I had no choice but wall them off - one was my intellectual, rational self, the other my sexual, sensual (animal/biological) self. The two have been at vicious war for decades, so much so that I eventually had to interpose a third self - a neutral arbitrator - to keep them from destroying each other and taking my mind with them. The conditioning my former Master did on me had the effect of, to a degree, legitimizing the sexual self by giving me a rational context for its acceptance; I serve men sexually because that is my intended role. Were that not so, I would not exhibit an aptitude for it. Following this line of thought, I can reconcile my sexual nature with my rational nature at least enough to allow a measure of mental equilibrium. If, however, further non-rational elements become involved, for instance, the emotional fluctuations brought on by ‘entanglements’ with someone else’s (usually irrational) emotional states, the tenuous balance maintained between the warring factions in my own psyche may be upset, leading to confusion and distress. —— So, tl;dr, yes, I’m an introvert, mainly because people are hard to deal with, and I only make friends with brainy people who aren’t interested in fucking anyway. And that’s just as well, because the only way I can fuck without driving myself insane is to make sure I never fuck anybody personally who I would then have to deal with emotionally.

Guys like that are a nightmare scenario for me. I’m just an anonymous cunt, for God’s sake - anyone who can form an attachment on the basis of a few minutes spent in my fuckhole is invariably a needy man with Issues. The last time that happened, I met a dude at the edge of a park, and he took me in to a secluded spot and bred me in the open. My warning light went off a bit right from the outset when he asked that I call him ‘babe’, but he wanted the ass, and I know my duty. I spent the next month dodging him on various apps because he made it clear he was wanting something more. It’s ironic how our culture gives men such a harsh rep as callous love-em-and-leave-em types who just want to satisfy their urges and move on, but as soon as you want them to be all fuck-n-go, suddenly everyone shows up with baggage.

My arrangement with my former Master was along these lines, except that I wasn’t training to become a Dominant myself. I assisted him in his work with other submissives. I wasn’t his apprentice, which would have implied that I aspired to his craft; rather, I was his assistant. It was a very flexible arrangement in that it allowed him to both involve me in helping him administer to others, as well as use me in my submissive capacity for public demonstrations. Because I don’t have a single Dominant bone in my body, however, there were things I couldn’t do. I simply could not flog someone, or apply CBT, or cause pain; I didn’t have it in me. He had a particular device - a kind of very strong vibrator - he used to use to force me to have repeated rapid orgasms until they became torture, and it got to the point that every time he turned the horrid thing on I wanted to curl up into a ball. One time when he went to use the device on another submissive, I was unable to stand by and watch and had to leave the room. He was not amused. Be mindful that if you want to continue as a submissive, there may be things that you might not want to, or not be able to, do as an ‘apprentice’ Dom. You can’t really be a Dominant submissive, or a submissive Dominant, and be really successful at either, in my experience.

Therein lies a risk, however. A reply may be interpreted as an invitation to converse, and one suddenly finds oneself forced into an unwanted exchange that could be open-ended. [Related rant: Guys who send messages like “Hi” and when you respond never say another word]

This cannot be overemphasized. Last weekend at the bathhouse I watched all these men walk around with their towels wrapped around their waists from their navels to their knees and I just wanted to say, “This isn’t the fucking Roman Senate, gentlemen.” For the bottom to ensure proper focus of attention, however, I find it useful to strategically drape the towel over the shoulder sufficiently far forward that it conceals the cock in front and leaves the ass view unobstructed behind.

Just so. Which only somewhat compounds the point, from my perspective. Even if I haven’t read the narrative (such as there may be) attached to the profile, I will have at least given a cursory glance at the list of attributes the person has chosen, particularly the notation of what he’s looking for. If I see “friends, relationship”, I’m disinclined to approach, because my service is strictly NSA and I’m not really relationship material. If I see “chat” I run far, far away. It seems to me that establishing whether there’s any likelihood of compatibility before seeking an investment of the other person’s time and attention is the least one might reasonably expect; but instead, we find people simply throwing themselves blindly at other people on the other side of the planet just to see if they happen to stick. I understand what people are saying here about being open to the possibility that someone who contacts me from a city 500 miles away could someday -you never know- end up crossing my path. But the commonplace reality is that over half the guys who hit me up within a five-mile radius don’t actually show up. I’m not holding my breath waiting for the guy from Sydney. As to the guys who just want to send someone a compliment… that’s nice, I suppose? The compliment means nothing to me - I’m not vain enough to be pleased by random flattery, and have a realistic enough opinion of my own appearance to place it in proper context. It then simply becomes more of an irritant because I feel obliged to respond with a reciprocal compliment that I probably have to invent (he may have been fishing for one to begin with) or at least some empty pleasantry. In either case, it takes up time to no productive purpose. I say all of the above with the caveat that I’m fully aware that part of my irritation comes from being an Autistic person with a deep dislike for the kind of ephemeral social interactions that other people seem to thrive on. As far as that goes, I encourage you to pay me no mind.

There is a phenomenon of people wanting to get COVID, but I think in this case it’s less a matter of trauma/fetish and more a case of people responding to misinformation from sources telling them that they’re better off just “getting it and getting it over with” so they’ll build up immunity without having to take the ‘wicked’ vaccine.

I can’t even wrap my head around how anyone rationalizes seeking out multiple strains of HIV. This is the Achilles’ heel of all the arguments that say becoming poz gives you freedom to fuck - there’s always the possibility of superinfection that can leave you almost beyond the aid of science to save you. Combining strains in one individual does not, however, lead to the development of new strains inasmuch as viruses do not reproduce sexually, and new strains result from mutation, not from crossbreeding. The way men do contribute to the development of new - and potentially treatment-resistant - strains is by going untreated and allowing the Enemy Virus to replicate and therefore mutate at will using them as a willing host. And that is indefensible.

The sad thing is, even though I cognitively know better, I still tend to take people at their word. Because I’m Autistic, it usually doesn’t occur to me to lie about anything (even if I try it’s extraordinarily difficult), so I automatically assume others are telling the truth as well. It bites me in the ass a lot.

I guess that’s why they call it ‘footage’.

@OFfenesLoch - Don’t attempt to quote me out of context to say the opposite of what I said. A life of cumdumping isn’t a life of freedom. It’s a life of responsibility, or a life of consequences. You might try to live free of the first, but you can’t escape the second. That’s something everyone across this entire forum who speaks of his unfettered freedom to fuck overlooks - actions always, always, always have consequences.