ErosWired

I despise this topic being in the HIV and Sexual Health section because the title basically begs the ignoramuses to crawl out if the woodwork and regurgitate still more pro-pozzing blather as if it were an equally valid point of view, just another lifestyle choice like deciding how to wear your hair, instead of a question that bears on the health of not only the individual but every person the individual has intimate contact with. Statements along the lines of “I’m now enjoying fucking freely in my permanent pursuit of pleasure” or “I got a prescription for PrEP but didn’t bother to fill it because there’s no need - I’m now free to be fucked by everyone” make me grind my teeth. Permanent pursuit of pleasure? No need of prevention because you’ve arrived at Shangri-Fucking-La? This is what is going to happen - you’re going to fuck and celebrate how glorious it is to be poz, and fuck some more, and tell everyone how lucky you are… and then one day, out of the blue, you’ll get a headache. Or a cough. And that headache or that cough will get bad enough that you have to go to the doctor. And the doctor will check you out, and his brow will crease, because this is no ordinary headache, no ordinary cough. They’ll run a few tests. Then they’ll run a few more. Then you get a fever, and the doctor decides you need to go to the hospital. By this point the headache feels like hammers in your skull. After a couple of days in the hospital, where you’re hooked up to IVs, you wake up to find a row of specialists at your bedside. They say, “Sir, we’re sorry to have to tell you that you have AIDS. Your immune system has been decimated and you are suffering from fungal meningitis. We will do what we can to save you. Right now, you must go to have fluid drained from your spine.” What? How can that be? You’re poz! You’re free! You’re permanently in the clear to live it up, and fuck every day with abandon, living every day as though it were your last. Well, guess what. That night, you have a stroke, brought on by the fungal meningitis that you got because the HIV you wanted so much ate your body’s defenses down to nothing. Maybe you don’t survive the stroke. Maybe you do, but you can’t walk straight, or talk right, or sign your own name anymore, or remember how to finish sentences when you’re talking. But hey, you’re alive. You get to go home. But things aren’t the same. You feel like absolute shit, you have no energy at all, and that sweet toned ass you were so keen to show off loses its tone because you just can’t exercise - you have no energy, and you’ve lost your balance. You wanted permanent? Sweetie, you’ve got permanent now, big-time. The damage to your body you get to live with from now on. No need for pills? Au contraire, mon frére - now you must take your ART pill every fucking day without fail, or the poz you wanted so much will take any opportunity it can get to pick up right where it left off killing you. And then you get shingles, because your body forgot you had chicken pox as a kid. And your junk gets covered with molluscum for months, which nobody with a healthy immune system gets because a healthy immune system can beat molluscum easy. You just don’t have one. In fact, you’re going to have to get quite a few vaccinations just to cover the absolute minimum that an immune system has to do until your body fights its way back to some kind of immune competence. Which could take months. Or years. You’ll see a lot of doctors, and you’ll see them often. Hope you’ve got good insurance and a really understanding employer, because you’re going to need some time off work. Like, a lot of time off work. Depending on how bad the stroke was, maybe permanent time off work, but hey - you’re all about permanence, right? So bonus! Fast-forward a few years. Maybe you’ve recovered most of the function you lost from the stroke, but your body will never be what it used to be. Neither will your immune system, which has struggled to get close to what would be the minimum normal for anyone healthy. You get sick a lot. You have to be careful. You’re back to fucking - hey, why not, you’re poz! Free as fuck to indulge in your permanent search for pleasure. Except you get tired more easily, and your body isn’t as attractive and never will be again, and in the back of your mind every evening, you think Don’t forget to take your pill. Because now, you never, ever, ever forget that you are HIV Positive. It’s with you always, and most of the time there’s not one thing sexy about it. It’s the millstone around your neck you can never take off. And as if it weren’t bad enough that you’re willing to do this to yourselves, some of you are perfectly willing to irresponsibly pass your contagion on to others because you can’t be fucking bothered. Worse still, there are sick, psychopathic motherfuckers who want to intentionally inflict all of that on somebody else. If you are one such person, please, please go straight to hell. I mean, why wait? And can we please dispense with that ridiculous tripe about how anybody who walks into a bathhouse has to expect to be exposed to pozzing? NO, We DON’T. These arguments are nothing more than apologists for giver/chasers who believe they ought to be allowed to indulge their insane fetish in the population at large, and infect people at random in a setting where they are at their most vulnerable. Yes, when I go ass-up at a bathhouse I’m aware of and accept the risk that STDs may be in circulation, but there is no reason that the community has to tolerate the inflicted harm - not risk, inflicted harm - of untreated poz men who either by negligence or intent pass on their disease to the unwary. Another poster above apologized that his answer might not be exciting. You’re not getting an apology from me. What you just read is what I’ve lived. No, it’s not fucking exciting. Learn the difference between reality and fantasy before it kills you.

A Top at a bathhouse a couple of years ago tried to hypnotize me without me being aware that he was doing it. But having had experience with hypnosis, and him not being particularly subtle about it, I picked up on his technique right away - which was good, because trancing a guy without his consent isn’t ethical. The only thing is, there’s a persistent trigger phrase a hypnotist installed in me that I’ve never been able to get rid of, and if this guy had known that phrase he could have dropped me like a rock and done what he wanted.

How do you then deal with those feelings of embarrassment? Do you quickly shrug them off and move on, or do they linger and prevent you from doing other things? Does the embarrassment have an effect on how quickly you begin to feel urges? What sort of thing, if you don’t mind my asking, would you do that you wouldn’t normally do that would leave you feeling embarrassed, and what would happen if a guy were to proposition you very shortly thereafter? Would it make the embarrassment go away, or worsen it?

The weakness of this strategy is that the world outrage you speak of is taking the form of sanctions designed to devastate the Russian economy. By the time the West gets finished tallying up the bill for the reparations, Russia won’t have anything to pay them with except rubles worthless everywhere except in Russia, and in Russia only valuable by the wheelbarrow load. It will be a lot like getting a court judgment for damages against a bankrupt defendant - yes, you may have won the case, and yes, he may owe you a million dollars… but you’re never going to see your money.

Give me a bathhouse every time. Real contact with real Men, everyone’s there for the same reason, and none of the ills caused by internet communication apply. Men can’t misrepresent themselves very well when they’re naked. And I love me a steamroom. Getting steamed at guys who flake me on Grindr in nowhere near as pleasurable. Plus, I’ve never, ever left a bathhouse unfucked. I can’t say that about a hotel room where I had to rely on the apps to bring in hookups.

I hope I’m not actually channelling Dr. Ruth and suddenly come across as an old lady with an accent. I could see that being…counterproductive, in the situation…

You missed the point. It’s not that anyone cares whether you show your face (or your ass) but rather that no one is interested in hearing someone tell all the rest of us what we have to do to be a “true” cumdump. We’ll decide that for ourselves.

That’s an interesting question. There’s undeniably some base mental/biological process that takes precedence at that point and drives behavior even against other considerations. I experience it on a small scale every time a Top is on the verge of reaching his climax inside me - his sounds, the angle of his hips and thrusts, his tempo, the force of his grip, and, if I can see his face, especially his eyes, signal that he’s about to inseminate me and there’s very, very little that could stop him. He has taken on an animal aspect of his nature, not subject to reason, answerable only to instinct. A bottom may also experience this in a more unsettling way if things get out of control at a gangbang. So what is that instinct that makes cumming such an imperative? On the face of it, orgasm is such a reward to the pleasure center of the brain that it’s understandable that sensing it imminent, one would want to hasten it. But from an evolutionary standpoint, I wonder if it doesn’t have more to do with the need at some point in the distant past to take advantage of every reproductive opportunity as quickly as possible before some bigger, stronger, fiercer ape came along. We hear reports of this sort of thing happening even now in group scenes where some overly aggressive Top actually pulls another man away from fucking a bottom so he can have access. We consider this outrageous, but perhaps it’s an echo of something from our past.

Apologies in advance to the OP if this reply isn’t as salacious as you were hoping for, but you made me think. I’m intrigued by the way this question is posed: “How far have you come?” The OP is asking in the context of sexual acts or experiences, but in that context, he could have - but did not - phrase it as “How far have you gone?” The latter sounds like the same question, but subtly isn’t. “How far have you come” suggests a journey or destination or goal toward which one strives or aspires. “How far have you gone” suggests a path down which one might or might not want to have traveled, a destination away, not toward. Unlike the first phrasing, “How far have you gone can be transposed into a related question of potential significance: “How far gone are you?” When I think about my own answer to the OP, I can’t help thinking more in “gone” terms. I started as a straight-laced, straight-arrow, starched-shirt guy who tried to act on the most scrupulous principles in every situation (at my wedding my two oldest friends danced a circle around me to the song ‘Goody Two-Shoes’). When the effort to maintain the perfect person became too much, I broke down and allowed myself a moment of exploration into homosexuality. Since that first fuck, I’ve gone down the Rabbit Hole so. fucking. far. My body and mind have been used by men for dark, depraved acts to sate their lusts, and I have let them in spite of the pain, humiliation, and sense that with each sordid act I was going further down a one-way path from which there could be no return. And there can’t be. Once upon a time, I was a ‘good’ boy, pure and uncorrupted; now, I’ve been cunted over a thousand times and filled with the essence and seed of other men (nearly a gallon and a half of it in total, if you add it all up) and some component of it has absorbed into my flesh and become a part of me. But more than that, my mind has been altered, or perhaps - and this may be worse - my most base potential has come to be realized. I discovered, accepted, and embraced my role as a sexual object. An object - a thing - a utility with an intended use, a thing over which men could feel a sense of control, power, possession, ownership. How far have I gone? There is a man who lives half an hour’s drive from me who has in his possession a Deed, in his name, that grants him ownership of my body and my sex, to summon and to enjoy, to share and distribute, and to use in any way that pleases him. And I honor that Deed as though it were the Deed to my house or the Title to my car, because that’s how far gone I am. He texted me last night to say “I can’t wait to get a hold of that ass again.” Not “get a hold of you” - “get a hold of that ass”. Because I am an object for him. (Which is as it should be; he’s happily partnered, and they have an open relationship. I’m just his favorite fuck toy, one he actually owns. “Best piece of paper I ever had,” he says.) I have a number assigned to me on The Slave Registry, 730-219-854. I’ve been thinking about getting it tattooed onto my ass, because I consider it as much a part of my permanent identity as my Social Security Number. A few years ago, I registered myself with XTube - signed agreement, the works, so I could post video of myself for sale and maybe perform on cam. I posted a handful of videos, so I guess I could say I briefly stuck my toe into the amateur porn industry. That’s how far gone I was in that direction; the demise of XTube has ended that potential of course. But perhaps the farthest I’ve gone from where I started, the most permanent and radical change I never saw coming, came in August 2014, when, out of the blue, I was diagnosed with full- blown AIDS, with fungal meningitis and CD4 count of 49. Within two weeks I was literally within heartbeats of being gone completely. I don’t know why I’ve survived 7 1/2 years. It’s taken that long to recover just to the point where I am now. Some would say, “Look how far you’ve come.” But I’ll never get back everything I lost to AIDS, never be the same person I was. Maybe that’s a good thing. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. In fact, everything we experience, for good or bad, adds to who we are. We can only ever become more, never less. So I guess that since life is only an additive process, I really should think of it in terms of how far I’ve come - even if I have no idea where I’m going.

That would be tricky, since a catfish doesn’t have a cock, as such, and just sprays its sperm over eggs in the water. So getting a cunt full of catfish milt would require…extraordinary measures. But not judging. You do you. 🧜‍♂️

The term originates in this anecdote from the 2010 documentary Catfish: They used to tank cod from Alaska all the way to China. They’d keep them in vats in the ship. By the time the codfish reached China, the flesh was mush and tasteless. So this guy came up with the idea that if you put these cods in these big vats, put some catfish in with them and the catfish will keep the cod agile. And there are those people who are catfish in life. And they keep you on your toes. They keep you guessing, they keep you thinking, they keep you fresh. And I thank god for the catfish because we would be droll, boring and dull if we didn’t have somebody nipping at our fin. Another way I’ve personally always found it useful to think of it is that an actual catfish is a bottom-dweller in dark, murky waters that has long, whiskerlike barbels on its snout that it uses like feelers to reach out and see what it can find to eat. They are not, generally speaking, very visually appealing fish.

I hope so, but make sure you keep your door locked. The guy just basically scoped out you place for a future burglary. Don’t think that a guy who comes to fuck you won’t rob you. The last time I hotel hosted, the last Top who fucked me grabbed a couple of my things and bolted out the door seconds after he unloaded in me. I felt like I had been plundered twice.

Oh snap That’s not suspicious at all. Yes, you bloody well could. For any of the things you’ve described. The minute he showed up at your door obviously having misrepresented himself, you had every right to shut the door in his face and think not a thing of it. You are under no obligation to indulge any of that, and refusing to do so doesn’t make you insensitive or hard on Tops who are ‘phallically challenged’. I have no sympathy for a man who will try to bait-and-switch me to get me to accept his substandard sexual contact, and his attempt leaves me with zero compassion for his having a micropenis. Indulging them just encourages the behavior.

I remember a guy who came to use me anon once when I hotel hosted - he was really into it, and when he came in me he kept cumming and cumming for an unusually long time. But when he was done, and starting to put on his clothes, he said, “What am I doing here?” like he couldn’t believe he had just found himself in a random room in a sleazy hotel fucking a free-range whore, because he wasn’t that kind of guy. I had him sit down on the bed next to me, and we talked about it for a while, me letting him know that I was safe, and normal, and there was nothing wrong with tending to his natural needs, that’s why I was there in the first place, etc. (I find I end up acting as an ad hoc sex therapist on occasion.) I was just struck by how sharply he had experienced the sense of suddenly being a different person than the one who had just bred me.

I would like to unsee that. I feel like I’ve got sand in my eyes, now.

I wonder how common the interest actually is among Tops in seeing a bottom’s rectum inverted like that. I’ve had one or two really try to get me to “push it out, push it out” (I can’t) but it’s not something I run into often at all. It strikes me as very fetish-y, closer to kink than mainstream. I understand what some are saying about seeing a “destroyed” hole and knowing that it’s well-used, but I guess I think of there being different definitions of “destroyed” that might not include one’s intestines being external. I don’t have a personal opinion on it one way or the other except to say that as much as I want to cultivate an open and all-accepting cunt, a prolapsed bowel is not something I want to pursue. I would think there would be a distinct risk of some Tops being put off by it appearing unexpectedly.

You know you’ve arrived at this point in a moment of self-realization when you find yourself immobilized, without any form of physical restraint, substance or hypnotic suggestion, by a man holding a .18 gauge needle he intends to press through your testicle - and you let him do it - and then, in the surreal shock and pain of seeing your own nut skewered with metal, when he says, “Good boy,” you feel like you’ve won the lottery.

This piece of analysis answers the OP’s question pretty thoroughly: [think before following links] https://www.cnn.com/2022/03/26/politics/trump-putin-ukraine/index.html

Allow me to acquaint you with “The Great Dying” - the Permian-Triassic extinction event that occurred approximately 251.9 million years ago, which caused the disappearance of 57% of the planet’s biological families, including 81% of all marine species and almost all trees. It is the largest mass extinction event known to science. Practically no class of life was untouched by the global catastrophe, and many species barely clung to existence. Some, indeed, did not last long. Others that just barely survived, however, endured, flourished, and produced evolutionary lineages that carry on very well today - such as the terrestrial vertebrates from which humanity eventually sprang. In short, we are the result of exactly such a survival event. Incidentally, I don’t dispute the danger posed by the nuclear threat. It’s utter madness that humanity still has the damn things at all. But the irony about The Great Dying is that some of the leading theories about its causes center around climactic changes brought on by cataclysmic volcanic eruptions that released large volumes of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere, from an area known as the Siberian Traps. Yes, it appears that the greatest extinction event in the history of the Earth began - in Russia.

Well, of course that’s a Russian proverb - Russia identifies with the bear. But as a former park ranger, I can tell you I’ve never seen a bear that actually knew how to dance. I can tell you this about what you do if you encounter a bear - You stay calm and talk to it in normal tones so it knows you’re not prey. You never raise your voice. You make yourself look as big as possible. Travel in groups; bears are intimidated by people when they are together. You never turn your back, and you never run. Always leave room for the bear to escape. If the bear moves toward you, you stand your ground. If a bear attacks (which is actually rare) what you do depends on the kind of bear. If it’s a brown/grizzly, you play dead until it loses interest and leaves, and if it doesn’t you fight it in its face; if it’s a black bear, you begin with fighting it in the face with whatever you’ve got, starting with bear spray; if it’s a polar bear, you kiss your ass goodbye. And a female with cubs - don’t mess with Mama. If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. Generally, though, bears mostly try to get by with bluffing and throwing their smelly weight around, but are fairly easily cowed by anything they aren’t sure they can beat. If you look at the West’s current strategy with the Russian Bear - we’re not turning our back, we’re talking in civil tones, we’re showing it how big we are, we’re standing together in a great big group, and in case it’s dumb enough to charge us, we’ve got a gallon drum of bear spray, and we’re giving some of it to the Ukrainians. Sounds about right to me.

It’s not mind-boggling at all. Trump is not an intelligent man, but he has learned a set of skills and learned them very well - he is a world-class manipulator. The tragedy lies in that such powers are wielded by a man so utterly corrupt, insecure, and narcissistic. His ability to sway millions even now, with his record of falsehood and failure laid bare, comes straight from Propaganda 101, as first expounded (and grievously illustrated) by none other than Adolf Hitler. This is from Mein Kampf: All this was inspired by the principle – which is quite true within itself – that in the big lie there is always a certain force of credibility; because the broad masses of a nation are always more easily corrupted in the deeper strata of their emotional nature than consciously or voluntarily; and thus in the primitive simplicity of their minds they more readily fall victims to the big lie than the small lie, since they themselves often tell small lies in little matters but would be ashamed to resort to large-scale falsehoods. It would never come into their heads to fabricate colossal untruths, and they would not believe others could have the impudence to distort the truth so infamously. Even though the facts which prove this to be so may be brought clearly to their minds, they will still doubt and waver and will continue to think there may be some other explanation. For the grossly impudent lie always leaves traces behind it, even after it has been nailed down, a fact which is known to all expert liars in this world and to all who conspire together in the art of lying. — Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf, vol. I, ch. X[5] Hitler’s Chief of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels, famously distilled this idea when he said: “If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it.“ Do you think Trump is unaware of this, or where it comes from? These are Trump’s own words, from his perpetually-open mouth: “If you say it long enough, hard enough, often enough, people will start to believe it.” - Donald J. Trump He’s taking pages straight from the Nazi Propaganda Playbook and using them absolutely shamelessly, because he knows they will work. And he doesn’t give a rat’s ass who gets hurt by it, as long as he “wins”. So, no, not mind-boggling at all. Just sickening that he’s able to also manipulate our society’s system of laws that favor liberty and freedom of expression in order to get away with it. But don’t worry; you think Trump’s a bitch? Wait until Trump meets Karma - Karma’s a bitch.

What makes you assume you don’t? Just because you can hear it in others doesn’t mean you could hear it in yourself. Have you ever listened to a recording of your own voice and thought, That doesn’t sound like me at all - it’s because your perception of your own voice is modified by the effect of the vibrations also passing through the tissues of your skull and influencing the ear internally. The voice you hear yourself speak isn’t the voice everyone else hears, because they’re not inside the echo chamber of your skull.

Just because someone is Autistic doesn’t mean he can’t also be an obnoxious moron. We’re just like everybody else in most respects, and have all kinds of personalities, even regrettable ones. Your guy just may have been one of those idiots that gives all Autists a bad name. That’s the point I was trying to make about it not being about ‘affect’ - it’s not about noticing the intentional vocal style a guy adopts to broadcast or emphasize his homosexuality, whether it be the stereotypical ‘lithp’ (accompanied by the weakly articulated wrist), or an intentional raise of pitch, or the use of signalling language like calling other men ‘sister’ or ‘girl’. It has nothing to do with all that claptrap. It’s organic. If he’ll forgive my asking, I’d be most curious to know if @BlindRawFucker1 might have any comment regarding this. I imagine his auditory acuity must be particularly sensitive to subtle variations, but I don’t want to put him on the spot.

Guys who reply “On my way” … and never show up. Who in fact, if you observe the ‘distance from’ reading on the app, never budge one inch from where they were when they sent the message. I cannot understand this blatant and unnecessary lie that gets told with such frequency. Related: ”I’m just going to jump in the shower.” This is the fucking kiss of death for a hookup. 90% of the time, I’ll never see the guy. It doesn’t even have to be a cold shower to put them off. The last damn thing you want when a Top says he wants to fuck you is for him to get naked, warm and wet where he’s going to be touching himself with lube-like soap while thinking cock thoughts.

That is not an accurate nor flattering comparison. The animated Peter Griffin isn’t characterized as being an Autist, he’s characterized as being an obnoxious moron. (And I can’t stand to watch the show.) Unfortunately, the fate of your real-life “Peter Griffin” is all too common among people with Autism. Neurotypicals - non-Autistics - react negatively because we do not always conform to Neurotypical standards of what is socially “normal”, and pass summary judgment in us. More often than not, I find myself being labeled an asshole for absolutely no reason I can figure out; it’s just that some NT got his feathers rubbed wrong because I didn’t act the way he was expecting - or because I was too honest. One often hears talk about looking for a “cure” for Autism, as though it were a disease. I do not need to be cured, thank you. My brain is simply wired differently. Not wrongly - differently. The fact that my brain does not output the social cues that comfort Neurotypicals is not my problem, but theirs. It only becomes my problem when they begin to act ugly about it, call me names, defame my character, and physically assault me at my workplace (all of which actually happened). The most simplified way I can explain what being Autistic is like to someone else is this: The world around us constantly bombards us with stimuli - signals of all types coming from all directions nonstop, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, textures. For the average person, his brain automatically has a kind of filter that blocks out most of the incoming information and only selects what’s most relevant in a given context. Thus, you might notice another guy coming on to you because you were receptive to such signals (and for most men here, any context will do). An Autist, however, doesn’t have an automatic filter. All the signals come driving in from all sides all the time, and it’s confusing, frustrating, and even painful because we’re so sensitive to it all. We have no choice but to set up mental - and sometimes physical - barriers to wall off as much of the input as we can just so the world becomes a manageable place. This is why Aspies hyper-focus on things; they’re hyper-not-focusing on everything else. If I’m in a bar with music and lights, There’s very little chance of my noticing a guy wagging his eyebrows at me because I’m too busy trying to keep from being overwhelmed by the light and the noise. This oversensitivity to stimuli is both a curse and a gift; although it causes many problems, our adaptation to it also allows us to concentrate on things more intensely than most people, and sometimes allows us to observe and sense things more keenly than those with a filter. The animated Peter Griffin is just a crass, imbecilic buffoon. The one there whose mental wiring is a mystery is Lois - why in God’s name would anybody marry him?