ErosWired

There’s a palpable difference between sexual acts that are being performed for the camera and sex that is simply observed by the camera’s eye. Performed sex may have all the explicit angles and everything lit for optimum visibility, and every body positioned for effect, but it often lacks the subtle clues that passion is at play, that body chemistry is in flux, that male instinct could take over reason. This is why some amateur material is so compelling - it feels more real, somehow more alive and in this moment, even if it clearly isn’t as staged. This piece caught my attention because it lands somewhere in the middle. These men may be performing for the camera - but they’re having sex in a pretty serious way. The flush of their skin, their facial expressions, the spontaneity of their actions - this is a breeding that could happen with no camera in the room. [think before following links] https://barebackbastards.com/40535/fuck-it-hard-fuck-it-strong/

I think it has to do with a kind of reinforcement of internally-interpreted positives, to use a clunky construction. For a regular bottom, this behavior is difficult to fathom - for a submissive, it is easier to explain. The submissive derives an innate sense of satisfaction, or purpose, or well-being from the act of submission to a Dominant will. By extending the submission into the realm of the sexual and intimate, the submissive intensifies that act. Then, by declaring that he is essentially reduced to that function, he intensifies the derived reward to the greatest possible degree, unless he can actually go further by acting on his declaration. To the outside observer who does not perceive the internal reward the submissive receives, the submissive’s attitude and behavior do indeed appear toxic and self-destructive. The submissive is indeed made somewhat vulnerable by this - predatory Dominants can easily take advantage of the situation and create abusive situations that the submissive nonetheless accepts because the situation at least partly supplies the rewards he seeks through submission. I’m not sure “gleeful” is a useful descriptor. I think that at some deep level all submissives retain the same level of basic human autonomy as everyone else, and at their core do not want to think of themselves as worthless. But for the submissive the urge to submit is strong, and its origins inscrutable. We know only that it feels good and right to do, and if the Dominant ones then express their Dominance more powerfully as a result, it feels better still. This atmosphere is only toxic to those who do not breathe this air.

Exactly. The day I took over 30 cocks in my biggest gangbang, I had moments both during and after in which I could not escape a sense of self-perception that I had sunk lower than the men around me - how could I not? Thirty men accounted for more than half the men in the entire camp at the time. The next day, most everybody there would have experienced what the inside of my body felt like for himself, and left his seed behind like graffiti on the walls of my cunt saying “I had him too.” Every eye I met could accompany a smirk that meant, I know what you feel like inside. And they could all talk about me, because they all shared me. In the later part of it, I had been on a fucking bench and every time I started to raise up to leave, they pushed my back so I would stay put for the next fuck. They didn’t say a word - just made me stay to take cock. Still today I have moments when I recall instances of that day and feel the humiliation of submitting to the whole camp. But. I also distinctly remembered the way many of those men praised my ass as they fucked it. They told me it was the best they’d ever had, was unbelievable, was so fucking good in so many ways, that I wrote them down that night. It made me happy that I had satisfied that many men that much. The fact that what they said was probably more about their excitement in the moment than the actual quality of my ass didn’t matter - I could walk through camp proudly because yes, I was their common cum dump, but I was good. I still occupy that same mind-space, teetering on a tightrope between shame and pride.

So, essentially, you’re meta-shaming those who feel shame for feeling shame? Shame on you. Not everyone is made of teflon. None of us is telepathic - we can’t appreciate the psychological minefield our brother has to cross to reach a place we may make easily. If you can’t imagine thinking the way another man thinks, that suggests a lack of imagination on your part, not a failure to think on his. Perhaps you meant your statement as a gesture of sympathy, but it reads like contempt. (Normally I find your posts well-considered and balanced, but this is not to your usual standard.) Shame is far too complex and nuanced an emotion to be reduced to the kind of summary judgment you seem to apply to it. Shame relates to factors stemming from an individual’s childhood development environment, his culture, family and religion, the contemporary morals, ethics and beliefs of his community, and the direct influence of the individuals who shaped his personal worldview. A person’s sense of self, his sense of his place in his society, and his sense of self-worth as a function of both are subject to influence from the outside. And this is all to the good - it might be argued that a man incapable of shame is also incapable of humility.

Good luck trying that as a defense at a trial.

There’s a fair amount of discussion on here about humiliating and shaming, mostly directed at bottoms, or at promiscuous sexual activity. There’s a subtext that interests me, though, about the roots of the concept of shame and humiliation in the context of men having sex with men. There is an undercurrent of sensibility that seems to exist that is not uniformly accepted or understood, but nonetheless hovers around every corner of our discourse - that is, the sense that somehow one man is brought lower by being penetrated and/or inseminated by another. I think the roots of this go very deep, into our pre-sentient animal behaviors, but that was then and this is now, and we’ve had a lot of time to think it through since we climbed out of the trees. The idea of shaming and humiliating men by fucking them is a very real practice among invading armies that employ rape as a tactic, so it must have psychological currency. It’s not surprising, then, that a subculture of men here speak freely of the shame and humiliation of men who submit to being fucked. I have to say that even though I am unashamed of being a public sexual servant for men, and of having had coitus with countless unseen strangers, I also have to admit that I cannot escape a sense of humiliation. Another man placed his penis inside me and filled me with his seed, and that can never, ever, be undone. Multiply that by orders of magnitude. I will always have been fucked, forever. I can always be more fucked, but never less. And I have been fucked so much that there’s no point in stopping. Not only that, but when I am being bred by a Top, I look at him, and I feel a sense that I am beneath him in a natural order, and that he has dominance over me, and the humiliation and shame that I experience comes because I feel that it is right that it should be that way, no matter what my rational mind might argue. It doesn’t help that on one hand one Top will praise me for doing a needed service with my cunt, and the next will call me a dirty whore when he pounds that same cunt cruelly. What I’m curious to know is how many of you actually feel a sense of shame, or feel humiliated to any degree, after you have bottomed. Does a thought pass through your mind that you have allowed another man to do something with you that diminishes or devalues you? Do you have any idea why you feel this?

I don’t know the specifics if the law in the Netherlands, but in the United States, you may not have had any reasonable expectation of privacy in your situation (by your account you knew perfectly well you would probably be watched and might even invite voyeurs to participate, so you could hardly say you expected to be private - in fact, a case might be made fir exhibitionism on your part). Given this, in the US, the guy with the camera might have been well within his rights to film you. Such cases are usually considered on the merits of the specific circumstances, and I’m no lawyer, but I have a hard time seeing you find much sympathy from a judge. I also have to ask you, if you knew that that particular area was risky for getting men harassed and beaten, wouldn’t you have put yourself at risk simply from being seen there live doing what you were doing, video or no video? I totally get the public fucking vibe. Some of my best experiences have been from being used in front of (and by) an audience. But I wouldn’t put myself in physical or legal danger for it. Was the risk part of the attraction?

I’ve only done Nashville a couple of times, not enough to really offer an educated recommendation, but I will caution you - be wary of some of the low-end, low-cost motels that look as though they might be a good bet - some of them require you to pay a room deposit of $100 or more (for a room that costs $50) to ensure you don’t trash the room, and even if you don’t, you may not get your deposit refunded to your account for a week. I’m sure this is a similar practice in other places, but I haven’t run into it as frequently as when I was trying to find a slutting spot in a likely area of town at a reasonable rate. I’m sure someone more familiar with the area can give you good places to try. My last hosting was actually in Nashville, and I came away with five pretty decent fucks, but the flaking was unreal. (Let’s face it - when it comes to fucking, dudes here in the Bible Belt have issues.)

The sum total of the sex education I received from my father’s ‘talk’ was “muttermuttermuttermutter keep it in your pants.” (All my sister git from mom was “Don’t sit in men’s laps.” It’s a miracle we were ever conceived to begin with.) Sex was simply not spoken of in our family. I don’t know why my folks were that way, but I had zero guidance headed into puberty. Everything I learned about male anatomy I taught myself from a Time/Life Atlas of the Human Body. I guess I must have started self-exploring somewhere around 12 or 13, because at 11 I was still blissfully in latency and unaffected by sex in any way. I don’t have a strong recollection of a eureka! Moment when I discovered my cock, or when I first ejaculated, probably because I didn’t even have enough awareness of what was happening to me to realize that something significant had happened. I do sometimes wonder what my life would have been like had there been someone - anyone - with a sexual male nature in my environment. In retrospect, I guess I’ve always been this way ever since the beginning, feeling my way forward alone in the dark because there simply isn’t anybody else to help me. My ‘talk’ I gave my own son was somewhat more substantial than the one I got, frank, open, and factual. But I didn’t teach him how to jack off - this is the Internet Age. A young man these days has no need of the Time/Life Atlas of the Human Body. He can find all the visual aids he could possibly want online, in explicit detail.

Here’s the thing - Whoring out another man’s ass (in the non-renunerative way) provides no benefit or incentive to a Top unless that Top is one if a very select type of man who derives psychological pleasure from the humiliation and debasement of another man, and specifically his own power to control that man and bring about his devolvement at a whim. It is a type of schadenfreude, a delight in the misfortune of others, coupled with a delight in the exercise of power. In order to gain a benefit from whoring out another man that would be worth the significant investment of time and energy required, the Top must be receiving in return something that he finds significantly valuable or compelling. These Tops occupy a very small niche among the greater community even of Dominants and Alphas, many of which are actually quite territorial about their conquests and are adverse to the idea of letting other men have what they consider to be theirs. In any case, for the vast majority of Tops, watching a bottom get fucked just ain’t all that. Not their fantasy. You can try advertising for a Top to whore you out - you’ll never catch a fish if you don’t at least have a line in the water - but the smaller the population, the less it’s statistically likely that one of these special Tops is going to be there to find. Good luck.

This makes a big, big difference, because luring men in to fuck a cumdump actually is not an easy task and somewhat resembles work. If you’re fortunate enough to have a Top willing to take the time and effort over the course of several hours to make numerous connections, scour the apps and put up with the general bullshit from guys who aren’t seriously looking, then yeah, you can just lie there and wait for them. If the Top happens to have a lot of friends and likes to share out his bottom, you’re going to get some traffic. The thing is, those Tops are scarce, and if you’re like most of us, you’re going to be out there slutting solo, working the apps sometimes for hours between fucks and maybe getting more flakey grief than seems worth the hassle. I find it rewarding, though. I keep holding out hope of finding that whiring Top someday - he will never be sorry he found me, I promise him that - but until then, I’ll just keep doing it the hard way, on my own.

In Louisville, I hotel host (well, did pre-COVID) and would average around 5-7 fucks per session. I could have as many as 12 or as few as 2. My session runs from about 7pm til 9am the following morning, so that tally is in 14 hours of slutting. The return on time spent has a lot to do with the day chosen; I have always found Thursday evenings best for turnout. Your mileage may vary depending on the city and what you’re calling a “small city”. Louisville is in no way Sexytown, USA, and in a lot of ways is a lousy place to look for a fuck. Bowling Green, Ky, by contrast, pop. 50,000, would like to call itself a city (bless their hearts) but I would never invest my hotel room money in my chances of getting fucked more than twice in a place that small - and it’s a college town. My success in barely-city Louisville is partly from building up a base of semi-regulars out of a small pool simply because I’m too stubborn to give up and don’t have a better alternative anyway. Plus, if you’re planning to make a habit/hobby of this, you’d best make sure you’ve got the goods - men won’t bother coming back for mediocre ass. There’s just too much meat on the hoof. Do whatever you can to make sure that they’re never going to forget your hole, in the good way.

What a clever idea for the bathhouse! Did you have anything printed on yours, and if so, how did the printing hold up against water, steam, etc.? I’ve had things written on my ass with an indelible laboratory-grade Sharpie marker at the bathhouse before, but a couple of trips to the steam room fades even that.

The question asks who I would prefer to be fucked by. In my case, the question isn’t really relevant in that as a public sexual service submissive, all men equally are entitled to the use of my body and my preference doesn’t enter into it. Further, while they themselves may have distinct political views, their DNA does not, so what they pump into me is politically neutral. That being said, although I passionately despise all politicians alike, I would feel a humiliation being fucked by a Republican that I would not feel being fucked by a Democrat. By the end of that fuck I would feel more debased, having given aid and comfort to an philosophical enemy, or at least having pleasured someone likely to vote against my best interests and, in my view, the best interests of the society in which I live. The ethical question that raises is whether I should discriminate in terms of access to my body on the basis of politics. But it’s not really a valid consideration for me in that I believe, genuinely, absolutely and free from all fantasy, that part of my reason for having been born is to be a sexual outlet for any man who needs me, indiscriminately. I cannot be a public-property cumdump with political requirements.

Note that poppers are not intended to be inhaled continuously (ostensibly they’re not supposed to be inhaled at all, but we’re naughty) and absolutely not as the dominant respiratory supply - that is, you shouldn’t set yourself up so that you breathe in more poppers than you do air. It is not uncommon for a person to black out from an overconcentration of poppers, and a resulting fall could cause serious injury. Plus, if you passed out because your breathing setup was more poppers than air, you would never be in a position to correct the situation, and could suffer from oxygen deprivation. In other words, don’t do stupid shit with it. Everything in moderation.

And the trouble with that, of course, is that it dilutes the effectiveness of the code. If you have five guys in a room with red-trimmed harnesses and four of them just bought them for style because they like red or thought it would get them noticed (yeah, line up with the other four) Mr. Fisting Dom can no longer rely on the color to help him find a seasoned hole. Trendy people always spoil things for everyone, don’t they? The other problem is when you have a group that comes along and insists that since they learned a different meaning for the color the local use is wrong. Unfortunately, there’s no central authority one can turn to to settle such disputes. There’s naked wrestling, though. There’s always that...

There’s nothing suspicious about that at all. 🤨

^This is where the hanky code is most often employed in active use today, albeit in a limited form, most notably in jockstraps and harnesses. Yellow=Watersports is still very commonly understood.

Around here, there was at least at one time the notion that wearing an earring in only your right ear meant you were gay. I learned this shortly after getting a double piercing in my left ear. Well, fuck. Maybe that’s why Tops don’t proposition me randomly on the street. Perhaps I should get my right ear pierced, and have an earring with a little sign that says PLEASE DISREGARD THE EARRINGS ON THE LEFT FOR PURPOSES OF FUCK TARGETING (I pierced my left ear to signify something completely unrelated - a ring for each of my children. I never take them off except to swap out the hardware now and then.)

Coded signalling for homosexuality originally came about in response to the harsh societal risk of being publicly identified as gay in prior decades. In modern times, the fact that you can be openly out in most places, and in some even wear apparel that advertises your position and preference makes coding less necessary, and therefore less likely to be universally understood. As a code becomes less universally understood, it becomes less and less useful, until it serves very little purpose outside of limited enclaves. I think this describes the Hanky Code. The Hanky Code also suffered from attempts to apply it to an long list of very specific position/preferences, to the point that the code began to assign values not just to colors but to hues of colors, or to different materials of the same color, to the point that confusion was likely. For instance, black (S&M Top)/black velvet(will video); bright yellow(watersports)/pale yellow(spitting). Imagine the surprise of the guy who considers pale yellow to be bright. The code also has come to include materials that handkerchiefs and bandanas aren’t made of (tweed, fur, mosquito netting) or aren’t hankies at all (celery, USB cord) - at which point anything could mean something, and it just gets ridiculous. This list has 65 variants, and still isn’t a complete listing: One of the ones not listed is Navy with White Polka Dots-Bareback Sex. I have only used the hanky code once, in that I went out and found some material in navy with white polka dots, and made some handkerchiefs to either sell or give away to Tops who fuck me spectacularly. Since I am almost always naked when I present myself to Tops, there’s no pocket, left or right, from which I could sport a hanky, but I have, on a couple of occasions, worn one of these as a bandana around my neck. No idea whether it made any difference.

Here’s a quite good article on the subject of STD risk from oral sex: [think before following links] https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.hivplusmag.com/love-sex/2017/4/18/can-i-get-infection-receiving-oral-sex%3famp

When you say “mostly receiving”, do you mean receiving cock in your mouth, or being the recipient of oral service?

There’s an experience that I don’t talk about much, mainly because it’s so fringe-y and out there that most people think it’s made up or otherwise can’t take it seriously. I don’t really blame them, because it concerns hypnosis, a practice that most people understand very poorly or only in terms of urban myth. The only thing I can say is that hypnosis is a very real practice, and a skilled hypnotist can entrance subjects with particularly good aptitude into very deep states in which visual and auditory realities can be generated both from the suggestion of the hypnotist and the inner mind of the subject. There is no such thing as “mind control”, but in such states, a hypnotist is in a very powerful position over a very vulnerable man, and there is always the potential for an unethical hypnotist to do something egregious. I won’t belabor this with a long preamble except to say that the few times I have given myself to hypnotists for trance, I have been told I was ideal material as a subject. This meant, inevitably I suppose, that I would be an ideal victim for H, as I will call the hypnotist in question. H had well-developed skills and tranced me almost immediately, gradually but quickly taking my mind deeper and deeper into an area of trance in which he strengthened his control by suggestion. During one session, he was able to make me perceive that my wrists and ankles were firmly clamped to a table, then proceeded to bring me to a violent orgasm, hands-free, simply by telling me what I was feeling. That sounds like a fantasy; it isn’t. It happened. But that wasn’t the violation. In another session, he pulled my mind deeper, deeper, deeper, past every layer of thinking and feeling he could, asking me what I could sense around me at each level. At last, I dropped down into a place that had a very peculiar feeling, and the only thing visible to me was an orb of light. ”What do you see now?” H asked. I told him, “I think I can see my soul.” He paused for a few seconds, then said, “Then I’m going to fuck your soul.” He made me perceive, quite vividly, his large, veined, very rigid cock and made me watch it rape my soul. I couldn’t move or make a sound, only float frozen there while he ejaculated into the previously pristine orb. This all took place in my mind, at his suggestion. It shook me; I have possibly never felt so sickened or debased. This was not an act of sexual gratification by H, but an act of pure, refined domination and control. He had wanted to see how deeply, how intimately he could freely violate me, and he found the mother lode. That was some years ago. To this day, if I allow myself to reflect on it, I still feel my soul contaminated with the essence of his cock, and I feel re-violated. It frustrates me that he basically gets to re-violate me at that level simply because I don’t forget it. I imagine that knowledge would give him pleasure, and I begrudge him that. To make this even harder to believe, he did this to be by phone. I never met him physically, was probably never within 100 miles of him. So one might well debate: Was this a rape? It sure as hell felt like rape. It still does, every time, and has close similarities to what I experienced during my in-person physical sexual assault. But imagine complaining to a judge in a courtroom that a hypnotist raped your soul. (By the way, please don’t any of you motherfuckers remark how this sounds “hot” to you or how you’d love it if a hypnotist did it to you because no, you wouldn’t, and you’ll just end up sounding like a dick.)

While I would not have put it quite this way, this an important distinction for any victim of sexual violence - you do not have to allow the event, or anyone else’s perceptions concerning the event, to define anything about you. The rapist may have exercised a type of power over you in that moment, but that man never had the power to redefine you, never will, and never could. How you react to something done to your body is entirely your choice. That’s not to say that it’s easy to set aside what was done - If I think about my own experience, I still feel a particular sense of deep violation - but the path to recovery lies in this ability to personally choose.

Well. This thread prompted me to give the local ABS one last try to see if the local action that wasn’t happening in the open was happening at the glory holes. Not a big fan of GHs, me, not the least because I’m all about ass and I figure you can’t help losing at least an inch of penetration automatically because of the barrier, but the dry spell had to break. I spent the better part if an hour, over two sessions, with my ass offered at the hole. I got one brief fuck early on, shallow and not to completion. After that, things got weird. I tried alternately locking the booth door so guys would know someone was in it, and leaving it unlocked so guys could peep in and see that someone has his ass ready for the next booth. Leaving it unlocked resulted, at one point, in a young guy swinging the doir open, exclaiming, “What in the world?!” and standing there staring at me for several seconds with the door open. He either a) was way too naïve and unsophisticated to be wandering around an adult store, or b) knew damn well what in the world and was putting on a show. Is this the “glory hole etiquette” we’re talking about? I did not get fucked again, but I did get struck on my ass - twice - by men who instantly left the other booth the moment they did it. Not tapped - struck. This wasn’t someone tapping to signal he’d rather have oral, this was an impact. Twice, once during each session, and I don’t think it was the same guy. Where does this behavior land in the etiquette? Frankly, I’m not sure I believe any longer that there is any sort of commonly accepted or understood standard of decent behavior among men when it comes to sexual congress. Something about this very vulnerable part of men’s psyches seems to drag out their worst tendencies. Last night I finally gave in and put my info on the Cumdump Network on this site. I got a text within ten minutes asking if I would be available for a dump in my ass tonight. The area code came from upper New York State, and they didn’t respond to my second message - yeah, they were probably just yanking my chain to see if I would actually respond to the number I posted. This evening when I let it be known I would be at the ABS, I got a message from a guy asking if I was undetectable, and if he could fuck me bare and cum in me multiple times. The note came from a guy 250 miles away whose profile clearly advertised him as a bottom looking to take all cocks. When I pointed this out - silence. Yeah, he was yanking my chain. Why? Fuck knows. I don’t get why anybody pulls this shit. What is the matter with all these people that they think it’s somehow okay to strike random strangers or openly expose their private behavior, or deceive them just to see how they respond? The hell of it is, just on the off chance that the guys with the New York area code were traveling and legit asking, I’ve gone ahead and washed out my guts and I’ll stay up til the time they said they wanted me, because I keep my word. And if those guys weren’t serious - and they may be members here to have seen my info on the network - then fuck you very much.