leatherpunk16

Despite bottoming a number of times, I have never actually FELT the cum inside me. Guys have certainly unloaded there, and I felt the spasm, but that was it. Mostly I feel the sensation of having been fucked in the ass, and once in a while, I get a cum fart. But nothing more. I don't feel moist or sticky or anything. Maybe I'm broken?

Barely related story: The first time I saw a sling was at the Chicago Steamworks either in 2012 or 13. I didn't know what this was for, and I walked around it several times trying to determine its function and purpose. Eventually someone saw me doing laps and told me "Just get in already!" So I sat on it and damn near fell out. I had slipped on old lube as I was sitting and grabbed the chain as I fell. The guy came over and said "Here, let me show you." He could see I didn't know where the hell I was, so he kindly demonstrated how to get in, and put the feet up, and that was it. He asked me if I would fuck him. I tried, but I'm so damn tall that squatting that far down made it murder my knees. He asked me if he could have it for a while. I left him to his prize. In hindsight, I think my weirdness annoyed him and he just wanted the sling but used the opportunity to educate. Cut to me a few years later, and I'm reassembling my late husband's sling in the basement. No idea how it goes together. I'll stop posting now, LOL

If your room is already booked, I don't think you can change from one tower to the other if all the rooms have been let for the event. They're pretty much the same, except one (I forget which) has wider hallways and rooms that are more like a studio apartment.

I know this feel. I dated casually for years without finding a good man for me. Wasn't until I hit 34 that I met my first boyfriend. That was more sex-based than compatibility, and didn't last more than 13 months. But I met my late husband shortly after that, and if were still alive, we'd still be together. I went through a lot of shit to find him, and get to a place where I was happy with things. I think everyone does this. It's part of life. I am not the person to ask for dating advice. But I will say that you must love yourself first, and based on what you've said, you're struggling with that. Keep collecting loads, keep seeing the guys who give you good lovin (it's good to look under the hood before you buy the car), and let it come to you. Go out and see what's out there. You live in New York, which sets the bar a little high, but sometimes it's the undiscovered gems that shine the brightest. Don't give up.

Yeah, take it, Brandon!

I think I'll take the record for the lowest tally of the thread, and claim only two loads all year. There was the black guy who bred me at IML Cumunion, and then a fellow mohawk bro at MIR last November. And that is IT, I swear! LOL I don't get loads very often, can you tell? Maybe 2020 will change that.

I've been playing with my dick since the age of 10. Knew when I was done by how it became painful at the end of a stroke session. Then I was doing it at the age of 12. I was home and from school and feeling ... different, so I took my dick out and played out of boredom. Midway through, I felt the sensation to piss. So I got up and went into the bathroom to relieve myself. Left the bathroom disappointed and went back to my activity. The urge to piss hit me a second time, and this time, it kinda hurt. So I jumped up again to go piss this time, but I didn't get there. I felt a throbbing pain in my dick and there was moisture. I fell on the kitchen floor when it happened. When I sat up and looked at my dick, it was super red and I had wet in my underwear. (Yes I jerked off in my underwear back then, lol.) I didn't really know what happened. I got up and went to piss after all, but still nothing came out. My boner went down, and that was that. I had never seen this mess before. I thought I broke my dick. Got really scared. I didn't say anything about it for a couple days, just let it stew in my mind. Then I did it again - pulled out, jerked off, and this time, the discharge of cum felt REALLY GOOD. Wasn't long before I figured it out. LOL

December 23rd, right here in my home. The person I share this house with has been spending most of December in the hospital for a multitude of sicknesses and injuries, so I've got the place to myself. I was unusually horny, but I'm picky about who I play with. I have to like something about them. On this occasion, I chose to forego that standard, and decided "a hole is a hole". So I messaged someone I knew would be interested. This local, "Max", who I had played with before. He did not impress me on our previous fuck sessions. I had him once last year but he was not that good. He came twice before I did once, and spilled the seed out when I got it into him, plus he's a cum-and-run kind of guy. Another time I was the 7th load in a hotel gangbang where he just surfed his phone the whole time trying to score his 8th load. I remembered his hole as being a little thorny, and not that pleasurable. I gave him another try because I *needed* to dump this load. He came over, and this time I went all out. Almost as soon as he got in the door, I nailed him to the wall and kissed him hard. We quickly went into my basement to fuck. This is where I keep my sling. We quickly got undressed, and after adjusting the seat a couple times, we went to it. I fucked him as hard as I could, and furiously dumped that load in his hole. This time he held on to it, and I had Max moaning and begging for that "sweet creamy jizz". I also got all my fingers inside his hole, and he says he'd be open to try fisting even though he doesn't know what a prolapse is. And he came twice again during the pounding. I really let him have it. That was our best fuck - considering how low the bar was set the previous two times, it's kind of an accomplishment. Next time he comes early, I'm going to collect that spunk and use it as lube to impregnate him.

In the autumn of 1997, I had to move to an apartment with my grandmother. It was a cheap-looking affair: a one-story building with four apartments in it, and we all shared one basement. There were no walls in the basement to signify which corner belonged to which tenant. I wasn't there very long before I noticed that my neighbour had a private room in this basement. His name was Jeff and he was just a couple years younger. I finally met him one night while I was doing laundry downstairs. He and his twerpy little brother marched up to me in that weird way teenagers do when they are on a mission, and started a conversation. I remember very little about it - mostly getting to know one another. This boy was CUTE and his name was Jeff. By this point in my growth, I knew I was gay, but I never had any opportunities to do anything about it. In fact, I wasn't even sure of my inclinations toward men. I hadn't really decided, and it was 'uncool' to be gay at my school, so I kept up appearances when I had to. Jeff was in fairly good shape, slender and defined, and had sweet eyes and lips. Since I had few friends and he was right next door, Jeff and I hung out quite often. We played video games in his basement, talked about school things and life issues, watched straight porn, and smoked quite an unhealthy number of cigarettes. We would also share a bottle of liquor from time to time. One night in the early spring of 1998, we really pounded the bottle hard, and were drunk as skunks. The room got really quiet, and Jeff was stroking himself a bit and watching me silently. Then he suddenly asked me, "Wanna fuck?" Just bluntly like that. My dick instantly stood up and I said "sure". He broke out the lotion, put some on my dick, and bent over for me. I just went with instinct. We agreed on a time limit - just a few seconds to "see what it's like". A few seconds turned into several minutes, and neither one of us wanted to stop. He muffled his moans into a pillow and I just slowly screwed him. Took my sweet time with it, but my inexperience kept telling me to just jackrabbit his hole. Jeff was surprisingly loose for a virgin. I don't remember my thoughts at the time. Eventually I felt that shudder when the climax is about to be reached. I kept it quiet so no one would guess what we were up to, and gave a few hard thrusts, and planted that seed deep. Jeff's demeanour suddenly shifted, like he didn't expect me to actually cum inside him. He just lay on the bed, shocked and silent, and I leaned against a wall, totally spent. My mind was blown, and so was my load. I lit a smoke, and just enjoyed the come-down. Jeff quietly withdrew himself, and went out of the room to "spit out a goober", but I think he actually went to the floor drain to squeeze that cum back out. He was gone way too long for just a spit. He came back in, sat down, and joined me in a post-fuck high. He rolled a blunt and smoked it, and just continued to look toward me, but not AT me. Almost no words exchanged. Hot story, right? I knew I was gay right then, and I had just bred my friend on a spur of the moment. Evidently, Jeff didn't think it was so hot. A week later, he tried to kill himself. When he came back from the hospital, I offered it to him again, and he absolutely refused. I think he couldn't handle his new-found sexuality, even though he initiated the whole thing. And by the end of the month, he was going to start going to the Catholic school across town, and suddenly moved his home over there. I never saw him again. I'm glad I made this discovery with a trusted friend, even if he didn't take it too well. I hope he's okay, and that he accepted his sexuality when he was ready to. I'll probably never know what happened to him.

Coyote, see what you can do about switching to Descovy. Might work out better for your overall health. Or, if it's something you really want, you can get bugged instead.

I loved my first boyfriend, and he loved me. The sex was okay - not great, but enough that we kept doing it. His skill as a top was nil. At least I didn't have to suffer long when he tried, and he tried SO HARD. When I stopped being the porn star who was also his boyfriend, he seemed to lose interest. Our sex became less frequent, and I felt like a weekend boyfriend, or a friend with a benefit. Eventually I had to get pegged by someone else. I had an itch that my boyfriend couldn't scratch because his dick was too small. When I told him, we broke up exactly as I expected. After my husband's death, we got back together for a couple months, but it was the same old shit. The sex was better than ever, but that's all it ever was. I couldn't love him, not after he disrespected my dead husband. If ever I fall in love again, it won't be because of great sex. That's just a bonus. I'm more attuned to the soul and having a lifelong pal who indulges what I need.

Yeah, pretty much. I've been on it for years, but seldom get any action. Only three times over the past decade has it really turned out to be worth my time. I once got a sexy daddy with a huge dong who fucked me senseless and gave me gono (so worth it); another time my first boyfriend asked me out on that site; and then my summer romance this past year. As of today, I talk to none of those people. 😞 But it's mostly flakes or guys who are too far away or are lousy in bed.

LOL, I might have to try that next time I go to a Waterbuddies party! Should the beer be room temperature or fresh and cold from the tap? I'm thinking mostly about the bottom's comfort.

- I finally finished my film for AlternaDudes, "Horny Strangers Meet and Fuck", after nearly four years since getting the engagement. As a side note, it's up for a Ravens Eden award for Best Niche Film. - Got bred by a black guy for the first time. All my previous men of colour have been bottoms, and the one top insisted on condoms. - Started PreP in January but had to give it up by July. My insurance changed, and I wasn't going to pay $1000 for a single bottle. I told the pharmacist I'd rather be poz than pay that outrageous price. She was not amused. - Got gono and spread it to one confirmed guy. He's totally cool with it. Not sure who gave it to me. - Made a few Just-For-Fans films but nothing spectacular. - Bought a new dildo that I *LOVE* to ride upon! I think that's as far as I got. Only one fisting given, and not much else that's noteworthy. Next year will be better.

Thank you for all the help, guys. This has given me immense insight to my difficulty. I'm over the worst of the grief - didn't weep at all on our anniversary, so that's a plus. No matter what I decide to do, one thing is an absolute and cannot be changed. Mark isn't coming back.

All very good advice. Thank you, gentlemen, for your counsel. I've had almost no one to talk to about this matter since it began, apart from friends and family who could only hold me and let me cry. You want to know what's really fucked up? Mark has a son, and he did not seem interested in pursuing any line of action, even prior to receiving the autopsy report. I've tried to get his support, but without success. It's like he doesn't care what happened to his dad. Based on what was earlier explained, the clincher is that he might be the only person who has a legal right to make any kind of claim to initiate the case. And that sucks most of all. I may have to forego my desire to punish Carl because the son won't take action. I will try to locate a representative who knows more about the legal ramifications of this. Thank you for hearing my story.

I do not have the money. Mark left me kinda destitute, a string of bad debts from his previous marriage. I'm not looking for financial gain. I'm looking for peace and knowing that I did the right thing.

I was not aware of the GLAAD option. Thank you for suggesting it. I don't have any direct evidence that proves he did it. But it WAS his party, and his negligence caused that to happen. I can't get the medical report from the hospital he was at when he got drugged, so all I have is what Mark told me. Carl's ex-fiance told me about the meth dealing and how he was drugged up. It's all circumstantial evidence, but maybe someone with authority can dig up something physical. Not stories, but something they can SEE. At the very least, we can get Carl for the drug distribution and possibly possession. Something MUST be done. If I have a "loyalty mission", this is it. Get my head clear so I can move on with life.

Some members may have heard me speak about my late husband, Mark. We had barely two years together before he was killed by his friend. Mark went to a party on March 16 2018 that this friend "Carl" was hosting. I was not invited. I knew he was going to a sex party with this guy, and they had a history of banging all night with no sleep. Several other unknown friends were going to be there. Mark was due home on the evening of the 18th, but did not return or send any messages. I figured he was having too great a time to deal with me. At nearly one in the afternoon on the 19th, I got a text message from his phone, but it wasn't from him. It was from Carl - Mark had a seizure the previous night and was rushed to a nearby hospital. Mark messaged me later in the day to say he was really sick and in the hospital. He had overdosed on amphetamines, but doesn't remember ingesting anything. When he was returned to me the next day, he couldn't really function: couldn't walk, was in constant pain, covered in bruises, shit himself like crazy, sweated through the bedsheets on the rare occasions he slept, and couldn't keep anything in his stomach. After a week of this, he seemed to get better. His workplace fired him without a reason, so he lost his health insurance. His sickness was still popping back up, and I could see something was wrong with him, but he wouldn't go to the doctor. He collapsed quite suddenly on the morning of April 2nd, and never got back up. Months later, I found out the coroner declared the cause was "blood clot to the lungs". But I know better. Carl killed him. The drugs started that downward spiral. I also learned, in the meantime, that Carl is a meth dealer. He doesn't play unless he's methed out, and he once loaded up his now ex-fiance with drugs so much that his heart stopped, and when he was revived, the fiance was dumped in the alley behind the apartment. This is what kind of person Mark was associating with. He probably had no idea until it was too late. Mark wasn't a user - he hated that stuff. The police will not do anything about it. Most law enforcement still would rather not spend resources dealing with our subculture and investigating crimes within it. They are inclined to believe the coroner but won't pursue the drugging, of which there is documented proof from the hospital Mark was at on the 19th. Here's my point to all of this: Carl has a porn movie that is to be released to the public this Friday. The sonofabitch should not get to resume his normal life after destroying mine. I am seeing this on the anniversary of Mark proposing to me. You can imagine how it makes me feel to learn of it on this day. What are my options? 1) Do nothing, say nothing. This is the easiest course, but nothing will change or happen. 2) Go to Carl and ask him to tell me what the fuck happened at that party. He'll probably lie to me or ignore me. It's also possible that he won't speak to me without an attorney present, lest he incriminate himself. 3) Approach the studio, and ask them not to cast Carl anymore because of this. It's not a strong case, and it would look like I'm bitter about him making films when I don't get to. And it could hurt my chances of working for said studio. What do I do??? I want Carl to be held accountable for what he did to my husband and me, and I don't know what course to take to achieve this end. Do I need a lawyer? Please tell me what I should do.

Someday, perhaps.

You're kinda cute.