leatherpunk16

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.

I'm a bit confused by all this. First you suggest that you might have the fuck flu after a potential exposure in a short time frame. You don't want to be poz. Then you decide "eh, what the hell" and just go with it and actively try to get it. That happened awfully fast. I don't buy it. Sounds like you are just jumping into it based on information you don't have yet. That you're not mature enough to make this important decision. If it's really what you want, I won't say any more about it. But based on all that went before it, I'm not sure you know what you want.

A decade ago, I started seeing a hung gay couple for sex. On the majority of the play dates, I was the top, and they wanted to be seeded. So I happily obliged them. Once in a while I was the bottom, and it was always raw. When I had a gono outbreak, we used condoms for their safety because I didn't want to put my friends through that and risk losing my fuckbuddies. We last got together in October 2012 and I haven't seen them since - moved to Texas, then one of them died. When I was an escort in 2014, PreP was not widely used, and undetectable was still a new term. In these cases, I always wore protection but I was also the top. All my clients were bottoms. Then I had my first two relationships, and we never used condoms. From 2015 onward, I used condoms maybe twice. In all my hookups these past three years, I have not once used a rubber or insisted on my sex partners wearing one. RAW DAWG ALL THE WAY, BITCHFACE!!! lol

This is a good question. What exactly is the timeline for such a thing? We read stories with sex partners saying "their very last NEG load" right during the sex when they got a poz load. It hasn't had time to work its magic. He might still have a NEG one tomorrow, or the day after. There's no logical way it transforms you that instantaneously. I doubt even the superbugs do that so soon! Prove me wrong.

Last summer, I got on a plane and went from Chicago to Ft. Lauderdale for a guy. My deluded mind thought I might begin a relationship with him, but once I met him and spent a couple days with him... yeah, not relationship material. But we did fuck a couple times. Planted some nice gooey babies in his hot hole. We got a video of it, so at least there's that. All that expense for what turned out to be a weekend fling. Don't think I'll be doing that again any time soon.

Here's one I have a hard time accepting. A story pops up, and I decide to give it a try. I'm greeted with a wall of text, like the author didn't have access to an "Enter" or "Return" button to properly space paragraphs. I can't mentally separate the segments, and it becomes hard to read. Fortunately, I can choose to quit the story with the click of a button. Mister Gorbechav, tear down this wall of text!

An interesting take on conversion therapy! But I personally think that inhaling that much popper aroma would give a man a splitting headache. Or stop his heart.

Indeed, one cannot. There's a very small percentage of guys doing porn that can do exclusively that and make a livable income. Nearly all of us who thus expose ourselves will also do escorting, gogo, etc. to make it more lucrative. But a day job is necessary because of the random jig aspect of things, and you need the flexibility to be gone for a few days for filming. Working in retail, for example, might not be ideal for a porn star because things are filmed on weekends, and stores are busiest on the weekends. Some examples: Jesse Jackman works in IT. Silver Steele works for an oil rig company (I think). Aleks Buldocek is a social worker. I work for a church - and yes, they know what I used to do. It was a very awkward conversation. It's just a side hustle. But most employers don't need to know about such things.

I couldn't say for poz tops, since I am not one, but when I interviewed with them six years ago, they told me the pay "wasn't much". When I enquired about the amount, it was around $200. I was told that they don't cover travel or hotel expenses like some of the other studios, and they use local models to keep their expenses down. The gist of it was that these local disposables are getting the privilege of fucking hot guys and appearing on film, and the pittance is just a bonus. It may have changed since then, but I doubt it. My late husband was incredibly proud of snagging a lover who used to do porn. He would introduce me at public events, tell people where to find my one available film, and talked me up to be greater and more famous than I actually was. Perhaps he was starstruck. I did show him my film - he said it was not impressive but also that it wasn't my fault that it wasn't impressive. The director and my co-star pretty much took care of that.