Freddiboi

Pretty damn HOT! Sounds like you had a time to remember!

Breeder Man you're a hot man Top or Bottom! Thanks for sharing another glimpse into your very sexual life! I'm happy to know you're feeling better. Keep up the good work.

This morning about 7am I was feeling really horny and knew I needed to get a load! I text messaged a bud of mine asking him if he wanted to "get up in it"? Shortly there after I got a positive response. I hopped on the M96, then the C train uptown, and before I knew I was at my buds. My bud is a handsome black man with a nice fat cock. We kissed and caressed until he started getting my hole hot wet and ready. He put me doggie then slid into me which always sends me over the edge. I rode his meat with the intent of taking his load as deep as possible. Matter of fact he commented on how he could feel me gripping and milking his meat before he shot his load into me! It was hot as usual, and I left wearing a secret smile! I love taking raw cock!

Thanks for opening up this topic. I'd really be interested in buying the Ass Blaster! Looks like it can tackle the job.

I'd join as a willing bottom!

Has anyone else been unable to go to the barebackrt site? I haven't been able to get in for a few days.

I think it's down! I haven't been able to get on at all today.

thank you

i will try that

i really don't want to go to the doctor's office if i dont have to.

like i mentioned, it appeared less than a week after i saw this guy. i didnt see any other guy for many months before this guy.

after seeing this guy, last month, this bump (looks like a big pimple, only one) appeared. i thought it was a pimple and will go away. but it hasn't yet, in almost a month already. i sucked his cock and let him bareback me for the first time (we met many times before, got nothing before). (btw, he didnt cum)

i live in nyc, can someone advise me which clinic to go to, that is anonymous and cheap.

thank you everyone!

Try Calin Lorde in Chelsea or there is another City clinic right there on 8th Ave in Chelsea, there you can just use a number, no name....good luck!

Damn, I envy you! I need to really find my inner pig, like yesterday!

You into bredding Daddies?

Thanks rawTOP!

You can fuck me anyday, if you like Daddies that is!

I have recently rediscovered my true sexuality and have been enjoying taking loads from poz/undectectable hot tops. I would like to know where I can go in NYC for STD testing where the staff is Gay friendly, and of course non judgemental, if that is possible. Any information would be helpful..................thanks.

I am well over 18, but I sure as hell would like to be taken care of like Adam!

Adam had just turned eighteen a few days before, but he knew he looked younger and that might be a problem. He pushed his long blond bangs out of his eyes and looked across the street at the door and the neon sign above it. The Edge’s sign flashed blue at a regular pace. He’d wanted to come to the bathhouse since he first learned of it when he was sixteen.

Now he was legal and he wanted to go in, but was kind of scared of what actually went on inside. He seen all sorts of men go in during the fifteen minutes he had watched the door. He took a deep breath and walked across the street. Adam opened the door and was confronted by a heavy set man behind a security window.

“One please,” he asked nervously handing the man a twenty.

“ID kid,” the man asked looking hard at Adam.

Adam handed him his driver’s license and waited.

“Shit kid, you look sixteen if a day. You’re gonna be really popular tonight,” he chuckled handing Adam a towel, and a lock with a key on a wrist band. “No clothes allowed kid, only towels, ‘k?”

“Sure,” Adam said beginning to get second thoughts about walking around with only a towel on for several hours.

Before the man behind the glass buzzed Adam into the bathhouse another man entered. He was a good six foot tall, and a rock solid 285 lbs. His dark brown curly hair was cut short. The beginnings of a five o’clock shadow made him seem even more masculine that he already was. A hefty budge in his jeans only added to this image.

Adam could feel himself start to get hard, as he stared at the man in awe. This was a man’s man without a doubt. Adam felt his six inches start to ooze pre-cum.

“Dean you old dog, how the hell have you been? Long time no see.”

“Not bad Jack, business has had me doing a lot of traveling the last few months putting out fires for the company. I’ve finally got some time off and looking to release some tension if you know what I mean.” He chuckled as he grabbed his crotch.

“You want a room like usual?”

“Sure, which one do you have available?”

“How about 18?” the man grinned as he nodded towards Adam?

“Lucky 18, always good for some fun,” he said looking at Adam. “Pig sling room booked yet tonight?”

“Nah, want it?”

“Yeah, let me have it too. I think I’ll have something to fill it before the night is over,” Dean said with a smirk.

Jack buzzed the two men into the bath house. He was glad the bath had video cameras hidden all over the place. He was looking forward to seeing Dean pound the hell out of the hot looking eighteen year old twink. Jack knew the boy was in for the ride of his life tonight and when the twink left he would be a changed man in more ways than one.

Adam didn’t know what to expect when he walked through the steel door into the bathhouse. The long hall way was dark with a dim light at the far end. He felt the large man come up next to him.

“First time here?” Dean asked already knowing the answer.

“Yeah, I just turned eighteen a few days ago and wanted to see what it was like,” Adam said shyly.

“Well welcome to The Edge. I’m Dean,” He said extending his hand to the young twink he was looking forward to breeding.

“Adam,” said the boy taking the man’s hand.

“Don’t worry guy, I’ll be happy to show you around here. I know it can be a little intimidating the first few times, but once you’re used to it can be a lot of fun. Here let me walk you to your locker and you can put your stuff away and get changed,” Dean said being friendly. “It’s just like a gym locker room at school. Afterwards I’ll meet you back here in a few and we can walk around together. I have a room, so if you feel like the whole thing is a little much we can go back there until you’re ready to explore some more.”

Dean walked off leaving Adam to change and put all his clothes in his locker. This felt a whole lot different to Adam, than changing in the locker room at school. There everyone generally tried to avoid looking at everyone’s junk, but here all the men were actively trying to make sure everyone saw it or were busy looking at other guys’ cocks and asses.

Most of the men in and around the locker room and sauna were either hard or semi-hard. Adam was surprised there were so many different types of men here. Some were heavy-set and hairy, others almost skeleton thin, still others were built gym-rats. Surprisingly there as a fairly large amount of the men there were much older men, but many though were just average looking middle aged men. Adam was in the minority in that there seemed to be few young twinks and most of them seemed more interested servicing the older men rather than someone like him.

There was a pretty good mixture of Afro-American, white and Hispanic men. Some of the much older men would wrap their towels around them tightly so you see their dicks like hard mounds under their towels. Others in better shape just threw their towels over their shoulders, so you could see their dicks pointing straight out or swinging like thick pieces of sausages between their legs.

The men grinned and smiled at Adam as he took all his clothes off. More than once did the young twink catch some of the men stroking their dicks as they looked and his dick and ass. He felt like a piece of meat a pack of starving dogs was preparing to devour.

Adam tried to wrap his towel completely around him but it was too small to stay wrapped completely closed. He was forced to hold the ends together with one hand. In the other hand he had a small baggie with rubbers in it.

The most sexually Adam had managed to do in high school so far was jack off with a couple friends when they had been drunk after a few parties. Adam came close once to sucking off a band member during a football game in the fall under the bleachers, but in the end they both chickened out for fear of getting caught. The incident had left him hot and bothered for days and weeks afterwards. They would pass one another in the hallways, but were afraid to do anything.

Adam didn’t want to graduate from high school in June still a virgin. Sure this wasn’t the most romantic place to do it, but here were men, not boys, who would make sure he learned something about sex. He didn’t want to look foolish in bed with the first guy he slept with at college. So he was willing to lose his virginity here and hopefully would get to fuck a guy as well. That way he would be an experienced man in bed. If he was lucky Dean, who was the hottest guy there, would be willing to do him.

Dean returned a few minutes later dressed only in a towel and carrying a small bottle in his hand along with a pack of cigarettes. He was fully hard at the thought of breeding Adams tight eighteen year old ass. He figured the boy may have been fucked by some of his school mates, but never had a man up there yet. He wanted to make sure he changed that for Adam and be the first charged load of many before the night was over up his tight little twink neg ass.

Dean knew the boy was a bit tense, but once he got the 1st hit of Tina in Adam that would all change. He hoped he might even be able to slam the boy making him a total slut begging for dick, and then put him in the pig sling room to make sure the boy left here pozzed up after being gangbanged all night. He loved stealthing young twinks where ever he went. He’d been stealthed at sixteen by someone else and figured it was only fair to share the gift with as many men as possible. Since he was constantly moving and taking trips for his job, Dean was able spread his gift world-wide to as many men as he could.

Adam looked so pure and angelic with his longish light blond hair, smooth pale skin and cute perky coral colored dime-sized nipples. He stood at about 5’6”, and 120 lbs. with bright blue eyes and a six inch average size uncut cock. Though he didn’t play any sports, Adam stayed toned skateboarding. Making him very desirable in the bathhouse as a fuck toy to be used and bred.

“Let me give you a tour and then we can chill on patio for a bit,” Dean said admiring the sexy eighteen year old who would soon be getting his gift.

Dean walked Adam around the bathhouse showing him the TV room, exercise machines, video room, glory holes, maze, showers and steam room. He could tell the men were jealous of him walking around with this hot twink. But in the end they would thank him when all of them had the chance to slide in the boy’s hot lil’ cunt and breed him. Otherwise only one man would be lucky enough to tap it and judging from the boy carrying a bag of rubbers would have to fuck him covered.

Adam and Dean walked out on the dark patio and found a table in the back behind some tall ferns where they couldn’t be seen too well by others. Adam found Dean easy to talk to and soon found himself talking about the first hand job with his best friend. He later joined various other friends in beating off to porn videos and magazines. His best friend thinking it was too gay made them stop jerking off together and made a big effort in publicly getting a blow job from a well-known slut of a cheerleader. Going online and reading stories and watching videos was all in the end Adam had left to relive his needs. Finally now that he was eighteen he wanted to lose his cherry to an older more experienced man.

Dean smiled to himself; this was going to be even more fun that he thought. He was going to get to take the twink’s cherry and poz him all at the same time. Dean realized Adam was interested in him because the teen kept adjusting his hard-on under the skimpy towel Jack had purposely given the teen. Soon once the eighteen year old was fucked up; Dean would have him walking around with the towel wrapped around his neck and not his waist. He wanted all the men in the bathhouse to see what they were going to get a chance to load up with their loads after he was finished with Adam.

Dean decided it finally time to get the ball rolling and prepare to pop this cherry. He opened out the cigarette pack and pulled out a “T” laced joint and lit up taking a big inhale, before passing it to Adam.

Adam didn’t normally smoke pot that often. He preferred to stay straight, so he could stay in control and focused on school. He wanted to get into NYU film school the next year after graduating and knew grades were important. Adam didn’t want to seem uncool in front of this hot stud of a man. He knew this man would be gentle with him if they had sex. He trusted Dean and knew the man would treat him right in bed. Plus he thought the weed would help him feel more relaxed when he got fucked for the first time.

Dean at first thought he’d have to do some fast talking to get Adam to smoke the “T” laced joint as he watched the inner turmoil inside him, but the teen soon was smoking away. Dean took a couple more big hits and had Adam finish the rest of the large joint. He could see both the pot and “T” were starting to really work on the unsuspecting eighteen year old.

Before Adam finished smoking the joint Dean took the roach from him. He took the last hit from him and leaned in to shotgun the last hit to Adam. With little effort he was soon kissing Adam passionately making the twink even hornier than before from smoking the joint.

“Hey Adam, let’s go hang out in my room for a bit. We can watch a video while we relax,” Dean stood up and helped Adam stand up.

He grabbed him and kissed the blond twink hard again causing the twink to drop his towel. Dean stroked the six inch dick causing Adam to moan into him. He grabbed the brown bottle and his pack of cigarettes taking Adam’s hand leading him to the room where he’d lose his cherry and take his first poz load.

Adam pulled away from Dean heading back to the table. At first, Dean thought it was to grab the bag of rubbers, but Adam grabbed his dropped towel. To make sure Adam didn’t notice the rubbers, Dean wet his middle finger with spit and slid it home in Adam’s virgin cunt. He aimed for the eighteen year olds boy button causing him to gasp in pleasure. The “T” laced joint was already beginning to do its work and make Adam horny for cock. Dean worked Adam’s ass for a few minutes before pulling him to a standing position kissing him hard. He continued working the teen’s boy cunt as he kissed him deeply.

Finally Dean pulled away smiling at now lust filled Adam. “Ready to go to my room?” He grinned asking the latest in a long string of victims.

“Hell ya!” Adam panted excitedly. He had never been so horny after smoking a joint. Dean’s fingering felt even better than his own fingers. He desperately needed to feel this man inside him. He hoped Dean would be gentle since was so he was so large and Adam was still a virgin. He knew it would hurt at first but would feel better soon afterwards. Well that’s what all the stories on nifty said.

Dean made Adam wear his towel around his neck as they walked to his room. He wanted to do a little advertising for Adam’s later gangbang. He wanted Adam to walk out in the morning with his eighteen year old pussy dripping poz cum from being well fucked by as many men as possible. Dean played with Adam’s ass as they walked pass various men looking or having sex throughout the bathhouse on the way to his room. The poor twink was moaning like a slut and trying to force more of Dean’s fingers into his teen cunt by the time they got to the room.

By the time they got to Dean’s room, Adam was hornier than he had ever been in his life. Adam couldn’t believe how much he wanted this man to fuck him and take his cherry. Dean maneuvered the eighteen year old boy to the bed and finally pulled his fingers from Adam’s hole. He stood over the panting lust filled eighteen year old boy. Dean knew the boy was ready for the next step in stripping away his innocence.

Dean finally pulled off his towel exposing to Adam for the first time his red bull can thick cut eight inch fuck stick. The huge mushroom head with its large gold hoop piercing was nearly twice as wide as the cock was thick.

Adam had never seen a cock that big or dangerous looking. He had no doubt when Dean finished with him Adam would know what it meant to be fucked. He knew he should be afraid of the dick, but there was an itch building deep inside his hole to feel Dean shoving it in him. It was like he was totally losing his inhibitions. Sure Adam knew some of his inhibitions were lowered by the weed, but this was different. It was like they weren’t even there anymore. Adam needed sex and needed it bad.

Dean grabbed one of his famous “T” laced bottles of warming lube; it was time to prime Adam for his first breeding.

end of part 1

Ah, to be 18 again!

Hi Jack, did you ever help that 18year old out?

Damn JF I need to learn a few things from you! What a hot little fucker! You know how to please a crowd! Wow!

To see Breeder's original blog post click here

I’ve been iffy on the show Glee since the very beginning. I find the pacing wildly uneven, the characters flimsy, and the plot lines absurd. Every time I watch it, I find myself asking why. But then Tuesday rolls around, and I find myself wondering what my favorite character Brittany is up to, and I tune in again. This week, the kids were putting on a novelty version of The Rocky Horror Show . . . with changes in the lyrics I thought were fairly sacrilegious.

The exercise was homogenized good fun enough to make me think about my own Rocky Horror experiences.

My first exposure to The Rocky Horror Picture Show came in 1982, when I was eighteen and a sophomore in college and living in special-interest housing on campus. One of my best friends lived with a young woman, Barb, whose claim to fame in a dorm full of second-year students forbidden to have a car on campus was that she was a junior with her own vehicle. Everyone wanted her as a friend, but because of my friendship with her roommate, I was on the first tier calling shotgun.

One of the odd hobbies that Barb had was going out on Saturday nights to see Rocky Horror. It had only been running as a midnight movie for a handful of years at that point, but if it had gotten as far as the boonies of Tidewater, Virginia, it was already well on the way to becoming the mainstream Saturday-night activity for freaks everywhere. I’d vaguely heard of it, the first time I agreed to go; I knew it was the film where people shouted stuff and threw things and talked back to the movie screen.

The only place that showed the movie was in Newport News, which was a good forty-five minutes from campus; the venue was a mall cineplex with narrow theaters and a perpetual odor of rancid popcorn topping. At midnight, there were only about a dozen of us sitting in the seats for the show. Then the lights went down.

LIIIIIPS! LET THERE BE LIPS! shouted the audience. And then the show began, and I saw for the first time a movie that also suffers from absurd plot lines, flimsy characters, and wildly uneven pacing.

The point of Rocky Horror was never the film itself, occasionally engaging and tuneful though it can be. It’s all about the audience floor show. The first time I saw a man dressed up as Frank N. Furter, it was something of a revelation; it was the closest I’d ever seen to a drag queen in my young life. When I saw the Magenta and Brad and Janet lookalikes prancing around up in front of the screen, miming and dancing as the action unfolded up above, I completely understood the charm. There were more kids in the show than in the audience, but it was a community ritual that kept me coming back for more all through my sophomore and junior years.

I wasn’t so regular that I ever entertained notions of joining the floor show. I went often enough, however, to appreciate the people who put in so much time and effort in maintaining their costumes and makeup for the event every week, and would clap loudly for their clumsy and endearing performances. After a certain point, though, I went for the guy who played Eddie.

I always found the middle section of Rocky Horror a little bit on the slow side—particularly after midnight. One showing when I had to pee, I snuck out after the dinner scene and went to the men’s room, where I was standing at the urinal when floor-show Eddie walked in. The singer Meatloaf plays Eddie in the movie, of course; he has one brief scene and then is carved up and spends the rest of the film in a coffin. That gave floor-show Eddie remarkably little to do for most of the evening. “Hey,” he said to me, when he swaggered in wearing his leather jacked and slicked-back pompadour. The restroom of the mall theater was as grungy and decrepit as the rest of the joint. There were only two urinals, so he stood at the one next to mine, and unzipped.

“Hey,” I said back, nodding at him. I tend to be pee-shy when people are talking to me. His proximity wasn’t helping. His jacket had that sharp, musty scent of vintage clothing; his hair stunk of whatever it was he’d put in to keep it under control. Floor-show Eddie wasn’t a slice cut from the Meatloaf pan. Instead, he was even taller than I and about as lean. And, I couldn’t help but notice when his dick flopped out, he was bigger than me down there, too. I averted my eyes.

He didn’t seem to notice any discomfort on my part, as I stood there and attempted to pee while he chatted away. “I’ve seen you before,” he said. “You come here a lot. With that girl.”

He meant Barb. “Yeah.”

“She your girlfriend?”

“Nope. Just a friend. A friend with a car.”

“Got it.” He seemed to understand. “I don’t got a girlfriend either. Well, I got this girl I’m seeing, but . . . you know.”

He was looking directly at me. I recognized the evaluative stare. Since peeing wasn’t an option, I let my dick harden in my hand.

He inched back from the urinal a tiny bit. His own meaty dick was stiffening rapidly from between the dark denim opening of his jeans. When I didn’t flinch, or run away, he stepped back a little more. His cock had to be a good nine inches, and very thick. I angled my body so that I faced him, showing off my dick as well. He looked it over and nodded. “You want some of this?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

I nodded.

I ended up sitting down in the stall on the toilet. He came in and fed me his dick, sliding it back and forth between my hungry lips. He was so girthy that I didn’t think I’d be able to swallow it for long; my jaw ached from the effort of accommodating him. Luckily he didn’t last long. His hands grasped the tops of the metal door frame as he thrust in and out, fucking my mouth with a lust-driven vengeance. Spurts of semen clogged my throat. His hands grasped at the back of my neck, holding me on his dick as if he thought I might try to escape. A little longer he held me there, until I swallowed.

And then he was done. He buckled and zipped, then nodded at me. “All right. Thanks man.” I waited a couple of minutes after he’d exited before I slipped back into my seat, just in time for “Rose Tint My World.”

That night started a little ritual that seemed as inevitable as the squirt guns or the toast. Every time I’d hit the theater, I’d leave my seat after the dinner scene and blow floor show Eddie, then return from my assignation and finish out the rest of the movie. We never discussed getting together for more. I never learned the guy’s name. Thinking of him as Eddie suited me fine. In the floor show, he was a low-down cheap little punk—with a tasty dick.

It wasn’t until years and years later, when I bought the DVD of the movie and watched it again that I got to the “Planet Schmanet” sequence and had absolutely no memory of it. “Was this in the original movie?” I asked people who’d know. They all assured me it was.

Then I realized I’d probably never seen it because while Brad and Janet are accusing Frank of being a hot dog, I was chowing down every week at my own personal restroom concession stand.

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Breeder, you never cease to amaze me! Keep it up!

Damn, I am so jealous..............no other bottoms allowed!

To see Breeder's original blog post click here

(This is the last of the Earl series—I know, finally!)

One of the reasons it took me so long—and that it was so difficult for me—to write out the vast arc of the Earl story is that it’s complicated, through and through. There were times (like at the end) when everything happened at once. There were long months when I wouldn’t run into Jim at all, or even have to think about my rival/brother of war, Topher.

Even figuring out what was important to the story was difficult for me. If I’d been writing this the way it happened, with every detail, I’d have had to devote a lot of space to Jim’s illegal betting habit that left him constantly in need of money when he was on a losing streak, and flush with cash for booze, weed, and porn when he occasionally hit the money. I decided that for these entries, it wasn’t important. Earl’s own shady activities had to do with his dick, but I left out all the details of the underground newsletters to which he subscribed to find people into the same things as he, the porn, the occasional Super 8 movie, or later, videocassette porn that would find its way into the bedroom.

I left out the other drugs the adults would do when I was around, the stories I’d hear from them about the places they’d stuck their dicks. I didn’t talk about the emotions I felt for Earl at the time I knew him, because for years I’ve just forbidden myself from thinking about that part of my life at all. It’s achey, like a bad bruise.

Even figuring out what happened when is a little tricky, almost thirty-odd years on; I always think of myself as fifteen when I met Jim, but I had to have been fourteen and probably lying that I was a year older, because somehow fifteen sounded more legitimate an age for whoring around.

For years I’ve shied away of any examination of that part of my teenaged life because it ended so messily, and so abruptly, that it’s tough not to blame myself for letting it all go wrong. These days, I don’t think I really had a major hand in any of it—Topher’s disappearance, Jim’s idiocy, Earl’s letting me go. My lapses were minor ones. At the time, though, it felt as if I’d failed, somehow.

So yes—all it took was for Earl to tell me he didn’t think I should return to his home again, to break off our relationship. At the time, I was relieved not to have to put up with Jim’s bullying. I threw myself into the last weeks of school. I graduated, made my speech. I’d been made offers by two universities and had accepted both; I waffled between them for much of the summer until I finally made a decision. And then there were clothes to buy, and dorm supplies to collect, and course catalogs to look over . . . until in the late summer, my parents drove me to Williamsburg and left me there for the next four years.

I always felt a little cold-hearted about not missing Earl more than I did, that summer. But I realize now, in this series of entries, that I’d perhaps been weaning myself off of him for some time. Ever since the afternoon he betrayed me, I felt, over the Topher affair, I’d been distancing myself. Seeing a life for myself that didn’t involve sticking my ass in the air for Earl and his buddies. When Earl offered me a chance to take a break, I went for it. I had sex in the park daily, but didn’t encounter him there. I didn’t call. I didn’t want to call. I’d loved Earl in a fashion, but I hadn’t been in love with him. I’d had enough.

It was the week before I went to college that I got an envelope addressed to me through the mail, though. It was plain on the outside, with a neat handwriting that seemed vaguely familiar. I opened it up, and found inside the bankbook for the savings account that Earl had made me open at Southern Bank, in the first months of our acquaintance. Even though it was my account, in my name, he’d held onto that bankbook for me so that my parents would never find it; he’d made me put into that account all the money I’d collected at parties, or all the money I’d earned from selling sexual favors to his friends. For a seventeen-year-old, it was not an inconsiderable sum. There was no note in the envelope, no card wishing me well. Just the bankbook that had lain in his top bureau drawer for years, waiting for the time I was enough of an adult to claim it.

I took that bankbook and tucked it away, never touching the account until I was in my mid-twenties; I used it as the down-payment on my first home. So that was that—full circle.

I admit, I became curious about Earl after I graduated college, when I was for a summer aimless and uncertain about what to do with my life. My parents gave me good advice—my father in particular—but somehow it struck me that Earl would have a good insight, even after four years, into who I was, and what I should be doing.

When I went to his house, someone else was living there. A large family with multiple kids had taken over the tall old residence, littering the front yard with chunky plastic vehicles and the detritus of toddlerhood. When I’d run into guys at the park who’d known Earl, I’d ask what happened to him. Eventually one of them said that he and Jim had packed up and moved away the year before. He thought it was for job reasons.

So that was that, too.

Another of the reasons I’ve disliked thinking about Earl over the years is that the story trails away into so many question marks. I don’t know what happened to Topher. I don’t know where Earl and Jim are today, if they’re still alive. If they’re still together. I never got to tell Earl that—

And here I’ve paused for a good few minutes, trying to figure out what to say. Tell him what? That I turned out all right, in spite of him? That the years under his tutelage left me with a moral compass of my own? That I’m merely alive, and okay—which is something of an accomplishment itself, for guys my age who fucked their way through the nineteen-seventies and -eighties?

I don’t know. I don’t know how to finish that sentence.

I never got to tell him that it was fun, I suppose. That I loved all the times with him when we’d screw and lie around and laugh, and that I loved how he talked to me like a peer, and not as a child. That I still get a kick out of the giddy fun we had when we’d roleplay a scene for some hapless trick who thought he was getting a kidnap victim to fuck, or Earl’s son, or some stupid street whore, and how we’d giggle over it afterward, like conspirators. That I loved the education he gave me, that I loved being the Galatea to his Pygmalion, the Artful Dodger to his twisted sexual Fagin.

I suppose I never got to tell Earl thank you. Such a complicated story in my life, and such a simple thing I never got a chance to say.

Thank you.

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Wow Breeder, what a fantastic recollection of your past. You have led an interesting life. Keep on with your writing as it is mesmerizing!

Click here to see HungLatinDom's original blog post...

Last night I fisted these two pigs, they are good friends also. I bred one of them, came tice, ate two delicious rosebuds. Both are older, one in his fifties, the other in his forties, muscular, tall and with wide open holes. Absolutely delicious.

I am returning to Santiago tomorrow and I am trying to get as much local meat as possible.

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HLD, I would say that those 2 bottoms were the lucky ones!

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I was having a conversation with someone earlier yesterday about the concept of sexual shame—whether it’s appropriate, when it’s a hindrance, and how it develops in our psyches from the very earliest age.

I was fortunate enough to have incredibly sexually-progressive parents who felt that what adults did in the bedroom was pretty much their own business. Nudity was pretty common in our household. I was educated not only in the proper words for the genitals and what came out of them, but in the concepts of foreplay and birth control, long before any of the other kids had gotten beyond the stork and cabbage patch concept. Even in my teen years, my mother’s advice about marriage tended to be, “For the love of god! Don’t get married until you’ve lived with someone for at least two years! Only after you’ve got the fucking out of your system will you know whether you’re good for each other!”

True dat. When you get right down to it, it’s about the most practical relationship advice you can give a young someone.

The conversation yesterday did bring to mind an incident from my youth, though, involving my grandmother—my mother’s mother. Now, my mother came from a deeply religious Southern family. Her grandfather and her father were Southern Baptist ministers. Her multiple brothers also went into the ministry, though they all broke away from it in one way or another later on in their lives. My mom was the first member of her Georgia clan who finished high school and got herself a college and then a graduate-level education; combined with her political activism, she had a reputation among both her own family and her in-laws as a firebrand radical.

My grandmother, however, couldn’t have been more opposite. Both women were equally stubborn, but where my mother was inquisitive and loved to laugh, my grandmother was sour and stern, and looked no farther for news than what she could hear over the bingo tables at the local Eastern Star lodge. My mother couldn’t stand cooking, and pressed me into kitchen labor when I hit the double-digits in years; my grandmother’s main talents had been birthing babies and baked goods. They fought like cats when they were in close proximity. More than once did my mom cut visits south short by tossing me and the suitcases in the back of the car and driving off (“For good!”, she’d yell, every time) in a huff with a squeal of brakes and a flurry of dust from the dirt road on which my grandparents lived.

I had to have been in first or second grade when the one incident of shame I remember from my very early years took place, because in my memory we’d just moved into the house where my dad is still living. I was in the basement with a boy from the neighborhood—I don’t remember anything about him except that he lived nearby and that I was trying to make friends with him, because I was new enough to the area that I didn’t have any. And my grandmother was visiting, which is the kind of thing she’d do immediately after a move, to maximize the chaos and discomfort.

My parents had bought (maybe for moving, maybe just for their offices) a Dymo label maker. Label makers in those days were heavy devices that look like the radar guns cops use on the sides of the highways, mated with the Starship Enterprise. One fed a narrow strip of plastic into these things, turned the wheel containing the alphabet and numerals and a few rudimentary punctuation marks until it reached the letter of one’s choice, squeezed the handle really, really hard, and distended the plastic tape with a die so that it embossed a character into it. When one had finally finished laboriously spelling out a word, one would advance the plastic tape, cut it, peel off the backing, and then stick the label on whatever it was that needed to be identified.

Back in the days before videos games and even electronic calculators, this device passed as nifty and high tech. Naturally, kids loved them. I’d taken my parents’ label maker and this other kid and I were down in the basement playroom messing around with it. One of us had come up with the brilliant idea of making a label that said KICK ME! on it, and we were taking turns sticking it on each other. I’d stick it on his forehead, and he’d giggle. He’d stick it on my shoulder, and we’d both laugh hysterically.

I know! You’re envying the sheer hilarity of it! And I don’t blame you! I stuck the label on his chest. Then he stuck it on my butt! Can you imagine? Walking around with KICK ME on my butt all day? What a laugh riot! We were laughing up a storm when I stuck it on his groin. Hilarious!

Then I looked up, and saw my grandmother standing on the basement stairs. She wore on her face the expression I always associate with my grandmother, pinched eyes, prim lips pressed into a grim line—the same expression she had almost twenty years ago when I drove overnight, all night, from Michigan to Virginia the day my mother died, and I stumbled out of the car and her first words of comfort to me were, “You sure have gotten fat.”

But that day, when I was no more than six or seven, I suddenly knew that I’d done something of which she hadn’t approved. I’d played around with another boy’s crotch. I knew that in her eyes, without so much as a word from her lips, that it was w-r-o-n-g wrong.

If it had been my mother, or my father, or any of their friends, such tomfoolery wouldn’t have gotten even a raised eyebrow. But my grandmother stopped there on the stairs, face pressed into that disapproving and disappointed expression, laundry in her hands, and stared. I stopped laughing, and backed away from the kid. Only when I was a good distance away, and she was certain she’d squelched any proto-homosexual orgies that might’ve arisen from the labeler incident, did she finally leave.

For the first time—maybe the only time—in my young years, I remember feeling flushed and shamed by the incident. She hadn’t said a word, but somehow she’d convinced me I was doing something wrong, something dirty. On a certain level I knew that my parents wouldn’t have cared about a kick-me label to the groin. They would’ve found it juvenile, but not worthy of condemnation. And in a lot of ways, it was the first time I was aware that my household was a little bit different in that respect than other households.

I sure as shootin’ never stuck another label on a man’s dick after that. I’ll tell you that.

For today’s Friday open forum, I’m curious about other people’s childhood experience in shame. I know mine is rather tame compared to some I’ve heard. But when was the first time you experienced sexual shame as a kid—and did it come from your parents? Your peers? From within? How did it change your behavior, after? Or did it? Do you feel shame is necessary, when it comes to sex? Or can it be a turn-on?

Let’s hear from you guys in the comments.

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Well Deepanalnut, at least you are upfront and honest about it just being for the orgasm!