Freddiboi

Pretty scary stuff.

That's a good question! Perhaps the best scenario would be to have the bottom sign the document days before the breeding took place, if at all possible. That way it wouldn't be looked upon as being signed in the heat of passion.

I'd join in a NY minute! Great idea!

Sounds like fun!

Great idea, a party for us regular guys!

It is pretty sad that there are those that are chasing that would resort to litigation when going in eyes open. Maybe poz tops will have to resort to having the chaser signing a form letter stating the KNOWN POZ staus of the top.

Breeder Man, you are one lucky guy! I'm oozing in my pants from that great account of how you seeded the "Runt". Keep up the good work.

To see Breeder's original blog post click here

I really hate to have to write this particular edition of the off-the-cuff Sunday remarks I make before I get to a roundup of questions of formspring.me. But some stuff this week has made me decide I need to draw a line.

One of the reasons I keep making my journal entries available on a public blog is that I like the interaction with the readers. I enjoy hearing from the guys for whom some of my stories resonate, or who get a measure of strength or even guidance from some of the advice asked of me. Guys write me to tell me their stories, and share information with me that they feel they can't tell anyone else. That's a fucking honor. I love that.

What I don't particular love are the nutballs who come out of the woodwork and make things a misery. I'm used to them personally, with the nasty little comments they make in the middle of the night—none of which make much sense on any logical level, but apparently serve as some kind of outlet for the clinically mentally ill to release some of their anger and frustration, trolling for some kind of reaction.

Where I've got to draw the line, though, is when the trolls start emailing others of my readers and harassing them. I've had it happen twice this month—once around the time I was moving, when someone started targeting commenters who had provided links to profiles with addresses, asking them all kinds of questions—had they met me? Did they know if I was for real? Why were they commenting on my blog if they hadn't met me? I took care of that matter privately.

Then this week, another fellow with the email address of dudebud_@hotmail.com started sending some pretty vile emails to one of my readers I'd met. He said that it sickened him how I cheated on my wife and how I was lying about my serostatus, was HIV-positive, and probably had infected my reader. The writer went on to imply that I had infected him. Then he stated, in a way that made no sense whatsoever based on the previous statement, that he really wanted to sleep with me. Then he pumped the reader for personal information about me.

Now, the vast majority of my readers are going to have more allegiance to me than to some random poison pen. My reader naturally forwarded on the correspondence to me. I wrote the freak and asked him to desist, at which point he backtracked and attempted to convince me that he hadn't been talking about me, but the behavior of gay men in general.

No, sir. You were pretty specific. You just didn't like to be called out.

So here's a general statement I ask all my readers to consider. If you are a reader of this blog who has an issue with it, or with my behavior, simply don't read me any longer. It really is that easy. Unfollow me. Remove me from your feed and bookmarks. Go somewhere else you find more pleasing. Or if you wish to engage in a dialogue about it, write me. Don't go bugging my readers, whose only crime is reading and writing the occasional comment.

Furthermore, what really upsets me is how obsessed this individual—and other such individuals who've targeted me before—is with my serostatus. The fact that he stigmatizes persons living with HIV really disturbs me more than anything personal he has to say about me (he might as well say I have cooties, for all I care). The mentality of Mr. Dudebud_ is the same as that as the fellow who wrote in a question demanding a vial of my semen to test it for HIV (and I suspect they may well be the same person). The intent to shame someone based on their HIV status betrays small-mindedness and a huge degree of ignorance. It demeans the experiences of people worldwide. It demeans the experiences of many of my friends, lovers, and family.

I won't tolerate such small-mindedness in my comments or in emails to me. And I definitely won't sit still when someone goes out of his way to harass my readers with it.

Some of you will probably disagree with my decision to print the guy's email address here. But here's what my late mother used to say: if you don't want your dirty laundry hanging for everyone to see, don't come over and shit on my sheets.

Now, let's get to some questions.

How often are you tested for stds? (no malicious intent)

Regularly. Beyond that is only the business of myself and my immediate sexual partners.

You've talked in the past about concerns over men who don't or can't see how attractive they are. It seems to be a common thread, even in your more recent entries. Do you have any suggestions on how men should go about recovering their self-esteem?

If I had the answer, I'd have overcome my own self-esteem issues!

A lot of my personal frustration with men who don't understand the gifts they have to offer the word arises from the persistent way in which they deflect compliments or attention to their positive attributes. Reflexive it might be, but it's a rude instinct that not only dishonors the compliment, but both the person who gave it, and the gifts that the guy has been given in his life.

Basically I'd like to shake some people and tell them to take the fucking compliment. Acknowledge it. Say thank you for it, politely. Don't try to explain why one doesn't deserve it, or why it's misapplied, or why the giver of the compliment is misinformed or too ignorant to appreciate why the compliment was wrong, wrong, wrong. Instead, try to understand what the person admired to begin with, and accept that perhaps it really does apply.

And yes, I include myself in the list of guys I want to shake, from time to time.

LOL@ Steve Buscemi playing Jim. What did Earl see in Jim? He sounds awful.

It's difficult for an outsider to speculate what makes someone's relationship last. It could have been habit. Earl might have stayed with him out of fear that Jim would blab about his activities. He might have kept Jim on out of obligation, or guilt of what he'd made of him.

Or they might've actually loved each other on some level. If that were indeed the case, I wasn't astute enough really to see it, but I was only a kid at the time.

if i was tied up, naked and left on your doorstep.... what would you do

Throw a blanket over you and notify the local authorities, most likely.

The hairier the better?

Not necessarily. I like hairy men. I like smooth men, too. I don't limit my attraction to a guy based solely on a genetic inheritance over which he has no control.

Is there anyone, famous or not, that you would consider switching teams for? If so, who?

The question in which I'm more interested is who, celebrity or not, is considering switching teams for me.

Do you have any piercings? If so, above or below the neck?

I do not. I've considered it below the neck, though. But needles frighten me.

Have you ever regretted anything you ever posted online?

Not photos or anything of that sort. There've been a few times I've gotten upset and regretted posting angry words in various places—but not so much because of what I've said, as for letting myself get that upset to begin with.

I really want to see a pic of your ass. Not spread eagle or anything, just a nice pic. Do you have that sexy little patch of hair on your lower back? -J

No, I don't believe I have that patch of hair. My butt--what there is of it--is nothing special, trust me.

What's that one food you hate so much that its very sight or smell makes you sick?

Cooked liver makes me queasy. I overthink where it's been.

More...

Breeder man, there are a lot of sicko's out there! Most however are decent people, thankfully for that. Keep up with your wonderful writtings. A friend

To see Breeder's original blog post click here

I've known and fucked Jason for two years. I've never seen his face.

Oh, I've caught glimpses of it from time to time. I've seen his sharp chin as it settles against my nuts. Sometimes it's softened by a crop of fuzz. Sometimes it's bony and clean-shaven. I've observed many times the curve of his pink little lips nuzzling around my meat. Once in a while the tips of his long brown hair will bob below the restroom stall partition and brush against my thighs.

I know well the leanness of his hands, and the taut strength of his hairy legs. Scrolling thorn-studded vines of plump roses decorate the insides of both his arms, decidedly retro in appearance but somehow perfectly modern. They look like the kind of ink you might see on Popeye's biceps, re-imagined and forced into full bloom by a real artist. It's the tattoos I'd recognize immediately if I saw Jason out in public—but like I said, I never have. I've only seen them as he's reached beneath the stalls to grasp at my dick, or when his hand has darted underneath my balls to tease around my hole or to grab my ass and pull me closer.

Jason first met me when he was eighteen, and cruising Squirt for older dick. He was young and lean and horny and lived with a pop who was always home; I was old and jizz-filled and ready to get inside him and didn't have a place to play that day. "How about somewhere public?" he messaged me. "A toilet? I'll do you anywhere, dude. I need that dick."

I named a local mall. "Sears," I told him. "First floor men's room, men's department." I told him what shoes I'd be wearing, and he told me he'd be in black sneakers. We agreed to meet in twenty minutes' time.

I half-expected him not to show. When I arrived at the Sears, I went to the bathroom, chose a stall, dropped my pants, and started stroking. I'd fucked and sucked in there many, many times in the past. I was in the very stall where I'd once met a businessman who was into humiliation; I'd roped him to the toilet hardware with his necktie, fucked him, pissed on him, pulled up my pants, and left him scrambling to extricate himself before he was discovered. (He loved it. Emailed me about it for years, though I never met him again.) The thought of that long-distant afternoon alone was enough to keep me rock hard. I'd only been there a couple of minutes when first the outer door creaked open, followed by the gunshot snap of the inner door's hinge. Through the crack in the stall I could see an impossibly skinny kid dash by. A pair of black sneakers shuffled into the next toilet. I heard the sound of a belt unfastening, followed by the heavy clunk of the kid's jeans as his huge belt buckle dragged to the tiles. He sat down, and tapped his foot. I tapped mine back.

Then his hand snaked under the metal partition, palm up, anxious to hold something. For the first time, I saw the thorny vines that decorated him. I knelt down and put my purple-red dick in his hand, and let him prove himself.

The first time he only sucked me. Sometimes that's all we do together. I don't shoot very easily from blowjobs alone, and even warn most guys up front that mere head is unlikely to get me off. Jason's never had an issue getting me to unload, though. Even the first time he knew exactly how much pressure to keep around the base of my dick as he greedily slurped up and down its length. He knew, as if I'd directed him, when to stroke my nuts on their sides, coaxing the sperm upward. And when I shot a very few minutes later, he impaled his throat on the shaft and took every drop, just the way I prefer. Yet I'd said nothing at all in that quiet men's room. The only thing that could have been heard were the soft sounds of sucking, our heavy breathing, and the very gentlest of my moans. He took his mouth off my dick, and then I felt something wet land on my cock and stomach. When I leaned backward and craned to look beneath the stall, I saw that he'd shot his own load on my meat. I watched his fuzz-tipped peaky chin graze my skin as he licked off his sperm. Then I withdrew back into my own stall, pulled up my pants, flushed, washed my hands, and walked back to my car on trembling legs.

After that first day we started meeting in other restrooms, every month or so. The local Home Depot is one of his favorites—the floors there are grimy but we're rarely interrupted. We've done several local colleges, one of the rest stops, a park restroom in the summers, and a building in the downtown area. We attempted a casino one time, but the foot traffic was too steady.

The only time we've met face to face is once at my house, late at night. My family was actually away for a few days and I was there alone, but when we were chatting online I told him they were upstairs asleep, and that he should be a good boy and come taste my dick while being very, very quiet. To my surprise, he was all for it.

My neighborhood is pitch black and unlit by street lights, and there was no moon that night. It was easy for me to meet him at the side door, guide him up the kitchen steps, and take him into the family den, where he knelt between my legs and lapped at my cock and balls like a good little boy. Right before he came, I put my hand over his mouth and whispered in his ear. Sshh. I cupped his ass as he convulsed and squirted out ropes of semen. It was the only time we've kissed. Still I didn't see his face that night, nor he mine. We were nothing more than silhouettes in the darkness.

We'll always have Sears. That's where I met him Saturday morning. He recognized my shoes instantly when he sat down in the same stall next to mine. I dropped to my knees and spread my legs beneath the partition as his mouth rushed to greet me. "Hi, daddy," he whispered, before taking my dick between his lips.

Saturday we fucked. His hole was lightly greased. My torso was pressed tightly against the clammy, cold partition while my waist and legs were fully underneath. I felt the pressure as gripped my meat with one hand while he lowered himself onto it. From his feet I could tell that he faced away from me as he squatted down and accommodated my girth. Inch by inch, he started to take it. Not until he'd taken most of my eight inches did he rise up again. When he did, it was with a gentle rocking motions. Every bob up and down started to bring me closer and closer to orgasm.

We know when we meet in the public spots that our time is limited. It didn't take him long to settle into a more aggressive rhythm. "Fuck me, daddy!" I heard him whisper. The partition thudded a little with every rise and fall. Closer and closer I got until I was on the edge, willing myself to shoot while simultaneously wanting not to. Then I felt a splatter on my nuts and thighs, accompanied by the sensation of his hole clenching. He'd shot his load on me. Knowing that was enough to push me over the edge. Still clutching onto the underside of the stall, I blasted inside him, shooting harder than I had all week. Once my breathing had subsided, we both withdrew and started mopping at the floor with toilet paper, until the evidence was gone.

A middle-aged chubby guy walked into the restroom while I washed my hands. He looked me up and down with speculation while I ignored him. I watched as he darted into the stall I'd just vacated. Jason was still in the next john, waiting for me to leave so that we wouldn't see each other. I didn't stick around to see if there was any action or not. I had to get home.

I think we both know that neither of us is ugly. I used to have an avid curiosity to see what he looked like, and even tried sticking around afterwards to catch a glimpse. Now, though, I accept that the anonymous aspect of our coupling somehow makes it hotter . . . especially as it's been going on for two years.

One day, somewhere unexpected—along some street or outside a Gap in a mall—I'm certain I'm going to walk by a good-looking kid who'll have thorn-studded vines climbing the insides of his arms, abloom with plump red roses. I'll look at his face, and he'll look at mine. There'll be a moment of recognition and surprise, and we'll know all we need to know.

More...

Another blow by blow (no pun Intended) of one of your hot encounters....you are one hot man!

Holy shit, what a way to ruin the prospect of a great fuck!

Oh Breeder what a hot fucking fuck! That lucky fucker really got a talented top to devour his hole.......I am leaking just reading it, can only imagine experiencing it! Very HOT!

Damn, would love a bf like that.....so hot

I'd like to be a cum dump with my bf!

Nice....who wouldn't want to seed that!

As a Bi DWM at 53 years old I did not think i would ever act on my fanatasies as i was as I am older than most I see on The forums. I had started at GH's at the ABS when

I was younger but only sucked cock but never got fucked. I only came close one time

when i was bent over at the GH and alternatley feeding my cock and then my ass to

the magic tongue on the other side.

As i Had my ass spreadwide on the gloryhole i felt the cockhead of the guy on the otherside

pierce tight ass and run up until i felt his pubic hair on my cheeks then he aburtly pulled out and

left. Damn i was frustrated and felt so good iwanted to trry it again.

It was not to be i got married ,had a family and generrally stayed str8 for 20 years .

but my old feelings started coming back and after a couple more frustrating tries

i ended up just a couple hours ago on my back with my legs in the air and my

asshole burning as a beefy bear top i met online nailed me for the first time in decades

and bred my ass with my first load of Cum. He assured me he was neg and i believe him.

he wants to continue to "break in my tight hole" as he puts it and get me used to taking cock

the natural way.

While i want to continue my question is has anyone started taking loads late in life and did

they have any regrets?

I am the same age and I have recently BB btm for the first time in years. I loved it, and I want more...we all have regrets at one time or another in life............