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It seems I’ve always been attracted to rough and wild men. It’s like the attraction between two magnets. I know if I were to take time to turn them around and really get to know them, I’d probably feel repulse and they’d certainly be repulsed by my ‘good boy’ persona. Just at first sight I can’t help myself. My erotic imagination goes into overdrive. As a kid I was adamantly opposed to smoking, but the Marlboro man on the cigarette adds was the hero of what I wanted to look like when I grew up. At a church teen retreat I met a ruggedly handsome, foul mouthed, teen who my heart melted for. I couldn’t get enough time with him. He had a tortured streak deep inside that sucked my desire in even deeper. He was his schools drug dealer, and even sold to his little brother. I couldn’t find it within myself to judge him. Nothing came of that silly teen romance, but I remember it as one of the formative experiences of my life. For the most part as a non-drinker I was never really that comfortable in gay bars, but I found myself going regularly to a seedy hotel that had a male stripper night. I was so jealous of the strippers’ gorgeous bodies and their confidence to take it all off in front of a crowd. And in Vancouver they took it all off, full frontal views of their usually huge, gorgeous erections. There was one man that was always there in the audience. Usually with a woman or two. He always seemed half drunk in that happy smiley loose limbed kind of way. He had that classic rugged handsomeness that always pulled me in. And the charismatic presence that I couldn’t help but feel jealous over. I found myself worshiping him from a distance. Even though he was with women I frequently saw him slip out for a smoke or slide into the bathroom with a guy or three. There was no doubt in my mind what was happening in those bathroom forays. On my fifth night seeing him I still couldn’t even muster the courage to say hi. Imagine my surprise when he crossed the crowed room and came directly to me. Without a word he grabbed me by the collar and towed me across the room almost pulling my shirt off. As we approached the bathroom he hissed at me; “I’m gonna breed your nerdy ass.” Before opening the door, he opened his shirt and there on his beautiful right chest was a biohazard tattoo. He barked, “Don’t look so shocked, I know ‘goodie two shoes boys’ like you really want my toxic sperm.” When the bathroom door opened out came a tall handsome tanned blond-haired Dane. Clearly, they were friends from way back from the passionate kiss that ensued. I was summarily pushed aside and as the two turned to go into the bathroom he asked me to ‘take care’ of his women friend until he got back. He read the look of disappointment on my face and said, “You know the rules, you know how it works, buy her a drink.” After he left, I considered trying to figure out these strange rules, but in the end I just walked away feeling dejected and used. I would see him every stripper night after that. I’d still feel attracted to his rugged handsome aura, but I managed to stay away. As magnetic as my attraction to him was, as much as I knew I wanted to ride his raw cock in a bathroom stall, I just wasn’t sure I wanted his ‘special sperm.’ And I was totally confused that I was even giving it any thought. Recently I was in hospital for a few weeks. I was headed outside to get some fresh air. This took me passed ‘Admitting’. There at the wicket were two prison security guards checking in a prisoner dressed in a bright orange jump suite and cheap runners. The sleaves were rolled up so I could see crude tattoos on his arms, hands and fingers. The same quality of bad tattoos also emerged up the side of his neck and behind his ear. He had a seven-day scraggly beard and although his hair was clean it was long and raged, His face was on the handsome side with a decidedly strong jaw. I altered my course to be sure to get a look at the front of him. I was not disappointed, as I expected, the front buttons of the jumper suite were open halfway to his navel, gaping and exposing his sinewy lightly haired chest. And you guessed it, two crude dagger tattoos came down pointing toward each other on his pecs. I went on about my day, but these images of him kept creeping back into my mind. I was enjoying the freedom to move about after a week and a half confined to bedrest. I was gone from my private room for a couple hours. When I returned, I was informed someone else needed that room more than me and they were ready to move me to a ward. I fully expected this would happen eventually with my lack of private insurance. Curiosity got the better of me and later that night I roamed past my previous private room. Sure enough, guarding the door were two prison guards. Sneaking a glimpse inside I could see the ruggedly handsome prisoner shackled to the bed. He was now shirtless, I presumed even naked under the light sheet, and watching TV. He caught me staring and returned a glare. I suspect he meant for this to scare me away, but it was like the power of the magnetic attraction was turned to electric. You know, those magnets they use in wrecking yards to pick up vehicles they are lifting into the crushing machines. I would find myself wandering by his room for glimpses four and five times a day. Then I met him being led down the hall. One of the guard’s was speaking. “Ten minutes of fresh air, and you can have a smoke, but that’s it. Any funny business and even this privilege will be whipped from you. Do you understand?” He grunted the affirmative. Excursions through the smoking area were added to my escapes from the monotony of my room. Many times, I found him there sullenly sucking away on his fag, looking dejected by one and all, especially his board and hostile looking guards. Then one evening after dark I noticed a guard smoking with him. They were actually talking, joking and laughing. The guard held out his pack to me and offered for me to join them. I demurred; “Sorry I don’t smoke those things.” Grabbing his own crotch the prisoner laughed blurting; “Maybe not those, but you would this.” The guard also laughed good naturedly and my gaydar went off for both of them. We chatted casually for a bit until the guard spoke up; “Sorry guys, but I’ve got to bring this smoke break to a close. My partner will begin to wonder. If you can suck him off real fast behind that garbage bin I’ll keep watch. Then I’ve got to get him back.” The prisoner pulled me behind the bin and pushed me to my knees. His slender seven-inch cock was down my throat in a flash. I sucked for all I was worth as his hands manipulated my head to give me the face fuck of my life. With no warning he was soon blasting, painting my tonsils with his cum. Eight powerful spasms and I swallowed every one. It was only when he pulled out of my mouth that I noticed even his dick was tattooed. It was crude and also just in black, but it was definitely a stinging scorpion.
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The Photoshoot Chapter 1: To say Austin is pissed is a huge understatement. He specifically told his boyfriend he was not going with him to this photoshoot under no uncertain terms, but Blake insisted anyway, saying he goes with him to almost every other shoot, so he saw nothing wrong with going to this one. Austin didn’t bother to point out that Blake only goes to the shoots where Austin might be modelling underwear or swimsuits, he doesn’t both if it’s something completely vanilla like sweaters or jeans. Normally he’d preen under Blake’s jealous, possessive behaviour but today is not the day. This isn’t a typical photoshoot, he just lied hoping Blake would buy it but the second he saw the package of lingerie Austin bought for himself for the shoot, he immediately jumped on going. The shoot is for Blake, a small series of boudoir pictures Austin was hoping to surprise Blake with as an anniversary present, but his loving boyfriend seems determined to ruin his gift. He even tried to play the my-agent-doesn’t-want-visitors-on-the-set card, but Blake threatened to call his agent and hear it from him, and Austin conceded immediately, knowing his agent wouldn’t back him up because he didn’t know what was going on. In hindsight, he really should’ve told his agent, but he hadn’t thought of that until they were getting off the subway at the determined station and walking the four blocks to the photographer’s address. Austin had been stubbornly silent the entire trip, even when Blake tried to make conversation, Austin shut him down almost immediately. His only solace is he’s sure Blake’s going to feel like a complete fool and be incredibly sorry once Austin gives him the photos from today on their anniversary next week. “Seems like a weird place for a professional job,” Blake says as they enter the building – it’s standard for the city, four-stories of dirty brick and filthy windows. The inside is somewhat more updated, with the aesthetic practically screaming New Management. Austin decides he likes it, Blake obviously doesn’t if the way he wrinkles his nose at the smell of delicate potpourri and sneers at the grey-blue colour scheme is any indication. “They wanted something that felt intimate and secure,” Austin lies easily as they make the climb up the stairs to the fourth floor. He’s glad his boyfriend only knows what he does about the modelling industry from Austin himself, Blake never having been big on the whole idea in the first place but was supportive enough to not question Austin about any of it. “I believe this is the photographer’s personal studio and he thought it would be a better fit than a larger set.” “He? What happened to Monica, your normal photographer?” “The company provided their own guy,” Austin says, sweating a little from all the lies he has to say just to keep this surprise a surprise. “Don’t worry, Deanna vetted him and gave her approval.” Deanna being his agent who has no idea about this photoshoot. That seems to ease some of the tension from Blake’s shoulders. They make the rest of the climb in silence, the only sounds their shoes on the tiled stairs and the crinkling of the bag Austin’s carrying. The bag is his treasure trove of goodies to wear, each one guaranteed to make Blake drool and resist every urge to pounce on him. Austin can’t help but feel a little petty about it, knowing Blake will struggle to keep his hands to himself the entire time he’s watching, and Austin will do everything he can to make this the most incredible blue-ball experience for his boyfriend as payback. The pair reaches the door Austin mentioned earlier on the subway ride – one of the few things he did say willingly – and Blake knocks much to Austin’s embarrassment. Moments later the door opens to reveal who Austin believes to be the photographer. The man is six-foot tall with thick black dreadlocks that hang to mid-back, his hair is contained by what appears to be a handwoven red and gold hair-tie. He’s also shirtless, his dark skin and muscled torso on perfect display. “Austin?” he says, looking at Blake. His voice is rich and seems to reverberate from his chest, it matches the warmth in his dark brown eyes. Blake glares at him and shakes his head. “No, and Austin and I are leaving.” “Uh no we’re not,” Austin says firmly, then he looks at the photographer. He didn’t picture this man when they spoke on the phone, if anything he thought he’d be mid-thirties and decently good looking, not this . . . God-like man that to Austin stepped straight out of some of his favourite books. “I’m sorry about that, I’m Austin, the buzzkill is my boyfriend, Blake.” The photographer’s dark brown eyes light up and he holds out his hand for Austin to shake. They do and Austin is taken aback by how warm and rough his hands feel. “I’m Javier,” says Javier, the photographer. “Sorry about the mix up, when we spoke over the phone, I wasn’t given a description.” Blake raises an eyebrow, looking at Austin curiously. “Didn’t the agency send over your headshots beforehand?” “The agency sends them to the company, I’m just expected to photograph whoever shows up,” says Javier smoothly before Austin can even fumble for a response. “I was told Austin would be alone, or with his agent, so I apologize for the confusion.” “Why didn’t you think I was his agent?” “Because Deanna wears plum power suits like she’s part of the agency in The Devil Wears Prada,” Javier says with just a hint of annoyance. “Anyway, this is a closed set, so only models and staff are permitted. You can wait out here until we’re finished or you’re free to go home.” Blake definitely doesn’t like that answer. He turns to Austin and says, “Babe, I really don’t like this. We need to leave; this man is clearly unprofessional, and I’m going to call Deanna and let her know not to let you work with any agency that employs this asshole.” Austin wants nothing more than to melt into the floor. He cannot believe that Blake is being so rude to a perfect stranger. “I’m sorry, Javier, my boyfriend can be a little . . . protective. Anyway, I need to get changed, is there a dressing room?” Javier smiles warmly at Austin and steps out of the doorway to let him in. “Go down the hall and it’s the first door on the left. There are some supplies in there to freshen up and plenty of places to hang your outfits. Once you’re changed, knock three times and I’ll come in to see your outfit and adjust the set accordingly. We’re doing five scenes in total.” “Understood!” says Austin brightly as he hurries inside before Blake can catch him. He goes in the direction Javier indicated and once he’s inside, he makes sure to lock the door just in case Blake tries to break in. Ordinarily, he’d be more than happy to have Blake in the room with him – they’ve had many memorable moments in dressing rooms across the city – but today is different. Blake was rude to the photographer after butting into the photoshoot in the first place, so Austin feels like punishing him for his poor behaviour. The dressing room is pleasant, small and intimate unlike most he’s been in, the lighting is dimmed to a comfortable level with most of it coming from various salt rock lamps scattered throughout the room. The walls are a delicate cream the reflects the light well and warms the room. Austin spies the round bed in the centre and must resist diving onto the invitingly fluffy surface of pastel blankets and thick pillows. Instead, he puts his bag on the small vanity and proceeds to take out each outfit, adjusting each one before putting it on a hanger on a nearby clothing rack. Javier may be a small-time photographer, but he certainly knows what models need when doing a shoot. Once Austin is satisfied with the appearance of his clothes, he selects the first outfit of the day – a sheer dark blue nightie with matching thong – and lays it on the bed before stripping out of his street clothes. He hangs them up beside the rest and takes a moment to collect himself, just like he does before every photoshoot. Over the past few months of doing this work, he’s learned that being mentally prepared is just as important as being physically ready, if not more so because it’s one thing to stand and get your picture taken it’s another thing entirely to immerse yourself in the experience. There have been times he’s come out of a shoot crying because of the overwhelming emotion he felt during a certain scene, and others where he’s so drained, he can barely stand at the end. The best trick he’s found is to reconnect with himself by looking at himself in the mirror, not out of any sense of vanity, but as a means of centering himself. Luckily there’s a three-way mirror in the corner so he doesn’t have to skip that part of his routine like he has at some projects because the only mirror they have is in the makeup room and he’s in and out so fast he doesn’t get a chance to focus. He goes over and simply stands in view of each mirror, allowing his mind to clear and hands to drift over his bare skin. Touch is another grounding method he enjoys; it reminds him that he’s still a person and not a doll being dressed up for money. He remembers trying to explain this routine to Blake after an intense day and Blake simply said he was just a doll to the company so what difference did it make. He stopped trying to explain the intricacies of his mind after that. Austin shakes his head, watching the delicate blonde curls bounce around his face and neck as if they have a mind of their own. He smiles to himself as his hands start to drift on his chest, fingertips running delicately over the smooth pale skin on his chest. He’s glad he had the foresight to make an appointment for a full body sugaring – it’s his favourite method of waxing, the sugar wax is far easier on his skin than chemicals or standard wax and the results last much longer in between sessions. Deanna had recommended it after he suffered from a wax gone wrong, which made his skin break out and left tiny red bumps all over. Now he can’t imagine how he went so long without it; his skin always feels so smooth and delicious after. His hands dip lower, trailing over his hips and down the V-shape of his pubic bone to his cock, which sits soft and supple. He lets a hand caress his small cock, gasping softly at the feeling of burgeoning arousal. He closes his eyes and his mind drifts to warm dark rough hands, cupping him as the palm rolls over his flaccid cock, coaxing it to life with firm movements. A warm smile and deep voice encourage him to let go and relax. Austin’s eyes shoot open, and he wills away the images as hot guilt boils in his stomach. In the almost three years they’ve been together, he’s never once thought of anyone else other than Blake in these moments and now he’s gone and thought of Javier! He dismisses it as a slip of his mind, nervous about working with a new photographer at an intimate photoshoot. He quickly puts on his outfit and does his makeup, going more natural than he usually does at a shoot only because he knows Blake hates the way he looks with caked on product. Satisfied with his appearance, Austin knocks on the door three times and waits on the bed for Javier to arrive. “Austin?” he hears Javier say on the other side of the door. “It’s me, let me in.” Austin jumps up and unlocks the door, letting the other man in before soundly closing and locking the door again. “Your boyfriend is still here,” Javier says with obvious disdain. “I tried to get him to leave but he insisted, so I told him he’d have to sit in a corner away from the set.” “Stubborn bastard,” Austin sighs and Javier nods. “I’m so sorry about all of this Javier, I tried to tell him he didn’t need to come, I told him not to come, but he didn’t listen. And I’m so sorry he was so rude to you earlier, that was completely uncalled for and—” “It’s okay, Austin, I’ve dealt with worse,” Javier interrupts gently. “Besides, if I had a boyfriend like you, I’d be just as bad, maybe even worse than him.” “Thanks, by the way, for covering for me,” Austin says a little sheepishly. “I’m glad I mentioned Deanna now in our last conversation.” Javier grins. “I think we should both look into acting after that performance earlier.” His dark eyes scan Austin from head to toe and Austin feels warm under his attention. “I love the outfit. Makes me think of a midnight tryst.” “That’s what I was going for!” Austin says excitedly. “I was going to wear some silver jewelry and maybe a few diamonds, but I thought that might be overkill.” “I think you should wear them,” says Javier with a nod. “Not saying the look doesn’t work without them, but it would definitely add another dimension to the scene, like you were a piece of the sky itself.” He thinks to himself for a moment. “I think that’s the angle I’ll go for with this first scene. It’ll be dreamy, with lighting similar to moonlight, a bed or chaise for you to lounge on, with dark blue and black cloth draped around you with metallic accents. Sound good to you?” “It sounds delightful!” gushes Austin. “These photos are going to be amazing, Javier!” Javier smiles gently. “Only if you trust in my vision, Austin, otherwise it won’t work.” “I trust you! I trust you completely. I love everything you’ve said so far.” “Good,” says Javier with a chuckle. “Now finish up and I’ll get the set ready in the meantime.” Austin nods, a smile still plastered on his face as Javier leaves. to be continued....
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[While this is mostly fiction, a number of the elements are true and from a recent encounter I had at the beginning of December]. My name is Ash. I'm still neg, but thinking about getting pozzed has been the only thing that turns me on for a long time now. I love the idea of giving my body to another man to change and claim, and then turning around and sharing my gift with others and changing them. I haven't been on PrEP for a few months now, and I've been slowly hooking up with more poz guys that I find at sex clubs or online. Usually the in-person signs are subtle --those telltales lines in the face, extra-lean muscles and low body fat -- but once in a while I'll run across some stud unexpectedly sporting a scorpion or biohazard tattoo that gets my dick extra hard. This story is about one of those encounters. I'm in town as a plus-one for the wedding of a friend's friend. It's the night before the ceremony and we've all just finished dinner, and predictably everyone wants to call it a night early. That sounds way too boring to me, so I beg off and make my way out in search of the gay scene. It's a small coastal Southern city, so my hopes aren't high, but there's one club that might be worth checking out. I walk in, make my way over to the bar, and about halfway through my first drink I lock eyes with the most beautiful blonde boy I've seen in a while. 5'8, buzz cutt, blue eyes, thick ass and broad shoulders, and killer smile. He walks over to me and with a deep, sexy drawl, says: "Hi, handsome, I'm Wesley." Fuuuuuck. Now I remember why Southern boys are so fucking hot. I respond back, playing it cool and making some quip about Southern hospitality, and the vibe turns playful and flirty. We end up kissing, and he doesn't object when I take his bottom lips between my teeth and bite. Hm, promising. He pulls away and I wink at him. I get up to make my lap and he goes off to find a friend, and I think that's the last I'll see of Wes. 30 minutes later, I'm hanging over the edge of the balcony overlooking the street, smoking a drink, when I feel someone get up close next to me. "Hey babe, mind if I get a drag?" I look over at Wes, and put the cigarette up to his lips. As he takes a drag, I lean in and start kissing on his neck, which is perfectly exposed in the white tank he's wearing. He starts to grab on to my body, getting needy, and he whispers raggedly in my ear while I chew on his neck: "You wanna get out of here? I know a place we can go." I let him take the lead as he walks us out of the club and down the street. We turn a corner here and go down an alley or two, my hands grabbing at his hips the entire way, until we end up at what looks to be an abandoned junkyard. He leads me in and we quickly find a truck in decent condition with an empty flatbed. He looks up at me and asks: "Is this okay? I think this would be so hot." I let him know my answer by turning him around and pushing him over the flatbed. I kneel and reach up to pull his jeans down, freeing two beautiful, white, deliciously plump ass cheeks from their confines. I spread his cheeks and am greeted by the site of a pink, hairless hole, slightly open with puffy lips. My mouth immediately begins watering as I dive in face first and take a lick of his pussy. The taste is sweaty, musky, yet somehow sweet. I go in for more, using my tongue to pry past his lips and make out with his cunt. He responds by reaching back and spreading his ass more open with his hands, giving me leverage to get in deeper. I lose track of how much time I spend licking, kissing, and tongue fucking that delicious boy pussy, and when I come up for air, all I can hear is his ragged panting. I get to my feet and he turns around, with desperation, lust, and a bit of frustration in his eyes. "Fuck me, please fuck me," he begs. I laugh. "In a second, babe, I'm still having my fun." I kiss him deep once, heft him up onto the flatbed, and start kissing my way down his torso until I get to his 5" cut cock. It's standing tall and hard, crowning a nice hairy sack of plum-sized balls. As I'm kissing around his crotch, I come face to face with a small black scorpion tattoo where his left thigh meets his groin. I think I miss a beat, because he looks down at me and smiles. "I'm a Scorpio," he shrugs. I smile back and lean into sniff the pubes right below it. Fuck, does this mean he's poz? Sexy little fucker is being coy and I don't know him well enough to tell. I swear the thought of this sexy little blonde boy being a poz cumdump makes my dick grow an extra half inch. I turn him around till he's showing off that beautiful ass of his and start rubbing my 7" cut cock between his cheeks, feeling my head get caught on his pussy lips. I start zeroing in on the heat and wetness, stroking deeper and deeper until I feel his plump ass cheeks push up against my crotch and I bottom out in his hole. I reach up around his chest and feel two meaty but firm pecs, and feel my fingers latching on to two puffy, doughy nipples. I squeeze roughly and I hear a guttural moan rip out of his throat and feel his hole clench on my cock. Looks like I found his weak spot. As I begin pumping in and out him, the only sounds in the junkyard being our grunts and the slap of his ass against my crotch, my thoughts can't help but focus on his scorpion tattoo. He has to be poz, right? The placement, the symbol, the fact that he's clearly a cumdump faggot and taking anon stranger cock in an abandoned junkyard -- it's too much of a coincidence. Am I sliding my neg cock deep inside a toxic hole right now? Is there HIV making its way deeper into my cock with every stroke I take into his wet hot hole? His wet ass makes me think of cum -- I bet there's other loads in that hole, some of them even toxic, that I'm dipping my cock into. The smooth silkiness of his hole along with the perverted thoughts playing on repeat in my head bring me to the edge much faster than anticipated. I lean forward, grab his chin, and growl into his ear. "I'm gonna fucking nut soon." "Fuck yeah," he responds. "Nut inside me!" "You want my load, faggot?" "Yes, yes, yes, breed my nasty faggot ass, please!" His hand flies down to his dick and he starts stroking his cock furiously. Now I know I told you I'm not poz, but at that point, I wish for nothing more in the world than to have a toxic load to breed this cumdump with. This is just too fucking hot, so right before I tip over the edge, I decide to take a chance. "Take my fucking poz load, faggot!" "Fuuuuuuuck yessss recharge my poz pussy!" he wails. I feel his hole start to tighten on my cock as his cock unleashes a torrent of cum. My hips are glued to his ass as I shoot what feels like my very essence into his body. Every pulse I shoot into him feels like it's being ripped out of my ballsack and cannonballed directly into his cunt. I count 5 shots before I slowly pull my still-twitching cock out of his ass, shiny with his ass juices and my cum and who knows what else. I see starts as I collapse onto his back, nestling into his neck as we both come down from our orgasmic highs. "That was intense." "That's an understatement," I chuckle. I peel myself off him, and we both roll over until we're lying on our backs. I trace his scorpion tattoo with my finger and look over at him to see him grinning. My dick starts to get hard again. Fuck, I can't wait until the day I can finally rock a poz tattoo with pride.- 11 replies
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My Boy’s Tight Hole Made Me Cum Too Soon When we first started dating, my boy and I played safe with each other, me almost always topping his amazing ass. We were casually seeing a few other guys, sometimes together in hot threeways and fourways. We somehow got less sexually adventurous as we got more serious. We stopped seeing other people and started playing bareback exclusively with each other. Initially, I’d pull out to cum, but after a while, he begged for my load. He really has an incredible ass, plump and round, with a hairy hole hidden deep between the clefts of his cheeks. He liked to show off his hairy crack, and it always turned me on when he used his hands to spread his cheeks wide. The experiences he’d had with other tops taught him a lot of amazing tricks. I couldn’t help but brag to several friends about what a hot bottom my boy was, especially now that we were exclusive and playing raw. That intense hot sex lasted for months. We fucked multiple times a week, me topping him raw and loving it, nearly always cumming inside him, but sometimes pulling out to cum on his hairy hole. I love lapping my load up and tonguing it inside him. Lately though, I noticed a few changes. We used to fuck practically daily, but now it was more like once a week. Regardless, the sex was still much better than most guys could ever hope for. However, I’d noticed that when I’d get inside his hole, I’d cum way too soon for either of our liking. It was as if my cock alone and less frequent fucking had gotten his hole too tight for its own good! When my boy was seeing other people, he regularly got stretched out by a few fuck buddies. Back then, I was also regularly wearing condoms. Dulling sensation always made me last longer, keeping me from feeling just how amazing his raw silky his hole truly is. One night after a sweaty session, I fingered my boy’s hole, slick with of my own fresh load, shot too quickly. We bluntly discussed his raw tight hole getting me off sooner than either of us would have liked. He told me he might have a solution, and he’d ask Brad, a buddy at work for advice. Brad and my boy had fucked regularly before we got serious. I knew he had a thick nine-inch monster dick from a very hot, safe, threeway we’d had a few years ago. We took turns pounding my boy into the mattress, and he loved it. Brad was one of the guys who convinced him to fuck with condoms especially if he was going to regularly get dicked by multiple guys. Although we’d never discussed it, I had seen Brad’s scorpion tattoo near his groin, and I suspected he was POZ. In fact, it turned me on sharing my boy’s hole, even safely, with this sexy hung guy. As hot as one safe cock stretching out my boy was, it was super sexy when he and his partner, Jim, had taken their turn my boy’s hole. Sadly, I’d missed out on that session, but heard that they, safely, used him very well that night. I asked my boy what Brad advised, and he had suggested a three-pronged approach: 1.) Have me wear a condom to fuck my boy to lessen how good his hole made me feel 2.) Get him regularly fucked my a hung guy, or guys, who could keep his hole cored out and loose. 3.) Getting me fucked by a few hung tops so my boy could use my own stretched-out ass too, taking the pressure off me from being the only top. To be continued…
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