Feeder Posted July 10, 2010 Report Posted July 10, 2010 To see iBLASTinside's original blog post, click here... I appreciate the correspondence — messages, comments, etc. Some people have asked what brought me to this point where fucking isn’t the point in my life. Well sit your ass down and drill this into your large and small heads. Fucking never really was the point. As much as I went for ass, I never really fucked for anything other than the conquest and fun of it. My pleasure, not yours. And never the bottom’s pleasure. Among my conversations recently, a top spoke of his prowess to make bottoms pop their loads, fucking it out of them with his hard eight inches — oh, bigger if he really liked you. If I were someone who enjoyed the fuck, then I might do that. I’m not that kind of top. Oh, I enjoy the fuck. The sensation of the fuck for me. Not the bottom. The only ways that I’m a giving top is the fact I’m putting my cock inside someone and that I’ll give them my load. That’s about it. I think that might be why I stealthed for a while. Just tricking the bottoms and then, having them come back for more even after they shit out a load. I found that amazing. But they did. Every time. I stopped stealthing, not because of morality but because it was too easy. I didn’t need the condom. Men would take my cock bare. Fuck, I could tell them. A few months ago, I was fucking this Latin guy. Raw of course. He’s protesting about it being raw, how he doesn’t fuck that way. He’s also upset because it’s too big. I’m not so happy cause the chulo didn’t bother to clean his brown cunt out. When I changed position, he protested and finally pulled off, insisting on a condom. Instead of doing my normal act, I went opposite. “Did you bother to bring a fucking condom?” He looked up at me shocked, “No.” “Well I don’t fucking have one and I don’t want one,” I spoke with an even tone. I didn’t yell. “If you’re the one who wanted one, why the fuck didn’t you bring it with you?” He looked at me silently, “I don’t know.” “You can leave now,” I told him, the wood leaving my cock. Could I have convinced him to take me and my load? Yes. But why deal with the whiny little bitch? I didn’t want him to run home to his wife (yes, he was married) all satisfied. I decided, in that instant, rattled and still horny was better. Fucking hasn’t been the point. It’s always been the conquest of the bottom, taking his ass, making it mine and marking my spot by leaving that DNA inside. Yea, it’s like I’m a dog pissing on a tree. It’s mine bitches. Whoever else comes into this hole will find it used later and this ass will always have a little of me left in it. And in the case of the chulo, well, I gave my deposit in a little precum and spit. Every year I get older, the accomplishment would be to get younger ass. Is that really an accomplishment? No. There’s always a way to get ass. It’s easy for the willing. And every opportunity will allow one to exploit weakness and access that*orifice*for my pleasure. I need my next destination. Is it physical? Geographical? Emotional? Spiritual? All of the above? A few of you have reached out, inviting me to your town, to your homes. I’ve actually (finally) been invited on a few dates. No one local, mind you, and I have to fly myself across the country to different destinations in order to get a meal and a movie.† So I’m still struggling with the fucking point. Mid-life crisis…. keeps on rollin’. † So look, I’m not saying I won’t take anyone up on the three or four invitations I’ve received. I’m still trying to figure out who’s legit and who’s fake, as I’ve visited some destinations only to discover men who disappear (Birmingham, Dallas and Las Vegas, you all know who you are). So you might be*appalled*to discover that I wrote about things here, thinking I wouldn’t dare write about you, but I’m a blogger so I write about a lot of shit in my life. But if you carefully read what I wrote, I never bothered to identify who you were. More...
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