Jump to content

What’s In A Name?


Recommended Posts

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and and similarity to any person, living or deceased, is completely unintentional. 

 

Sometimes, I really hate my name. Chad. I thought the aftermath of the 2000 presidential election was bad with the jokes about the Florida ballots; the inevitable bad pickup lines about hanging chads. The petty insults about pregnant chads, owing to being pleasantly plump while I was in college. I knew, though, those would fade into obscurity over time as we moved further from that era.

 

This latest trend doesn’t seem to go be going away anytime soon, unfortunately. The association of my name with being a “male Karen” or the alpha gym bro got really old, really fast.

 

Maybe it’s because my natural personality is so much different from what my name has become associated with. I’ve never sought the spotlight for myself and in many ways try to deflect it. I do my best to be respectful of others, see their side of things, and, in general, just try to leave wherever I am a little better than where I found it when I started the day.

 

Of course, as we all do, sometimes I have moments where I have to look after my own needs. Even then, it tends to come out in the service of others with my legs in the air as the center of attention in a gangbang or in a hookup’s apartment on a Tuesday night in April. Ironically, with all the slutty stuff I did in my 20’s and into my 30’s, it was the quiet rando on a simple weeknight when I wanted to have some fun on my 34th birthday that landed me with the fuck flu three weeks later. (Heck of a gift I got, right?)

 

For the next three years, I’ve been diligent with my regimen of meds, got myself to undetectable pretty quickly, and have adjusted my sex life to a handful of trusted partners who are either also undetectable or on PrEP. 

 

Until this past February.

 

It was a Thursday night and I decided coming home from work that I wanted to grab a six pack. As I’m checking out, the clerk, doing his job, asked for ID. 

 

“Chad, huh. You wanna come at me bro?”

 

For once, a comeback formed in my mind in time for it to be of use.

 

“I bet you’d rather I cum in you…bro.” I cringed internally as I said the last word. It was so unlike me.

 

The clerk, who was a smaller guy, probably in his late 20’s, sized me up.

 

“Actually…yeah.”

 

Intrigued by where this was going, I took a shot. 

 

“Put up a ‘be back soon’ sign and show me the back room.” 

 

He scribbled a note, taped it to the door, and quickly led me to a storage room where I had my tongue in his mouth within 10 seconds. After less than a minute of making out, I applied gentle, but assertive pressure to his shoulder, letting him know that his place was on his knees. He knew it too and was soon making sure my cock was at full mast with an above average blow job.

 

After about two minutes of oral heaven, I pulled him up by his collar, unbuckled his pants, and spun him around. A glob of spit on his hole and I was lined up and ready to go.

 

“Wait,” he said. “Aren’t you going to wrap it?”

 

I snapped.

 

“You said you wanted me to cum in you bro and that’s exactly what you’re getting. Besides, no lube in sight, the rubber would hurt both of us too much and would break, so you’d get a lousy fuck and my load anyway. Just shut up and enjoy this.” 

 

“Yes sir,” was his reply,

 

I didn’t wait and plunged in to the hilt on first entry. He winced, but his ass, which was not a gaping slut hole, but certainly no virgin, protested for a brief moment before giving way. It had been over a year since I’d topped and I’d almost forgotten how good it could feel.

 

Knowing time was short and the store would need to reopen soon, I decided not to prolong it, but still had some fun with the bitch.

 

“You know you can’t stop me cumming inside you.”

 

“Please, pull out?” He pleaded mildly, but the terms had long since been agreed upon that I was staying in until I unloaded.

 

I laughed.

 

“Fuck no.”

 

“Are you neg?”

 

“Fuck no.”

 

He turned and looked back at me with horror. He tried to pull off, but my grip on his hips was too strong. His feeble struggle pushed me over. There, amongst the pallets of generic lite beer and pretentious craft brews, I bred my first negative ass that wasn’t protected by meds since my diagnosis.

 

I stayed in as I caught my breath. He jerked feverishly as he now lightly rocked back and forth, using my dick to achieve his climax. He lost his load on the floor and then pulled off me slowly. He turned as he pulled up his pants, wanting to ask something, but not sure how. I read his mind.

 

“Don’t worry, Derek,” I said, reading his name tag. “I haven’t missed a dose of meds in three years and am undetectable. You’ll be fine, but if you’re gonna offer your ass up to a hookup raw, maybe you should take your own precautions if you’re worried. I’m probably not the first poz guy who’s been in your butt, just the first you knew about before he came.”

 

“Yes sir. Thank you for a great fuck and load.”

 

“Anytime boy. I’m on the apps, hit me up if you want a refill.” I stuffed my cock back through the fly of my jeans. “Now, you want to unlock the store so I can take my beer and go home?”

 

As I drove, I felt empowered. I don’t know if I’d ever had a moment like this before. Me, the selfless guy, who was accidentally pozzed three years earlier had initiated a bareback fuck with a random store clerk in his stock room. I bred him without even taking my pants off.

 

Who the fuck was the guy who did that?? It certainly wasn’t me.

 

I walked through the door of my house at 6:58 pm. As I tossed my keys aside and got the beer in the fridge, the clock turned seven and my phone reminder to take my meds popped up. The one I had diligently followed, without fail, every day since I converted. I went to the bathroom, grabbed the bottle, and shook out that night’s dose. After I filled a glass of water, I tossed the pill back. Before swallowing, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I stared for a moment. The bitterness of the pill’s outer coating shook me back to reality.

 

I spit the pill into the sink.

 

Fuck it. If people were going to make assumptions about me just based on my name, then I’m going to be exactly who they think I’m going to be. 

  • Like 16
  • Upvote 4
  • Piggy 4
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Terms of Use, Privacy Policy, and Guidelines. We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue.