chip918

I may have mentioned this before, maybe even in this forum, but to me it’s simple. The bottom get to choose what happens, even a condom, UNTIL penetration. Once the top is in, even “just the tip”, the bottom has made it’s choice and has no control or say what happens and where the top shoots his load.

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.

What a desolate fucking place. When I’d met my future husband on a work trip seven years ago, I was smitten and fell for him right away. I never took into account that I’d have to come back every couple of years for family commitments to this particular Midwestern cesspool of people who were so high and mighty about their way of life being so much better than those on either coast, despite 80% of them never setting foot outside their beloved home state. Don’t get me wrong — I’m not knocking the midwest in any way. In my travels for work during my younger, more formative fag days, I enjoyed the company of some of the finest truckers, farm boys, businessmen, and all other types of people imaginable and welcomed their loads deep inside me. Back in the days of Craigslist I could be guaranteed at least two cocks a night raw in me. Being 26, hot, and not giving a fuck about HIV at the time had its perks and I took full advantage of them, letting anyone who wanted drain their balls in me. But this place sucks and my brother in law topped the list of what I hated. I was up front about my status when I met my husband. I may be a hedonist slut at heart, but I fell hard for him and knew I didn’t want to hurt him. He was stunned at first given my clean cut look, but was educated enough to know that we could take precautions to keep him negative and through his using PrEP and us using condoms. We were the shining example of how a sero discordant couple could make a relationship work while keeping one member of the relationship safe. A challenge to be sure since my body doesn’t react too well to the meds and I’m not great at taking them with regularity. It’s not an often spoken about fact either that we have some wiggle room in our marriage. Part of the love we have is him knowing that I love bare sex and the indescribable feeling of a man shooting his load deep inside me. For that reason, I can have some fun from time to time my way, so long as at the end of the day, I come home to him with details and hopefully a vid he can jerk off to. Getting back to my brother in law and those pesky meds… Todd was none too pleased when he heard we were going to be staying at the house during our Christmas visit. As I’d overheard him say to his mother while we were unpacking “why can’t they stay at a hotel? They never come for most family stuff anyway and it’s bad enough we had a gay boy in the family growing up, now we have to deal with his faggot of a husband too?” My mother in law, to her credit, admonished him for speaking ill of his brother, that his brother was able to choose who he wanted to be with if it made him happy, and reminded Todd that he was in no position to judge anyone for their lifestyle choices after getting two women pregnant out of wedlock while he was in college. Now, with a story like this, you may be thinking that I was plotting revenge, but I swear it didn’t happen that way. Todd was hot, very hot, former college athlete who still went to the gym three times a week hot. He was also an asshole who made my dick shrivel at the thought of his vitriol towards me. It did happen to pass though that on the second night of the trip, Christmas Eve, that after exchanging stockings, the family went to bed and Todd and I were up, mindlessly watching a movie that would be on repeat on the tv for the next 24 hours. Maybe it was the lecture he got from his mom earlier in the day, but the two of us spending time together wasn’t the nightmare I thought it would be. He noticed my drink was empty and asked if I wanted a refill of my whiskey when he got up to get one for himself. He set the freshly filled glasses down, but before resuming his seat, produced two cigars from his inner jacket pocket. “Cheryl hates it when I smoke these, but I sneak one every now and then. Want to join me? I mean, I’m guessing you’re not opposed to something long and thick in your mouth. He chuckled as he said the last part. It was his way of making a joke and trying to find some even ground. I said I’d like that, opting not to make the situation awkward by mentioning that those cigars had nothing girth-wise on many of the cocks I’d taken inside a different hole in my body. We went out to the porch and waited, slightly impatiently, for the heaters to kick in as the chill of the December night washed over us. As the temperature regulated we sat in a surprisingly peaceful and unawkward silence, sipping our drinks and taking drags off our cigars. After some time, he spoke, “What is it you enjoy about sleeping with men?” Thank goodness I’d finished my drink a moment prior or I would have choked on it. Choosing my words carefully, I decided to go with a more clinical answer. “Well, as much as you get pleasure from your dick, and I do too, I get more sexual pleasure from my prostate. That’s the real male sex organ. When it get stimulated, it’s the most incredible pleasure you can have, but the only way to reach it is to welcome another man into your body. So I do.” “So my brother is the one who fucks you?” “Always.” “You never like to change it up?” “I very rarely have the urge to top. That’s what it’s called when you’re the one who puts his cock inside the other guy’s ass. If I do, it’s not with Eric.” “You cheat on my brother??” Todd started to get pissed. I had to diffuse quickly. “As amazing as we are in bed, we do have some different sexual preferences. When he and I fuck, we always use condoms. When I top, I hate them and don’t use them. So we have an understanding that if something comes up, we have some wiggle room to have some fun elsewhere, so long as we come back to the other at the end of the day.” Todd had calmed down with my explanation. “I totally get the whole hating rubbers thing, man. They’re fucking awful. And it’s pretty cool you have that deal. I wish Cheryl let me have some fun. There was a blonde I saw earlier today who’s ass wouldn’t quit. I’d come home to Cheryl at the end of the night, but I would love to have been able to bang her.” Conjuring the image in his head of the blonde, he inadvertently started rubbing his crotch through his jeans. “Um, you might want to pull back before you take the stallion out of the barn,” I said jokingly. “What?” He shook from his fantasy. Yanking his hand away, he spoke. “Dude, I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be, I get it. I saw a hot little twink at the gym today who actually made me want to top, so I know what you’re dealing with. I just know I’m not responsible or always in control of my actions when there’s a cock in front of me.” “Oh yeah?” “Todd, you’re drunk. You don’t want to go down this road.” He made the worst move he could have next. He stood up, unzipped his fly and took his hard cock out. “There fag, there’s a cock to control you, now suck it.” I was disgusted with myself as I leaned forward and took it in my mouth. I hated this man, but here I was, pleasuring him. He leaned his head back as a gentle moan escaped his lips. “Keep going, I’m almost there.” I pulled off and looked him in the eye. “What the fuck man?” He was pissed. “Another 30 seconds of that and I would have cum!” “I know, that’s why I stopped. You didn’t cum. Now you can say this didn’t happen, go back to sleep with your wife and forget it. Like I said before, you’re drunk. It shouldn’t go any farther. It shouldn’t have gone this far.” Todd sat back and looked pensive. He didn’t put his cock away. He stood up again. “Fuck me.” “No! He unbuckled his pants and slid them past his ass. “Pretend I’m that guy from the gym and fuck me dammit!” “Todd I can’t. You don’t know what you’re asking.” “I’m asking you to play with my real sex organ. If what you’re saying is true and you can make me feel better than that BJ by fucking me, I need to experience that.” I thought for a moment. I knew it was wrong, but with my normally unused cock leading the way, I couldn’t find a flaw in his logic. “Just fuck me already!” he yelled in a whispered tone. Something snapped and I said fuck it. I knew I shouldn’t, but who the fuck would he tell? It was rare but I wanted to top all day since I saw that twink. I became the selfish prick of a top I often craved and no longer saw this man as someone I despised and who I was linked to through marriage, but as a random fuck, one I’d been on the other side of so often. I didn’t care if he’d enjoy it, I needed to cum and he was my fleshlight for the evening. I lowered my sweats and exposed my throbbing cock. I dropped some spit on my cock and lined it up. With one last string of compassion, I spoke. “This is going to hurt,” I warned him. “I know,” he replied gently. “Just do it.” With his acquiesce, I pushed forward. He gasped and I saw the vapor from his breath escaping his mouth as he mentally had set himself, but was physically unprepared for his first time. With a steady, non-forcing pace, but relentlessly, I didn’t slow as my full seven inches became enveloped in his ass. After a few seconds, my hips met his cheeks. “Congrats bottom boy,” I said as I started the fuck. He ignored me and didn’t speak until about a minute later. “When does it start to feel go—-“ He never finished the word as the end of the phrase was replaced by a surprised gasp and moan. “For you, I’d say right about now that I found your prostate.” I pulled back and rammed in at the same angle. His pleasured reaction was even greater. I continued to work my way in. With the enjoyment he was getting, I knew I needed to work fast and cum first. If he shot, the fuck would be over. Remember how I said I wasn’t good at taking my meds regularly? I had an uncanny ability of making a 30 day supply stretch for three months due to inconsistency. I also hadn’t renewed my prescription after the last refill ran out 11 days ago. This thought only briefly entered my mind as my balls started to pull up. Good timing too as after not looking at me the entire fuck, he turned his head and said “I’m not touching myself, but I think I’m going to cum!” “Told you it feels amazing,” I replied as I buried myself to the hilt and started my own release of venom inside him. As I did, I felt his muscles spasm and knew he was shooting his own load onto the snow below the back deck. I exited him and pulled up my sweats. Lightly smacking his ass, I said “Next time try it on your back, it’ll be even better.” With that I walked away and left him with his own thoughts. Without cleaning up, I went down to the room my husband I were sharing, stripped off and climbed into bed. There would be no jerk vid for him this time, but I kept my promise as always and made sure I came home to him at the end of the night.

So the creative juices are weird. I never thought I’d have a continuation to this story, particularly one that has a darker tone, but here we are. As an FYI, there’s a decent amount of buildup before the fucking. ————— It had been six years since my encounter with the twink. The first six days I was panicked and avoided pretty much all human contact, assuming I was a dead man walking. I was educated and knew that wasn’t how HIV worked, but I was also a child who grew up in the 80’s where we thought if you touched a poz person, let alone slept with them unprotected, you sentenced yourself to a celibate life as you waited out your remaining years. Of course, as time wore on, rational thought won out over paranoia. I came to grips with what happened, swore off sex, even with my husband, until six months passed and I could get as accurately tested as possible. All the tests came back negative and I said a little thank you upstairs that I’d somehow escaped the bug after receiving two doses of potentially lethal, acute new infectious sperm. The first night I fucked my husband after my self imposed abstinence was wild. I’d never been one to be able to perform multiple times in a night, but somehow was able to get three loads deep into him as he begged for mercy by the end of our final fuck. Ours has always been a more emotional relationship, one where going months at a time without sex isn’t overly uncommon, but we make up for it when it happens. But now, it had been over a year. We both had our moments, random men on grindr or growlr, first names only in a phone and at the end of the day we always came home to each other, but we just never felt in that mood together at the same time. Trying to be discreet, every couple months, I’d run through my contacts, fondly remember someone who I’d cum inside of or who had donated their seed to my ass, then delete the contact, knowing it was a one off. But even after six years of not talking, there was one number I could never get rid of. His. The poz twink. The one who gave me the most excruciating painful pleasure my ass had ever known. The one who scared me to no end with his revelation. The one I could never speak to again. Or so I thought. I still don’t know why I tapped send message instead of delete contact. It was simple and harmless enough though; just Hi. His response caught me off guard, both from its speed and tone. “I always knew you’d come back fag. Guess you want me to take another shot at pozzing your hole. I’m assuming you’re still neg since you didn’t hit me up shortly after I bred you to tell me you’d converted and cry and bitch me out for it. I’m free tonight if you want it, your place or mine slut?” I was absolutely stunned. This couldn’t possibly be the same sweet, adorable, charming twink I’d talked with six years ago. This was a dark, evil monster, hell bent on passing on a disease. So why the fuck was I intensely hard? And why, two hours later, was I ringing his doorbell? We agreed to talk and catch up, not to fuck. This time I was at a decent apartment complex and not the cozy home of his I’d previously visited. He opened the door and smiled. That fucking smile that could disarm an entire nuclear arsenal. Any thoughts I may have had at being mad went away, but I kept my resolve and when he leaned in to greet me, his mouth slightly agape, I ducked to the side and gave him a peck on the cheek. We went in and I saw how he’d grown. No longer a twink as he sat down in his polo and shorts, but a man. A man capable of charming the pants off anyone. We talked. An hour passed. It was as easy and casual as it was the first time in the coffee shop. Eventually I had to ask, “So why the apartment? What happened to the house?” “Jeffrey and I split,” he said. Before I could offer apologies, he continued. “He had no problem with me being poz or even chasing for that matter, hell, he was. But I refused to go on meds and I feel that it’s my job to put the virus in as many men as much as I can. He said he still loved me and always would, but couldn’t be with someone who could be that callous and destructive with both my own health and others. Because he still loved me, he set me up with this condo, so I could be taken care of, but that our relationship was, from a couple sense, over. I saw him a couple times after that, drinks and all, fucked him a few others. Hell, I even shot in him twice two days before he passed on. It was cathartic for both of us.” “I’m sorry,” was all I could say. “Don’t be,” replied the twink. “He gave me four amazing years, saw me through my sexual awakening, and helped me become the Poz slut I am today. I owe him everything, that’s why I pass him on to as many men as I can. You’re special though,” he paused and trailed off. My mind was swimming with so many thoughts. I finally steeled my resolve and asked, “What makes you think I’ll let you fuck me tonight?” He laughed. “I basically told you I wanted to poz you when you texted me and you showed up anyway. You’re a chaser who doesn’t know it yet. I’m guessing you were hard as fuck when you read my message. Now, we can either get to it or you get the fuck out of my place so I can find a cute twink to breed.” I didn’t move. “That’s what I thought. You know, I blew you, rimmed you, and bred you six years ago. But you never sucked my cock.” He unbuckled his shorts and revealed the perfect hard dick. The one that gave me the most intense pleasure I’d ever had. “Get on your knees and get to work bitch.” I did as I was told. He made sure I knew what was happening this time. “Suck on that poz cock. Get it wet since that’s your only lube boy. Get me ready to infect your healthy body and make you mine.” After nearly five minutes of his cock never leaving my mouth, he said “bedroom, now. Strip and on your back.” I got up and started unbuttoning my pants even as I walked down the hall. In less than 30 seconds I was on my back with my legs up. He didn’t even take his pants fully off. Just spit and started steadily pressing inside me. There was the pain again. The exquisite pain. “I didn’t get to see your face last time. I want to look in your eyes as I infect you. I’ll make love to you later, but this fuck, this one right here with me raw in you, no lube, just spit, this is to give you HIV. You’re mine now faggot, so I hope you enjoy your last clean fuck.” His words chilled my body as he started to move in and out, slowly, but deliberately. Involuntarily I began to moan. He picked up on that quickly. “Your mind is saying this is wrong. I can see that in your eyes. Your body, the lust you have, the passion you’re taking me with, your body knows it’s right. Give in. It’s ok to say it.” I knew what he wanted. I wasn’t ready. He knew that too. “You’ll say it when the time is right.” His strokes grew increasingly quicker as he began to long pole me, nearly driving me into the headboard. “I’m close.” “Please,” I whimpered. “It’s time. Cum in me.” “You asked for it slut!” With that, a torrent of unmedicated poz cum gushed into me as we locked eyes. The intensity with which he bred me said it all. My mind accepted the fact that I was now his, I was now poz, and I wasn’t going back home.

158

I’ve always operated under the philosophy that a bottom owns the right to make all decisions about his body; things like if he gets fucked or even the right to ask the top to put on a condom, right up until the moment of penetration. Once that happens, the decision has been made and the top owns all control including when he cums and where he cums. If the top wants to adhere to any agreed upon pull out arrangements, that’s on him, but the bottom already made his choice by letting him in bare, so he can’t bitch if he gets bred.

About a week ago I started chatting with this college kid on BBRT. We exchanged numbers but he was kinda casual and blah about it. I invited him over, but he said he had a twink near campus who wanted to fuck. I say have fun and keep looking. Half an hour later he texts me back and said the twink was gonna flake and did I still want his load....duh!! Meanwhile, I’d been chatting up a fuckbud of mine trying to get him to come over. Wind up being negotiating a three way out of it. I was blowing college boy when my bud walked in. We went to the bedroom and I started servicing them both while they make out. I pause to catch my breath and college boy turns to my bud and asks “what do you usually do with him?” My bud responds “I usually fuck him” to which college boy responds “so fuck it.” I actually got really turned on by being referred to as “it.” 10 minutes later, I had two loads in my ass. Five minutes after that they had left and I was on grindr looking for more.

I can't believe what just happened. I mean, yeah, I barebacked as a general rule, but I always asked guys their status and only took neg seed. Who would lie about that anyway?? Besides he was so young and innocent and we were only going to meet for coffee. I guess you want some more details. I'm your average guy, kinda husky, but pull it off well. At 37 I'm that perfect age where young college guys look at me as a daddy but older guys look at me as someone who can be a successful son. He was 22. We met on an app for bears and their admirers. 5'7", 140, cute as a button and charming as fuck. We hit it off right away, chatted about everything including the fact that he was in an open relationship with a man more than twice his age. It just sucked he wasn't in my local area. So of course as fate would have it, I needed to travel for work one Saturday. Just a one off thing, home that night, but a trip that would bring me within 30 miles of my crush. I quickly told him and he squeaked in delight as we made plans to meet at a local coffee house. His bf would drop him off, but he asked if I would bring him home as the bf worked the night shift. The conversation was flowing as easily in person as it was online. He was as charming and my gosh that smile! I didn't realize that three hours had passed as quickly as it did. We piled into my car and drive the 10 minutes back to his place. Being a gentleman, I walked him to the door. As he opened it, I turned to say goodnight when he grabbed my shirt and yanked me inside. He pushed me against the wall and dropped to his knees. I didn't think it possible to get someone's pants off as quickly as he did, but less than 30 seconds after the door closed I was fully hard and 7" deep in his throat. After two minutes he finally came up for air and kissed me. "I just had to taste it," he said, flashing that smile. "What happened to just friends," I asked. He looked directly in my eyes as he unbuckled his pants. "We can be friends tomorrow. Tonight I'm cumming deep inside you." There was no more to say. He took my hand and led me upstairs. When we got to the bedroom, we undressed the rest of the way and he gently, but firmly guided me onto the bed on my stomach. After a stinging slap on my right cheek, he voraciously dove tongue first into my hole. The sheer sensation of this eager twink rimming me was unbelievable as he loosened my entryway while giving that perfect little extra sensation of being eaten out by someone with a well groomed goatee. After 10 minutes of that treatment, I audibly whimpered disappointment when he unlatched from my back side. He chuckled mildly, "Don't worry, it won't be empty long." He reached for the lube that was already out on the nightstand and prepared the 8" log swinging between his legs. The pain was intense as he pushed forward. Normally it's easier for me if a guy pokes at it and eventually the head pops in, but this was his show and as much as he had made me feel good in foreplay, I knew I was there strictly to be a cum receptacle. He stopped to let me adjust only when I felt his hips on me. "You ready," he asked. All I could do was nod into the pillow. With my tacit acceptance, he started his assault on my insides. The kid was good, hitting all the right places. My moans only encouraged him as he went nonstop for eight minutes before I heard him change his breathing. "I'm not pulling out," he said. 10 seconds later I could feel the first shot of his DNA lining my ass, followed by six more volleys. He collapsed on top of me as I felt his orgasm subside. It was my turn to show him what I could do as I flexed my ass. He jerked as I milked the final drops of his orgasm out of him. He laid there for a few minutes, getting soft. I was about to ask if I could get up, when he started to stir a bit. The movement allowed him to reharden as he began to fuck me again, slower and in more of a lovemaking way. We continued this for a solid 15 minutes before the telltale change in his breathing happened. I looked back at him and he just nodded as he deposited another load in his new sperm bank. After a minute he pulled out and kissed me tenderly. The lad was too too to be true. As we gathered our things, I noted a picture on the dresser. It was my stud, posed, crouched on his knees with eight men, four on each side, naked, surrounding him. I asked him what that scene was. "Oh, that was my conversion party," he casually remarked. "Jeffrey, my daddy, set it up for me. This was actually my first post diagnosis fuck. Just got past the flu earlier this week. Doc gave me some meds, but I haven't started them yet." I quickly became enraged, "You told me you were neg, asshole!" "I was when we first talked and we discussed it," he fired back. "That was a week after we chatted the first time. Best birthday present of my life." So there it was. I had two highly toxic loads beginning to penetrate my system. As I came to grips with that fact, another thought came into my head. What was I going to tell my husband?

First try here at a story here... How pathetic is this: doing laundry on a Saturday night? Well, you snooze, you lose and I'd snoozed on laundry enough over the past week that now, I lost. Hopefully I could get it done quick and still find some fun later on. I took a load out of the dryer and shoveled a new one in. One more into the washer and I was done. I quickly peeked around to confirm I was alone and pulled off the shirt I was wearing to add it to the final wash. As I did, I looked at my chest and thought about how far I'd come. I had entered college at over 300 pounds. Now I cut 175. Back then, I couldn't get someone to fuck me if my life depended on it. After my multi-year transformation, I had what the fat kid always wanted: to be a sought after sex object. I glanced up my left arm and also got reminded of the other item that told me how far I'd come, a big plus sign. When you're chunky and no one desires you, you bend your morals to do whatever the other guy wants - to ensure you don't loose him. That 20-year old fat kid mentality won out even as a 24-year old hottie. If a guy said he wanted to go bare, I honestly believed I couldn't say no or I wouldn't get what I wanted; his approval and validation of me by his willingness to fuck. Now I'm a 26-year old jock who calls the shots a bit more carefully after pozzing up a year ago. My tat is in a place that isn't immediately visible, but with minimal effort, I can make sure someone knows the score so he can make an informed choice. As I stood there, looking at my progress, I heard the door jingle. I quickly scrambled to cover up as a college kid, who couldn't have been more than 19, walked in and dropped a bag of clothes by a washer. He went to the change machine and deposited a dollar, then walked to the soda machine. "Damn!" he cursed in frustration. "Something wrong?" I asked. "They upped the price. You don't have an extra quarter to spare, do you?" I counted out my change and rationalized I could spare one quarter to the cutie. It would give me a chance to see him a little closer up, even if only for a moment. I ambled over and flipped it his way. As he caught it, i noticed a plastic rainbow bracelet on his wrist...a fellow dick lover, perhaps some small talk was in order. "How's your night going?" Fuck! How old was I? Fifteen? Couldn't I come up with a better opening line than that? "It's good," he said flashing a smile, "Kinda boring though." "What would spice it up?" Again, horridly corny. "You taking your shirt off again." He'd seen me...and probably the tattoo. The boy took my hand and walked me behind the super capacity washers. He reached up on his tiptoes and kissed me softly. After breaking the kiss, he placed his hands just under the bottom of my shirt and slowly began to move his hands up my torso, taking the shirt up with it. The endeavor seemed to take forever until he finally pulled my shirt over my head. Avoiding my eyes and staring directly at my tattoo, he remarked, "There, that's much better," and sunk to his knees. I couldn't believe this was happening. Not complaining in any way, the boy fished-out my now hard seven inches and, as he began removing his own clothing, he began to work on me. Clearly experienced at what he was doing, the boy brought me to the edge three times before pulling off and laying on his back on the cold, dirty floor. "Do it," we're his only words as he raised his legs in the air. I reached for my jeans to get a rubber. "I fucking said do it! Put that cock in me now!" Clearly a bossy bottom boy. Not wanting to lose such a prized specimen, my old habits kicked in and I did as he asked, sliding my spit-slicked, bare dick into his hole. It was wrong, so wrong. I know he saw the tattoo, but did he know it's meaning? What my cum would do to him? Still I fucked away. "Rip me up inside, make it hurt, fucking pound that load in me!" Like a man possessed I increased my speed, increased the force of my thrusts, and after withdrawing, I let gravity do the work on the down stroke. "I'm close," I said, barely at a whisper. He smiled and in a much quieter tone, almost pleading, said, "Cum inside me." I could hold back no longer. Five days of pent up seed flooded his now ruined hole. I lay a minute on top of him before we were both shaken from our bliss by the dryer buzzer sounding that it was done. I withdrew, stood up and dressed in silence. He did the same. As he leaned up and kissed me goodbye, he reached under my sleeve and rubbed his hand over my tattoo several times then quickly scribbled his name and phone number on my palm. "Thank you," he said, "for everything." He picked up his bag of unwashed clothes and headed for the door. "Um, what about your laundry?" I asked. "It's cool," he said winking, "I got the load I came for."