Tales of a Top Marine

Hmmm

2008-11-20T09:14:00.000-08:00

fan mail and a fuck huh? Of course would need your email!

And anyone else, can always post a comment with email and I'll just not add it, took mine down after some crazy guy incidents

~Mike

Ding, Dong

2008-09-08T03:57:00.000-07:00

All,

Thank you for your constant stream of thoughts and condolences. It is appreciated, more than you know.

Beyond my loss, I've been quiet for these many months after I began a serious relationship with my hot little Air Force boy. The fact that I'm writing should give an indication of how that currently is.

In short... Back on the market!

A lot has changed in the last year. Not sure if I'll ever get back to posting quite like I used to...but I'm sure there will be the odd posting and description up from time to time.

Oh, yeah, I have a two-bottom couple (those exist??) coming over this morning at 0800... good way to start the day!

~Mike

Death Knell

2007-10-22T08:58:00.000-07:00

All Concerned,

I realize that I have been quiet for several weeks now. I had a death in the family and have just recently returned from emergency leave. I've been a little down (an understatement) and will, sooner or later resume writing. As it helps provide an outlet, I'm sure it will not be too long.

If any of you out there say this is some Karmic come-back-around, go to hell and die. Quick, fast and in a hurry-like.

~Mike

Topping a Fighter Jock, Take 1

2007-10-09T09:01:00.000-07:00

I have to apologize, I know that I said check back Monday night for the first posting about Josh's visit...by the time I got back from taking him to the airport, I was swiped. I went home, had enough energy to put my uniform together for the next day, shower (trust me, I needed it) and climbed into bed.

I'm at work now, not a whole lot going on, although my body is aching and sore. It feels almost as if I'm four days drunk. Blah.

Josh did, indeed come, visit, and I wrecked the holy bejesus out of that kids hole. He is flying back east considerably loser than when he flew in. Which makes me happy.

Very, VERY happy.

I'm working on the full post now. I'll be posting it later. I wanted to say that I haven't forgotten and I will be putting up the nasty, sweaty, cum dripping details. And there may, or may not, have been a hot threesome.

Plausible deniability is a bitch, ain't it?

~Mike
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Short and Sweet

2007-10-04T09:24:00.000-07:00

Today's post is short, sweet and to the point.

I have a long weekend. Josh, the sexy stud of a pilot, is flying out this evening. I am picking him up from the SeaTac airport, driving him home, and spending the next 4 days fucking the holy shit out of him.

At some point, if he is lucky, I may even take him on some sight seeing tours. The weather, unfortunately, has been shitty in Seattle for the last 2.5 weeks. Rain, gloom and more rain. So, better excuse to just stay in bed and cuddled.

I'll update this at some point, but don't expect me to spend time on the computer that could be better put to use in his hole.

We both love good food, so who knows. If you live in the Seattle area, maybe you'll see us at Cafe Juanita, Crush or Volterra sometime over the next few days. Mmmm.

~Mike
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PS: I have gotten about 3 dozen private e-mails begging for a picture of Josh. We'll see. If I DO post something, it will of course be faceless. No promises.

Check back Monday night for the next posting!

Beauty and the Beast

2007-10-02T22:01:00.000-07:00

First, to all you voyeuristic homos out there, I have to give a big "Thank you!". I keep track of the statistics for this site, in terms of traffic, visitors, sources, etc. I've been increasing readership by about 15% a week for the last three weeks, something I am quite proud of. It's good to know that people enjoy my writing, my life, and my stories.

It makes all the time I spend on writing well worth it.

To my fellow bloggers out there, such as the Big Dicked Bottom, B4Skin and the Montrealer, another "Thanks!" for the links you've provided and the cross traffic that has generated. I love your stories (especially the nasty perverted ones!!) and I hope you enjoy mine in return.

Second, I had today off, as recovery for a 30 hour shift (guard duty blows) that I somehow managed to get stuck with. I just finished watching some dudes (one of whom was my hot pilot stud, Josh) stroke off for me on webcam, and I'm sitting here butt-ass naked, right leg on my desk, load still dripping down my chest. I'll clean it off eventually, but there is no reason to rush, and I love the smell of cum.

There are times when I am an asshole. Not purposefully, I'm really just a big teddy bear once you get to know me, but in the pursuit of cock and ass, sometimes the collateral damage is quite extreme...

My last post detailed the amazing adventure of TopMarine fucking the hot-but-married (for now) bottom Marine, in my kitchen and then my shower. Getting hit over the head, post-coitally I might add, with the admission that someone: A) loves you; B) wants to leave their wife for you; and C) wants a serious, move in tomorrow sort of relationship is an easy way to take great sex and turn the afterglow of it into "holy fuck, what did I just get myself into".

So when the hot Marine bottom left, that was the sort of mess that I found myself in.

I knew that I had to resolve the issue with him soon, and that I had to resolve it with him either staying with his wife or with him leaving her but with the knowledge that it would not be to gain me as a boyfriend. To top it off I had to do it in a manner that did not turn him into a pyschotic stalker (been there, have those, thanks).

Regardless of how the situation will ultimately turn out, I was unwilling, and am still unwilling, to allow him to affect my sex life.

So, a few days later after my emotions cooled down, I set up my next fuck.

Its been awhile since I've been up to Seattle (a week or two) for an extended length of time. While I've been up for dinner with friends and to go out, it hasn't been for longer than a night. Lately I've been enjoying having the guys drive to me and just pound them in my own place, in my own bed and not have to worry about clean up, or getting caught or any of the other problems you have when fucking at a friends place.

So I found this guy on Manhunt. His pics were pretty hot. His listed stats on the site were 28, 5'10" 175 pounds, and who gives a shit about the hair, eyes and the rest.

While I didn't really want to waste time talking about mundane things such as work, he wouldn't shut up for awhile about how he works at Microsoft. For those of you who don't live in Seattle, Microsoft is, of course, based in the Seattle area. Moreover, it has a sizable gay work force. I kept trying to steer the text-conversation away from his job, but he was one happy Zune dude.

I can understand having to do something that is your job...but, seriously. Who the fuck wants to buy a Zune? They're poorly done clones of Apple or Creative products, typically a generation or two behind, clunky, ugly, and the media store that Microsoft uses to as a media dissemination infrastructure sucks. Horribly.

I finally managed to get him to shut up about the fucking Zune (apparently they are launching a new product soon, woo) and back onto the subject of him getting naked and riding my cock. At first he wanted to meet up and get a room in Seattle, but when I made it firmly known that that would be a deal breaker for me, he quickly changed his tune to "I guess I can drive to you..."

Bingo!

I gave him my address, told him to get his ass in the car, to be clean, showered and ready for a pounding and left it at that. I showered, made a bite to eat, and tidied up the house (because it needed it, not because I had a trick coming).

When I finally finished my preparations, I sat on the couch and watched the tube for awhile, waiting for him to get there. Finally, I heard the gravel crunch in the drive way, and went to the door.

On my first impression, I felt a slight drooping of disappointment stir in my cock. Not enough to make it go down, but enough to notice. The guy was still good looking, no doubt about that. In his hay day, up to a few years ago, he was probably the big guy on campus or the major head turner when he walked into a club or bar. Now, the soft life of a software programmer combined with what I assumed to be a gross decrease in physical activity had led to a faded appearance. His hair line was slowly starting to recede, he was beginning to gain a few pounds extra, his tone was not as tight as in his pictures, but the bulk of his once extremely athletic physique was still there.

Once upon a time he would have been a 10 on a 10 scale, easily. As it was, he was still a solid 8.

I can do 8. No problemo.

I ushered him into the house and wasted no time.

5 minutes later he was naked, bright white jockstrap framing his ass (a pleasant surprise) and my Magnum clad cock was piercing his hole. I'm decently well hung, at 9" cut thick inches, and this guy didn't even hesitate. His ass slurped it up like a pro and I began to get uncharitable mental pictures of hot dogs being thrown down a hallway.

As loose as he was, there was still enough traction on the tires to get me off. So I flipped him onto his belly, and railed the fuck out of his hole. He was in for the long haul and I just enjoyed being in a partial push-up position, slamming my balls up against his ass as hard as I could. I stayed there in that position for about 25 minutes or so, arms slowly getting tired from holding myself up, when I heard a knock at the door.

What the holy fuck was that?

I told the guy to stay right where he was and got up to go to the door. I looked through the peep hole and there in his gym garb stood the Marine bottom. Unannounced and completely unwanted. Fuck.

The problem was that I'd fucked the guy often enough that he knew I was home (the fact that I didn't have a garage and my car was right out front didn't help). I wouldn't say that I panicked, but I was definitely less than pleased. PLUS I lost my hard on.

Goddammit.

I went back to the bedroom and stared at the good looking piece of ass still obediently face down, jock clad hole in the air and sighed.

Goddammit.

"Dude, I'm fucking sorry but I need you to leave. My pyscho stalker ex just got here," I lied to him, "and he's at the front door. I'm totally sorry bro. I am willing to come to you to make this up to you." Oddly enough, he was hot enough that I genuinely was willing. That, and I felt bad about booting someone out without even finishing sex.

He was pretty cool about it, and together we got the window open and his fully clothed form through. I told him to count to 100 then walk back to his car and take off.

While he was doing that, I threw on clothes, went to the front door and dragged the Marine inside.

"Dude. What the fuck are you doing here?" I demanded of him, finger jabbing into his chest.

He gave me a surprised look, saying, "Mike, you told me we were going to talk about us. About what is going to happen."

Holy shit.

I sat him down, looking at him and decided to go with the blunt approach.

"Look &*&@#* (name blotted out to protect the guilty), you're a fucking hot guy. We both know it. I love fucking you. We both know that, too. But I am not looking for a boyfriend. More than that, I do not love you. I can fuck you and be friends with you, but there is nothing more there for me than that."

He looked at me with huge, now glistening eyes (please god don't cry) and was silent for several minutes. I was starting to wonder if he was going to break down crying or go postal-nutsors on me.

Instead, he went for option C.

Without another word, he collected himself. As he stood there, shining eyes staring at me, I thought he was going to say something, but he didn't. He walked to the door, opened it and gently closed it behind him.

I looked through the peep hole and watched him for a minute. He was in his car, head on his steering wheel, body shaking in what I assumed as sobbing.

Fuck.

I almost, ALMOST, went out to him. At that stage, however, we did NOT need to do makeup sex or my getting soft and telling him nice things that weren't really true.

I turned off my porch light, and went to take a hot shower. I always think best in a hot shower.

Eh, he'll live.

I need to call that trick back up and see when I can get my cock back into him...

~Mike
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What We've Done

2007-09-27T11:38:00.000-07:00

WARNING: The first part of today's posting is meant to be read to the tune of Linkin Park's "What I've Done". If you don't know the song, you can find it on the Internet. If you just don't care, well, read it in the more mundane manner.

In this hello
See your face
As you sit and cry
I've not one regret
From this fuck
Or our previous times

[Pre-Chorus:]
So why get mad now
the drama flows
What we've done

[Chorus:]
We got naked
To take cock as you well knew
My hot fuck toy
Hookup is all we've done

Put to rest
What you thought we'd be
While I drop you flat
With your hands getting so needy

So why get mad now
the drama flows
What we've done

[Chorus:]
We got naked
To take cock as you well knew
My hot fuck toy
Hookup is all we've done

For what we’ve done
I start again
To find another hot fuck toy
Today this ends
I'm not willing to date your hole

[Chorus]

What we've done
Forgetting what we've done

As you may have noticed, last nights fuck ended spectacularly. Yes, that is slight sarcastic.

The hot boy from the gym on base, married unfortunately, got weird on me last night.

I went to lift, hoping he would be there but not overly expectant, and ran into him during my second set. We talked briefly, quickly deciding to work out together. Now, even when there is a large disparity in what one partner can lift in comparison to the other, the mere presence of someone to impress and work with always helps your lift. At least, it does for me.

We went through the routine (biceps, back and abs), each choosing a few of our favorites to do a combined, hybrid workout. We finished, went to the locker room, grabbed our shit, and left together. Quickly.

We didn't speak at the gym regarding plans following our lift, but as we headed to our respective cars we both knew without words that he was coming over and getting fucked.

Hard.

We got to my place and barely made it through the door before he was on me. By this time I'd fucked him 3 times (this was to be 4), and he claims (which I believe) that I'm the only guy he's putting out to.

I didn't even need to pick him up. Before I could even close the door, he'd jumped on me, arms clamping tight enough to make my ribs crack, legs entwined around my hips and his mouth trying to suck the air out of my lungs.

I stood there, groping blindly at the door, finally getting it shut, and opened my eyes, staring at him as we sucked the fuck out of each others tongues.

I was hard. I was horny. I was ready.

I was wearing my typical gym garb, tank top and mesh shorts, while he was wearing some track style pants (no underwear included, I noticed) and a tight t-shrit. I moved, slowly, towards the table in the alcove of my kitchen, unwrapped his legs, and plopped him onto the table on his back.

I grabbed his waistband with my right hand, yanking the pants down to his ankles, then over his shoes. He lay there, table straining, a huge grin on his face, legs up and spread, naked from the waist down. Minus the shoes still on his feet, of course.

I stepped away, reaching for my easy pour bottle of Olive Oil (Bertolli, extra virgin which I'd used for a olive oil, pepper, Italian seasoning and balsamic vinegar dipping sauce the night before) that was sitting on my counter. I pulled my shorts and jock down a few inches, my hard cock and balls out and aching to be put to use and pulled off my tank top. I poured a generous dollup of oil onto my cock and turned back towards him and his hole. Before he could utter a word, I had my cockhead firmly against his rosebud, gave it a slight nudge and in went my head.

I sat there, enjoying the warmth, he had a hot little hole with just a bit of hair that always tickled my shaft, for about 4 seconds. Unfortunately, I wanted more and I didn't really want to wait.

I put my right hand on his shoulder, my other hand groping his cock, and shoved.

Hard.

His hole swallowed me without a hint of hesitation. Just the way I like it.

I gave an inward sigh, knowing it was dumb to fuck the guy bare, but trusting (or hoping more like it) that he was and is clean as a married Marine who claims to take cock only from me.

The fears were quickly pushed out of my head as he started to slam his hole against my groin, and I leaned forward, grabbed him harder and railed the fuck out of his hole.

It didn't take long, between his hole, the fact I was fucking him bare, and the use of Olive Oil (lots of friction), before I was getting close.

Some part of me was still thinking, and I pulled out of him, spraying my load all over his chest. It'd been awhile (2 days), and my nuts were pretty full. The first 3-4 shots covered his face and chin before it calmed down and simply coated his chest and abs.

I collapsed on top of him and lay there, kissing him, my cock dripping down his sides and onto the table top. The table groaned under the weight of both of us, and I quickly picked him up.

Standing there, looking at the jizz coating us both, I smiled at him. We went to the shower, where he rinsed off my cock and blew me. He got me going enough that I turned him around, and pumped his hole again, right there in the shower. Between the water, the fact it was, again, bare and little oil still lubing his hole, it took me only five or so minutes before I could feel my jizz rising. This time, as I got close, he refused to let go, clamping down on my hips with his fingers and thrusting backwards so that I impaled him fully.

I couldn't hold back; 7 good squirts shot deep into his bowels. He took my load, the fucking whore.

We finished up, got out of the shower, and lay on my bed, talking quietly in the afterglow of good sex.

At this point, it was about 2130, and I was beginning to wonder to myself what the little woman would be thinking about her husband not being home yet.

Almost as if on cue, he decided to admit that he and his wife were having serious marital problems, were in counseling, but that he was likely going to leave her.

Then, to make matters worse, he admits he loves me and wanted to leave her for me.

Shit, fuck and holy fucking donkey crap.

Now, someone who is obsessed (lets be frank people, if you are admitting to loving someone after 4 fucks and a total of maybe 6 hours spent with them, there is no other word to use besides obsessed) and in the service with you can be a complicated thing. If you shun him, he could go berserk and do something rash (i.e. stupid and out you both in spite) or just be a complete asshole and make things unpleasant, for revenge.

Either way, my mind whirled at the implications as I told him I was flattered, and thought he was a great guy, but that I couldn't really live with myself for being the reason to break up a marriage. The fact that I didn't even know he was married the first time we fucked helped alleviate the guilt (a little).

I agreed to meet him later in the week, and that it would be best, for now, for us both to take some time and process things.

Holy fuck.

So, now I've got a hot stud of a man who wants to leave his wife and be my BF. The problem is that while he's a great fuck, I have zero interest in him beyond that. Intellectually, interests (other than the gym), hobbies... we don't line up at all. He's a dude; a hot, in shape, good-looking, fun to fuck but dumb as a box of rocks kind of guy. Not my type to date. Plus, while I was on the thought, my stud of a pilot is coming out next weekend, and if I am dating ANYONE in the near future it is DEFINITELY going to be him.

I escorted him out, giving him a last goodbye kiss, and watched his taillights disappear into the darkness as I tried to think of ways to get myself out of my latest mess.

Goddamnit, why do I get so many crazies?

~Mike
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End State

2007-09-25T15:18:00.000-07:00

The picture contest I announced in my posting "Mirror, Mirror On the Wall" technically never closed. Funny, considering I said originally it would run only a week.

Time to wrap that up.

To my readers out there, I wish I had received more audience participation. It's cool though; I understand that the exhibitionists are the ones that tend to write blogs, while the voyeuristic are those who tend to read. That into account, it becomes clearer as to why I received 5 entrants.

Anyway, to those of you who did enter, I have a big, hearty THANKS! I appreciate it.

Unfortunately, I am not like the American public school system. I.E. not everyone is a winner. So, the e-mails and comments have been tallied, and I am pleased to announce that Pete C, from NYC is the winner. Pete, thanks for reading, your comments, and above all, your participation. To all my entrants, it was great that you took the plunge and put yourself out there.

Pete, you'll be getting a signed jock, dog tags (please let me know how you would like them engraved), and a surprise.

Shoot me an e-mail offline with your contact information (address, etc) so that you may receive your booty, so to speak.

I had to say that; I missed the International Talk-Like-A-Pirate day.

Yaaaar.

I’m finally 100% better and extremely horny. I’m headed to the gym soon, called the married guy I’ve hooked up with once or twice and hoping that I’ll be ramming the fuck out of his hole afterwards. More to come on that tomorrow, if it happens. SOMEONE is getting their hole wrecked tonight though, that’s for certain.

Good times!

~Mike
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Of Danes and Men

2007-09-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

OK, so everyone has their weaknesses. They can be "cat-people" or "kid-people" or whatever sort of noun-people they choose to describe themselves as in regards to a subject/issue/creature that makes them go weak kneed. Personally, the thought of little kittens makes me think fondly of burlap sacks with rocks, and the very sight of small children makes me reach for immune boosters. Drippy, oozy things, kids.

Dogs though...I am definitely a dog-person.

Shade, my rather large, sadistically fun black lab, is a hold over from a soured relationship. My ex and I got the dog together. Judging from the fact that I still have him, you can see who won that particular “who gets what” battle. While I love Shade and would never give him up, he wasn't my first choice for a dog. I wanted to go with something a bit more...exotic. And large. I'm a big guy, I wanted a big dog. Big, BIG dog.

For the dog aficionados out there, I have two words to say to you: Blue Dane.

If this means nothing to you, first, shame. Shame on you. Second, I will enclose a picture, for your education benefit.

There is a point to this, however, and a sexual point at that.

I'm sure just about every guy out there (minus the really, really, realllllllly nasty ones) has had a "pity fuck" at some point in his life. Indeed, I have mentioned it before in past blogs. The sort of guy where you can't quite bring yourself to say "eh, he blatantly lied, I'm gone" or you slam the door in his face. Instead, you just kind of groan and sigh inwardly, fuck the dude and get the hell away from him as fast as possible.

Well...sometimes that does not go according to plan.

I met up with this guy this weekend that I have been chatting with on M4m4sex for quite awhile (see, I'm expanding my repertoire of sites?). He's been on my "If" list for awhile. As in, If I get really horny and If he can send three pictures in a row that look like the same guy, I’d fuck him. None of his pictures were ugly, I had seen about 8 and all were good looking, but the variability between each pic had me a bit nervous. It is not a good thing when you can't tell if the guy is the guy or just using someone’s picture to fake it.

Anyway, I was bored, horny, still recovering from the flu, and not really willing to drive. He, however, was willing to drive, horny, and didn't care that I was recovering from the flu (see, I was nice, and I told him).

Either way, it was ass on delivery and that was good enough for me.

Right up until he got there.

He arrived in a totally fagged out Pathfinder. I don't know how you rainbow-accessorize a freaking PATHFINDER to look like a princess-mobile, but between color, accessories, various HRC/Rainbow/Equality stickers, he had managed it. That was my first "oh crap". Then he got out of the car and I got my second.

He was tall, taller than I thought, standing at 6'4" or 6’5”. I'm not really a fan of tall guys, but in addition to being tall, he was also thin. Freakishly, Calista Flockhart-thin.

Beyond the fact that it looked like he weighed 130 pounds, and was cannibalizing his body as he stood there, he was decent looking. He had no ass, 1.4% body fat (if that), trimmed brown hair and again, no ass. Just bones.

Oy.

I brought him inside, we got naked, I didn't bother with small talk and we went to work. He was a passably good cock sucker, and I let him munch on my root for awhile. I kept my eyes closed, imagining myself with some hot guy, or just about anybody else, instead of his emaciated form. He succeeded in getting me hard and hot enough to want more, so I wrapped my schlong, put on some lube and slid it in.

I couldn't even fuck him very hard. He could take it so-so, but if I slammed his ass hard, it was literally so bony that it hurt my groin.

Fuck.

I used his hole, keeping my eyes closed and just focused on cumming as fast as possible. I came, apparently he did too, and we cleaned up. I wouldn't say that I hustled him to the door... but I moved with more alacrity than was necessary. As I walked him to his car, I noticed something I didn't when he arrived.

Taking up almost all of the back of his Pathfinder was a massive, beautiful Blue Dane.

Holy. Shit.

Shade got out, and the two started going berserk barking at each other. His dog, I swear to you this is true, Prince, was moving back and forth so violently that the Pathfinder was rocking back and forth like a rowboat in high seas.

I finally muscled Shade back into my house, came back and looked at Prince. My fuck let him out, and I could only marvel at the dog. He was perfectly behaved, now that Shade was gone, beautiful, well kempt and absolutely massive.

I had to see this dog again.

Where before I was only playing nice to show him the door and get the hell back to my movie (Men in Black), now I broached the subject...

"Hey bro, I had a great time."

"Yeah," he said, "you're hot, and fuck do you know how to use a hole!" **shudder**

"Well," I told him, "If you liked that, I certainly wouldn't mind doing it again sometime, maybe I could head to you since you came here. Get another good fuck in," I added to make sure he didn't think I was pursuing something more.

"Definitely man, come over anytime!" and he quickly gave me his address.

So, I now have another fuck scheduled for Mr. Blue Dane. I'm definitely not into the guy, but the dog... Fuck. What a dog!

Oh well, I can do a few pity fucks if I get the chance to play and see Prince again.

~Mike
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***NOTE: Already, I have heard some comments. Apparently, there are Seinfeld and Will & Grace episodes where a similar occurence happened. Well. Tough shit. I hated Will & Grace and thought Seinfeld so-so at best. I wrote what happened because it did, not because I saw it on TV.

The Flu and You (and me)

2007-09-20T09:16:00.000-07:00

I've been pretty good about updating this since I got back. I've told you about the trouble I managed to get myself into while I was gone and some since I've been home. Unfortunately, over the last two days I've progressed from feeling a bit rundown to death slightly warmed over. Yes; I have the flu.

Lucky me.

While I will continue to update, I'm afraid that the sex (and subsequent stories of it) is on a temporary hold; I'm not always the nicest and most considerate of tops, but I am not such an asshole as to give people the flu just to get my nut off. At least, not yet.

I'm going back to bed (scary, since it's only 0904 and I've only been awake for an hour). I was lucky enough to be put on quarters, so no work until Monday. Hopefully I won't look and feel like the walking dead by then. When the boredom begins to really set in, I'll write up some classic Mike stories...i.e., things that happened from my life before I started this blog.

Before I go, allow me 2 minutes to share what I learned today, courtesy of the long-winded Doc at the clinic and your friends at the CDC:

Every year in the United States, on average:
+ 5% to 20% of the population gets the flu;
+ more than 200,000 people are hospitalized from flu complications, and;
+ about 36,000 people die from flu.
+ Some people, such as older people, young children, and people with certain health conditions, are at high risk for serious flu complications.

Symptoms of flu include:
+ fever (usually high)
+ headache
+ extreme tiredness
+ dry cough
+ sore throat
+ runny or stuffy nose
+ muscle aches
+ Stomach symptoms, such as nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, also can occur but are more common in children than adults

How Flu Spreads
Flu viruses spread mainly from person to person through coughing or sneezing of people with influenza. Sometimes people may become infected by touching something with flu viruses on it and then touching their mouth or nose. Most healthy adults may be able to infect others beginning 1 day before symptoms develop and up to 5 days after becoming sick. That means that you may be able to pass on the flu to someone else before you know you are sick, as well as while you are sick.

See? Now you know, and knowing is half the battle.

Time to crash

~Mike
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Getting jiggy and bustin' rhymes

2007-09-19T10:50:00.000-07:00

A lot of the blogs out there are short, and to the point. They aren't exciting to read, often listing activities with the same flair and acumen of a grocery list. "Today I did A, then B, finally C". Even when they talk about sex. There is little to no detail, the grammar is horrible, and often times the picture that forms in your mind... well, lets just say it's not something I'd care to witness.

But describing in detail (my posts are typically 3-6 pages in MS Word before I cut and paste them into the Blogger interface) is both time consuming and occasionally frustrating. You'd think that talking about what happened that day, that week, or some topic on your mind, the words would flow out and onto the screen.

It doesn't quite work that way.

Regardless, be it writers block, frustration on how to or not to say something, or how to make an exciting day actually exciting to read, is far more challenging than people think.

Fun times.

Anyway, I wanted to break out of the same routine, that creative rut, and describe the last day in a different venue.

Enjoy!

Mike Gets Game

So I sat there with my laptop
A hot hole that'd allow a quick stop
To let my dick in, lets hurry, begin,
I just needed someone to fuck.

On Manhunt I searched long and hard
But today it seemed whales of lard
No hot guys or thin, just a LITTLE bit trim?
I was begining to fret I'd get none.

And then 'lo and behold I saw Tim
6 foot but you could tell he knew Gym
So I asked him "wassup", said hurry lets fuck
I need to unwind and let loose.

So away he left in a flash
to my place his hot ass did dash
I let him inside, said shut up and dive
and fall on my dick with a slurp.

His cocksucking wasn't too bad;
Not great, yet a decent enough lad
So I picked upright and to bed we went right
His hot hole the focus for now.

Naked he sat, face serene
While I munched on his hole oh so clean
I lubed him up well, slick as all hell
To take my big cock in a thrust.

So Magnum went on in a roll
One thrust and he moaned like a troll
Such miserable grunts, I hoped he did shut
His annoying mouth while he I did fuck.

I ignored him and got into my groove
Such beauty unmatched by the Louvre
I pumped his hole hard, and pounding my shard
To release while I fucked his tight cunt.

So I finished it up for the night
Said thanks and his ass I slapped light
I showed him the door, said thanks but no more
I got what I wanted this night.

Anyway, hopefully that showed my Tuesday evening in a bit more interesting manner.

You have any idea how hard it is rhyming out a fuck?

~Mike
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Can You Hear Me Now...?

2007-09-18T00:48:00.000-07:00

There are many things that are grossly unattractive in the bedroom: obscene amounts of body hair, weird noises, disgusting smells, unsightly drips and, abnormal body disfigurements (both self inflicted and natural). If I am going down on a guy, I don't want to taste pus or any other penile drippage. If I am tossing a guys salad, I don't want to discover that he is incredibly poor at personal hygiene or has more warts than a toad. I like the body in its natural, non-biosphere diverse beauty.

Amen.

Beyond the viruses, disfigurements and smells, however, there is another, I ashamedly admit, thing that turns me off.

Disability.

Now. I say this in a way that is open, honest and completely without rancor. I don't have a problem, dislike, or animosity towards the disabled; indeed, as a Marine in this day and age, many of my friends have faced everything from traumatic brain injuries (TBI's) to loss of limbs, loss of sight or worse.

That said, while I have no problem beings friends and brothers with these heroes, I am crass enough to admit that I find it hard to get attracted to someone with physical impairment.

Sometimes, however, it's hard to judge what the impairment is.

Saturday I was feeling frisky. I'd gone out earlier that night with Zane and the crew and partied it up. I'd ended up making out with some hot frat boy, or so he claimed, following the UW loss to Ohio State. Tailgates, you have to love them: free booze, free food, and tons of hot guys looking for a piece of something. They just don't always get what they think they need...

Anyway, I'd spent awhile working on this frat boy, got him to make out with me, but then lost him as the crowd swirled him away. Zane and the rest of the guys were getting frustrated and were pushing to go up to Capitol Hill and hit the gay bars. At least there, you know the targets are hunting as much as they are being hunted.

So what the hell, I let them take me.

We went to Purr and I was there maybe 45 minutes before I decided to call it a night. I wasn't having a great time, and I didn't really feel like doing the gay scene for the night. I snuck out and headed back for Zane's apartment before they even knew that I was gone.

And what did I do the second that I got home? Grabbed my laptop and got onto Manhunt of course!

I had 24 messages waiting for me (I'd advertised Friday night that I would be in Seattle and available for the weekend) and I looked through the messages for the best one.

One quickly caught my eye: he was my favorite height (5'9"), had a great, tight body, toned but lean with the size of frame that I could easily hold down and rail and fling around all over the bedroom. Or kitchen. Whatever. He sported light brown hair in a buzz cut, which usually didn't do much for me, but he had a perfect hairline for it and a cocky grin to match. I love cocky, hot jock bottoms. Fuck.

I was sold.

His message was blunt and to the point:

"Saturday night, you, your cock, my hole, send me a text." Below that he had his number and his name, Eric.

Ding, we have a winner!

I texted his cell saying simple "This is Mike. Fuck now?"

I waited all of 3 minutes before the response came back.

It was simply his address and apartment number.

I was out the door in 2 minutes.

I got to his place, and it was pretty nice. I knocked on the door, a huge grin forming when the boxer clad stud before me smiled, and then all hell broke loose.

I've had aggressive bottoms before, but this one took the cake. Before I could get out a word, he'd grabbed me by the shirt, pulling me forward so hard he almost tore the cloth clean off my body.

I stumbled forward, he wrapped himself around me and kissed me so hard I wanted to check my fillings and make sure they were still there.

Good gods!

He unbuttoned my jeans and yanked them down to my knees in one pull. I stood there, a bit stupidly, still stunned at this boys aggressiveness. I was about to say something again, when he grabbed a fist full of my jammers (a type of underwear for you uncultured swine unfamiliar with the term) and ripped them clean off my body.

Now, I liked the aggressiveness, it was kind of a turn on with the switch in roles and definitely demonstrated he was into me. But, come on, he just ripped a $40 pair of underwear into shreds. I mean, that's just not cool.

His head started bobbing on my cock, and had it been good, I'd likely have enjoyed the hell out of it and forgotten about the torn jammers.

Unfortunately, it was, without a doubt, the singular worst blow-job I have ever gotten in my life. Hands. Down. My dick literally hurt afterwards, I think he was actually trying to eat it. I mean, if you have toothmarks on your rod after sex, there is something very disturbing and very, very wrong with the sex you just had.

I told him to stop.

He didn't.

I said it again, louder, trying to pull him off simultaneously.

He sucked harder causing me to almost deck him.

I screamed in his ear, leaning as far forward as I could, and he didn't even flinch.

That troubled me; I'm a pretty big guy, and the Marines, if nothing else, have given me the ability to be extremely loud.

Finally, tearfully, I pried him loose with about the same sensation you'd expect of a razor toothed leach the size of a chihuahua. He looked up at me with a surprised look, and I asked what the fuck his problem was. Couldn't he tell it hurt? I asked him, told him, begged him to stop. He stared at me, and it was then that I noticed something.

He was looking at me, but he wasn't looking at my face. Or rather, he wasn't looking at my face the way a normal person would.

It seemed as if he was looking at my mouth.

Oh, shit.

I covered my mouth as discretely as I could and coughed, then with my mouth still obscured, said that I was about to take a crap on his rug if he didn't give me a million dollars. He didn't bat an eye, or even give a sign that he'd heard me.

Certain, I dropped it, looked at him, and without making a sound, mouthed "Are you deaf?"

Even without a sound made, it was an uncomfortable, tense silence.

Then, he nodded.

I could understand someone not wanting to share their disability on an open forum like Manhunt. I could even applaud the fact that the boy was hotter than his pics, which is saying something, and he was everything he had advertised.

I could not, however, forgive the fact that it felt like I needed stitches on my cock, that he was horrible at cock sucking, and that his noises/moans were non-existent. Having sex with someone who can't hear you talking to him, the moaning slightly off, too quiet or too loud, the necessity of using only certain positions if I wanted any kind of verbal feedback... it just didn't appeal to me.

In fact, if he hadn't masticated my cock, I'd have likely gone limp instantly upon realization that I had a part-Helen Keller in the room with me.

OK, that's a bit harsh, I know. But, when your cock is screaming in pain and the hot fuck you were looking forward to plow turns out to be a huge disappointment instead, I feel moderately justified. It's been 2 days and I can't even beat off!

I didn't say another word. I pulled up my jeans over my bare, underwear-less ass, and left. Since I'd turned away, he wouldn't have heard anything I'd said anyway.

Goddammit. So now it's Monday night, I didn't get laid, and it will be who knows how long before I can even beat off.

Fuck.

~Mike

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Newest Entrant...

2007-09-14T16:24:00.000-07:00

I guess I am running the Reader Picture Contest until further notice...

The latest entry, from Pete in NYC.

~ Mike

Pete
New York City, NY
Advertising
6'0
197
Top/Bottom - depends on the guy
8.5'' Uncut
Reading TopMarineBlog naked

Out of Many, One

2007-09-14T09:24:00.000-07:00

It's Friday. All I can really say to that is thank the gods. Holy shit.

In favor of getting back to basics and faithfully describing the exciting aspects of my trip, I've written nothing about life since I've been back. Or about anything, really, outside of sex.

Back to the real world...

I've been back since the first of September, and came home to quite a mess.

I had piles of bills, junk mail, a very pissed off pooch, and the fun time of getting back into my routine at the gym.

Blah. Blah I say unto you.

I wish I could say that they found someone else to do my job while I was gone...but all that happened is that I came back to find a shit load of things to do, all with suspense’s either passed or rapidly approaching.

How's that for a fucking "welcome back".

I've been spending most of my free time hitting the gym, talking with Josh (I'm not whipped, but just enjoy talking to him... yes...that's it). I've spent a few days with Zane and the rest of the guys, gone out drinking, and hanging out in general.

Nothing really too surprising going on.

I've managed to meet up with a regular fuck and a new fuck since I've been back... nothing really outside the mainstream. The regular is average in just about every way: average looks, average skills in the sack, average quality fuck, nothing special but nothing bad. In his favor, he has eagerness and extreme reliability; having someone willing to drop anything and head over at any time has definite advantages.

The new guy looked like his pictures...mostly. It was one of those situations where you know the guy who shows up is the guy in the pic, but not nearly as hot. I mean, people DO take good pictures, and no one uses bad pictures of themselves. So, I was a bit disappointed in his looks, and while he wasn't the worst hole I’ve been with in the sack, he wasn't great. Definitely sub-par. I like bottoms who let me know they enjoy what I'm doing, either getting vocal or moving around, who get aggressive, who DO something. He was a complete limp fish, letting out maybe a moan. I think.

So, I made it quick, showed him the door and closed it before he could ask or say something. Meh.

I beat off twice later that night over the cam with Josh. I told him about both guys (I'm comfortable enough to do that, although I didn't mention the Navy boy on the plane), and he mentioned how he'd hooked up with a regular top. Apparently that would be the last time as he had screamed my name mid fuck and the guy was less than appreciative about it.

Hell, I don't know what his problem is, I think it's fucking hot!

Maybe I'm just biased...

I'm considering what to do tonight... From Wednesday afternoon till now I've received about 17 different messages from new and old fucks wanting to meet up tonight or tomorrow.

I'm not really in the mood for a sex-rampage, but maybe picking one and having a quick romp will be good.

Hmm... Decisions, decisions.

~Mike

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Up, Up and Away

2007-09-13T08:30:00.001-07:00

So, I met a hot pilot stud of a man and spent three weeks keeping his hole moist with my cum. I briefly hooked up with a cute Army guy and got blown in the shower, and didn't really talk to again.

That’s two of three.

As the exercise drew to a close, I was pretty bummed. Josh was leaving a few hours before me and headed back to the East coast, and we both knew it would be awhile before we saw each other again. After spending every free moment I'd had for the last 3 weeks with him or inside him, it was a hard thought knowing he would soon not be there.

The day came and went, he almost cried, eyes shining with tears, while I was quiet and gruff. We hugged, he boarded his bus and that was the last I saw of him.

Minus the tons of pics, cams and vids we've exchanged back and forth since then.

At that moment however, even though I was depressed Josh was gone, and facing a sharp decrease in my sex life, things were back on track to be normal. IE, The Way Things Were.

The Army, in its infinite wisdom, chartered a commercial 747 to take us from the AFB back to the local McChord AFB in Washington. Fortunately, the flight was maybe half full; there was tons of room to sprawl out and relax.

I had an entire window row to myself, kept my legs draped out into the aisle, and slept as much as I could, trying not to think about Josh, or what I was going to do when I finally needed sex.

That wasn't long in the coming, it turned out.

The flight was full of people I'd never met before, Army, Navy, AF, and a few other Marines. Some had been at other sites for the exercise, some were flying home on leave or for other assignments. Regardless of why they were there, I knew very few.

Actually, only another Marine with whom I was not on the best of terms.

I got up and went to the bathroom, came back to my seat to find someone sitting in my row.

Great.

"Excuse me... but I'm using this row," I told him. The fact that we'd been in the air for 4 hours at that point was a bit odd… I wasn’t sure why he had moved all of the sudden, maybe sitting in the wrong seat by accident?

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just needed to..." he trailed off, then stared out the window.

Great, just what I needed, a nutball.

So I sat down next to him, letting the silence lengthen.

Truth be told, I didn't really mind.

He was shorter than I usually prefer, about 5'7", but adorably cute. He was young, maybe 20 or so, maybe, and had a slight latino look. Or maybe he was just tan. Either way, he was wearing gym shorts that showed legs with sprinter's calves, with a sprinkling of dark hair. Very very hot. His tank top was the equivalent of an upper body G-string, and revealed as much. He had a great chest, no upper body hair at all, and a nice flat, toned belly.

Black hair, brown eyes and a great smile with his left front tooth slightly chipped, and the kid was pretty damn good looking.

So short though.

Anyway, we sat there for awhile, me waiting for him to speak, him just staring out the window. Finally, he turned to me and said in a faint whisper, "I saw you with Ray."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Now, I'm not really terrified of being outed... I mean, I wouldn't like it, and I would face a lot of shit before I got processed out from guys at the base, but it didn't scare me in the sense of "oh my god, I'm going to die, what will I do?" sort of way.

That said... it still took me a few minutes to close my mouth and have my stomach make its way back to its normal place in my body.

I opened my mouth two or three times to say something, but it didn't seem to be working. The kid smiled leaned closer, and whispered even more softly, "And I fucking want that cock of yours."

Well, shit. I just got picked up by a hot Navy boy at 37,000 feet.

I was not about to complain.

I got up and headed to the aft latrines. The flight, as I'd said, was empty and as you approached the back of the plane it was emptier still. Everyone in back was asleep, most of them passed out from the amount of liquor they'd had. I opened one of the cubby hole like stalls and held it open.

The kid was right behind me.

We closed the door, I picked him up and we started to kiss. I didn't really know what to expect, but he didn't wait for instructions. As we kissed, my neck hurting from bending so low, he managed to wiggle out of his shorts, leaving them on the floor. I ripped, literally, his torso-thread off his body, and he was standing there butt ass naked for me. And damn, what a sight.

He was definitely extremely toned, and for my biggest surprise, hung not much less than me. A good 8, 8.5. On his shorter frame, it looked more like 10". It was almost comical.

I stood there staring, but I didn't have long, he pulled my t-shirt off, and went to work on my jeans. In a second, I was sitting on the toilette cover, naked, the boy between my legs sucking me off.

Fuck it was hot.

I usually don't cum from head... the night with Ray, as I mentioned, was surprising in that it got me off. This kid... he knew how to treat a big cock. He sucked my load from my balls in less than five minutes.

I don't really know what I was expecting, I mean, he'd blown me, I'd cum, I figured that was it.

No, not quite.

He spit my load out onto my cock and smeared it all over my cock head. I started to ask, "Uh, wha-" are you doing... but I only got part of the question out.

Before I could finish, he'd turned around, aimed my still mostly hard cock at his hole and sat down.

Fuck.

He was tight... not as tight as Josh, I don't think that possible, and not as tight as Chris... I knew I wasn't his first cock, but I wasn’t very high up on the list either.

He sank about half of my cock in before I could tell it was really hurting him, and he started to withdraw.

Fuck that shit, he should have known what was going to happen with a big cock he wasn't used to.

I grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him down and thrusting up.

I managed to get it all in, but he was definitely fucking squirming to get off. He wasn't screaming, but the noises coming from him were definitely not happy.

I let go of his shoulders, put my arms around his waist and sat there like that, allowing him to get used to it while I kissed his neck.

Slowly, his hole relaxed, he stopped trying to escape and his head lolled to the side as I kissed and licked my way up and down his neck and shoulder.

Fuck yeah, nice hole, mile high club, and a hot boy. What's better than that?

He started the movement again, slowly going up and down on my cock. It didn't take long before I was behind him, standing, him leaning over the toilette, arms before him holding him up. I plowed the holy fuck out of that kid. I don't even think I fucked Josh that hard (well, yeah I did, but still). He took it and was whispering for more. And more he got.

Positions were hard to manage in that place, so I kept him there like that, and just focused on using the hole before me. Cum, for all you perverts out there, doesn't make the best of lube. As the friction increases it starts to get sticky and clumps up, especially with a bigger cock (more area to cover, so it happens faster). I don't know how long I spent fucking his hole, but before long I thrust one last time and blasted my second load up his hole.

Ahhhhhh, fuck thats hot.

As I sat there, post orgasm, I noticed the ropes of cum all over the bathroom wall. Apparently, he'd gotten his nut too.

I stood there, leaning on his back, kissing his neck again, while my mind reeled. I'd been away from Josh for maybe 9 hours, and I had already fucked another dude. Not just that, but I'd fucked him bare, goddamnit, and bred his hole.

Oy.

I wish I could say that had been it... but it was a 10 hour flight, and we still had a long way to go.

I never learned the Navy boys name, and I never learned how he'd seen Ray and I go at it... I didn't ask, name or how, and he didn't volunteer the information. But wherever his final destination was, whoever he went home to, he went with a load in his stomach, and 4 up his ass.

So, that was my time in the far far away land for almost a month. Yes, I had some decent sex, met some hot guys, and had some fun.

I've since been tested, twice, and so far clean. I have no doubts about Josh, but that boy... can't take too many chances.

That finishes my trip... now I just need to catch up to the guys I've met since I've been home...

~Mike

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Fæder ure, þu þe eart on heofonum...

2007-09-12T13:12:00.000-07:00

Finally!

For my long time readers, you know that I have what used to be the ultimate homo phone (a RAZR). Unfortunately, the thing sucks. I mean, yes it’s slim, and for awhile, was the cool thing to pull out of your pocket and be seen with. That was the upside.

The downside, I found, was that the phone itself was slow, taking forever to move between menus. The battery life was horrible, the reception less than great, the feel of the buttons were horrible, and, to top it off, it could hold very few numbers/names and text messages. How the fuck am I supposed to ho around if I can't store stuff in my fucking phone???

I finally caved.

For those of you living under a rock, and therefore missed the announcement, Steve Jobs, CEO of Apple, just announced a price reduction for the iPhone. I couldn't force myself to spend $634.22 (the cost of the 8gb model with military discount), but I could damn well force myself to spend $324 and change on the now discontinued 4gb model.

I just got it!

The phone is a-fucking-mazing. It is going to completely revolutionize my sex life! Now I can access any site, any e-mail account, anything, anywhere and easily at that. It’s great, gets tons of ooo's and ahh's and I've already transferred some hot porn onto it as well.

So, I give the iPhone two big-Dicks up!

On a separate note...

I wrote the day before yesterday that I worked on improving my Interservice relationships. Which was very true. And I did, as I related with Josh. I don't love him, 3 weeks is a bit fast to jump to that, but definitely interested in him… but I still ended up doing two other dudes.

While I'm not a fan of the Army in general, they are too beaucracy bound and large to do things efficiently or well, a hot specialist (the army rank title for pay grade E-4) was in a tent 3 down from me. Even better, he sat right next to me in the TOC, where we both worked.

He was taller than Josh, about 6' even, brown hair, hazel eyes and maybe 170 or so. He was not ripped like Josh (I mean, seriously, I've never seen anyone in real life who is), but he had a nicely toned body with some really hot tattoos. His uniform, even better, jutted out from his backside due to a nice big bubble butt.

I spent almost all of my free time with Josh, and when we weren’t hanging out or fucking the shit out of him, I was at work. Fortunately, work meant I was next to this cute specialist.

I chatted him up over the weeks, learning a lot about him. Where he grew up, what he did for fun, etc. Neither of us had very busy jobs in the TOC, so most of our time was spent bullshitting, when he wasn't chasing one of the better looking chics there. He was cute, but not on the team.

Damn.

Or so I thought.

It wasn't until 3 days before we were scheduled to go back to the AFB and fly back stateside that I realized he was far from totally straight.

I'd just finished fucking Josh, this time managing to stay fairly clean doing it. He, the poor guy, was exhausted and elected to go back to the tent and crash. I still wanted a shower, so I grabbed my shit and went up to the bathhouse.

It was 0330 or so and it was, again, completely empty. I heard the shower running, but figured it was just left on. I got naked, grabbed my soap and face wash and went in.

Inside, rock hard, eyes closed, facing the wall and jerking off was the specialist.

Zing!

I moved as quietly as I could, sneaking up behind him, pausing about 2 feet away before saying loudly "Having fun, eh?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin.

He turned, a nice 7" cock rapidly shrinking as he moved, face scarlet with mortification. He looked like he wanted to crawl into the floor.

I'd rather he did something else.

"Shit. Mike. Um. I didn't know anyone was here. I mean. I was, uh. Mike..."

I laughed. "Relax Ray, I'm not going to tell anyone I saw you yanking your crank. Shit, I like showering up here late at night for the same reason," I told him smiling. To prove my point, I grabbed my now semi-hard cock and started to stroke.

Slowly. Very, very slowly, using the whole of my fist from base past the head and down again. Porn style.

I stood there, staring him in the eye, slowly stroking my rock hard cock, which I'd thought was done for the night as I just pumped two loads into Josh, waiting for him to react.

He swallowed, looking nervous, and then looked down. His eyes went wide when he saw my cock, red, swollen and lonely. I don't thinking he realized it, but the tip of his tongue touched his upper lip in a hungry gesture.

That was all I needed.

I let go of my cock, reached out and took ahold of him by the shoulders. Unresisting, he went slowly to his knees, kissing my pecs, my belly button, and finally swallowing my cock as he went.

Fuck yeah.

He was a pretty goddamn good cock sucker, he never gagged and he took my dick until his nose was buried in my pubes. Fuck, it was amazing!

One hand gripping my ass, the other juggling my nuts, he went to town.

I didn't mind a bit.

I just stood there, hot water spraying down on us, both of my hands now on his head and started to really fuck his throat. He tilted back a bit, opening up the back of his gullet and I just plowed his pie hole like I would an ass. Hard. Fast. Deep.

I looked down at him, kneeling there on the stone floor of the shower, eyes closed, face happy as he slopped my cock and almost stopped him. I was so, sooooo very tempted to spin him around, plunge my cock into his hole, and pump it full of my seed.

Having been with Josh, starting to care for him and breeding him daily... I couldn't bring myself to do that to another guy.

Fuck.

Apparently that was all I needed to start going soft. As in limp. Although, this bullshit emotion thing was starting to make me feel a creampuff, too.

God fucking damnit, I'm not supposed to feel bad about fucking hot guys!

Shit.

Sensing that something was up, as my cock started to go slightly limp, Ray redoubled his efforts. The increased pressure, sucking and added hand did what I thought wouldn't happen. With a grunt, I rammed my cock down his throat and fed him my third load of the day.

As I stood there, cock drained, quickly going limp in his mouth, I felt conflicted. It was a damn good blowjob, and I definitely appreciated it, but I felt bad hooking up with someone who wasn’t Josh. Which, considering Josh and I were simply hookups and nothing serious, was ridiculous.

This is why I just fuck and stay away from the dating shit. It just complicates things.

I didn't wait to see what Ray wanted or thought, I grabbed my shit, wanting to get out of the shower fast and went back to the changing area.

I wasn't followed.

I dried off, brushed my teeth and left before Ray even came out.

I didn't see him the next day on shift, and the last day of the exercise was spent sitting next together (fucking assigned seating) in stony silence.

He's a nice guy... but he's no Josh.

Oh well.

~Mike

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Interservice Relations: A How to Guide on Establishing Ties

2007-09-11T07:56:00.000-07:00

So. It was 2426, or 0026 depending on your preference, when we made it back to the LSA. Most guys were having "dinner", the evening meal being served in the mess tent. As much as the slop being called "oriental chicken with rice" appealed to me, I had USDA Grade AAA+ prime beefy Air Force ass panting for my cock.

I was rather inclined to accede to that desire.

The tent was lit up as the Black shift had left and none of the Gold shift guys had yet gone to bed. I went straight for my bunk area, pulled out my running clothes, changing as quickly as I could. I grabbed a tiny gym bag/back pack that I used and stuck a poncho and a blanket inside. I glanced over to Josh's cot, and it looked like he was possessed; he was trying to put on a tank top while simultaneously put on his socks. He teetered, lost his balance and fell over.

We were the only two in the tent, so I walked over, picked him up, squeezing his hot bubble ass as I did, and whispered, "enough games stud, get that fucking hole moving," and gave him a slow teasing kiss before I turned back to my preparations.

If he was spastic before, it only got worse now. I'm not sure which was better; how badly he wanted it, or how funny it was to watch him get ready.

Soon we were both dressed, and with my bag over my shoulder, we left the tent and moved out of the LSA. We didn't talk, didn't waste the time. As soon as we hit the road, we broke out into a run. Shit, at that moment you could have signed both of us up for the Olympic team. We passed the second mile and began to get into the remote area I ran to yesterday. I didn't have a specific point in mind, rather I figured I'd know something when I saw it.

It was a clear night, and at this time no one else was out. I saw a bit of a trail through the brush off to our left, and without hesitation, steered us there. We slowed to a walk as we entered the tree line and began to hunt for a place.

Guys in the military, you know what happens when you're on a camp, base, post, whatever, and you go into the woods. Training uses much of an installation and you always find leftovers. About 200 yards from the road, we came upon what looked like graves; they were, in reality, the filled in remnants of foxholes (fighting positions).

I figured this was more than fitting.

I opened my bag, took out the poncho and spread it out over the mound. I then removed the blanket, using it for a bit of cushioning, and turned to Josh.

The horny bastard was standing there, naked, wearing nothing but his running shoes. That and a grin from ear to ear.

I grabbed his hand, pulled him close and kissed him. This time, I didn't let up.

I probed every tiny bit of his mouth with my tongue, our spit swapping back and forth. He turned out to be a bit of an aggressive little bottom slut, trying to invade my mouth. I let him for a minute, acquiescing as our tongues sparred, giving ground to him. While we tongue wrestled, I moved my hands all over his body.

Fuck, was he hot! There was not a bit of fat on him. Everything was firm to the touch, from his pecs to his thighs and most especially his ass. I could feel his nipples digging into my skin, standing out like stone peas on his chest. His cock was rock hard, stabbing me in the groin and leaking more precum than I've ever seen flow from a guy. I paused in our kiss to stare and make sure he hadn't actually cum, there was so much of it.

It was humid out. Our bodies were slick and covered in sweat from the run, and getting sweatier by the minute.

I couldn't stand it.

I'd gone a week without ass, the foreplay and kissing stuff, which I greatly enjoy, could come later. At that moment, I needed hole.

I picked him up and at the same time dropped down to my knees. If the impact on the earth was a bit jarring for me, it was very jarring for him. It didn't quite knock the wind out of him, but it certainly gave him pause.

As I picked him up, he instinctually wrapped his legs around my waist, likely thinking I was going to hold him and make out. So, he lay there on his back, dazed, legs around my waist, with me kneeling, cock against his ass.

That was all I needed.

Between my precum, our sweat, and his precum, I didn't worry about lube. Quite frankly, had I been dry, I still wouldn't have worried about lube.

At that moment, there was only one thing I cared about, and it was getting inside Josh. Fast.

So I did.

Using my thumbs I spread his cheeks, shifted my hips a bit and stabbed. Hard.

I've never wanted to be inside a guy so fast, so badly as I did right then. Between the lack of sex, and the hot fighter pilot jock spread before me, I couldn't control it. I speared him on all 9" in one fucking push.

All he did was grunt.

Holy fucking shit.

If you've been reading my blog for awhile, you'll remember Chris, the construction worker I had a thing for but lives in Wyoming (see blog post "The Morning After Pill"). Beyond the fact that Chris was hot, had an amazingly tight ass, he was also the last guy I'd fucked bare.

Shit, had I been missing out.

Chris, tighter than some of the virgins I've been inside, had NOTHING on Josh. I've never in my life been inside any hole, man or woman, that was as tight as this kids pucker. It wasn't just that half inch firm grip you get just from the sphincter around your cock; it was a tight, moist, hot vise that ran the entire length of my tool. It was absolutely amazing.

Scared that I'd cum if I moved an inch, I held it there. I stared down at him, and the look on my face must have been interesting, 'cuz the little shit started to laugh.

He pulled me down, giving me a sloppy wet kiss as my cock pulsed inside him, wanting to explode. The kiss ended and he just whispered, "I'm good, stud."

Cocky, arrogant little fucking shit.

So, I wiped the smile of his face.

Fingers pinching his nips, hard, I put my weight against the back of his knees with my shoulders, pushing his legs back and exposing more of his hole. I shifted my hips, angling my cock to stab upwards and began to pound. He lay there, mouth going wide, hands gripping my biceps hard enough to make me wince, as I rammed him. I knew right where his button was, and while he was tight and knew how to work his hole, it was pretty obvious he had never had a hung power top who knew how to really use a bottom go at him.

It lasted about a minute.

Usually the bottoms tease tops for exploding too fast.

This was not the case, here.

Between the nipples and my merciless pounding of his prostate, Josh couldn't last. His head tilted back and he screamed. "HOLY FUCK, I'M GONNA CUM!"

And cum he did.

He fucking exploded; no other word covers it. The first few spurts went past his head, landing somewhere in the dirt. The next several landed on his forehead, cheeks and chin, before the orgasm began to slow and he covered most of his chest and abs in his goo.

He wasn't the only one.

If he was tight before, his orgasm tightened it tenfold. As soon as his fuck-hole clamped down on my dick I got one more thrust before I came. I filled that boy up to his fucking tonsils with my cum. I fucked him bare, bred him and didn't give a shit. All that mattered at that moment was making him take every last tadpole I had in my nuts.

It was the single most powerful orgasm I've ever had in my life. It almost hurt.

It was incredible.

I collapsed on Josh, cum splashing down the sides of his chest, both of us panting. I lay there looking into those grayish-green eyes and smiled.

"Mike. That... Shit. I don't know WHAT that was. I've heard tops claim to be able to make bottoms cum just from fucking...but I've never really believed it. Fuck!" he said.

Fuck indeed.

I didn't say anything, I just lay there, my cock going semi hard inside him, my cum leaking out of his hole slowly, forming a growing puddle beneath us.

I've never seen so much sperm from just two orgasms. It was everywhere.

Fuck, that was hot!

We lay there for awhile, silent, me on top, him beneath, and just stared at each other.

I could tell, from the look he had, he was pulling a Chris. By that, I meant, getting attached.

The problem was, I couldn't say I wasn't either.

Goddamnit. I find a hot guy, a fighter pilot jock stud boy, easily the best ass I've ever been in, I fuck him bare our first time and have the best sex of my life, and I get a whole three weeks to spend with him before I go back to the Seattle area and he goes back to the East coast.

Shit.

With that thought I sighed. Loudly. He looked at me with a "Is something wrong?" look on his face, but I just smiled. If I only had three more weeks, I needed to make sure I enjoyed it.

The thought got me hard.

I lowered my head and kissed his mouth.

Last time I'd railed him and abused his hole. Now I focused on pleasuring us both, moving my cock in circular motions to hit everywhere inside his cum-sloppy asshole while thrusting slowly into him.

We didn't make it back to the LSA until 0545. And then we still had to shower.

We looked like something out of a horror movie; hair stuck up from dried cum, bits of dirt and brush stuck everywhere, it was disgusting.

It was fucking hot!

Luckily no one was awake. We grabbed our shower stuff and went to the bathhouse. It was empty; even the native there to take names was gone. We undressed, got into the shower, and washed each other off.

It wasn't a great idea, with open showers and all, but I couldn't resist picking him up, thrusting him against the wall, and sinking my cock into him one last time for the night.

Judging by how he panted, moaned and eagerly took load number six, I think he wanted it too. Just a little.

I spent every day for the next three weeks inside Josh. We never went at it that long again, it was almost 0700 by the time we made it to our racks, but not a day went by with him not carrying at least two of my loads inside of him.

I don't condone bareback sex... lord knows there is enough stuff out there to catch, but I trusted Josh, and sometimes, with a guy like that, you just have to say fuck it.

Josh was the hottest guy I've ever had the pleasure to fuck, and more than that, the little shit took a bit of me with him when we left. We're already planning his visit in 3 weeks, and I plan to spend 95% of that time in him, in bed. Well, mostly in bed.

We'll have to plan an arboretum trip and relive our outdoors fucks sometime...

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

Back to Basics

2007-09-10T08:54:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I have gotten down to what most people want to read: sex. Hardcore, unadulterated, talking-about-plowing-boy-hole, hot fucking, dirty, sex.

Far too long.

Anyway, this is about my life, in and out of bed, and sometimes that gets sidetracked. But. That also means I'm more than a bit behind in relating some of the guys I've gotten myself into.

Quite literally.

Let’s get started addressing that.

So, I found myself in a land far, far away, about 36 hours after I was informed that I would be going on temporary duty to "assist" in a training exercise. Now, the training itself sucked monkey nuts. It was boring. I did very little, and most of the time even when I was needed, it involved very little actual participation. That's the fucking Army for you. Draw in people from all the services for 3+ weeks of fun when in reality we could have done it in 3 days. Fun.

So beyond the fact that I got to spend time in a tent, where it was hot as balls and the locale smelt of kimchee, I had a semi decent time. I got to do a lot of reading, which I enjoy. I got to meet some cool guys. Most importantly, I worked on improving my inter-service relationships.

Three relationships, in fact.

Ever since Top Gun came out, the thought of having sex with a hot, cocky, swaggering fighter jock loomed large in just about EVERYONE's mind, to some degree. Men, women, whatever. You go to Pensacola, Panama City, anywhere where there is training and/or bases for pilots and you can can witness this first hand.

Trust me, I'm certainly not immune to this fantasy either.

Imagine, however, if you have one such swaggering, insanely hot, Tom-Cruise-would-mortgage-his-scientologist-soul-to-look-this-good pilot who is stuck in a tent with you for three weeks. Further imagine that the latrine, shower, and sleeping facilities are all open; no dividers, no privacy, no surprises. Everything is seen.

That is the position I found myself to be in.

Thank. God.

After the third day of living together, even in a 23 man tent, I knew my hot pilot was a fag. Call me crazy, but the fact that he spouted a very obvious, and rather nice, tent in his PT shorts the first time I stripped naked in front of him may have clued me in. That, and the fact that somehow from then on he always managed to be at the showers at the exact same time as me.

I was showering three times a day.

Hmmm.

Josh. What a stud! Blond hair, 5'10" (he claimed 6', but there is no way in hell), and a solid 175 pounds of utter cockiness. His eyes weren't blue, which you would assume for his coloring of hair and skin, but rather a grayish green that seemed to change colors, very noticeable and very VERY hot. The man looked like he'd been a gymnast at the Academy, if he had told me he was, I'd have believed him. His abs were popped, his arms defined, and he had an ass on him that could quite easily de-shell a pistachio in half a second or less. Capped with a quite nice 7.5" or so cut cock, he was a looker.

And he knew it.

Fortunately, he was also horny as fuck, and wanted dick. Judging by the way he followed me around like a lost puppy, chatting me up in that cute, adoring little-brother way every second I was within eyeshot, it gradually came to dawn on me who he wanted it from. I mean, you beat me over the head with a bat often enough and eventually I get the point.

No, I knew after about 30 seconds with the stud he was a 'mo. About 2 minutes past that, I knew he was a bottom. The problem as those first few days went by wasn't getting him into bed; it was, quite literally, FINDING a bed. As I've said, there was no privacy anywhere, no dividers, no way to get a hot piece of ass unseen. The exercise was on 24 hour operations, split into Gold (day) and Black (night) shifts. There was never a time you could find a quiet corner somewhere and pillage some hot hole.

It took me a few days to get my bearings of the cantonment, see what I could/couldn't get away with, and get the schedule for the exercise down.

Once I managed that and I knew the When, and I definitely knew the Who, What and Why, all I needed was a Where.

That was the problem.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find a building I could get into where I could pork Josh. Short of an out-of-the-way porta-jon, there were no options. And the porta-jon, in my mind, was NO option; even I have some standards.

Between the jetlag (Seattle is 16 hours behind where I was), the fact that my shifts had changed, from Black to Gold, and the damn heat, I wasn't sleeping phenomenally well. I woke up on the fourth night at about 0330 and couldn't go back to sleep. After laying there in the dark, trying to drown the snores from the cot next to me, I finally got up, pulled on my shoes, reflective belt (it's a military thing), shirt and went out for a run. I figured I would sweat a bit less in the early morning.

Hah. I wish.

It was still humid as hell, and after about the fourth mile I was just as sweaty as when I ran during the day. At least it wasn't miserably hot, though.

As I approached the turn around point, I noticed my shoelace was untied and stopped to tie it. I looked up and was surprised by the amount of stars that I could see. It was dark; very, very dark. Looking around, I realized there was nothing around me, I was out in the middle of nowhere.

It hit me.

I tied my shoe, and ran like hell back to the LSA. I grabbed my shower kit, towel, shower shoes, and headed up to the bathhouse, whistling the whole way.

I'm glad that only a few of the natives were there, more so that I could claim not to understand them, because I was happy as a clam and sporting a semi the whole time I was in the shower. Let me tell you; 9" of cock at half mast is rather noticeable, and it made for a great deal of talking and pointing.

I saw Josh at lunch. He came over, flashed his bright white smile and launched into such a rapidly eager conversation I could only sit there amused and nod occasionally when he paused. The fact that I was rubbing my bulge under the table and imagining his thighs clamped down around my waist wasn't helping my attention much, either.

Coming back to reality, I cleared my throat and he lapsed into silence, looking at me expectantly. I told him about this morning, that I couldn't sleep and decided to go on a run. I mentioned how much nicer it was running in the cool morning, even if it was still humid. He nodded, and said he could understand that. Smiling, I set the hook.

"Well, awesome bro. I was hoping you would be interested in running with me. You know, it can be so much better doing it with a partner," I told him, huge grin on my face.

For a second, his face was blank. A microsecond. The next moment, he looked like he'd just been told he was the newest $324 million Powerball winner.

"Mike, that'd be fucking awesome! I need to improve my run time (doubtful), and I bet there are all sorts of...techniques... you can teach me," he said.

The fact that he reached down and casually rubbed at the crotch of his flight suit showed he wasn't hoping for pointers on his running technique.

I smiled back and just said, "Josh; be ready to learn more than you bargained for."

With that last rejoinder, I grabbed my tray, and left the mess tent before he could say another word. I wanted the cocky little slut to be panting, eager and ready for my rod.

I avoided him the rest of the day. When I saw him coming, I'd duck away, or launch into a conversation he couldn't intrude into. I could tell as the end of the shift came he was bursting with impatience and frustration. Just as I wanted.

Shifts were 12 hours, running from midnight to noon, noon to midnight. As I left the security checkpoint following the end of our shift, I heard a shout of "wait up" behind me.

I didn't.

Within seconds, I heard the pounding of boots on pavement pursuing me and finally a panting, flustered, bitchy pilot was walking beside me.

"Dude. What the fuck. You've been avoiding me all day. That’s fuc-"

He didn't get any further.

I spun to the side, grabbed him hard by both biceps, lifted him up off the ground and mashed my lips against his. It was risky; we were on the road going back to the LSA where anyone could see, but it was midnight and we were alone. Either way, I kissed him, tongue flicking his, mouth demanding, searching, grasping, devouring everything he had. He melted, going boneless, as I held him there, suspended above the ground. Only seconds, but feeling like hours, and I pulled back and set him down. He staggered. Turning, I resumed walking back to the tents.

After standing there for a minute, dazed, he caught back up.

"Um. Wow. So. Mike. You're..."

I laughed. "Yes, Josh, I like guys. Which you knew. Stop acting surprised and get ready for what’s coming," I told him.

"No, no, no," he quickly said, "What I was trying to say is that you are a fucking AMAZING kisser. Holy fuck, I've never felt anything like that before!"

I paused for a second, stopping again in the middle of the road. I looked at him, blond hair glinting slightly in the crescent moon light, teeth flashing in his grin. I looked down and noticed not only was he tenting, his flight suit sticking out noticeably as he stood there, but there was a spreading wetspot from his precum.

"Just wait for tonight, Josh. You'll see."

We kept walking back to the tents.

"Mike, I know you were thinking about 0330, but wouldn't it make more sense to go now? We could go on our... run, shower, then go to bed without having an interrupted nights sleep."

Thinking about that, I looked over at him and smiled. "You really want my fucking cock up your hole right now, don't you, you fucking slut?"

He didn't even hesitate.

"Yes. Fucking goddamn YES," he said.

Heh.

"Alright, fighter jock, lets go get changed."

I think you know what happened next.

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

And the voting continues...

2007-09-09T19:40:00.000-07:00

Alright men. The lucky/brave few have posted themselves here for your review pleasure; now, head to the polls! Winner is getting a pair of TopMarine dogtags inscribed as they wish, and a signed pair or worn 2xist varsity underwear, with my scent still on them. Sick, disgusting, perverted... I figured it's just the right sort of thing for such a contest.

Please send those ballots in! Remember, comment with the name of the person and YEA or NAY and any additional comments in the body. Hope to get some results in the morning!

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

Sunday morning's wake-up surprise

2007-09-09T14:16:00.001-07:00

All,

Woke up to several e-mails in my in box. Better late than never! Keep them coming,

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

BikeGuy
Cleveland, OH / Washington DC
6'2"
187
Vers Btm
8"cut

L
28
Milwaukee, WI
6.0
155(working on gettiung bigger)
Never measured my dick size (above average is all i can say)
Vers but no girlies on my back.

I like hot porn, hot guys, lots of books, movies and video games

Steve
22
Ithica, NY
5'10"
160
Bottom, love to get pounded

Kyle
31
Chatanooga, TN
5'11"
156
Vers/Bttm.
Love toys!

Dave H
38
5'9"
150
All bttm
Luv tke charge dudes with big cocks

And the first entrant...

2007-09-07T22:20:00.000-07:00

Mark
SoCal
33
6-2
220lbs
7c thick

Ex-DivII baseball player (3b); teammate to bond with; want to fucking win the lone Top Marine's "bat" and let him steal home.

Ok men, I have to say I am extremely disappointed thus far. I was hoping for at least SOMEONE out there to have testicles and show some guts. Very sad. Anyway, if no other entrants, Mark will win the prize(s)

~Mike

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

2007-09-05T20:21:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been getting some interesting things from my readers. Pics, in various states of undress, invitations to everything from dinner to sex to a family BBQ (which is a bit strange for a first meeting, I think) and everything in between. I'd like to try something new to stir the proverbial pot.

You've all seen my shadowed mug shot, its up on the blog for all to see. Well, its my turn, and your turn: I'm doing a picture contest.

Here are the rules:

1) You can submit any type of picture that you wish, from a face shot, to a faceless body shot, to... whatever.

2) Judging will be done by you, my readers. All comments, and I mean ALL, will be added. The picture that gets the most comments in favor, wins.

3) The prize: 2 sets of TopMarine dogtags, inscribed however you want. Complete with silencers.

Now, to submit:

Each time I post an entry, I put a link that says "E-mail Mike". E-mail me your stats to include Name (first name or as much as you want to include), where you're at (however detailed you want, can be country, state, city, street, whatever), vocation (job field), Height, Weight, and any other info you want to include

So, a sample would look like:

Mike
Seattle, WA, USA
US Marine
6'1"
217 (getting bigger!)
Top
9"cut
Likes long walks on the beaches

I'll post your stats with your pic.

For the judges, that would be everyone who reads the blog, this is how to get your two cents in:
Write a comment. The title of the comment should read the name of the person you like, with YEA or NAY, and then anything else you want to add.

Example:

MIKE, YEA
He's hot and I totally want him to plow me!

I'll leave this open till Sunday night, and we'll announce the winners on Monday. Remember, anything goes. And I'll add in a special surprise for the winner, to make it worth your while.

I'll post the pictures and stats as they come in, I will stop taking judging comments Sunday, September 9th at 2000 Pacific Daylight Time.

Anyway, I figured it would be fun for me to see some of YOU, and for you to get an idea of who reads this crazy thing. Don't let me down guys, if I only get one or two I'm gonna be pissed!

I'm almost finished with some posts I am working on simultaneously, so keep checking back

Hoorah!

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

Lessons in Writing, 101

2007-09-04T20:34:00.000-07:00

So, it typically isn't my style to insult my readers. I mean, you, my readers, are the purpose that I spend the time to do this. Other than the Prude post I did with the asshole whose opinions and irritating condescension, I have mostly enjoyed hearing and reading the replies from ya'll.

That said, there have been/are a few others (about 5 all told) who make constant comments (that I do not choose to post) and send me hate mail and/or e-mails of extremely graphic, persistent, begging nature. Guys: Don't beg. Ever. I don't care how hot the cock is, how young and ripped the hole is, it just is not worth your dignity. Plus, its a complete fucking turn off. If you want a "masculine top who is a man's man" and you beg worse than a virgin bitch on prom night...yeah, that type of guy isn't going to be turned on by it. Lord knows, I'm sure as fuck not.

So, this guy was one of my first readers. He started out very cool, yet over time the hints of "you're a great guy, not my type and not really looking off here bro" were mistranslated by him into "I need you, please, let me fuck you now."

So Jay, here is to you. I don't know how else to say it, so you now have your own post all about you.

Cheers bud!

*****Begin Message*****

I have talked to you for a while now and so one of these days this will come true. I want you to show up at my house and knock on my door...i want you to push your way into my house and when the door is closed i want you to lock your lips on mine. I dont want you to hold back so i grab your hand and help u rub on my cock. Then i take my hand and run it down your pants and grab your rock hard cock. We make out for a little while till u push my head down to your cock and make me lick it through your pants. Then you open my pants and ram your finger in my hot hole! i lube u up really well with my spit so that when i take your cock into my ass it slides right in. At first you moan pretty loud and i make u aware there is some pain but u force it in neway and fuck me bare, hard and good. So good that you moan and tell me you want more, and u take it. I stroke on my cock while u fuck my ass and u keep telling me to take your load! I take you in every position i can and you make it hurt hard and good!

u game?

Jay

*****End Message*****

Jay... sorry bud, but there is not a snowballs chance in hell that I will ever have sex with you.

Allow me, please, to detail why:

1) I do not care for guys significantly older than myself, sexually. I told you before I think you are a great guy, and being friends was no problem, but you couldn't do that. You're 15 years my senior; not my thing. Deal with it.

2) I work out, hard, and take pains to be in both good health as well as good shape. I am not a chubby chaser. You haven't seen a gym or a non fast food restaurant in a decade, at least. Not healthy. Can we say, diabetes?

3) Not a bear fan; bears are in Zoos. It's called a r-a-z-o-r. I don't mind body hair, not usually my thing, but you are a gorilla.

4) I am NOT, NOOOOT, looking to have bareback sex with someone I meet off the internet. I am not looking to have bb sex, period. If you are, I'll give you my commisseration now for your impending positive HIV test.

5) You live in Louisianna. Why the hell would I EVER go to Louisiana for sex???

6) You are clingy. Which you told me yourself. Never a good thing.

7) You write at a third grade level. Your conversation is even worse. I am not looking to fuck someone who can't add three to nineteen. Its just a turnoff.

And 8) I hate smoking! Bleh.

Anyway, I'm sorry that I had to resort to doing it this way. Unfortunately, no or not interested seems to have not been received. So, one last blunt time: I AM NOT INTERESTED.

More to come tomorrow guys,

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

Rant 2: Dr. Reality Check to ER...

2007-09-03T14:08:00.000-07:00

So. I took some readers advice regarding how to get rid of Klingons, and not the Star Trek type. Some of you offered really good advice; some of you couldn't advise your way out of a wet paper bag. Either way; the advice that I took, and the other steps I took of my own devising... haven't been successful. There is something, it turns out, mighty powerful about denial and the magnitude of the human ego that just allows people to turn "GO. AWAY. I-DON'T-LIKE-YOU" into something that resounds within their minds as "I'm grouchy today, call me tomorrow, I love you". Good gods.

So. I was stuck in the middle of nowhere for 3 weeks. I got to see plenty of hot, hoooot guys (where I was, we had no privacy. Open tents, open shower, open toilettes...) but not much in the way of action (which is not to say none), and little to do in our free time.

And guess what I got to deal with when I checked my e-mail.

Here it goes:

***** Begin E-mail*****

From: ********** Mailed-By: gmail.com
To: *********
Date: Aug 27, 2007 3:21 PM
Subject: Dude, hello....?

Can i just say though; what was really difficult was knowing you could have sex with me one day and know that is was nothing to you....that you could just go and have sex with another guy, and then another any other time and I was absolutely nothing to you.

that said...regardless of how you feel toward me, I will be in Seattle this weekend. I hope we can hook up. I am going to LeFeaux at Julia's with my friends on Saturday night. I am buying an extra ticket for you. If you show up that would be great. If you don't, then I guess you don't.

I have already bought the ticket. If you don't want anything to do with me, then tell me so I can give the ticket to someone else. I hope that is not the case, but when I'm ignored on purpose like this, 90% of the time, it is the case.

XYZ

***** End E-mail*****

Now, you have to have a serious mind block to be doing something like this. It was almost two weeks before I was able to check my e-mail for the first time. I had a total of 34 missed messages from him. Some were funnier, most more pathetic, than the one above, but none details the pathos of the situation than this one.

So, he hasn't spoken to me in weeks. I was out of country (not that I told him that, hell I didn't even have time to tell my beloved readers, and he was far down the list from them), and not inclined to deal with drama from 9,000 miles away. But, when I got the latest e-mail in the series, and it says "I bought you a ticket even though you ignore me and I want you to come", that speaks to me of serious psychological and stalker issues. Furthermore, I don't appreciate having the time and money spent on the ticket used as a guilt-lever in an attempt to force my hand into a situation I have no desire to be in.

Men, I tell you this. If you are the type who wears your heart on your sleave and fall for a guy that you have hot sex with the very first time, you have issues. Period. Some of you told me I was a calous asshole and was mean to the guy, others told me I was spot on. My turn. If you think that sharing a meal and then fucking for a few hours equates to a fucking ring on the finger, wake up and grow a goddamn brain. Its sex. Period. Granted, many people, even myself, attach emotion to it, but thats ridiculous. NO ONE should think they have claim or expectations after A NIGHT. One. Uno. To think that, you are kidding yourself. If you both think there is something there afterwards and want to pursue it, thats one thing. But to think there is an expectation for the other party to, is pathetic.

A hookup is not meant to be the way to meet your husband. A fuck is not the way to look for your next love. For all you bottoms, and occasional tops I suppose, out there who took his side, then I tell you this: you do not live in the real world and your expectations on life and love are seriously skewed. More so, if you don't believe me, see a psychiatrist. I can guarantee you they will say you have serious emotional dependency issues if you think a night of play means he has to love you and become one. Get a grip!

Anyway, thats my rant. I spent most of last night, up until about 0400, balls deep in a boy or three. I'll fill you in soon, but for now... I'm taking a nap.

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

We Now Return to Our Previously Scheduled Program...

2007-09-02T14:10:00.000-07:00

So, it appears that I have done something right. I went into this whole blogging thing as a way to share what I do with people, and get some feedback. Call it exhibitionsim lite.

Anyway, as you can tell from the dates between one blog and the next, which was done by my friend Zane, I was out of the loop for quite awhile. Here's the scoop.

Over the last 7 years the military has increasingly become focused on "jointness". For my military readers out there, you know what I mean. Since Rumsfeld, for better or worse, came onto the scene as Secretary of Defense, he forced the branches to merge services, participate more in training and merge doctrine where applicable and making sense. Some of this new focus on jointness works; sometimes it does not. Regardless, it is now the reality that we work with, so that is how it is.

What this means, however, is that we now support and work with the other services to a much greater degree than before hand. I was gone for 3 weeks after getting an extremely short notice (30 hours) to pack my things and prepare to deploy TDY (Army lingo actually, fitting since that was who I was supporting, temporary duty assignment) in support of a training excercise. Word to the wise; never let your supervisors know you have critical or rare skills sets if it isn't dicumented. Bad idea.

Anyway, I'm home. I've got piles of bills and mail, tons of e-mail and a lot of plans. I'll post again in a day or two, and I'll have some interesting stories. My last major blog, The Bitter Prude, generated 7 or so comments, and quite a few private e-mail responses. I'm going to talk about that first, then I'll give you a taste of what I was up to. So to speak.

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

Zane here...

2007-08-20T22:09:00.000-07:00

Mike is away on temporary duty in a far far away region of the world. He told me not to say where. He called me today to tell me to post here and to say that he'd be back "soon."

He said he's really sexually frustrated because he's around dopey straight guys 24x7 and can't easily jerk off. He's probably going to unleash himself upon Seattle when he gets back...

Fan(?) Mail: The Bitter Prude

2007-08-08T20:56:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes, yes... Todays blog was supposed to reveal details from my trip to Vancouver. It's mostly written (about 75%). Google Docs, you have to love them. I can write and edit anywhere! Anyway, in between writing, working and lunch, I received an e-mail via the "E-mail Mike" links at the end of each post. After I stopped laughing, called and shared it with Zane, and after he stopped laughing, we decided that it had to be posted. And replied to.

To whoever you are, Mr. Mystery-Former-Marine, I'll respect your privacy by not including your full e-mail address. If you choose to break your silence, you may do so on the comments page; I don't feel comfortable giving your POC information out in a public forum.

That said, I do feel entirely justified in posting, and replying to, your Rhadamanthine missive.

So, here it goes:

****Begin E-mail****

Greetings from Virginia,

It seems to me that you are more than a little jaded. Intelligent yes, but nevertheless...hum? You talk about sex like you are a god....if this is your real pic, I have seen better. Also, your story about the dude who would not leave you alone sucked. It only shows how shallow you are...pitiful. I am a decorated Marine, who is gay, and has respect for others. Why don't you leave the corp and become a prostitute...seems to suit you. By reading what you write, you seem to be penis with a brain...In some of the countries I have visited, you might even be kept as the household whore whenever the master is horny. I am considered desirable by many men, but do not abuse this...you seem to think that the world is your oyster. In fact, I bet you are probably a better bottom than top. You are more than likely the Marine I have always avoided...shit eating grin and not much to show for it. Full of yourself for no reason. There are a lot of good looking guys out there bro....Oh, and then there is life after the corp..you probably should consider a career at the local bath house...this seems to be your skill set,,,,,Oh, and by the way..you may actually fall in love with one of these guys..hope they treat you the way you have treated others...peace out, Sempre Fi

Email: bhxxxxx@hotmail.com
Name: The one who called you out
Country: United States

****End E-mail****

I'll address some, where they are actually coherent, of this individual's ramblings. First, I'm jaded. Well. Shit. He figured me out there. I've been shot at, blown up (yes, in actual IED/EFP explosions), dealt with gay drama, and while I live my life to the fullest, I nevertheless view myself as a realist. I'm happy, always greet people on the street or at work, and take the time to help people with doors when their hands are full. I'm a nice guy. Genuinely (shhh, don't tell anyone).

The fact of the matter is, is that nice guys typically don't get shit, either with men or women. Bottoms want a take charge, tell you what the hell is going on, what to do, when to do it, and how kind of top. A man. True, not all of them, but a solid 80% at least. They want the top to be the rock in the relationship, be it a hookup or long-term partnership.

I know what I want: sex. I don't lie, going into things saying I want to explore serious avenues of love and then fuck the dude and leave him. When a guy gets into my bed, he knows the deal. I want ass. Period. Nothing else. If he accepts that and later pushes for more, I fail to see how that makes me a "shallow...pitiful" guy. People must stop convincing themselves, or others, that their desires are, indeed, reality. Got it, interested. I'm not. Move on.

Now, my reader claims to be a decorated Marine, a gay one at that, and holds others in respect. First, anyone in the military who has a pulse and is in for more than 8 months is decorated. I take it he truly meant "retired", which is fine, if slightly disingenuous.

I've been sexually active, as I've stated, for nigh on 13 years now. In those 13 years, I've learned one thing: guys are horrible. Evil, almost. I've never, ever, heard of a gay relationship past 6 years that has been completely monogamous. You can go on craigslist, manhunt, gay.com, a bar, the park, wherever gay men congregate, and ALWAYS find guys saying "wife is away, looking for cock", or "boyfriend out of town, breed my hole!". You all know it, and I know it.

Why I am the target for the readers vitriolic smearing simply because I have a lot of sex, apparently he believes I have a future as a prostitute, is beyond me. I am not better, and no worse, than any other gay man out there. So, bucko, get your ass off your god damned high horse and shut the fuck up. Perhaps I talk about it openly, but in the end, that just means I'm a shade more honest than the tens of thousands of other homos who you aren't moralizing at every minute of the day.

Lastly, "if this is your real pic, I have seen better...you seem to think the world is your oyster..." he writes. Let me address that. Am I an Abercrombie model with ripped abs you can grate cheese on? Nope. But, as you can see, I have a decent body, good build, and I am good looking. I don't flaunt it. I don't brag about it. I'm, somewhat, modest but also honest about what I am and what I can therefore go after. I'm not going to pull that false modesty, woman bullshit where someone who is a 10 on a 10 scale demurs that they're really ugly. I don't play that bullshit. So, ass monkey, if you do, more power to you. Glad to hear that there is life after the Corps, perhaps you can go and actually have one issued to you?

Oh, and while 99.99% of Marines are bottoms, a fact I fail to see shame in even if it’s not my personal cup of tea, there is a reason this blog is called TOP Marine. I don’t bottom. Ever.

As always, it's a Pleasure, yes with a capital P, to hear from my readers.

Some Italian details will be up tomorrow

Hoorah (just for you, Mr. Reader)

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

Altered Expectations

2007-08-07T20:15:00.000-07:00

All concerned,

I fucked up today, and was royally chewed out by my chain of command. My car, bless it, also konked out, and is going to cost me $800 to fix. I had a crappy day. I owe you Vancouver details, and will try for tomorrow, but for now I am going to get completely shit-faced drunk.

~Mike

PS: Thanks to those of you who have offered advice... any more thoughts would be appreciated

Rant 1: Paging Dr. Reality-Check on Line One, Please

2007-08-06T15:37:00.000-07:00

When I checked my e-mail this morning, I had several requests for the "dirty little secrets" from Vancouver. While writing about each guy and situation would take too long, and I don't want to do another week long multi-post like last week, I will focus on the hot Italian boy I banged and post the details in their entirety. Look for that by tomorrow (Tuesday sometime).

But first, a Rant.

Several things attract me to guys. The beauty and tightness of an in-shape male body is beyond the pale in comparison to a womans'. The masculinity, similar thought patterns, lack of hormonal fluctuations... and the lack of drama. Which, as my gay readers know, is not necessarily always the case. Especially with the bottoms.

Sigh.

Two weeks ago, I managed to meet a guy that I didn't write about in the blog. I mean, I try, but lots of shit happens in a day, or week, and not everything makes it.

Anyway, his name was Jeff. He's good looking, about a 7.5 on a 10 scale face wise, great body and one of the top three asses I have ever seen. Just an amazing ass.

We met while I was shopping at Whole Foods for meat to take to a BBQ. We made some casual talk while we were waiting at the butcher counter and parted ways. I didn't think another thing of it. Then I ran into him again in another part of the store, and talked some more. I left the store and made another pit stop, and ran into him at the dessert counter. We laughed, and he asked if I was following him, a fact, he said, that wouldn't bother him at all.

Zing!

I picked up on the clue, and immediately got his number. I went over to his house that night after leaving the BBQ and fucked him 3 times nonstop, back-to-back. As I said, he had an amazing ass.

That was hot; I didn't mind that part at all.

The part I did and continue to mind, however, was how my performing the "you're hot, lets fuck" proposal was somehow translated into Woman inside his mind to mean, "I love you, please marry me". I think you can see where this was headed.

Text messages swarmed and filled my inbox, and if you have a RAZR, fucking things, you know that’s not hard to do. I got calls constantly, and had he known where I lived, or stayed when in Seattle, I have no doubt he would have parked his happy little ass outside there, too.

I finally got fed up with it, who wouldn't?, and told him the fucking deal. He was a trick; I don't meet my future husband(s) at Whole Foods and fuck them 3 hours later. It was a hookup, period. Had he not gone psycho on me and approached things slowly and with an open mind towards dating, that could have been a real possibility. Going ape shit, however, ensured that "NOT A CHANCE IN HELL" was firmly applied to the mental file I kept on him.

Evidently, however, I was not successful in my efforts to get rid of him, as evidenced by the following e-mail:

***** Begin E-mail*****

From: ********** Mailed-By: gmail.com
To: *********
Date: Aug 5, 2007 3:49 PM
Subject: Dude, hello....?

On 8/5/07, ********* wrote:
I'm sorry about this past weekend and anything that I said wrong to you in the texts.
To be honest, I was very hurt by you and I felt very humiliated and embarrassed and like a total ass for the way I was acting toward you. The truth of the matter is that you are one of the very, VERY few people I've ever wanted to date and not just fuck. You're the first person that would have sex with me that i wanted to be with in 3 months. I'm guessing now, especially given this past weekend, it's going to be another 3 months or longer before I'll ever get sex again.

I wanted to be able to hang out with you over the weekend, but it seemed pretty clear you didn't want to see me at all. I'm guessing that all I am for you is a one night stand in which you said what you had to to get what you wanted and therefore you did.

I do want to know you and spend time with you and have fun. But I guess it's all up to you. I just want to apologize for anything I did or said wrong over the weekend. I'm sure you had tons of sex with lots of hot guys up in Vancouver. I hope you were safe. I finally left Vancouver last night without being able to meet even one guy to make out with. I'm glad to be home.

I hope you are well, and you won't hear much from me unless I hear from you.

*******

*****End E-mail*****

So, as you can see, my current "dude, back the fuck off" strategy is not working. Damn.

Short of telling him I will beat the fuck out of him if he ever talks to me again, which I am loathe to do for someone who just craves attention and affection, I'm not really sure about to proceed... Any ideas from the audience?

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

Hot Canadian Men (But, Not Really)

2007-08-05T20:19:00.000-07:00

So, on a whim, I went to the Vancouver BC Gay Pride with my friend Zane.

Not necessarily the best of decisions. But, I did manage to have a great time. For the most part.

For those of you who aren't familiar with Vancouver, it's a beautiful city. The only real problem I have with it is the lack of major arterial roads. Everything is local. Makes traveling a pain. That, and 4 hour waits at the border when you cross back into the US. That kind of sucks.

We managed to get rooms in a decent downtown hotel. We went out, saw the fireworks, the parade, the typical things you see and do during a Pride.

My chief gripe, however, was regarding the distinct lack of high numbers of hot men. Zane had lured me here with lurid tales of how many gorgeous men would be in the city, all looking for cock, and how great a time I would have.

Well, I did manage to find a hot guy, or 3, but none were actually Canadian. Dammit.

Anyway, we went out that night. I wanted to try this place, Odyssey, but Zane wanted to go to some other club/bar. We settled by doing a choice neither of us were actively interested in. Compromises, you have to love them.

The club was the pits. The location sucked, the inside was shitty, and the clientèle...well, lets just say that I would NOT be picking up any hot holes here.

Instead of focusing on sex or trying to find a target, we just decided to drink and have fun. And be totally obnoxious. Americans are good at it; we excel.

When I finally swiped my keycard and made my way back up to my hotel room, painfully alone, I made a beeline for my laptop. I logged on, amused, noting the number of guys also looking for cock at that moment. Quite a few. Damn, why couldn't any of the assholes been out tonight?

Oh well.

Within 2 minutes of being logged on I'd received 18 messages. I hate when people do the little "wink" bullshit. If you don't have the balls to say something to me, online!, why the fuck am I going to waste my time on you? The assholes who don't have pictures, but have the stupidity to dare text me a message simply saying "hey, unlock?" can just rot in hell. Fuckers.

Anyway, after weeding through the extraneous, ugly, fat, old, and no picture messages that I'd gotten, I had 8 likely candidates.

Not too bad, I supposed.

First, I sorted through them by height. I found a nice little Italian boy, claiming to be 5'8", whose pics looked good, nice body, and a beautiful bubble ass. He said he liked it a bit hard, and I was more than willing to drill his head through the god damned drywall.

We messaged back and forth a few times, and when I received a warm fuzzy, sent him the information he needed and told him to get his ass over to my hotel.

As I logged off the computer, I reflected that between this unplanned trip and last weekends effort in Seattle, I was gonna be broke for upcoming week before payday. Oh well, you only live once, right?

My cellphone jolted me back to reality with the notification that I had a text. He said he was downstairs in the lobby. He could have come straight to the room, I wasn't in that swanky of a place, but I wanted to see him first.

I went down, and my eyes were instantly drawn to him. In his pictures I'd have pegged him for a solid 8. Great body, a 10 ass, but face was just above average. In person, it was more complex. While he didn't have that model beauty or classical "hotness" that you would see in an Abercrombie store, the way his whole person added together made him striking. Definitely someone you notice.

Hot. Damn.

Apparently, I wasn't alone in my laser eyes. Half the people in the lobby at that moment were homos and every single one of them was either overtly or shyly checking him out. Or me. We stood there, eyes locked, as I walked towards him, stupid grins plastered on our faces. If thought bubbles had formed above our heads it would have been something like "THANK YOU GOD, I TOTALLY OWE YOU FOR THIS!"

We didn't talk. I put my arm around his shoulder, guided him towards the elevator and up we went.

I could spend hours describing how I fucked him 7 times that night. I could mention how he used his ass muscles in a way I'd never felt before, a rolling massage on my cock that left me damn near breathless. I could describe the tenderness we would give each other one moment, and the hard, near rape, ass pounding he'd get the next.

We clicked. It was amazing.

And, damn him, too soon over. After the 7th time, both of us sated, exhausted, and falling asleep, I finally asked him where he was from, expecting the answer of Vancouver.

When he said originally from Vancouver but currently was living in London, I was floored. A 3 hour drive for amazing sex was doable, but a 10 hour flight was not.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuccccck.

And yes. If I get requests, I will post the little dirty details. Now, I have to walk a pissed off Shade I neglected for the weekend and wash my uniform. It stinks like sweaty ass.

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

Pride on a Whim

2007-08-05T01:18:00.000-07:00

So, this weekend, in comparison to the events of last weekend, was supposed to be low-key and relaxing. Get caught up on things like laundry, household chores, wash the car, that sort of thing. Instead, on a whim, I went with Zane and a bunch of homos to Vancouver BC for Vancouver Pride.

Oy.

It's 0124, and I just finished screwing a hot boy. I'm still buzzing a bit, and tired, so I will write more about it tomorrow after I get some breakfast.

Good times!

~Mike

Weekend of Sexual Indulgence, Finale

2007-08-02T18:43:00.000-07:00

Other than resting my chaffed cock from a weekend of overindulgence, I haven't really been doing much. Monday I went to work, hit the gym, went home and talked to the family on the phone. I fell asleep watching "Independence Day", just because I could. Tuesday, the same basic routine, only I had to fend off the married guy I'd fucked from my gym last week after he made serious advances during my routine. He was still hot, and I was willing to fuck, just not then. I took Shade for a long run when I got home, and called it a night.

So, now it's Thursday. The weather is beautiful, the weatherman forecasted 86 F today, and I'm stuck cleaning weapons after a range. Tons of fun. Nothing like scrubbing carbon buildup out of a machine gun all day long to get your heart racing. Woo.

To save time later tonight, not that I don't enjoy writing this, I brought my laptop to work and am writing this periodically throughout the day. If there are present/past tense issues, that’s why. Deal with it.

Saturday, if you read my last blog, was a mixed day. While I'd gotten good head from Jorge, and an amazingly good romp from Brandon, I finished the day with merely average-to-mediocre sex from the next three and was flaked on by Shawn. Those Tacoma guys, fucking weird.

Needless to say, the mixed results from Saturday had me mildly apprehensive as to what to expect for Sunday.

I'd only scheduled two guys that day. I figured, even though I'd not been having great sex, the frequency counted for something. I was still, at least, getting my nut off. I hoped that I would manage at least one more Brandon quality fuck and finish up the weekend on a high note.

The first boy on the schedule was Justin. Funny name, Justin. I had six Justin's in my phone, and every single one was a homo. Come to think of it, I don't even know a straight Justin. Very weird. Anyway, he was a tiny bit taller than me, something I typically don't find attractive, but with a nicely lean, clean look to his body. Just over 6'1" or so, 180 pounds, he was "flingable"; I could manhandle and fling him all over the bed. Very nice. He had dirty blond hair, starting to recede, hazel eyes, and some really hot tattoos. The pics definitely had me ready and willing to flip him over and use his tan backside.

Then there was Dave. Homos definitely seem to have common and boring names. Sheesh. He was sketchy; didn't want to give many pictures, refused to send a face pic, which traditionally would be an automatic "ignore" sign, and was light on details beyond basic stats. The 4 body pics that he’d sent, however, had me going against my doubts and scheduling him anyway. He was my favorite height, 5'9", with a perfectly formed, toned body. I could, literally, find no flaw. I figured what the hell, the worst that could happen would be that I had to boot him out, and penned him in as my last fuck of the weekend.

Nothing is as easy as you plan, however.

I’d again left the door propped open and was waiting on the bed in just a pair of boxers. When I heard a slight tap, and then the door opened I had my first sight of him. He was everything his pictures led me to believe. He almost ran for the bed, and as we grabbed each other it took all of 4 seconds before we were tearing clothes off. As I flipped him ass up and started to rub and nibble my way down towards his ass, I could smell he'd freshly showered. I inspected his hole and was pleased to find he'd also freshly steam cleaned it as well. Thank the lord! Bottoms up!

So there I was, hands spreading Justin's ass cheeks, munching his salad when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around, and standing there was a young 20-something guy. Judging from the body displayed beneath the almost non-existent tank top and shorts, it could only have been Dave. Fuck.

Goddamnit.

I sat there, body still facing Justin's upraised hole, hands spreading his cheeks, while both of our heads were turned around staring at the newcomer. He finally spoke.

"Um... you told me to come over at 10... were we doing a three? I didn't know that's what you wanted..." he said as he wrung his hands.

I jumped up, went over to the kid, put my arm around his shoulder and steered him towards the bed.

"Actually," I said, deciding to be blunt, "I sent you the wrong time. Sorry about that. We would both, however, love to have you join us. You're fucking hot, bro, and we're game to play." Justin enthusiastically nodded his head. The greedy whore was nearly salivating at the thought of getting double stuffed. Which was an amusing thought. As if I would bring in another top, Jesus.

He seemed to hesitate a bit, but between my hands massaging his ass and Justin proactively taking his cock out to slurp it down, his inhibitions melted rapidly. He stood there, for a quick minute, eyes closed, swaying like a reed in high breeze, and then he was suddenly naked and making out with Justin.

There is a god. Fuck yes!

So my two bottoms were making out, Dave on top, and I resumed my earlier activity. This time I was focused upon Dave. I inspected his pucker, checking for cleanliness and my no dangling skin requirement and was enormously pleased to find a perfect pucker staring at me. I spread, took an initial whiff, and happily dived in. Damn, he was good. And tight! He was so sterile that he could have scrubbed with steel wool. Excellent.

While I munched on his hole, two and a half days of stubble rubbing his tender area while my tongue probed his insides, I used my right hand to sneak under Justin, fingers sliding into his spit lubed hole and searching for his prostate. I'm a pretty big guy; I have decently large hands. The wet, breathy noises that started coming from the boys beneath me were evidence I was doing something right. Moaning bottoms, is there anything hotter?

I stopped fingering Justin and, as I continued to munch Dave's hole, reached for the rubber I'd set aside earlier and slid it over my pole. Poor Dave only knew that one moment he was moaning and writhing as I tongued his 'bud and the next I had half of my cock rammed up his hole. He was tight; the invasion was quite a surprise. The kid took it like a man, though, and while he grunted in pain and tensed up, he didn't make an effort to squirm away or fight my tool.

There is nothing hotter to me than a tight bottom who takes a fucking like a real man. That's fucking hot shit.

I settled my weight so that half was resting on his ass, the other half on my arms, settling in a semi-pushup type position and sunk my cock slowly into his hole. As I reached bottom, I could hear and feel his staggered breathing. I bottomed out in his hole and his body quivered. Nice. Justin, meanwhile, was grinning like a madman at the bottom of the pile. He loved every second of it.

I stayed there a minute, most likely about 14 seconds, allowing him to get used to me, before I withdrew three-quarters of my cock and slammed it back in. Withdraw, pause, slam. Withdraw, pause, slam. I kept a slow, but hard and deep rhythm that had both of them moaning and panting for me to fuck him. Hard. "Harder, goddamnit, fuck me like a man!" he yelled.

Heh. Little boy had no idea what he was getting himself into.

I picked him up, sitting up on my knees, and flipped him around so that he faced me. Holding him by the ass and thighs, I held his weight completely while allowing his ass to sink just low enough that I could pierce his hole. Instantly, I started to slam my pelvis upwards. This position, hard to do without a lot of upper body strength, left the bottom completely exposed. If you spread his legs wide, you become hard pressed to find a position which gives better access to really drill his hole.

And drill I did. With extreme prejudice. Hah!

Justin, not to be left out, twisted Dave's head to the side and started to make out with him. I sat there, watching my bottoms make out, while I just drilled the fuck out of Dave completely turned me on. It'd only been 15-20 minutes since I’d entered his hole, but I could already feel the orgasm building. Typically I hate blowing my nut if I haven't fucked for at least an hour. I like it long. Knowing that I had two willing, available holes who would stay until I was completely sated, however, gave me the freedom to cum at any time.

Gripping his thighs so hard I left bruises, I shoved my fully into his hole. I thrust my head forward, joining the two in a wet, moan filled three-way kiss as I shot my load into the rubber. I could feel Dave's cock against my groin, which was, curiously, jerking and pulsing every time my own cock pulsed out a shot of cum.

Fucking hot!

As I withdrew from his hole, both of them looked at me uncertainly with a, "are we done now?" look clear on their faces.

I pulled off the rubber without a word, grabbed a wet towel and cleaned off my cock. I grabbed Dave's neck, and forced his head down onto my tool as I reached for Justin with the other hand and pulled him into a kiss.

No my boys, the day was just beginning.

At some point I called the desk and made a bullshit excuse that necessitated a late checkout. They assured me it was no problem, and that I had until 1500.

Guess what time they left?

As I watched the now extremely loose bottoms walk out of the room in charity with each other, I grinned in satisfaction. I'd fucked plenty of hole over the weekend, managed an impromptu threesome, and had some awesome sex. True, it ended up costing me $500 in hotel and food charges, but, what the fuck. Nothing in life is free, right?

I totally have to do this again.

~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

Weekend of Sexual Indulgence, III

2007-07-31T21:21:00.001-07:00

When I woke up Saturday morning, it was in a sweat. I'd slept wonderfully, if sweatily, and was ready for the new day. I put on some shorts, a tank top and my running shoes, grabbed my credit card, called for early maid service, and left the hotel. I jogged down Pine Street, ran along Pike Place Market, cut through and went down to Western Avenue to jog along the water front. It was a bit breezy, overcast, but perfect weather for a short run.

I stopped by Starbucks on the way back to grab an Americano, no calories you know, and a shortbread cookie and headed back to my room.

Smelling myself in the elevator, I got inside and took a quick shower, sparing a brief moment of pity for the maid who'd had the job of cleaning up last nights mess, and emerged clean, refreshed and ready to get dirty. Very, very dirty.

Out came my MacBook Pro to quickly reference who was on deck for today. In my spare time during the week, I'd made an Word document with the screen names, any details and stats I'd learned and the pictures that I'd seen or received for each potential fuck. Jorge, Brandon, Paul, Chris, Mike, Craig and Shawn. Quite a collection. While I had them stacked, in some cases nearly back to back, knowing the tendency of homos to flake I figured I'd have some wiggle room. Hopefully.

All of them gave me cell numbers as a way to reach them. Deciding to stick with the order, I looked at the pictures of Jorge, a 5'10" hispanic guy with short black hair, brown eyes, and an average build and cock, and pulled out my phone. While he wasn't overly hot, he was eager and had begged me to pound him til he screamed for mercy. Which is certainly doable. More than doable.

I smiled, thumbed the in his phone number, and grinned again when I heard his sleepy voice croak, "hello?"

"Jorge, this is Mike from Manhunt. How's it going?"

"OH! Mike! Hey man, not bad," he said, voice perking up, "just, you know, laying in bed..."

"Well," I said, "get the fuck out of your bed, and get the hell into mine. I'm naked (I wasn't), hard (true), and waiting impatiently for some hole (more true). Now move." I clicked off the phone, entered the hotel room number into a text message and sent it to him, ignoring his return call. I stripped down, more careful this time of where I tossed the clothes, and sprawled out on the bed. Thinking ahead, I got up and went to the door, propping it open with the lock so he could let himself in and find me hard and waiting.

I heard the knock when he finally arrived, about 25 minutes later, and shouted "come in". He didn't hesitate; immediately the door opened and I got my first glimpse of Jorge.

Hooking up from the net is fraught with perils. Guys don't always look as advertised, be it height, weight, age, or even race (yes, I once had a black guy try to use the pic of a white dude to get me into bed. I don't have anything against black guys, but am not typically sexually attracted to them and I'm against ANYONE who lies in order to get me to fuck). Jorge, unfortunately, was one of those. While he looked similar to his pictures in most respects, he'd very obviously put on at least 35 pounds since they were taken. The face was chubbier and the previously average body now sported a decent belly.

Not good.

The conversation on Manhunt had focused mainly on my desire to wreck his hole. He wanted to get pounded, and I wanted to pound. Before, even with the average body, he'd sported a flat stomach, and ok build. What stood before me stirred absolutely no desire to put my cock anywhere near his hole. In fact, my previously hard shaft was now rapidly deflating.

The silence lengthened and I am pretty sure he knew why. I couldn't imagine that I was the first guy who'd had this reaction with the lying son of a bitch. He stood there, in front of the bed, now twiddling his fingers almost spasmodically, looking as if he wanted to say something but didn't dare.

Ugh. I hate homos sometimes.

"Dude. You don't look like your pictures at all. I specifically asked," I said, anger slightly coloring my tone, "if you were height and weight proportionate, and if you still sported the body in those pics. You assured me you did and you were as the pictures showed. Honestly, are you stupid enough to think you truly look like that now?"

Having been sexually active for over a decade, I knew how homos in general, and the passive-aggressive Seattle fags specifically, operate. This was quite possibly the first time he'd ever been spoken to that bluntly or called out on his lie. Most guys will make an excuse which both people know is a lie, but avoids uncomfortable confrontations, to get out of a soured hookup. Others go through with it as a mercy fuck, unwilling to tell the other person no. And a few others will apologetically say, "Sorry man, I just don't think we're a match... It's not you, it's me."

Well, I wasn't the lying bastard in this situation, so I felt disinclined to be the bad guy. I lay there, arms crossed over my chest, cock now completely limp, and waited for an answer. Judging by the stunned look on his face and the increasing glistening around the eyes, I'd say the point had hit home. Aw, fuck. I didn't need or want to deal with tears. Goddam,it.

I sighed, patted the bed next to me, and after he finally sat down, read him the riot act.

I wasn't willing to fuck a guy who'd lied to me and whom I wasn't sexually attracted to. I didn't, however, mind getting blown. Fuck, it was just head and I could close my eyes and expend no effort in it, so what the hell. I told him if he had no problem with that, then we were good. If he did, then he could walk the fuck out the door. Period.

Apparently, blowing me was good enough. Almost before I'd finished speaking his mouth was glued to my cock, giving me what turned out to be one of the better blowjobs in my life. Not bad for a fat mexican.

I let him do his thing, licking, sucking, slurping and swallowing my cock at his own speed and in his own way. As I lay there with my eyes closed, imagining Jon from the night before sucking my cock, I decided I needed a bit more say in the play. Both hands found his head, and like a machine, I set the pace for a steady rhythm to skull fuck him with.

He never even flinched.

Repositioning his head and body, he lengthened his neck and opened up the back of his throat and took every jab of my cock with an expertise I thoroughly enjoyed. He got me close, would sense it and back off, as much as I'd let him, keeping me on edge three times. Towards the end I refused to let him off, gripping his head and slamming his nose against my pubes, unloading the 9 hours or so of pent up cum to flow into his gullet.

Much better. I walked to the bathroom, not even deigning to glance at him, dismissal clear from my demeanor, and was glad to hear the door close as I peed.

At least he took the hint.

Happy to have cum, but dissatisfied with both the guy and the lack of being able to fuck hole, I looked at the list and called Brandon.

A saucy little bottom, he had a mouth on him and a sense of humor that had me laughing and rising to genuinely good spirits. Flaming, but unashamed of it, he was a great lay and just fun to be around. When he finally begged off to a late lunch date he had with friends I was actually disappointed to see his backside heading towards the door, all six feet of him sashaying with attitude. A flamer, true, but a good lay for all of that.

Paul, Chris and Mike blurred together next. None were spectacularly hot or ugly and not one of them were more than average lays. While I certainly enjoyed fucking each of them, by the time Mike had left, the fact that I'd fucked five guys by that time and only one of them had been really good bummed me out.

Hoping to finally get a good, last lay of the day, I rolled the dice and called Shawn instead of Craig. Shawn, from his pictures, was hot as hell. About 5'9" with 7" of nice cock, he swam competitively and had the body to prove it. Ripped, lean and with great definition, he sported the bleached, punkish surfer look to perfection. He also, so he claimed, wanted to get used hard. Very hard.

I dialed his number and gave my quick introduction when he answered. He said he was horny as fuck and was ready now. I gave him my details and smiled when he said he would see me in 20.

I lay on my bed and watched TV. With 3 minutes to go, I was starting to get antsy. When my clock showed he was now 5 minutes late, I started to get pissed. When that lengthened to 15 minutes late, I entered the "I just got flaked on" stage. This stage was characterized by a massive outburst of quick anger, followed by blowing my load into my hand. Or towel. I didn't bother to call him; his type never answers, the fuckers just get their jollies off from their online fantasies and being chased and pleaded with.

I wasn't playing.

I blew my load into the hand towel I'd put on the night stand and headed back to the shower. I was fed up with sex, scary thought, and decided to call Zane. Maybe we could go see a movie or hit Nordstrums. Something.

Todays score: Guys, 5. Good lays, 1. Lying bastards 1. Average fucks, 3. Flakes, 1.

Just another day in a gay mans sex life. Fuck.

Tomorrow, I hoped, would be better.

~Mike

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Weekend of Sexual Indulgence, II

2007-07-30T22:12:00.001-07:00

Jon was early. 2 minutes and 12 seconds early, to be exact. But I wasn't counting. Really. Much.

Fine, I was horny as fuck and wanted to sink my cock into hole.

The knock on the door at 20:42:48 was a bit timid, almost uncertain. I walked to the door, cock semi-hard and flopping against my legs, and opened it. His hand was raised as if he was about to knock again, and he looked a bit taken aback that I was standing, door fully open, naked with my cock rapidly hardening. Fuck, I didn't care. I was focused on only one thing.

I smiled at him after a moment and asked, "So, did you actually want to come in?" He stammered out a yes, still clearly taken aback, offered a smile and crossed the threshold.

His ass was mine. Now I just had to claim it.

We wasted no further words on talk. As soon as I turned back around, I picked him up from behind and carried him to the bed. I tossed him onto the king-sized bed, a queen is too small for my frame, and proceeded to strip off his clothes. I was impressed at the closeness between his pictures on Manhunt and what I was seeing in reality. He was maybe an inch shorter than he claimed, I'd peg him around 5'7", but had a beautiful body. A cross between a gymnast and a swimmer's build. He had the classic Aryan coloring, blond hair, blue eyes, and a slight tan that served to offset his coloring a bit, which gave him a surfer boy appeal. Great tone, perfect size for his frame, he had just a smattering of hair leading from mid belly down to his groin in a thin trail. Perfect.

It was a trail I wanted to explore. In depth.

I groped my way down his body, tossing his pants carelessly to the side, wincing when the light went as the the lamp I'd knocked over burnt out, and swallowed his 6.5" cock in a single gulp. It had good girth, was cut, and perfectly straight. All in all, it was a pretty nice dick. With my body covering his, my drooling cock smashed up against his face, I felt his mouth open and begin to tongue probe for my dick. I lifted up my groin a bit, allowing him to get a mouthful, and started to slowly pump his mouth.

I let go of his cock with my mouth and moaned as his throat finally, truly, opened up and slid my cock in. He giggled, as much as one can with 9" of cock snaked down a throat, as my trimmed pubes brushed up against the underside of his nose. Starting to gag, he tried to scoot down the bed to let some cock out of his mouth. I held him by the shoulders, kept my cock in place and slowly began to fuck his mouth. Slow, gentle, easy strokes.

I felt the tension go out of his shoulders as we fell into a rhythm, enjoying the feeling of his hands kneading my ass as he began to really get into it. I love head, but I don't actually cum from it. Or, rather, I do very, very rarely. So, while I enjoyed his superb cock-sucking skills, it was for something else that I was truly looking forward to.

I withdrew my cock from his lips and in one motion, picked up his 150 pound frame, and turned him over so that his ass was up in the air. I started alternatively licking and slapping his ass, allowing his beautiful, white bubble ass to turn a rosy red. Every sharp smack of my hand, I watched his body quiver, my free hand wrapped around his cock and feeling it spasm in time to my slaps. He moaned in pain; he writhed in pleasure.

This kid was hot, no question about it. Beautiful body, great face, talented all around, I didn't want to waste my enjoying his hole by loosening him up. Nay, I wanted him tight, taut and squirming. In pleasure, of course. Yes...pleasure. Hmm.

I rolled on the waiting condom with one hand, while my other hand pulled his meaty cheeks apart. Exposed, quivering to the air was a perfect, hairless pucker. Clean and tight, I could tell from his cocksucking that he knew what he was doing, but from the look of his hole wasn't a total cum dumpster bottom whore. Excellent. After all, some dudes' holes you see and you just know they're wrecked; a loose, ugly mass of flesh that couldn't get donkey off. None of that shit here!

I pumped two squirts of Gunoil into my palm, slathered it onto my condom clad cock, and put the head against his rosebud. I felt him take a breath, but before he could finish inhaling, I rammed it in. Hard.

Apparently, that gave the cue for the rodeo, because he reared up so fast that he nearly threw me off the bed. As it was, I had a hard enough time holding him down, half of my cock lodged in him. He struggled a bit, trying to squirm away, but I held him underneath me. Cock slowly, but surely, slipping bit by bit deeper into his hole as he lay there pinned.

I could tell when the pain really stopped, his breathing steadied, and the squirming changed to a slowly increasing thrust of his ass backwards to meet the cock worming its way in and out of his hole. Taking that as a good sign, I gripped his shoulders tight and plunged the last 3 inches or so up his hole. He shuddered a bit, but like a good bottom, took it like a man. Quietly.

Good boy.

I got up onto my knees and pulled him into a half doggie position. With both hands, I had his ass cheeks spread, and stared entranced at the sight of my shaft disappearing into this beautiful mound of an ass. The slapping sounds of my groin and balls against his ass filled the room, along with his increasingly vocal pleas for me to rail the fuck out of him. A plea I heartily obliged.

I picked him up and carried him to the wall, leaning him against it. The pressure he could apply backwards, pushing off the wall, allowed the hardest, roughest rhythm that his body and hole could handle.

I fucked him for over an hour that first time. His tight hole, goddammit, continuously forced me to slowdown, if not completely stop, to keep from cumming. It was worth it. When I had him missionary, feet behind his ears as I rammed my cock up his chute, I felt the irrevocable feeling of my load rising from my nuts. Mashing my mouth against his, tongue demanding, mouth taking, I blew my wad into the rubber as I stuck my cock in deep enough to clean his tonsils.

Ahhhh. Fuuuck yes.

As I lay there, panting a bit, kissing him, I realized he hadn't cummed. Hadn't even jacked off.

Eh. He could do that in round two.

Originally, Jon had said he only had an hour and a half to fuck. I ended up fucking him three times, his tortured, now puffy ass lips finally staggered out of my room at 23:46. Three hours later.

God, I'm good.

Three loads, 2 pints of sweat, and a beer whiz later, I was considerably more dehydrated than when I'd started. Easy fix. I cracked open another two beers.

While I worked on re-hydrating myself, I felt my cock twitching. Jon was a hot fuck, to be sure, but I had still wanted to fuck and he hadn't been able to take it. I needed more hole.

Time to call Jason.

Picking up my phone, I brought up the recent calls section, selected his number and hit dial. It didn't even finish ringing before I heard a breathless, "Hello??". I didn't bother with small talk. "Dude. I'm drunk. And horny. You gonna put out or what?"

37 seconds later I was once again leaning back on the bed, naked, waiting for a guy to come over and bring me his hole. I thought, briefly, about tidying up the evidence of my previous fuck, but decided against it. Between the lingering and unmistakable smell of sex still in the air, to the lube stains all over the bed, there was no covering up what had just happened. Might as well embrace it.

When I heard the knock, I rose from the bed and headed for the door. Once again, I threw it open, not caring about who was on the other side and could see my naked ass. The reaction, however, was quite different. Where Jon had been nervous and stammered, Jason gave me a cool, almost professional up and down stare and then walked forward into the room with out a word.

Well. Someone thought high of himself. As I closed the door, he turned around, studying me again, and simply said, "So, you were busy earlier because you had to fuck some other dude. That's classy."

Yeah. My opinion of Jason was rapidly decreasing. Fortunately, judging from the rather noticeable tent forming in his pants, whether or not he approved of what I had done before hand, his body still liked what stood before him. It knew one thing: hot, naked, hung top 2 feet away. Spread. Legs. Now.

It was my job to help that desire along.

Before he could blink, I was on him. Hands pinning his arms to his side, I lifted him up, and laid him out on the bed. A bit taller than Jon, about 5'10" but with a slimmer, leaner build, a shock of brown hair and a set of pale gray eyes, his body fit well against mine, his weight easy to toss around. And I did.

Within a minute I had his lean body naked, ass up, spread out before me. Just as I had done with Jon, I didn't waste time on loosening up his allegedly all-top virgin hole, but rather looked forward to possibly plucking his cherry hole untouched by tongue or fingers.

He tensed considerably when he realized what was going on, his cheeks clamping together as I tried to probe with my cock. Frustrated, I smacked his ass. Hard. Judging by his grunt, it was harder than I'd intended. Guess that was one beer too many. Oh well.

His cheeks loosened a bit, and getting a bit grip, I spread them apart as far as possible. My cockhead now against his hole, the room itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Fuck if I cared. I stabbed down as hard as I could, wanting to break through the ring first try. Hmm...judging from the vise-like grip of his hole and the ensuing fight he put up, maybe he hadn't been lying about the top-only thing. Shit.

Too late now.

With about a third of my dick up his hole, I tried to hold on. Jason wasn't screaming, but he definitely made his discomfort known with a litany of "holy fuck, stop" and "take it out, goddamit". I tried to hold on, but the strength of his writhing was enough to nearly knock me loose. Frustrated, and beginning to get irritated, I finally put a stop to his bullshit. Putting all my weight on my cock and groin, holding myself up on my elbows, I punched the mattress about two inches to the right of his head and then again with the other hand on the other side. Fists holding me up, each one mere inches from his head, his protests suddenly decreased. A lot.

Oops. I was just repositioning, that's all. I swear.

What began as a weird fuck, finished the same way. I never really got into it, and while I loved the fact that I robbed him of his cherry that night, it was nowhere near as hot as plowing the little swimmer/gymnast.

Oh well.

At least I wouldn't have difficulty walking in the morning. Hah!

So, that was Friday night...

~Mike

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Weekend of Sexual Indulgence, I

2007-07-29T22:36:00.000-07:00

I got home after a quick bicep/tricep workout on Friday at about 1730. I was excited; my bag was packed for the weekend, along with two 20 packs of Magnums and two bottles of Gun Oil. As I didn't want to smell myself on the drive to Seattle, I took a quick shower, put on some shorts and a tank top and headed for I-5.

By the time I made it through traffic and got to the Hyatt it was already almost 1900. I called up Zane and, after several minutes of bickering, agreed on a place to eat. We couldn't agree on anything nice, he wanted El Gaucho and I wanted Crush, so we settled on something average. We finished dinner with some drinks at the Hyatt's in-house restaurant and, with a hug, parted ways for the evening. Zane was going to some house party up in Queen Anne, I was going several flights up for a weekend of fucking.

I got into the room, booted up my MacBook Pro and logged onto Manhunt.net. I had an additional 19 responses, all asking to fuck or replies to early enquiries I had made. Very promising.

Over the course of the week, starting on Monday, I had made a rough schedule of who and when I would be fucking. I had two guys penciled in for tonight: Jon, a tight little bottom living on Capitol Hill and Jason, who claimed to be a top who wanted to "try bottoming for the first time". Right. Who the fuck wants a nine inch cock as their first time? Fucking lying fags. He was hot though, so, what the fuck.

Jon was due to arrive at 2100. I messaged him on MH and let him know that I'd checked in, the room was ready, and to get his ass over as soon as he could. He laughed, said he could be there about 2045, a bit earlier than planned, and would text me when he was on his way.

Jason was the more iffy of the two. He had simply said "get ahold of me that night", a typical answer with homos when you try to plan things out past, I don't know, 2 hours. Jesus. So, I sent him a MH instant message and told him I was at the hotel and asked if he was going to be free about midnight. He sent me his phone number and asked me to give him a call. Ok. Sure, why not.

I entered his number, and he promptly answered. He had a pretty sexy voice- not too deep, not overly effeminate, just normal and with a slight accent that I couldn't place. He asked what I was up, and after all of 5 seconds of small talk, I asked my question regarding if he would be free later again. He said probably not, he was horny now and couldn't wait that long. Too fucking bad, I said, if you want my cock, wait. Otherwise, find a different top.

Hah. Always the trump card.

As there is a severe shortage of good looking, hung tops in the Seattle area, especially outgoing not-playing-typical-Seattle-coy-bullshit-games kind of guys, I was pretty much guaranteed to get what I wanted. I had him dead to sights, and he knew it. He sighed, with a slightly bitter tone to his voice, and replied that he could wait till midnight. He supposed. With a strong suggestion that I should be grateful. I laughed. "Great Jason, I'll give you a call around 11:30PM to double check. Ok?" He said ok, and without further ado, I clicked off the phone.

Too much talking. Made me thirsty. I pulled out a bottle of the Fat Tire beer that I had next to the bed in an ice chest, popped the top, and took a generous swig. I heaved myself up off the bed, stripped down, put the rubbers and lube on the night stand and got ready to have Jon come over.

Everything was set, the boys were confirmed and had their marching orders. Now, I just had to wait.

Fuck, I hated the being patient thing.

~Mike

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Sunday Morning Interlude

2007-07-29T08:55:00.000-07:00

I just woke up. I'm laying in bed at the hotel, and did a quick, groggy, glance around the room. The hotel's cheap, black, waste basket is next to the bed, filled with 15 or so condoms and two empty bottles of lube. There are stained towels scattered everywhere, discarded remnants of the last two days of sex. It's almost 0900. I have to check out by 1300, I got an extension, and I have 3 more guys to bang before that.

Fuck, I'm hungry.

Time for breakfast! Can anyone say Broadway Grill?

~Mike

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Goodnight, and Good Luck

2007-07-27T00:09:00.000-07:00

Since I began this blog, I have faithfully written something everyday. I mean, what's the point of a daily journal if you aren't going to keep it up?

With my weekend of fleshly delights starting tomorrow, however, there will likely be a lull in major posts. I'll try to add short snippets in between rounds, but I currently have 11 guys scheduled and will be on the hunt for more. To maximize time, doncha know?

The first of the posts focusing on the weekend will probably be up Sunday night, but definitely by Monday afternoon. Stay tuned!

~Mike

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The Quickie and the Hospital

2007-07-26T12:45:00.000-07:00

If you've ever heard the term "quickie", then you know the wide range of implications the word holds. Fast, typically sleazy, just-to-get-your-nut-off type of sex. This morning I had a quickie.

Last night, I got home, went through my routine at the gym where nothing even remotely exciting happened, went home, made a protein shake and two chicken breasts for dinner and proceeded to walk Shade. Fun. After my trott/walk with Shade, I took a shower and settled down for the night. Exciting, eh? I was more tired than I suspected; the next thing I knew, I was nearly leaping out of my skin as my alarm screeched it's wake up call. Remote still in hand, with a crick in my neck from how I'd propped myself up to watch TV in bed, I dragged myself out of bed and to the shower.

It was one of those mornings.

Today, fortunately, I was not expected at work. For those of you who don't know the greater Seattle or Puget Sound area and its military environs, allow me to briefly describe it. The Puget Sound area stretches from Olympia (the state Capitol) in the south to Everett just north of Seattle, for a total distance of roughly 75 miles. About 3 million or so people live in that stretch. This includes the 30,000 soldiers at Fort Lewis, 8,000 or so airmen at McChord Air Force Base, and another 25,000 or so squids (navy folk) and Marines at various locations around Puget Sound.

With base realignment and eyes on saving costs, new encouragement is placed on "joint" military infrastructure services. Typically, this means sharing facilities and resources where it is feasible, while typically inconvenient, to do so. The Army, unfortunately, has the largest medical facility in the region, known as MAMC for the Madigan Army Medical Center. For major repair work, surgeries, or specialties that aren't supported at your home installation, a servicemember travels to Fort Lewis and for treatment at Madigan. Such a fun trip. Today, I got to experience it first hand.

As I sat bored in a waiting room at Madigan, a thought came to mind. While I really didn't want to drive to Lewis in the first place, there were a number of cute guys stationed here that I've hooked up with in the past.

I pulled out my RAZR (I really need to upgrade to something better. I want an iPhone but they're so goddamned expensive, fuck), scrolled down to the FT L section of my phone book and scanned for the screen name I remembered as the best fuck. Hey, its hard to keep track solely by names. The Josh's or Joe's or Nick's... they all blur together given time, but I've found I tend to remember the screen names. Of the hot ones at least. Anyway, I hit dial after I highlighted "FT L hotbttm-redo", and by the second ring heard his voice.

"Hello?"

"Hey bro, its Mike, *********** from Manhunt? I'm stuck at Madigan after driving a friend down (lie), and have some free time to kill...whatsup?"

"Hey Mike, been awhile! I'm actually at work. Weird, but I work at the Medical Mall attached to Madigan. Maybe 4 minutes' walk from you. Where you at?"

From there it was simply a matter of logistics. We agreed to meet at the Medical Mall's main atrium near the Pharmacy in 10 minutes. I ended the call, got up, and quickly told the receptionist I needed to use the latrine and would be back shortly. As they were backlogged due to some reason or another, my leaving wasn't an issue.

I headed down to the atrium and saw him standing near the wall, staring idly at a map of the hospital. I came up, clapped him on the back, and led him down the hall towards the Pharmacy. Taking care to ensure no one was paying us overt attention, we entered one of the many single-person lockable latrines. He opened his mouth to say something, but I was on a time crunch. I put my hands on his shoulders, pushed down hard and let him lick the front of my now bulging pants.

I leaned against the wall, hands on his head with my eyes closed, and just let him go to town. He unzipped my fly, reached in and pulled out my cock, licking the head and trying to tease me. I was having none of it: I grabbed his head, and he quickly opened up his mouth and throat to avoid my cock drilling a hole through his skull. Head tilted as far back as possible, eyes turned up at me in a glare, he looked up at me with a "you asshole" expression on his face. I just grinned back. He snorted, somehow, and it tickled the head of my shaft.

Fuck, yes. Nothing like good head in the morning.

And good he was. I stood there, up against the wall, enjoying and savoring every minute of his blowjob, hands ramming my cock in and out of his throat so fast I was shocked he could still breath. During one particularly violent thrust, I pulled back too far and my cock slipped out of his mouth. Panting, he grabbed the base and murmured, "Ohmigod. I fucking love your dick. It's sooo much bigger than my boyfriends'."

Well, fuck. That's kinda hot. Hell yeah! I didn't allow him to utter another word, and shoved my dick back down his gullet to shut him up. As he sat there taking my cock, I just relaxed and enjoyed his ministrations with a smile. As he sucked, I felt the stirrings start deep in my nuts. It was time. With a grunt that echoed of the walls I started to blow and rammed my cock into his blow-hole as far as I could. I kept it there, allowing it to shoot its volley. I fed him the entire load.

He drank every drop. Willingly. The greedy cum whore.

I'm not really sure if he'd wanted to cum, or expected more action, but I pulled him up, gave him a quick peck on the lips and pointed out that he should leave first since two people leaving a one person latrine was slightly weird. In a hospital. On an army base. Where he worked.

He left.

I quickly closed the door behind him and sat down on the toilette for a moment to catch my breath, enjoying the afterglow of my orgasm and the glorious absence of small talk. Remembering my shenanigans at the Harry Potter movie, I pulled out a pen and left my mark on the wall. Looking at my handiwork, I smiled, put my still dripping cock into my briefs, 2xist Soy today thank you, and left.

Considering I had a sexual lull last month, this month seems to be picking up. Not bad, I'm almost into the teens.

If I could get service like that every time I had to come here, I'd reconsider my feelings on cumming to Madigan!

~Mike

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Questions and Answers, Take 1

2007-07-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

So, I've gotten two comments on postings and several e-mails since I started this blog. The comments were encouraging; the e-mails, not so much.

I thought for today, as the weather is nice and I am stuck inside an office at the moment with jack shit to do, I'd address what seem to be recurring questions and issues.

1) Question: "Are you for real?"
Yes. Just checked, pulse is still there.

2) Question: "Are you really an active duty Marine? Your blog looks too smart for it to be true."
This question has, by far, been asked most often. It pisses me the fuck off. A lot. For those of you out there who have a sterotype of Marines specifically and military personnel in general as being stupid and incompetent, I say F-U-C-K Y-O-U. While there are, I admit, people who aren't the brightest bulbs in the box, there are plenty Marines who have degrees and are extremely intelligent. Doubting my authenticity simply because I sound too smart, or too polished, is fucking ridiculous. I can write and I take pride in doing it well. It's that simple.

3) Question: "I know a bunch of military guys in Seattle, and I don't know you, and I know most of them - what gives?"
When I said I changed some details in order to keep my identity secret, I meant just that. I am not looking to give an over abundance of details to point fingers at any specific person (in most cases) or at myself. My free time is also evenly split between gay and straight groups of friends. The two do not intermix. Perhaps you haven't met me, or perhaps you have and simply do not know I'm military; I rarely advertise the fact. Regardless, if you do not like it, or think that I am fake because of it, that is your problem.

4) Question: "Can we fuck?"
Two people have asked this... and I don't really know how to reply. I didn't create this blog to get hookups, I get plenty of sex as it is. I suppose that could be a fringe benefit. Hmm. The biggest problem with meeting from my blog is that you would then be able to put who I am together with this site, something no one, as of now, can do. When I hook up a guy his only thought is that I'm hot. Typically I don't mention I'm a Marine and he knows and learns nothing else. I'm not certain I want people to be able to say "I JUST GOT STUFFED BY TOP MARINE" and put a face and name to the man. That said... I'll correspond with anyone and from there, who knows :-)

5) Question: "The pic on the site is that you?"
Yes. I had a friend Photoshop it so you can't make out my face. And no, you can not get a version with a face or with more detail.

~Mike

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Holy Decline Press, Batman!

2007-07-24T21:09:00.000-07:00

I really hate the modern image of what constitutes attractiveness: if you're a woman, it means you don't eat and if you're a guy it means you eat small meals 6-8 times a day and workout for two hours 4-6 times a week. Unless you're one of those assholes gifted with good genes and have to do neither. Fuckers.

Unfortunately, I fall into the former category, in that I am NOT gifted with good genes, and I'm a guy. I'm stuck packing little meals, protein shakes, waging a constant battle to make sure that I am on schedule with both diet and fitness to stay in shape. While the payoff is nice, who doesn't enjoy being gawked at, the amount of time and effort it requires to have such a body is enormous.

There are, however, perks.

After getting over the daily "am I going to go, fuck I don't want to go... I just want to nap!" internal conversation about the days gym attendance, I went to the gym on base for my workout. I alternate between the base gym, a local gym off base, and a gym I belong to in Seattle, depending upon where I am and what I am doing that day. No, I will not describe or mention the particular gym; I enjoy my workouts inquisition free, thanks.

Anyway, gyms are a great place to cruise. As everyone there is narcissistic to some degree and either staring at themselves or people who are bigger in envy and determination to one day look like that, you can always make eye contact with a hot guy. Tonight, I thought, was a great night to lift some weights, eye some hot cock, then head home and rub one out.

I got to the gym, changed out of my uniform, and started out with some stretching and 10 minutes of light cardio to get the heart beating. As I ran on the treadmill I noticed this cute young guy staring at me. I glanced over at him and he quickly looked away, an almost-blush hinting on his cheeks. At about 19 or 20, he was a toned 5'9" and 160 pounds. With black hair and green eyes, he had a compelling look that had me telling myself to remember I was freeballing it. Getting a woody would be a bad idea. Staring at guys. On base. Yeah.

So I turned up the volume on my iPod shuffled clipped to my wrist and focused on whatever Sum 41 song was currently blasting my hearing away. I finished my cardio and headed over to do my chest sets.

I always start with the bench press on chest days, going on to free weights and ending with the press machine and cable cross. I alternate regular, incline and decline bench presses every chest day, allowing greater variety in my routine. Today, unfortunately, was the decline day. I really, really, hate the decline press. It always feels like I'm going to get a hernia or pop hemorrhoids from the exertion.

Regardless, it was decline day. I started with a light warmup set, about 155, got up from the bench, drank some water and without realizing it locked eyes with the boy. Again.

Fuck.

With the first twinge of my shorts snake, I whirled around, sat back down on the bench and closed my eyes thinking of Rosie O'Donnel naked and asking me to fuck her while she ate a tub of Ben and Jerry's. Eww.

With my cock going back to sleep, I got up, put on my working weight, and went to it. The sexual frustration I felt at that moment had me a bit wired to try more weight than typical, and I loaded on 315 for the first working set.

I started strong, knocked out 5, but as I started to put up the 6th rep I felt the difficulty and quickly wondered if I was going to need to call for a spot.

Apparently, my difficulty was more obvious than I knew, or else the boy was paying more attention than I had realized. Either way he was there spotting me before I could call out. He smiled down at me as he put his hands palm up under the bar, and the weight went up. Easily. I returned his smile, glanced towards the ceiling and got a quick glance up his shorts. Apparently, I wasn't the only one freeballing today.

Nice. Very nice.

In between the first and second set we introduced ourselves and I thanked him for his help. We quickly decided to workout together for the rest of the day and discussed what to hit next. We went through our chest exercises, doing exercises from each of our routines, and as we made our way back to the locker room discussed grabbing dinner.

We never made it to dinner.

As we both needed to "shower", an action I typically did at home to cut down on the amount of clothing changes I needed to carry around, we decided to head back to my place first before hitting a local restaurant. When we got there, I offered him the shower first as was fitting for a guest. Declining, he insisted that I go first.

I was in the shower for all of two minutes, washing my hair in the most porn-setting of circumstances as it were, when I heard the door open and felt his hands on my back.

The rest of the shower was spent primarily with my holding him up against the wall, legs wrapped around my waist as I made out with him.

I spent the next 2 hours exploring every inch of his body and milking two loads out of each of our cocks before he finally dropped the bombshell.

"Mike, this is fucking hot, but I need to get going... my wife is going to be expecting me soon, I'm already late."

Well, fuck.

I let him finally get dressed, his hole considerably looser now than when he woke up this morning, and walked him to the door. We didn't bother to exchange numbers; we knew we'd see each other around. With a wave from his rolled-down window, he headed home to a wife who couldn't give him what he really wanted.

Which is good, because I'd gotten what I'd wanted. I'm going to sleep very well tonight.

As I finished writing this quick note, I checked my various e-mail accounts for this weekend's hotel fun. I've gotten 5 replies from some of the notes I sent out thus far... 4 of the guys, in further pictures, looked very fuck worthy, while one looked not considerably less good. Amazing what changes when you get pictures larger than a postage stamp.

3 more days to go!

~Mike

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WWW-Dot-Manhunt-A-Fuck

2007-07-23T16:15:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have never used it, Manhunt.net is a great site to find instant ass. No, I'm not doing a plug for or getting paid by the site, I simply believe that it's very good at what it is meant for: hookups. Quick hookups. While Craigslist is also a good tool for the quick fuck (and, even better, it's free), the disparity in quality from what you see at the front door is quite large: with Craigslist, it is very much a situation of "buyer beware". Oy.

As I finished up the weekend, cleaning the house, walking the dog, and reading my newest book, I reflected over the last month and realized there'd been a large decrease in the quantity of sex in comparison to a normal month. Family visits, travel, work... all had distracted me in one manner or another from getting laid. I needed, in short, some major ass.

I was whining to Zane about it over dinner at La Spiga and he jokingly recommended that I go find an orgy. Or, he laughed, just hit Club Seattle. Sleeping around having gay sex is risky enough, condoms don't protect against everything after all, but the notion of using a bathhouse made my skin crawl. Literally.

I'd also steadfastly refused to attend orgies. I'd done them before, I definitely enjoyed threesomes and the occasional small group, but the larger room-fulls of naked men didn't do much for me. Too hard to focus and getting mobbed by fucking nasty old men was never fun. So, while I didn't entertain the notion of a bathhouse romp and quickly dismissed the concept of a saturnalia style soiree, there was nonetheless something about the thought of a night or weekend full of ass-a-plenty that appealed to me. Especially considering my recent lull in fornicating fun.

As I sat there, a bit quieter than before, an idea began to form in my mind. If I got a room at the Hyatt, god bless the military rates and the gold card membership perks, I could schedule fuck after fuck after fuck. Have my own little base of operations, relax in between and just work on pounding the shit out of each guy who entered my room. With such a setup I could get as much ass as I could want.

Hmm.

So, I sat there, planning the implementation of this grand scheme and, after I got home, began to find the guys. I started by using different screen names (people notice when you are constantly on the same name trolling for sex and gossip about it) and setting up the fucks on several different sites. Gay.com, Manhunt, M4M, Craigslist... the Internet made it especially easy to get laid when you truly wanted to.

I've got the room, starting to get some contacts and holes lined up, now I just have to make it through the week and get started on pounding 10 or 20 dudes.

Fuck yeah, this is gonna be sweet!

~Mike

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Fast Food Fantasy

2007-07-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

You know, everyone in America, if not the world, knows that fast food is bad for you. As much as some fat slobs want to say "I didn't know that eating 6 happy meals a day would make me fat and disgusting", no one is really that stupid.

But. There is a reason they do it. Sometimes it's nice to just sit down, not count the calories, the laps swam or the miles run and just eat. Deal with the guilt later.

So, after having a relatively boring day, stuck inside with the rain, hanging out and just generally relaxing (primarily due to the fact that I am busily reading the new Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, currently at page 172), I decided I was hungry. Fooood.

Since I didn't really see anything overly appetizing in the fridge (left over indian was about it, and the seafood biryati rice didn't look good at all), I thought that a trip Sheri's sounded about right. So, I picked up my book, headed to Shari's and ordered a chocolate shake, mozzarella sticks, and a burger. If I am gonna fat it up, then by god I am going to do it right.

~Mike

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Chester the Molester: First Meeting

2007-07-21T00:26:00.001-07:00

I never intended to tell this story, for reasons that it is both preachy and the fact that I still find it mildly embarrassing. I'm mildly drunk, a heavy buzz at least, and figured what the fuck. So, here it goes.

In my narrow, fairly conservative worldview, there are still many things I find objectionable to my sense of moral dignity. The homos typically seem to find ways to raise my ire in just about every way. When Zane told me about this great house party at some old rich tech guys house off the end of Broadway on north Capitol Hill, I was skeptical, but, figured what the hell.

We ate dinner at a place not far from the site of the party, a tasty restaurant called Deluxe. After paying our check, we got into the car, and headed for Broadway and then onto 10th Ave. We reached the house, and my first thought was “holy fuck!”.

When Zane said that it was a rich tech guy, I figured he would have a nice place, but not, you know, rich rich. This guy, Chester, apparently was actually rich. Good god, what a house.

Between the three stories, picturesque views of both down town Seattle and Lake Union, you knew this wasn’t the type of home that went for less than several million. We parked the car on a side street, walked to the door and rang the bell.

Chester answered the door promptly. My first impression of him was that he was a decent, middle aged computer guru enjoying his money. About 5’8”, thinning, lank blond hair, a round melon like face, and the pudge of a man in his 40s who enjoyed life and didn’t work out.

He held out his hand, and introduced himself. We all shook hands, followed him into his gorgeous house, and followed as he played the consummate host. He led us on a quick tour of the premises, and from the upper floors, the sound of music and conversation drifted down.

When the tour ended at the third floor at the party, a fairly small affair in terms of number of attendees, the first thing that struck me was the age and type of guys at the party. At 26, I looked to be the oldest person at the party, minus Chester. Zane, 2 years older than I, looked about 20 and his perennial twinkish looks made him a perfect candidate for the crowd here.

As I looked around the room, noting some of the conversations, the looks, the booze, the image forming in my mind rapidly resolved into clarity. Picture this: a wealthy, older, fairly unattractive man, generous with his money, throws a party for young, cute, twink guys most of whom were undoubtedly underage. While I wasn’t certain any of them were young enough for the label to be accurate, the word “pedophile” was certainly prominent in my mind at that moment.

Fuck. Not the sort of place a closeted marine homo needs to be if the cops descend.

Eh, fuck it.

We mingled around, my attention falling on a sexy, mixed heritage guy and rapidly struck up a conversation. Most of the guys here, cute as hell to be sure, were undoubtedly bottoms. The fact that I was older, good looking, and very obviously a top, was attracting a bit of attention in and of itself.

At that moment, Chester, came up and started the conversation, with the boy I’d been talking to taking the hint and drifting away. He handed me a drink, a rather well made Long Island, watched his as yet untouched drink in his hand while I sipped at mine and conversed. He made a lot of the usual small talk, asked my thoughts on Iraq, how was life in the service, yada yada yawn, until he politely excused himself and drifted away.

Blinking, I noticed that I’d drained my glass during the interminable chit-chat and already felt trashed. As a fairly large guy, who drinks regularly and greatly, I knew my limits. There is no way in fuck that one Long Island, especially in the size cup he’d used, could get me this fucked up, this fast.

Holy shit. Did that fucker drug me? I managed to stagger my way to the balcony, avoiding any possible confrontation and resulting beat down with Chester, and sat down heavily. Almost immediately I heard a noise behind me, and, before I could react, was greeted to my sexy boy rubbing my shoulders.

Within seconds I’d managed to grope him into position on my lap, and for the next hour we made out, groped and managed to do everything short of put my dick inside him on that balcony. Instead of feeling better, however, as time went on, I felt even loopier.

The next morning I woke up, naked, in a spare bedroom, the boy on the other side of the bed snoring, and rubbers all around the room. I groaned, trying vainly to remember what had happened, and rubbed my pounding head.

Holy shit, I had to get the fuck out of this fucked up house.

I grabbed my clothes, uncaring if the boy woke up or not. I left the room, ignoring the site of Chester at the bar casually drinking coffee in a terrycloth robe, and left the house. I thumbed on my cell phone, noticed the 14 or so missed texts and calls from Zane and promptly flagged down a taxi to head for his house.

I’m not sure what was in my drink, what Chester had had in mind, or what the hell happened between me and that boy, but I’ll tell you one thing: rich old guys being “nice and generous” to hot young guys are all trying for one thing. To get laid.

Thank god my hole didn’t hurt.

~Mike

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Harry Potter and the Order of Tuna

2007-07-20T00:05:00.001-07:00

Marines are men. Manly, manly men. Grr.

In order to keep up this reputation, there is a guide of Marine etiquette that we are required to follow. It goes something like this:

1. If in bar, start fight.
2. If lose fight, make other person bleed.
3. Always find chick to fuck.
4. DO NOT READ HARRY POTTER.

So, not only do I violate two of the four rules, and on a fairly regular basis, but I was about to make it worse by actually daring to see a Harry Potter movie. In public. With friends. Tonight.

I've never been so ashamed.

Taking comfort the movie has been out for a week and the crowds would be low, I stood with my hat pulled down waiting in line at a ticket kiosk while Zane chattered into his cell phone. As I looked around, bored, I took note of the people standing around the lobby of the Meridian 16 waiting for friends, tickets, or both. A cute blond girl, about 20 from the looks of her with a rather sizeable rack straining against her green cami, was having a shrill conversation on her cell phone about 5 yards to my right. Apparently, her friends were running late and, judging from her complaints, wanted her to save several seats.

Lucky her.

She tossed her head as she spoke and we locked eyes momentarily, her conversation instantly forgotten. She smiled and looked ready to say something, so I gave her a little grin and promptly turned back towards the front. Fuck, that was close.

As the fat woman with her two dough-boy like children in front of me waddled away from the kiosk, I wiped her greasy finger prints off the screen and purchased tickets for myself, Zane and our friends Steve and Lane. We made our way up the multiple escalators, gave our tickets to the bored looking high school drop-out behind the table and made our way to theater 13.

Yippie.

Don't get me wrong. Believe it or not, I was actually excited to see the movie. As a closeted Harry Potter afficiando, typically I see the movies in the comfort of my own home. Where there are no people to gossip about my being there. Yeah, weird, I know. Fuck off.

We entered the theater, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, and looked for seats. Typically, I enjoy sitting in the middle of the middle row. Middle middle. Great place. That, damnit all, was taken by the fat woman and her ugly kids, so we went two rows behind them and tried our best to ignore the smell. As we sat there, bullshitting about where to go that night and what to do, the cute blond girl came in and sat down towards the left side of the middle column of seats and promptly got onto her cell phone.

Stupid bitches and their phones. Zane, catching onto the disgust the three of us directed at the chittering blond cunt several rows in front, closed his phone and quieted down to join in the conversation. As she sat there on her phone, a group of 3 guys came up to her and said "excuse me" to get her to move in order to get by.

"Hold on," she said into the phone. Turning to the guys, she said, "Actually, I'm sooo sorry, but these seats are saved. Like, my friends were caught in traffic, which totally sucks, you know?, and they will be here in like 4 minutes. So, can you, like, sit somewhere else? Thanks!" She managed to say all this without breathing in about 2 seconds. The group of guys looked at her, one looking ready to argue, before they finally muttered and moved down to the next row.

She promptly got back on her phone.

After what seemed like hours of hearing her gossip on her phone, trying not to smell the fat woman, and putting up with Zane, Steve and Lane's teasing suggestions about fucking the chick currently glued to her phone, the lights dimmed and we faced the assault by the previews. My poor eyes.

The blond’s friends picked this moment to enter the theater, and rather noisily made their way to their seats. Apparently Ms. Gossip Queen said something in the whispered conference conducted as they settled in, since they turned, almost as one, and stared at the 4 of us. At me.

Their attention made my skin crawl, and as they started to giggle, their heads merged, hands over their mouths, and whispered together while staring straight at us.

Too fucking weird.

The annoyingly loud, garish music of the, "And now, your featured presentation!" finally came on over the speakers, and with a last nearly physical assault of their eyes, the vultures turned around.

The movie started ok, but similar to the other Harry Potter movies it seemed disjointed. Like little clips haphazardly strung together. I always figured this came from trying to make 800 pages of text into a 2-hour film, in addition to spending the large blocks of time on the smallest, most insignificant parts (like Quidditch matches). After a good hour of the movie, my bladder was protesting against the 48 ounces of Diet Coke I'd drank, excused myself through the narrow seats, and made my way to the latrine. Stupid theater, one latrine in the whole building and it wasn't even on my floor. Fuck.

I made my way down the hallway, stopping briefly at the condiment stand to get a napkin and blow my nose. As I turned around to head towards the latrines, I nearly collided with Ms Perky-Blond-Cellphone-Tits girl who immediately smiled up at me. Great. I smiled, somewhat politely, and attempted to move around her. She intercepted me, opened her mouth, and spewed forth something suspiciously like a greeting from the chipmunks, it came out so fast. I blinked, nodded, smiled and tried to move around her again.

Apparently, as her attempt at "conversation" didn't get her the reaction she wanted, the little whore decided a more direct approach was needed. She took a step forward, boobs almost knocking me backwards, snaked a hand down my pants and stood on her tip toes to whisper in my ear.

"Lets. Fuck."

Now, pussy, as I’ve said before, is not my favorite way to go. I've been there, done that, and while I don't find it disgusting and rant about "the vaj" the way some fags do, I prefer a nice, tight, meaty ass any day of the week.

When a hand is wrapped around your cock, and a willing partner is standing there telling you that she wants your cock... what the hell do you do? If nothing else, the novelty of having a chick that forward was enough to make me give it a go.

The lobby and concessions area of the theater was deserted, the patrons all glued to their respective movie screens, and I dragged Ms Perky to the latrines on the second floor. Or she dragged me, it was hard to tell. I went in first, scouted to make sure it wasn't full, then poked my head out the door and whistled. Obedient as a collie, she came to me, slid inside the cracked door, and was on me in an instant.

In the jumble of lips and flailing arms that followed, I managed to maneuver her into a stall, sat her on the toilette, and promptly smacked her in the face with my cock. She giggled, stupid bitch, so I did it again, harder this time, and grabbed her head and aimed my shaft at her mouth.

Holy fuck!

While she wasn't the absolute best cocksucker I've ever had, she was definitely in the top five. Some part of my mind idly wondered how many cocks a slut like her had to swallow in order to get this good, but the sensations from her blowjob promptly washed my mind clean of such mundane concerns. Ohhh, fuck. Fuck yeah.

With both hands on her head, I really started to skull fuck her, ramming it down her throat as hard as I could. Never once gagging, she took it all, tongue a'swirling and mouth a'sucking. I heard a zipper and noticed that with the hand not gripping my shaft and balls, she’d opened her skirt and was furiously rubbing her clit.

Now, on women, I am not a fan of body hair, at all. Her pussy, though, shaved clean as it was, appeared so young I almost felt like a pedophile. At that moment, however, Ms Blond Bimbo did something amazing that almost made my legs buckle, and once again I focused completely on what she was doing. Getting closer to orgasm, I took my cock out of her mouth, lifted her 115 pound or so frame, and in one thrust buried my shaft up her twat.

I had a foot planted on either side of the toilette, her back against the wall, my arms effectively forming stirrups for her legs, and railed her then and there. At first, she was quiet, but as I got a good momentum going she started getting noisier. As I rubbed her clit with my thumb, she really started to get loud and I finally had to tell her to shut the fuck up and take my cock.

She did.

I got close to cumming, and, not wanting to pay the whore child support for the next 20 years, plopped her back on the toilette, taking my cock out of her and fisted my rod. She looked disappointed, but before she could really protest, I was giving her a facial she wouldn't soon forget.

Fuuuuck yeah. After the 7th good spurt, I squeezed the last few drops out and wiped it on her cheek. Her eyebrows, forehead, some of her hair, and chin were coated and dripping my seed. Plus, it’d got on my hand.

Goddamit.

I left the stall, whistling cheerfully and went to the sink. From the brief glance I had in the mirror before the stall door closed, she seemed stunned that it'd ended so quickly and finally. What the hell did she think? It was a fuck, not marriage.

I washed my hands, not bothering to dry them, and made my way back to the theater. I sat down in my seat and tried to focus on the movie. Hopefully, the detritus of my little encounter was all over her face and not me, but you never know. Sometimes the evidence gets overlooked. Oy.

Zane, damn him, wasn't fooled. "Holy fuck dude, did you just get laid?? You're sweating and I can smell the sex on you!"

I made a shushing gesture and mouthed "LATER" and he looked vaguely mollified and shifted his attention back to the movie. It was then, of course, that Ms Blond came back into the theater, walking a bit dazed, and rejoined her friends. From the look I'd given her, Zane put two and two together and started to snorkle. My pet word for something between a snort, chortle and chuckle. Good word, eh?

Even through the music of the Voldemort-Dumbledore fight, I heard her friend ask, "What happened to your hair? Its all messed up!" Having been the reason, between my hands gripping her head while she sucked my prong and my jizz globs landing in her hair, I pretty much knew why it looked so bad.

Hah! Serves her right.

As the movie finally ended, with a rather anticlimactic ending, we filed out of the theater and I braced for the pending inquisition from Zane. Before we left, I had to pee, again, and went back to the latrine and into the same stall I'd left earlier. Other than some toilette paper fragments all over the floor, there was little evidence of what we had done. Not wanting the day I was propositioned by a good-looking brazen ho to go un-acknowledged, I took out a pen from my pocket and added "TOP MARINE FUCKED HERE" to the wall of the stall. Hah!

Marked my territory.

What a way to end today. Ah, the vaj. Tastes like tuna.

~Mike

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Complaint No. 1, in C Minor

2007-07-18T10:56:00.000-07:00

I enjoy living in the Pacific Northwest. Really. I swear!

After almost two weeks of unbroken sunshine, with temperatures occasionally hitting the 90's, I was quickly reminded that Seattle is known as the "Emerald City" for a reason. It takes a lot of rain to keep things green, fuck.

As I sit around, bored, I’m grateful that I’m not sweating my nuts off in my utilities any longer. That said, I’m undecided as to whether or not sweat would be preferable to the rain falling outside. From the 90's and sunshine to the 60's and rain?

Sigh.

~Mike

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The Morning After Pill

2007-07-17T18:51:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have the kind of morning where you don’t wake up all at once? Instead, awareness comes back slowly, bit by bit, each part of your body gradually regaining sensation, furiously protesting against the rising tide of consciousness.

I hate those mornings.

I do, however, enjoy the reasons for them. For instance, getting only an hour and a half of exhausted sleep because you spent 8 or 9 hours naked in bed with a hot construction worker.

I fucking LOVE those mornings!

As I mentioned in my add-on post last night, the best fuck I had last year, and maybe in the last 5, called me out of the blue while I was driving to Seattle. After a quick conversation, it was quickly, and inevitably, decided that a hookup was necessary. I mean, you can't pass up an opportunity to fuck a hot stud you know is great in bed.

Chris is the type of guy you want to take home and introduce to your parents. He gets along with everyone, exudes a quiet yet unmistakable masculinity, and possesses a warm sense of humor. Combined with a fucking gorgeous body and stunning good looks, Chris is, simply put, damn near perfect.

Except, of course, for the catch. With guys like Chris there is always a catch. The first thing that struck me about Chris was his normality. He wore his personality and sense of self so comfortably it all but screamed “Mans man” from every pore of his body. Unfortunately, this man’s man loved the outdoors to such a degree he chose to live and work in the back country sticks of Wyoming. He absolutely refused, the rat bastard, to move anywhere else. So, while I drool and dream over Chris, I know these sporadic and short visits are all we will ever have.

Works for me!

As I pushed open the slightly ajar door to his room at the Sheraton in downtown Seattle, the first thing I noticed was the dim lighting. Usually, hotel rooms are very bright or very dark. This, in contrast, almost seemed to be mood lighting.

As I turned around from closing the door and entered the room more fully, I saw why. As my eyes adjusted to the flickering light of 10-20 assorted candles, my attention was inexorably drawn to the figure laying on his back on the king-sized bed. Nearly naked from head to toe, he'd left a small part of his body hidden by a tattered pair of Carhartt cutoffs that just barely escaped classification as Daisy Dukes.

Gulp.

Head propped up on 3 pillows with his arms behind his head, he lay there, staring at me, a small grin on his face, plainly enjoying the reaction the situation was having on my body. Mostly my anatomy. With a smiling snarl, I crossed the room and was on him before he could utter a word. Tonight, words weren’t needed.

I covered his mouth with mine, kissing him, tasting him, feeling as much of him as I could, while my hands roamed innocently up his arms and behind his head. As the zip-ties closed snuggly around his wrists, keeping his arms held back behind his head, realization of what I was up to finally dawned on him. I gave him the smug, arrogant smile that seemed to drive him wild and with a nibble to his nipple that caused a sharp intake of breath, I slowly made my way down his body.

Naturally a fairly smooth guy, Chris had an even sprinkling of chest hair that was kept trimmed close to the body. A dark blond happy-trail led from his belly button and disappeared into the top of his cutoffs. I followed the trail with my tongue, ripping the shorts open and dodged, barely, the rocketing button. Teasingly, I planted butterfly kisses around his groin, taking care to always avoid his shaft. I could hear his breathing getting shallower with each breath, his cock noticeably pulsing in time to his heart beat. I smirked at the goofy look on his face, a cross between pure pleasure and pending denial, and lapped at the spreading puddle of clear fluid forming beneath his cock head.

As he moaned beneath me, I "accidentally" brushed my stubble against the head, enjoying another quick intake of breath. I took the head of his cock into my mouth and slowly, almost languidly, began to polish just the knob of his cock.

Almost as soon as I started, I stopped. Again, I eased my way south, kissing my way lower, and buried my head between his thighs. Now, I enjoy rimming a good ass, but I'm pretty strict on the requirements: steam cleaning with a bidet and 100% cleanliness are musts. Also, there can be absolutely no signs of warts, hemorrhoids or any other random bits of dangling skin. It's just creepy.

Chris, bless him, knew this and had been prepared. His hole still had that faint, pleasant, herb-like smell of the mixture he used to scrub clean. I knew as I buried my face between his ass cheeks, repositioning his body with his legs on my shoulders for easier access, that it would be good. So, so good. Between the size of my own cock, and the knowledge that he'd taken more than a few dicks, I was always surprised at the tightness of his hole. I'd taken the cherries of guys I knew were virgins beyond a shadow of a doubt who hadn't been as tight as Chris.

I loved it.

Forcing my way past his ring, I kept my tongue up his hole while I used my lips and mouth to munch, stubble rub, and chew his ass. Judging by the fact that I now had to hold his hips down hard enough to bruise, he was enjoying it. Just a bit.

Getting him wet and ready like this was always dangerous. Chris and I are both condom nazis and never risk a rubberless fuck. The only time we'd ever fucked bare, after a night of so much drinking we were shocked to even wake up in our bed, neither of us could recall. Definitely a no-no.

The temptation of that tight, tight, sloppy-wet hole in front of me was difficult to overcome. I stopped munching his ass, and again started to kiss and rub my way back up his belly. Chris, damn him, lost in the moment, shifted his hips as I made my way north, expertly intercepting my rock hard shaft.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Even moving as slow as I had been, the bastard had still managed to get the head and first inch or so impaled inside his hole. He smiled up at me, cocky grin and a "you wanna?" look on his face, an eyebrow raised in question. In what was literally the hardest thing I ever did in my life, I popped out, and shoved him away. I reached for the rubber he'd left on the side of the bed before my arrival, ripped it apart so savagely I also ruined the rubber and had to grab a second, and within 2 seconds rammed every bit of my nine inches up his hole. Mercilessly.

I don't know how long we fucked that first time, and I don't care. He had me so wound up, so completely focused on abusing his hole, that all I could do was keep him on his stomach, arms bound and behind, with one hand on the back of his head forcing his face into the pillow.

Fuck. Yes.

I had him on the bed, I rode him on couch, I fucked him against the wall, on the floor, everywhere. There was not a square inch of that room, minus the shower, that we did not fuck on or against that first time.

While I can't really place how long we went at it, but definitely over 2 hours, I will always remember the orgasm that followed. The use of latex combined with spit as lube eventually led to a ton of friction. I had to stop and edge about 9 times, not wanting to cum, but eventually it was unavoidable. As I felt the pressure build, I pulled out of his hole and ripped off the rubber.

I gave my meat 3 or 4 quick strokes. Fuck, yeah. Sitting up on my knees, still between his thighs and staring down at him, Chris knew what was about to happen. Tossing my head back, eyes closed, hands finding my nipples, I felt the first spurt of cum exit my cock and fly. As I lost myself in the orgasm, I vaguely felt a warm, moist, pressure engulf my cock.

Ahh, fuck yes.

I thrust into that warmth, enjoying every minute of spewing my load down Chris's throat. Let the fucker taste my load. The damn cock whore needed it. Vaguely I could hear him approaching orgasm, but didn't really care. I felt too damn good to really pay attention. 7, 8, 9... finally, after almost 14 good sized squirts, my orgasm subsided, my head lolling to the side. I sighed in satisfaction, amazed at the size and strength of my orgasm, and opened my eyes.

Looking down at Chris, I was shocked to realize what had actually happened.

What I thought had been his mouth (he is by far the best cocksucker I have ever had), had, in fact, been his ass. After I'd closed my eyes and focused on cumming, he had somehow managed to move quickly enough to reposition and get his hole doggie style and onto my cock. He remembered, apparently, that I don't touch my cock when I cum. Instead, I typically prefer to get right to the verge of orgasm and then release my cock, freeing my hands to rub my nipples.

With eyes closed, hands on my nipples, and the mind-blowing orgasm preoccupying me, the little shit had sunk half of my tool into his hole and taken every drop of my 14 squirts.

Fuck.

He turned his head around to look at me, saw the look on my face, and knew I was less than pleased. A slight understatement, as I now wanted to beat the holy fuck out of him. He smiled, didn't say a word, pulled off of my cock and leaned forward to the night stand. It was then that I noticed a white envelope. Still smiling, he handed it to me, using both of his still zip-tied together hands.

I opened it, and inside were his last test result, taken the week before. It included both the rapid and mRNA HIV tests, as well as results for the full gamut of the STD spectrum. As I read through the paper he explained he'd known about this trip for several months and had gotten tested for everything. Moreover, he swore that he had not been with another person in over 4 months due to work and the general lack of guys in Wyoming. He was, he avowed, completely clean.

While the paper didn't completely mask my anger over what he'd done, it did help to drown out the immediate, quivering paranoia you get after doing something stupid. Like, I don't know, bareback sex.

He said he'd understand if I wanted to go, but that he really wanted nothing more than to spend time with me and enjoy every bit of it to the fullest. He'd taken the time to make this more than just a quick fuck. Looking around at the room, noticing the candles, the snacks and drinks, and the other thoughtful touches he'd done to prepare, I finally felt something uncoil and relaxed.

A bit.

Seeing me relax, he came to me smiling and kissed me.

I never did actually make it to dinner with Zane. Meh. What you going to do?

When I finally woke up, with that agonizingly slow recall to reality, I realized a number of things.

First, I realized that I had spent the night in Seattle, which I hadn't planned to do. Crap.

Secondly, I remembered fucking Chris, bareback due to his trickery, the night before. Double crap.

Next, the thought of the things we'd spent the rest of the night doing trickled in. Words simply can't describe people. Oy.

Finally, I remembered that I hadn't brought a uniform with me, and there was this little thing called formation I had to get to. At some point. If it wasn't too much trouble. Holy. Fuck.

Lastly, and worst of all, I noticed the man curled up in my arms, looking utterly peaceful and completely content. God. Dammit.

Falling for, or even getting overly interested in, someone who refused to move out of the backwoods and lived 8 hours away was not on my list of priorities. In fact, it could be described as being on my "TO BE AVOIDED AT ALL COSTS!" list.

So, I did what any sane man would do in that situation.

I slowly got out of the bed, taking care not to wake him up, and searched for my pair of 2xist Varsity briefs. Yes, I'm a homo, I like trendy underwear. Deal with it. I grabbed the rest of my clothes and snuck into the bathroom, where I quickly dressed as quietly as I could manage.

I left the bathroom, headed for the front door and put my hand on the knob. I tried to open it, but almost of its own volition, my body turned, looking at the still form on the bed, breath going in and out with the peaceful rhythm of sleep.

Fuck it.

I opened the door, closing it gently behind me, and didn't look back.

After a stop by a 24 hour drive through for coffee, I slammed down 2 No-Doze for extra caffeine, and chuckled at the irony. Ah, No-Doze, the gay man's morning after pill. God bless caffeine.

Fuck, I can NOT be late again.

~Mike

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Addendum, Sweet Addendum

2007-07-16T20:42:00.000-07:00

In today’s blog I reported that it was a shaping up to be a “boring and tedious” day.

I was correct.

Mostly, I spent the day stuck alternating behind a desk and trying not to bash the heads of some of my idiot peers.

Sweet lord.

So, when I wrote that this morning, I was entirely correct. At least, so far as the workday went.

After I left work and headed towards Seattle for dinner with some friends, I got a phone call. Now, part of the problem with being a slut, is that sometimes you don’t keep as tight a track on the names and numbers of people you talk to or have sex with. I’m sure I can’t be the only guy who’s experienced this particular brand of shitty luck.

When the random, unknown Bellevue phone number popped up on my caller ID, I was a bit twitterpated about who could be on the other line. Sometimes…those calls don’t go as well as they could. Fucking needy, whiney bottoms.

I took a breath, thumbed on my phone with my right hand and calmly said, “hello?”

Instantly, I heard a chuckle and a soft, deep basso voice whisper, “you had no idea who was calling you, did you Mike?”

Hah, I did now!

Chris, my unexpected caller, was THE fuck of last year. The 29 year old construction worker, a ripped 6’, 180 odd pounds, shaved head, awesome tan and soft hazel eyes, was blessed with a completely unforgettable voice. I swear the man could make me cum just from whispering.

I chuckled into the phone and dryly replied, “You know how it is Chris. My phone can only hold a few hundred names. Can’t keep every lucky guy forever, right?”

With a laugh that put me at ease, I listened as Chris told me that he was in town, visiting family, and, most unfortunately, had no plans for the night. This night. Tonight. As in, he wants me to come over and spend the rest of the night plowing, eating, and generally happily abusing his hole.

I’m all ready to go. Now, to call Zane and tell him I may be a bit late…

~Mike

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It's not me...It's you.

2007-07-16T10:46:00.000-07:00

Well, there are good ways and bad ways to use your time on the government’s pay clock. I suppose writing my blog isn’t one of the “good” ways. Eh. If I wasn’t sitting bored on my ass, though, I wouldn’t be doing it. Got to love military life: it’s either a monsoon or drought, not much in between. Fuck.

Since today is shaping up to be both boring and tedious, I decided to do a flashback posting covering my leave over the 4th of July.

As I said in my first entry, I am originally from rural Indiana. I have, however, lived near several metropolitan areas, courtesy of the Marines. While my previous station was in North Carolina, I initially reported straight to Camp Pendleton for my first tour of duty (yes, right after "bootcamp"). Located about 40 miles north of San Diego, Pendleton is, by Marine standards, a fairly sizeable installation. More than that, it has great weather, tons of shit to do, and no shortage of drop dead fucking gorgeous men and women. AKA: Heaven.

While I enjoy living in the Pacific Northwest, memories of my glory days spent having fun in the sun continue to encourage my pilgrimages back to So Cal. So, when I had the opportunity to take 8 days of leave over late June and early July, the destination of choice was, obviously, California.

After landing at LAX, my good friend “Tom” picked me up, and got me spun up on the evenings plans. We got on the 405, headed towards West Hollywood and a trendy restaurant called Campanile. Meeting us for dinner was Tom's fiancé, "Tina", and a small gathering of our mutual friends. A great place to feast on Mediterranean fare with Californian flair, and close friends to boot. Good shit!

It had been awhile since I had last seen Tina, and seeing the pair of them together again was great. Tina…wow. While I don’t mind fucking the occasional pussy, women typically aren’t my method of choice for good sex. There is just too much drama (funny that, homos seem the same way sometime, goddamn), mood swings, and, quite frankly, they are too fucking expensive. Tina, however, could have been a guy in a chicks body. She was crude, blunt, loved the outdoors, and her body was tight, supple, and, from what Tom tells me, extraordinarily flexible. Like, circus freak flexible. Lucky bastard.

Tom and I have known each other for years. He was my first roommate. After a heavy night of drinking, and the loss of my higher brain functions, I brought a boy home to the barracks and pounded him into oblivion. In my stupor I forgot to take into account Tom, who walked in to find me balls deep in this boy’s ass. Oops.

We’ve been best friends ever since.

So, to humor me, Tom, Tina and the group, took me out to The Abbey. Reasonably close to the Companile, the Abbey is a huge bar on North Robertson Boulevard. For my Seattle and other non-Los Angelian readers, the Abbey is a great place with outside seating, multiple rooms and bar sections and plenty of couches with cozy places to chat it up. It is, without a doubt, one of the LA's premiere homo establishments.

We paused at the wrought iron gate, showed our IDs, then crossed the patio and headed inside. We made our way across the hardwood floors, commandeering two couches from a handful of people (easy to do when 3 guys in the group appear to be made out of tree trunks). Tom’s buddy Ray went to get the first round of drinks from the bar, while the rest of us settled down and chatted. The conversation shifted constantly; sometimes it touched upon the way things were going in Iraq, other times it changed to more mundane topics, typical for our age group (i.e., who is fucking who).

After my fifth drink, I had to piss, excused myself, got up and headed for the latrine.

The Abbey's latrine was a bright affair, and I headed for the urinal on the far left, ignoring the towel boy standing quietly by the sink. I unbuttoned my fly, let my cock snake out of my 7-for-Mankind jeans and released the flow.

Ahhhh, much better.

As I stood there, pissing out $40 worth of drinks, I took a glance at the young guy who just took the urinal to my right. With one up and down glance I had him sized perfectly: 5’11”, dark brown hair, deep tan, an oddly compelling set of gray eyes, and a toned, tight little body of about 170 pounds. Judging by the meat he was displaying, about 7.5 cut, with a youthful 20-ish face.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

I murmured something casual, not really caring what, and, as my heart jumped with his reply, struck up a short conversation as we drained our bladders.

Fucking crap. Not enough piss.

I shook the last few drops free, stroked it a time or two as we locked eyes, then put it away and walked to the sink, conversing with him all the while. He joined me almost immediately, and the interest he had for me was plain (judging by the tent forming in his khakis). We left the bathroom, and I expressed regret that I was only here visiting and needed to get back to my friends. He gave me a disappointed look, but quickly flashed a very white, toothy, perfect smile and handed me a business card with his name, Dave, and number on it. It said, surprise, surprise, that he was in modeling and acting, and we parted with him murmuring to call him. Soon. Very, very soon.

Not a problem at all.

As luck would have it, I ended up getting a horrible stomach ache, likely from the crappy food found at the SeaTac airport, and I regretfully told Tom & Company that I had to call it a night. They gave me shit for a few minutes, but, knowing that I was in town for another 7 nights, they laid off (finally) and I made good my escape.

As I walked out into the warm night, I took out the white card and dialed the number. “Hey Dave, this is Mike, we just met at The Abbey? I’m not really feeling all that great, and left my friends early…” I said. “Want to get a drink?”

“This is my address,” he replied, and rattled off a street address about 10 minutes away. “I will meet you there in 20 minutes,” he said and promptly clicked off his phone.

Well, hot damn.

I took a cab to the address, went to the door and rang the buzzer. A different person, not the Dave from the Abbey, answered the door. This guy was slightly Latino, about 5’8”, 170 pounds, sporting highly defined pecs and shoulders. He answered the door with a towel looped around the waist and stood there, momentarily silent, staring me up and down, every bit as intently as I was staring at him.

“Hi”, he finally said, holding out his hand, “you must be Mike. I’m Carlos.”

He pulled me inside and within seconds I had my hands rubbing his back while he got the skull fucking of his life. Judging by the strength of my thrusts, I hoped the rug burns on his knees wouldn’t be too bad. Oh well, fuck it. As I rammed my cock past his uvula and into his gullet, I heard the front door open, and seconds later a laugh and the rustle of falling clothing from behind me.

“Jesus, Carlos,” I heard Dave say, “you couldn’t wait till I got home?”

Needless to say, as I had my cock rammed down his throat up to my bush, Carlos wasn’t capable of a reply. I growled at the kid, pulled him closer, grabbed a handful of hair and mashed my mouth against his. That shut him up. I stroked Dave’s right nipple with one hand, and ripped his PAPI briefs clean off his body with the other. I really didn’t feel like talking.

Carlos was busy trying not to choke on my meat, while I kissed Dave within inches of his life. Fucking hot. Even better, the kid could kiss, I give him that.

As I sat there thrusting my cock into Latin boy and orally raping the other, I heard a sound, like a jar being opened. Carlos had, out of my line of sight, dipped his hand in something slick, and was trying to probe my hole. Digitally. Now, I don’t mind the occasional finger up my chute when I get off, but I wasn’t an especially rabid fan of it. With two hot boys doing whatever the fuck I wanted…what the hell. Go with the flow.

He was persistent, and finally wiggled one up there, stroking my prostate as his throat milked my cock. As I kept thrusting into his mouth, I could feel a second finger trying to make its way up and into me. This time, it was one too many. I stopped kissing Dave, looked down, mouth open to tell him to back the fuck off with the fingers, when my eyes fell on the jar. Elbow grease. Holy shit.

Fisters.

Oy. Why are the hot ones always fucked up?

I jerked away, yanking my cock out of his mouth, along with a shit-ton of drool. They both looked at me with a questioning look and I simply pointed at the jar. They looked at each other, a bit sheepishly, and then back at me. I sat there, waiting for something.

“We didn’t want to fist you, Mike. We just like to finger and get fingered a bit… that’s all,” Carlos said. “Sometimes, if one or two more get in accidentally…”

I didn’t wait for more.

I put on my clothes, ignoring whatever they were trying to say. As I walked out of their place, I turned, smiled, and simply said, “Oh, and by the way. It’s not me. It’s you.”

Forty five minutes later, I was logged onto my Manhunt account waiting for a vanilla bottom, who just wanted to get fucked, to arrive at my hotel room at the Chamberlain.

Shit. So hard to get laid.

~Mike

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My Name is Jonas...

2007-07-15T21:15:00.000-07:00

Fuck.

As I looked down at my cock, sliding in and out of Jeff’s hole, I started to get that prickly feeling between my shoulders. As if I was being watched. Of course, plowing one of your regulars behind a Home Depot on your way home from work against a pile of pallets probably isn’t a great idea if you are worried about being seen. Eh, what the fuck.

I slapped his ass, grunted, and drilled a bit deeper, not giving a shit about the mewling and groaning from the lean boy under me. I leaned forward a bit more, threw my weight into it and really started to get to work. I had a 1630 appointment in Seattle, after all, and as I was still down near Federal Way (30 minutes south), I had to move out. I blew my load into the rubber, uncaring whether or not he was close to cumming as he fisted his cock. I mumbled, I think, a quick thank you as I pulled out, turned around and popped my cock back into my pants as I got into my car. As I slid my frame into the lowered body of my A4, I glanced back and saw Jeff still laying, apparently exhausted, on the pallets. With a light heart and a self-satisfied smirk, I started the engine and left.

Fuck, what a day.

I’m Mike. At least, that’s what I will use on here. Obviously, I can’t simply use my real name, as I never got along well with witch-hunts or overly inquisitive assholes. I’m in the service, more grudgingly now after 4 deployments to the sandbox than before, but, what the hell. Ever since show and tell in kindergarten, when a kids older brother came to class in uniform, I wanted nothing more than to be a Marine. I’m not going to regret or change that decision now. I grew up in what most people on the east coast or west coast call the hick country (rural Indiana). I wrestled in high school, I play the guitar, drums, and a moderately good chess game (yes, boys, I have a brain). I hit six foot the summer before high school, and in the 12 years since added on another inch, settling at 6’1”. I tip the scales at about 205, sport tightly cropped light brown/blond hair, blue eyes, and (for you size queens), come well equipped. Hoorah for me. I have a small place in the Puget Sound area, close to base, and live alone but for my black lab, Shade.

I never thought before that I would be one of “THOSE” people. Yes, with capital letters. The type who write about their daily lives online. I never intended to, never planned on it. My friend Zane, always amused at the shit I somehow manage to get myself into, remarked that I have too many crazy stories to keep to myself. He dragged me to his computer and showed me this site. What the hell, I thought, I might as well go down in infamy for being a ho. Better than nothing, I guess.

All in all, getting your nut off in a good looking guy on the way home from work is definitely a great way to start the weekend. Maybe not the best way to head into a first date, an early dinner and movie at 1630, but… I needed to cum.

I merged onto I-5 N, turned on the iPod attached to my dash, hit my play list and cranked up Linkin Park to somewhere around “Dear God, my ear drums” and cruised north.

Now, Jeff, the man/boy I had just wrecked on the pallets, is a member of a stable of regular guys I keep in the area to plow when I don’t have something better lined up. As much as I enjoy plowing ass, however, finding a cool guy and settling down is something I have long hoped to do. Especially now that I am near a larger area than found outside my last base, Lejune. I had high hopes for tonight, previous actions notwithstanding.

How little I knew.

I had been talking to the guy I was on my way to meet for date numero uno for about 2 months. A mutual friend set us up, and, while we had not spent much face time together, the phone calls and Internet action led me to believe that there was real potential there.

I went to his place on the rear side of Capitol Hill and parked my car near the abandoned “Chocolate City” (recently closed, thank the gods), crossed the street and went to his building. I nervously took the elevator up, went to his door, and knocked gently three times. He opened it with a smile, invited me in while he, “finished getting ready”, and told me to relax and make myself comfortable in the meantime.

Being the gentleman that I am, I did just that.

I sat on the uncomfortable Ikea-clone couch and whistled tunelessly while I waited.

Now, as I said, I’ve spoken with this guy, call him… George, for almost two months. Some of those conversations were…quite graphic (yes, I mean phone sex or cyber sex, but only with web cams though!). What I saw when he came out “ready” to go shocked the holy shit out of me. I have seen, heard, and done many things and explored many boundaries since I took my first cherry at the tender age of 13. Some of the more fucked up acts and fetishes, however, I’ve left to the confinement of reading about on the Internet, typically in the most vague manner possible.

Yes, boys, George came out in an outfit that scared/freaked the shit out of me. If you’ve ever heard the term “a furry”, then you know both what I saw and why it made me want to bolt for the door. Apparently, George’s invitation to, “make myself comfortable” really meant, “get your ass naked and ready to fuck me” before the date. While, normally, I have no issue with this line of thought, our many conversations included a mutual agreement banning sex for the first several dates. Why… fuck, I don’t know. To see what could be there? Meh.

Anyway, considering that Jeff’s hole smell was still coating my cock and crotch, as the goddamn I-5 traffic had not allowed me a chance to swing by Zane’s for a shower, fucking right off the bat was out of the question. When he came out, complete with a mascot badger outfit with a cut out for his rather erect cock, and a hole that exposed his fairly flat ass, I could only giggle and try my best to reign in the pending hysteria.

From the look of disgust that I am pretty sure was on my face, I think he could tell that his “surprise” was not being well received.

“Surprise!” he croaked anyway, a halting smile on his face. As I sat on that hard couch staring up at this man-badger creature, I realized that I had no fucking clue on how to reply.

So, I didn’t.

I got up, grabbed my coat, opened the door, ignored his cries of “wait, hold on!”, and exited his apartment with a wall shaking slam of the door.

Fuck that shit, I don’t screw animals. Or guys wanting to have sweaty-costume-furry-animal-make-believe sex, either.

So.

That was my Friday. Envious, aren’t you?

I have to say, I love living near Seattle ‘cuz the guys here all seem to be bottoms, and rather submissive ones at that. Holy shit, though, do I seem to attract the nuttier ones like crazy (double entendre there, get it?)

I’ll try this for a week or two, see what people think. I mean, you only write shit like this and give access to it because you want to get feedback, I guess. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone cool out of this, or, at the least, meet some new people in general.

Time to call Darren for some wreckage!

~Mike

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