Date: Wed, 17 Dec 2003 06:02:27 +0000
From: Mark G <markblastoff@hotmail.com>
Subject: Deceptively Fun 15

Deceptively Fun 15
By Mark

(The 15th in a series.)

(Leave the flames at home; I don't want to hear 'em. I do enjoy hearing from
people who enjoyed my stories and I like hearing adventures. Bottoms
interested in getting fucked or any tops interested in tag-teaming should
drop me a line. markblastoff@hotmail.com)


Do you smoke? Do you do drugs? Do you drive too fast?

Life is only worth living if you take risks. Someone mistakenly sent me an
e-mail thinking my stories were about "conversion." They're not. It's about
the risk I choose to take and the risks others take or, in their stupidity
or the heat of the moment, they indulge in what they really want, at some
subconscious level.

Man is an animal, pure and simple. Of course, the hunting and gathering
occurs at your local market rather than caves and fields, but really what we
desire as red-blooded men is to spread our seed.

And we want human contact. Think of the act of fucking, pushing that rock
hard (or at least MINE is rock hard) into the soft, warm, enveloping embrace
of that ass chute. In the most intimate moment, we put a barrier we believe
that will protect us from a microscopic entity or two.

Maybe you're health conscious. Maybe you don't add sweetener in the pink
packet for fear of cancer. Maybe you pay your taxes, drive at safe speeds,
always use your turn signal and look both ways before crossing the street
where a maniac with C4 explosives tied to his chest decides to proclaim holy
jihad on your unsuspecting ass.

An ass that has never felt the warmth of another man deep inside it.

Take Bryan, for instance. He's a 32-year-old strawberry blond who chatted me
up. I find it interesting, the "mostly top" guys out there who, with a
little rim job, flip over for it.

Truth be know, Bryan didn't flip over. He just ground down until my cock was
deep inside his ass.

Bryan's lived a safe life. He's barely kissed another man in the past six
years after his last bottom boyfriend left him to be a top. I don't think it
was the pain of the break up as much as the "fear" of what he'd been
"exposed" to. But 12 tests since, he'd only ended up with a mild case of
crabs and that was from something probably in the gym.

Bryan's sex life, up until me, was online free porn samples. In his suburban
loft apartment using a slightly out-of-date laptop, Bryan had whacked off to
everything.

Then he found a barebacking site.

"I've never cum so much in my life," he types to me. "What does it feel
like?"

I chuckled. Another innocent about to be exposed to the reality of the
world.

"Beyond heaven," I respond.

A couple of days later, I am shaking Bryan's hand and entering his
apartment, as he offers me a drink. A beer, of course, is my drink of
choice. Bryan, instead, indulges in something more heavy, probably to loosen
up.

Now, I must say, Bryan had informed me that sex was out of the question. But
I'd brought him this far in our conversations. I was going to take him all
the way.

The small talk proceeded with my usual wit and charm on high intensity,
feeling the man out and getting his groove. After a while, he relaxed.
Probably partially from the booze, but more likely cause, despite the charm,
I hadn't made a move in his direction.

This is a classic move. Patient people can do it. Hell, I wouldn't have
moved in for the kill if I wasn't certain my mission couldn't be
accomplished.

That mission was cock in ass, sperm in ass -- mission success.

So after dinner at a local swanky place and bit of wine, Bryan's strawberry
was beginning to blossom into a cherry I was going to bust.

"Have you tried poppers?" I ask him partially into a sex conversation Bryan
had initiated himself.

"Never," he says. "I heard they were bad...."

"From who?" I ask.

"People say," he responds, but his voice seems to trail off.

"Well, the drug in poppers was originally developed to help people with
heart problems," I try to sound official. Someone had mentioned that, but I
could never really be sure if it's true or not.

"Really?" he seems sincerely interested. He's not feigning anything. I am
pulling out a small brown bottle.

"Yup," I say. "Seriously, you won't believe what it feels like."

"Why?" he says. "What does it feel like?"

"Imagine if everything happening to you is all you experience," I explain,
making poppers sound more like a religious experience than a rush to head.
"Imagine if there's no tomorrow, no yesterday, no two minutes from now and
no this morning. Imagine if everything, every fiber of your being, is
focused on the pinprick of the moment."

He looks at me wide eyed, finally muttering, "Wow."

I pull out a bottle.

"The good news is that the effect of the poppers lasts just a few minutes,"
I say.

"But people talk about headaches," he begins.

"Got some aspirin?" I ask.

"I do," he responds. "More likely Advil or something. Need some?"

"No, but if you get a headache, take some."

I do a snort, not a deep one, and hand it to him.

He's hesistant, but I knew the curiosity would get to him. Not long and he's
madly kissing me.

"Damn, I like that," he says.

I smile: "I knew you would."

After 20 minutes or so of making out, our clothes are off and we're writhing
around on the couch. Pretty soon, I am in position to begin kissing his ass
-- literally. I am working my tongue in and he's moaning like the
bitch-in-heat he is.

And that's when it happens. Sitting on the sofa, he climbs onto my lap and
begins to kiss me. My cockhead touches gold, but I just leave it firmly
against the hole when I pull away, snort a little and hand the bottle to
him.

He does a deep smell and relaxes so my cock head slips in. He begins to pull
off right as the poppers kick into high gear and he begins to moan. The cock
goes in deeper and deeper until he's completely sitting on my cock.

In his ass. Raw.

"I should get a condom," he says, as he rides my cock.

I want to tell him it's a little too late for that, but I don't. Part of the
charm.

"Sure," I say. "Okay." But I just sit there and he continues to ride it.

"It sure feels good," he says.

"It sure as hell does."

He's not a regular bottom or even a natural one. The hole is friggin' tight
and I know his endurance is going to be minimal. So I begin to pump with his
motion, entering him as deep as possible. We fuck like this for a few
minutes, his eyes closed, not looking at me or acknowledging there's a raw
cock in his ass.

I hand him the poppers for another huff. He takes it.

"I'm close," he says.

"Me too," and I am.

"AWWW..." he's moaning. "Would you...?"

"What?" I say breathlessly as I take the poppers from his hand and snort
some.

"Would you cum? Now?"

"Yessssssssssss" I say, as the high hits me. I let the cock throb and I
release my load into his hole. He's letting out something close to a
gutteral scream when his cock suddenly stands upright and the red head
flairs. It looks almost like a cartoon snake spitting white stuff into the
air that, like some obscene fountain, shoots up in an arc and lands just
left of my chin. Three or four more spurts follow, all at a diminishing
force, landing on my chest. There's a copious amount of spooge on my chest
as he comes off my cock immediately, stands and walks away.

The guilt of barebacking hits him. He runs to the bathroom, probably to try
and flush out all the baby batter I've deposited into him.

A few awkward moments later, I am on my way home.

A few days later, he chats me up online for "good barebacking videos."

A few days after that, he calls and chats about nothing.

A few days after that, he invites me over.

The only thing I've converted is a man into fucking the way it should be.