I need me some black dick, inspired by TitanMen Philippe Ferro and Lawson Kane.

The sun had been too hot all day in Palm Springs and it was making me not happy.  I was so not happy that I was pouting all afternoon because my boyfriend Javier was being a typical Spanish prick and wouldn't fan me while I tanned in the sun.  Why did I bring him to America, I asked him?  I have sensitive French skin and I need to get a tan but stay cool at the same time.  The sun does not bother Javier because he is mediterannean and eats the sun like I eat good cheese.  Spanish prick.

So Javier told me to fuck off and he left in the car to go to the gym.  Prick.

I pouted more but no one was there to see me so I decided to stop and try and enjoy the sun.  I would make that Spanish prick pay for it later.

I don't know how long I stayed outside but soon I heard a voice calling from outside the gate that was not Javier.  

"Yo! Jamal.  You there, bro? Jamal!"

I got up and opened the gate to tell this man I don't know Jamal.  Our friends were not named Jamal.  I did not stop to think that this man calling for Jamal would be black, or African American as you say here.  I had never had a black man inside me.  I need me some black dick, I thought.

"Bon Jour," I said, pouting my lips further.

Back Alley, Back door inspired by Hairyboyz models Adam Champ and Angelo Marconi

I hadn't had sex in about 2 weeks.  Work had been kicking my ass.  Plus, I had just been feeling, oh I don't know, meloncholy, and sex just seemed like it was going to be too much work.   No reason.  Just having one of those blue periods.

It was time to get myself out of my funk and the best way was to get me some big dick for my hole, preferably something anonymous.  No talk.  Just fucking. I headed out to the bar around the corner from my place downtown.  I was in luck because, outside stood a hunky hairy stud smoking a cigarette. He gave me a sly smile and I knew I wanted to get my mouth around that.  He slipped around the corner and into the alley.  I knew I should follow and I unbuttoned the top of my jeans to make sure he knew he was welcome down there.

The hairy stud didn't waste time getting his shirt off, revealing his furry, muscled chest and dropping his pants before falling to his knees to get his mouth around my hard, uncut meat.  "Oh yeah, suck that juicy pole, fucker."

This stud knew how to make my cock jump and I finally had to push him off and turn around to offer up my horny ass so I wouldn't blow my load right there.  His tongue worked as hard getting my fuck hole slobbered up as he had on my veiny man-meat.  "Damn, that tongue feels good," I moaned.

"Just wait 'til I get my hard cock up there, buddy," he answered the answer I so wanted to hear.

He pushed me up against the wall and got his hard 8 inch meat pressed up against my juicy pucker.

"Oh, yeah, fuck me good, buddy.  Make my pussy yours."

With that, he pressed his hard meat slowly up my hole, deeper and deeper until I felt his fat head against my prostate. 

I took a deep breath.

Done With Bottoming inspired by Rusty Stevens and Tommy Defendi.

I'm done bottoming.  I mean, really done.  Every time I go out or meet a guy online or go to a sex club it's my hole that gets used and abused.  Not that I mind, really, but it's about time my cock gets some of the action. 

So I'm jumping in the shower and cleaning up nice and good, making sure my face stubble is just the right length for that sexy "I'm gonna fuck your hole" look.  A quick shot of tequila before I head out the door just to get my blood pumping in the hopes that I'll get my cock pumping soon enough.  I'm gonna hit the sex club South of Market cuz I want some raunchy fun and not just some boring old blow job.  I mean a blow job will do in a pinch but really I'm all about fucking.

The good news at the club:  Lots of dudes looking to get laid.

The bad news at the club: Lots of ugly dudes looking to get laid.  Not that I'm some prima donna about looks; some of the best sex I've had is with ugly dudes cuz they just want it more, but these were ugly with no redeeming quality that I could see dudes.  I want a nice youngish bottom with a furry ass and a nice cock to suck before I plow into him.  I'm really a lot more finicky about who I fuck then who fucks me.  If I'm in the mood to have my hole filled, I'll pretty much take all cummers.  I love to get fucked but when I'm fucking, I need some particular... errrrr assets.  Let's see.  Nope.  Too skinny... too fat... whoa!  Lighten up on the cologne, buddy... see a dentist... tweaker don't waste my time...no...wait... hmmmmm. 

I think I'll walk over to that bearded young man.  Mmmmmm.  Looks juicy.  Head nod.  Good. Good start.

"Hey.  What's up?"

He smiles as he looks me up and down. 

"Your cock," he says.  "Up my ass."

"That's what I was thinking too."

He nods.  Walks away.  I follow.

The leather-clad bed is empty like he had reserved it or something.  Ok.  Cool with me.  Oooooh, that furry ass of his looks good in that jock of his.  Fuck I'm hard. I so need to fuck a good hole.

Down on his belly right away.  Let me press my hard cock against that hole.  Oh, fuck that's nice.  Man, I'm gonna fuck you boy.

You want me to fuck that hole, don't you boy?  You want my big cock deep inside you.

"Dumped in Palm Springs" inspired by Francesco D'Macho and Wilfried Knight.

Really.  What a way to get dumped.

My boyfriend of 9 months and I came down to Palm Springs together for a weekend for just the two of us, you know.  We'd been dating but never traveled together and both thought it would be hot to go down to the desert, stay in one of those kind of cool, kind of tacky gay resorts and just hang out naked all weekend, drinking margaritas, maybe a little 420 and fucking whenever the mood struck us.

So we fly down on Friday night and get to the place, which is done in this sort of faux-morrocan Arabian Nights kind of vibe, you know, and my boyfriend just stands in the room and doesn't get unpacked.  I'm jumping around, taking shit out of my bag and he just sort of stands there a minute and I'm like all, "what, dude?  Let's get unpacked and jump in the pool maybe!"

He kind of shuffles his feet and then tells me that he's decided that things just aren't working out and he got himself a room at some other fucking gay place and that he was sorry but he just thinks this is best.

Fuck me in a sex club.

Please fuck me in a sex club.

Take my hole and make it wet.

Shove your hard brown pole in my mouth.  Make me choke.  Make me gag.

I didn't really think he was a real cowboy, even with the boots he was wearing.  I mean, how many real cowboys are there in the world anymore? 

I was in the country, just outside of Provo, for some unknown reason that had to do with my boyfriend and his job.  I'd agreed to come along to keep him company but then he was gone all day working and I was stuck with nothing to do.

I had told myself it would be a good chance to write more, to really get started on my new novel.  I was going to push the gay novel in a new direction - no coming out story, no mythical gay city on the hill full of whacky characters.  No - my gay novel was going to be full of the guys I knew - hot queens with too much money who know that with the right haircut, tattoos and perfect pecs, you can become one of the chosen few.   This wasn't some bitter tirade against the perfect gay man - that's the kicker.  To become the ultimate gay stereotype represents supreme freedom from any of the rules that bind mere mortals and my protagonists use that freedom to truly change the world. 

A-Gay as Super-Gay: At least, that's the idea in my head but I haven't really thought it through.  That's what I was going to do on this trip in Montana, wait... no Utah.  Wherever the fuck we are.  But I haven't really written anything much.  Confinement for writers is over-rated.

I had felt really alone all day.  Even on the street and on the subway, there was somethiing - a fine veil - between me and everyone else in the world.  It was almost like I was in a dream, a nightmare really.  No one could see me.  No one could pull me from my lonliness.  No one could save me.

Could i be awakened from my stupor?

I entered the club mid-afternoon, fully knowing I might be the only one there.  The man (a boy, really.  Maybe 23) behind the counter took my money but didn't look up, too immersed in his phone to see the man before him.  The lonely man.

I could sit here naked in the dark all night.  Naked and raw.

I waited.  I could sense the sky getting darker outside even though I couldn't see anything in the basement of the sex club.  The dirty smell was both revolting and heart-warming.  How many hours of my life had I spent buried in that smell? It was like home, both good and bad - like home.

I felt a light brush of air - (was it lips?) by my right ear.  I turned but the warmth was now at my left ear. 

"Want me?" I thought I heard.

Had it been that I was the one not paying attention?  I hadn't realized anyone was near.

"Do you want me?" the voice said more clearly.

I didn't try to turn this time.  I stood there, thinking "Yes! Yes, I want you?" But I said nothing.

I'm a whore.  A great big 'ol whore.  I'll take any cock up my ass, down my throat or in my hands.  Two cocks up my ass?  Hell, yes.  One up my ass and another down my throat?  You bet!  Gang bang me in a sling?  Anytime!

I don't care if they're big or small, black, white, brown or sunburned.  If you've got a cock, I want it.  And if you've got a load, I want it inside me.  Up my ass or down my throat.  Push it out of another bottom's hole and I'll suck it up.

Piss on me, piss in me. Tie me up, hold me down. Fuck me, lick me, kiss me, whip me. I'm your whore and I want it.

I'm not going to even begin to tell you how I got this way.  If I tell you I came from a religious background, you'll scream "see what Christianity does to people!"  If I tell you I came from a non-believing family, you'll scream "see what secular humanism does to people!"  My father was absent (father complex), my father loved my mother (Oedipus Complex),  my parents drank, they were tee-totallers, I had pets, I was an only child, I had 14 brothers and sisters...  No matter what I say, someone will find the "reason" why I am a whore.

But I don't care WHY I'm a whore.  I am a whore.  I like being a whore.  I LOVE being a whore.  Being a whore is what I'm good at.  Being a whore gives me purpose.  Being a whore puts a spring in my step and a smile on my face.  I'm nicer the more whore-ish I am.  I smile at screaming kids, pet ugly dogs, pick other people's gum off the sidewalk so others won't step on it.  I volunteer for disabled, minority, mouth-breathing, one-breasted abused women!  My life as a whore has made the world a better place!

I was tired, damned tired. My feet ached, my shoulders were sore and even my eyeballs hurt. I really wasn’t used to working this hard and I learned on this fine spring day that I wasn’t interested in getting used to it.



I was nearly finished tearing every plant out of my front yard. I thought I'd be done in a few hours and it had taken me all day. And now, to top it off, my cocky know-it-all neighbor Carl had come home from work. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist giving me his opinion about my yard. I should have done this. I shouldn’t have done that. Blah, blah blah, blah blah.



And sure enough, as soon as he got out of his truck he headed over to the fence that separates our yards.



“Tearing up the yard, huh Bill?”

 The master of the obvious strikes again. I wanted to respond sarcastically but the same damned thing that always happens when I see him happened again. He stood there, leaning on our fence, his dumb smile on his face, his shoulders popping out of his tight shirt and his crotch pressed temptingly between two segments of fence. I had to try not to drool.



“Yup. Nearly done.” was all I could manage. 

Ugh! I hated him for being so hot and making me crazy!



The smell. That’s what I remember best. Musty, heavy, moist - that’s the smell of the locker room of a professional football team. 



My only job was to watch and listen. I was a 19-year-old intern shadowing another wire reporter and was supposed to just watch and listen.



“Don't talk to anybody and don't touch anything,” he said as we walked in. 



“Yes, mom.” I thought. The scents were all around as I entered. It smelled like men. 



The security guard waved Mike, the seasoned reporter, right on in but he looked carefully at my press pass before letting me through. I had to rush to catch up to Mike who hadn't bothered to wait for me. He was a bit of a blowhard in the newsroom but as soon as we entered the sacred den he was all deference and respect. No wonder his articles read like a fawning review of a Texas women's auxiliary luncheon.