From the Archive

For as much as I have used pictures from this photo shoot, 

I don’t believe I have ever published this particular shot.  

I found it in the email sent to me by the photographer as I was purging old correspondence.  

I really like it.  

It catches the sexual energy that comes with cruising and playing outdoors in public.

For those who need more...this was the next shot.....

Even I just said, "Damn...." as the image came up on the screen....
 

Hit the "On the Tracks" label below if you want more.

Great Minds...

 

I got the Leather Man's newsletter today.  

After all my talk about traffic cones, the picture above made me laugh.  

Something I really needed.

You can always go to their website here.

Equipment Close-up: The Traffic Cone

 Equipment Close-up:  The Traffic Cone

 

I hadn’t thought about the traffic cone for a long time.  But with the move, I found it, tucked away in a dusty, cobweb filled corner of the basement.  For a time it had proudly been in the playroom, but seemingly I had left it in the cellar one year, what with my constant need to dismantle the equipment each summer.

Now, back in the mid 1990’s I owned a video tape of Falcon’s Flashpoint:  Hot as Hell.  In the video, Byrce Colby had sex on the hood of his car with Trent Reed’s cock and fist and a ton of toys—including a scene where he sat on a traffic cone.  This really sparked my interest (and made my long term partner turn an odd shade of green).  

I had found a young man in Nashville, Tennessee who had a bottomless pit of an ass.  As I was headed south for a few weeks of work (and sex with his cavernous ass) I saw a traffic cone on the highway.  It was way off the road and forgotten by the work crew.   I stopped and grabbed it.  I cleaned it up and took it with me to the first meet I had with the young guy.

He had seen the movie—and pointed out that Bryce was a good deal taller. This cone was 30 inches high.  My friend wasn’t concerned that the circumference was 8 inches at the top of the cone—but that he wasn’t tall enough to sit on it.

So we didn’t do anything with it that night.  I waited until I was asked back to his house for a threeway.   The other top and I picked up the bottom and holding his thighs all the while sat him on the Criscoed end of the traffic cone. The 8 inches suddenly seemed bigger with his ass right there—but he took it on the second try.  And we bounced him on it for about 5 minutes.  We only stopped when, without ever getting hard, the boy dribbled an immense amount of cum out of his tiny dicklet.

I used it once in my playroom with a tall man who loved the challenge to stand astride it and impale himself on it.  All while I lay on the bed, jerking to him riding it.

Now it is cleaned up again from all the dust of the basement.

And is now in my new playroom. 

I don’t think it will get a lot of use, but I can think of a couple of men I play with who might get off on the mind fuck of sitting on a traffic cone.

 

...and a Briefer Meeting with Marco

 

My Playroom—September, 2020

(This picks up right where the last post left off…)

 

Jake showers.

I look at a surprising text on my phone…

I don’t answer it until Jake is out the door.

Marco has responded to a text I’ve sent him.  (Marco has not appeared very often, these last few years, in these posts.  He was my roommate for a number of leather weekends until he found a boyfriend during one of them.  While they are not sexually exclusive, it has certainly slowed down our play.)

I had written Marco that while packing up the house, I found an old sling I had inherited—did he still want it?

I read the text.  Marco wants it.  And he is on the road—coming back from his boyfriend’s place.  He can actually come by and pick it up.  Would that work?

I write back that it would—and I would see him that evening.

He arrives just after I finish the dishes from my evening meal.  He looks great.  We have three years to catch up on.  We try to do just that…and then he asks:  “Do you want to play?”

I let him know what I just did with Jake—and I know he’s been with someone all weekend, too.  But we go for it.  He does a brief clean up and we go upstairs.  He still has four hours of driving until he gets home, so we are on the clock.

Marco climbs right up on the fuck bench.  I kneel and tongue that muscle ass.  He groans.  “That feels so good after all that driving…”

I tongue him deep and leave a lot of spit behind.

I stand up.  My cock slides all the way in.  One stroke and I bottom out in him.

“Fuck, I’ve missed your dick…”

I fuck him.  Hard and fast.

Marco’s head come up and watches me plow his ass in the mirror in front of him.

I slow down—and we move to the sling.

I eat his well fucked hole.

I fuck it again.

And grease up my hands.

I slide into him.  Repeatedly.  Over and over.  His ass controls whether I am allowed to enter—or not.  He can tighten down for a moment before he relaxes the sphincter and I slide home.  This time I hit the spot and he drools some piss onto his stomach.  I lick it up.

I move on to the speculum.  I know he loves the stretch.  I crank it open—and play with his prostate, brushing my fingers over it. 

Then I add my cock.  Metal to the sides and warm, wet Marco above and below my shaft.

“Can you get off?” he asks.

Even with both sessions—I am nowhere near cumming.  I tell him so.

“Then give me your hand again—and I should hit the road.”

I close the speculum and slide my left into him.  I do a really fast back and forth of my left and right—almost punch fisting it—about three times.  Marco groans in ecstasy.

And we are done.

He showers.

We take the sling out to his car…and he’s gone.

About two hours later, I have a raging hard on.  I stroke to some Jake Morgan porn and load the jock bound for the Southern Hemisphere…

(The graphic is a picture of the Joe Louis sculpture in Detroit.  

Hit Marco’s name below for some great pics of hands in his ass…)

A Brief Meeting with Jake

 

My Playroom—September, 2020

The next two men I played with were also fisting buds. 

The first was Jake. Jake is likely the man I have known the longest with who I am still playing.  We have known each other close to 25 years or more now.  We don’t see each other often, but when we do, we can pick up right where we left off.

Once again he was headed down for some sort of socially distanced church gathering and hoped to stop at my place on the way back.  Timings worked out and he arrived as scheduled.

 

We go upstairs and get almost naked.  Jake is looking good.  No letting himself go during lockdown.   We chat.  I learn he has also been with a bondage Master while down with the church group.  His hole and testicles have been worked hard.  He kneels and takes my cock out of my jock.    It disappears into his mouth.  He is able to take me down to the root—until I fully harden.  He chokes and I quickly pull out. 

I tell him to get on the fuck bench.  I kneel behind him and tongue his hole.  His ass lips are already swollen as if I’d been using him for hours.  I love the feel of the used hole on my tongue. I stand up and fuck.  But not for long.  I can barely feel myself in him.  His hole has been manhandled.  I slap his ass hard.  He tightens down a little—but not much.  I add the egg headed dildo and double fuck him.  Now we’re talking.  I love how it can make any hole feel tight with me wedged snugly next to the plastic.

We change over to the sling.

I eat his hole again.

I fuck.

And grease up my hand while I hammer into him.

My left glides in.  I feel his ass snap around my wrist.  I pause.  I turn my hand ever so slightly and pull it out. 

I grease up the right.  I do the same with it.

Back and forth.

I fuck him again.  Briefly.  And retire the cock to the pouch.

Left.

Right.

Again and again.

I use the big black butt plug.  His ass swallows it easily and he groans as his ass lips close around the small shaft of its base.

We break for a moment and stretch out together on the bed.  

Jake is almost instantly asleep.  I let him doze for a time—then get up. 

This wakes him—and we do another fist round in the sling.

We stop soon enough.  It’s a combination of his ass wearing out and he has to get home.

A short session, but nice to reconnect.

He showers.

I look at a surprising text on my phone…

But that’s next time.

 

 

(The graphic is a picture of the Joe Louis sculpture in Detroit.)

Fisting the Ginger Bear

 Northern Michigan—September, 2020

I did not play again in August.  I waited my two weeks in isolation to see how I felt.  I also kept tabs on the other men from our motel romp—to see how they were feeling.  We were all fine.  My next meet was more in line with how I originally thought I would return to playing. 

A fisting bud wrote, wondering if I was ready to jump back into sex.  I told him what I had done—and how I had waited and watched for symptoms.  He was fine with that.  He had been in hibernation all spring and summer—and was more than ready.  What had kept him sane for such a long stretch was that he had moved a friend/playmate into another bedroom to shelter with him.  He was a man I knew—but hadn’t seen in years.  He was a great fisting top—and one who cared little about getting his dick involved with it all.  I knew that while this ginger bear enjoyed being fucked, he was really all about my hands and toys.  This would mean we would also have more space between us with him in his sling—not quite so on top of each other and constantly breathing the same air. 

I was willing to take the chance…so I set off.

 

It’s an easy drive.  I find his 100 year old farmhouse easily.  They both come out on the wraparound porch to greet me.  The Ginger Bear is just that—very hairy and all of it fiery red—with very pale skin.  His friend has appeared in these posts and was dubbed Leather Top. He looks like the very image of one:  bald, once muscular and artfully tatted.  Both men are within 5 years of my age.

We chat in the living room.  Ginger Bear and I sip water, Leather Top has a beer.  It’s been over two years since he and I shared a hole—so Leather Top catches me up on where he’s been.  Soon enough, we troop up the stairs and strip down.  Ginger Bear keeps on a flannel shirt.  I keep on my jock and boots.  Leather Top is also in a jock and a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

Ginger Bear hops in the sling, tucked into the corner of his bedroom.  I look to LT to see who wants to go first.

“You know what we have to do,” he reminds me.  And I do remember.  LT pulls out a quarter.  He tosses it.  “Call it.”

“Heads.”

And it is.  So I kneel and begin tonguing Ginger Bear’s ass.  He moans and opens his hole for me.  Having my tongue go deep into whatever butt I’m rimming gets me harder than just about any other activity.  I stroke myself a little as I get him good and wet.

Leather Top goes off to give us some space. I stand up and slip my dick into the wet hole.  GB takes me easily.  Moaning constantly and twisting his own nipples.  I fuck him.  Harder and harder. 

Soon enough I switch to my left hand.  The intensity of the moans from GB increase.  Leather Top comes back and stands behind Ginger Bear’s head and takes over twisting, pinching and pulling on GB’s nips.  My left hand is in place.  His ass ring snaps down on my wrist.  I turn it.  Ever so slightly—but his response is terrific.

I reverse hands and do the right.  I turn it slowly.  Just a gentle rotation.  Ginger Bear opens the poppers and begins speaking in tongues.

I go back to my left.  My cock is added—pushing along my palm until it finds my fingers deep in his ass.  I stroke myself ever so slightly inside him.  He groans again and takes another hit.

I go back to the right hand.  I try to add my cock with it, too.  But it doesn’t work.  I slip in an extra three fingers instead. 

I break.  Letting Leather Top take over.  I go wash my hands of the amazing amount of lube on them.  When I come back, I take over working Ginger Bear’s nipples.  The Crisco/J-lube mix on LT’s hands is slightly pink.  He finishes up with one hand and the four fingers of the other just as I did.

While he goes to wash, I clean up Ginger Bear.  His ass is not bleeding—at least not now.  The hemorrhoid LT must have hit, has recovered.

I look for my speculum in my bag—but it seems I didn’t pack it.  I make do with my hands instead—doing wide lateral stretches with all eight fingers. 

I decide to alternate hands.

Left in.

The right replaces it in an easy gliding exchange.

On and on.

Back and forth.

One last lateral stretch and I let Leather Top back into GB.

He starts—and suddenly Ginger Bear has had enough.

We all wash up—and sit down at table.  Ginger Bear heads to the stove where a pot of soup has been simmering…

Breaking Quarantine with Braydon (and Company)

 Kalamazoo—August, 2020

It was time to have sex again.  I knew it—and I knew I needed to do it with some thought.  I had not played since March 14.   But now, in late August, my intensive summer work schedule (made even more intense with figuring out how to keep working safely during Covid) was over.

Brayton, the always horny, cute cub I had first used at the bookstore—and then invited to join Don and Reid in the playroom—had let me know that he, too, was ready to play.  A new text told me he had been talking to a number of men in his stable, all in the same boat.  He had taken the bull by the horns and rented a motel room.  Would I be interested?

I was and I wasn’t.  This was not quite how I thought I’d jump back in.  I talked to Brayton.  He assured me that the other men had taken the lockdown to heart and been idle for months.  I declined.  And then I changed my mind.  My cock won.

I went.

 It is an incredibly cheap motel.  It’s not hard to find as it’s right on the highway.  Top of the line when it was built in the 1990’s, it has fallen on hard times.  I park and walk by another gathering, currently with the door wide open and the participants spilling out into the parking lot.  With loud music blaring and cans, bottles or a pipe in every hand, it looks more like drink and drugs are on the menu there and not sex.  I pick up my pace and knock on a door at the opposite end of this wing of rooms.

It takes a second but Brayton opens the door, naked but for a jock.  We hug.  I go in as he continues to dither about getting his phone to play music to cover the sounds of sex.    I start to strip. We seem to be alone.  But then the toilet flushes.  And there are voices.

Two men emerge from the bathroom.  Both are somewhere between 27 and 37.  One is short, mostly fit, with dark hair and an impish grin.  The other man is around six foot, also dark and carrying some extra pounds.  The bigger man stops dead as he sees me in my jock and sits on the other bed.  The smaller man smiles and goes back into the bathroom.

I sit and retie the laces on my boots.

And we sit.  The smaller man returns.

I am introduced.  We smile and nod.

The larger guy disappears back into the bathroom.

Finally, with the music figured out, Braydon comes and kneels in front of me.  I stand up.  The smaller man watches intently as Braydon pulls my cock out of the pouch.  It dangles for a moment—stretching to his full length—before Braydon swallows it down.  I hold the back of Braydon’s head pulling him onto my cock.  He chokes—and I let him off me.  The young man on the bed touches his own jock pouch. 

I now fuck Braydon’s mouth.  When he comes up for air, he turns to the smaller guy.  “You’ve gotta taste this cock.”  The young man comes over and kneels next to Braydon.  Braydon steers my cock into the other man’s open mouth.  He groans as his tongue finds my piss slit.  I stand stock still and let the two men go back and forth on my dick.  It feels great. Wet and sloppy.

The groans from the two men bring the other man out of the bathroom.  He sits on the far bed.  He kneads his jock pouch as he watches them give me head.

“I need to get fucked.”  Braydon stands up.  I assume this is my cue—but surprisingly the smaller guy tells Braydon to get on all fours.  I watch the smaller guy spit on Braydon’s pucker and finger it into him.  In moments, he has pushed his uncut dick into Braydon.  The larger guy comes over to watch.

I stick my dick into Braydon’s mouth.  He groans as he is spit roasted.  The larger guy moves behind me, reaching around my chest to twist my nipples.  Soon, he stops and kneels down next to me.  I push my cock into his mouth.  He gives a great blowjob.  Every inch of skin is licked.  He moves down to my balls, too.  These surprise him—bigger than he expects—and likely hairier.  He leaves them wringing wet.

“I need that in my ass,” he says holding on to my wet cock and looking up into my eyes.

“Yeah,” I nod.

There is a knock at the door.  Braydon pulls away from the man fucking him and answers it.  Two men come in—both around my age.  I recognize the man with ginger hair from chats online—though we have never met.  His partner is dark and hairy.  They strip off and instantly kneel on either side of my dick.  This sends the bigger guy back to the far bed to watch and stroke.  The new couple take turns taking me to the root.  It makes the hairy guy so hard, he stops to fuck Braydon’s ass, as his partner continues to suck me.

Finally, I fuck Braydon myself.  His ass is very wet—though no one has claimed to shot a load.  I fuck him hard, kneeling on the bed—so Braydon can clean the cock of the Hairy guy.

I fuck until my knees tell me to stand up.  The small guy goes right back up Braydon.   I replace the Hairy guy in Braydon’s mouth.  I notice the Ginger has some sort of toy up the man I was about to fuck when the last two arrived.  The Hairy guy slaps his semi hard cock against mine.  Braydon takes the hint and sucks both of us—back and forth.  Eventually, I pull out of his mouth, leaving the now harder cock of the Hairy guy in Braydon.  I move around and sink to my knees and begin to eat the very hairy ass crack in front of me.

I get lost in rimming the overly hairy ass in front of me.  I have no idea how long I tongue fuck the Hairy guy as Braydon sucks him.  I actually have to pull his ass cheeks apart, they are so full.  My saliva leaves him incredibly wet.

We now take turns fucking Braydon.  The three of us in rotation.  Always letting whoever pulls out of Braydon’s ass into his mouth for proper ATM.

Eventually I go over to the other bed.

I fuck the bigger guy.  It’s rough getting into him—but once I do and he relaxes, he flowers open.  But it is too much for him.  He begs me to stop fucking or he’ll cum.

I pull out as he continues to suck on the Ginger.  I go behind the Ginger and kneel.  My tongue finds the new ass crack.  His response is at first surprise—and then he bends over in pleasure.  His cock sucker flips onto his back and worms under him—so he can suck the Ginger’s balls as well as his cock.  The Ginger is in heaven.  I eat him out—reveling in the difference between he and his partner—one so hairy and one so smooth.

I finally have to stand up.  My cock slides down the wet ass crack as I stretch.  He bucks back on it.  I insert it.  Slowly.  Another very tight hole.

“Holy shit,” the Ginger mutters.

But I sink balls deep into him. 

I hold and begin to fuck.  Slowly.  Long strokes.

Instantly, the Ginger explodes.  Cum is everywhere on the man under him, his face looking like a freshly glazed donut.  I carefully pull out.  I go to lick up some of the jizz.

There’s a knock at the door.  “What’s going on in there?”

First we freeze, then the five of us move to the tiny bathroom as Braydon answers it.  A woman, claiming to be security, is threatening to call the police.  Braydon gets rid of her.  There is another knock almost immediately.  It is the woman from the front desk, telling him she has just made the call.

When the door closes a second time, we come out of the bathroom.

For me, the mood is broken.  Even if it is not true, as Braydon insists, I won’t be getting hard again easily.

I get dressed. 

The others decide to wait it out.

I get to my car just as the flashing lights of two police cars begin circling the parking lot…

Post Move

 It was a week ago today I moved.

I had spent the previous two weeks taking anything that could fit in boxes to my new home. 

On the Monday, the two young movers arrived and moved all the big stuff.

They did it well—and fast.  And were actually kind of cute….

I voted the next morning…and took to my bed for 13 hours.  Exhausted.

I’m fine now…and the duplex is close to how I want it. 

Except for the books.  About 1500+ of them. 

Getting them back in order will keep me busy on the long winter nights coming soon.

And I need to set up the playroom.  I tackle that tomorrow…though I’m not sure it will get much use as Covid cases surge.

But it was a lovely day here in Michigan today—in the 70’s. 

And it made we want to write. 

I have set most of tomorrow to do just that—the story of where I venture out for the first time after all those months to fuck some ass.

See you then.