Misha 6,940

It's so hard to know what you want, and it seems like no matter how much older people get, most of them still haven't got a clue. Some suggest looking at what you don't want in order to help you figure out what you do, but that seems redundant and counter intuitive to me. Most people want power, yet our modern and complicated society has blurred the lines of it so much, that in addition to having so many types, there's multiple many ways to achieve it, and like our emotions, it's always changing with each passing day. Humans aren't that much more than slightly evolved primates, and whenever I observe people's behavior I'm unequivocally slapped with that fact in my face. It makes sense that we share 98% of the DNA of a chimp, and 99% with that of a Binobo. Watching people grind on each other in clubs, talking shit and spreading vicious gossip, eating out of the trash, dying on the streets of addiction, stealing, molesting, fiercely fought and continual class wars- which are the final divisions among people... all of these aspects of daily life force one to realize what humans aren't- powerful enough to be in control of self, powerless against the never ending primordial struggle for power.

Some people like being out of control; conversely some like to be controlled. I always find the most interesting dynamic in a sado-masochistic relationship that it's really the masochist who is in control the whole time, meaning they're the one who is really powerful, yet at the same time they achieve this power through total release of power & submission.... I'm not into S&M and wouldn't ever really get close to anyone who was. It seems unhealthy, like it's the result of abuse or trauma. That's beside the point. I guess that example just serves to illustrate my notion of how power is never the same, essentially existing in more than one place, at more than one time. I want to be powerful. They say we have the right to an education, and I wish I never dropped out of college cause I'm fascinated by psychology. I'm also fascinated by sex and power, because they're both part of the few overall themes of life. Sex, death, love, power, money, beauty, pain... all of these words mean the same to everyone, with respect to both value and expense.

I try to find ways in my life to be powerful, or to make myself more powerful. I've always been into rough sex. I mean, nothing too crazy, and I don't want to only have rough sex all the time. I guess it's a reflection of the way I feel at the time, which is always changing. Some of the best lays I've had haven't been the hottest guys or had the biggest dicks. Every time I got with a really hot guy I feel like he was just posing, and there was nothing more to him than the way he looks. I mean, I catch myself doing that too, but that's beside the point. If I'm bottoming for a guy I do like it when he spanks my ass, holds me down, throws me on the bed, bites, scratches, and bruises. I carry around bites and bruises with pride- it says "I am desirable enough to get people to have sex with me" and I don't mind people thinking I'm fucked up. I'm not good all the time, and I don't expect to be treated like a prince, cause I'm a pauper. You know, I always said that the first guy who could tell me what to do is the guy I'd spend the rest of my life with. Treats me like the bitch I am.

One of the hottest hookups I had was named Misha. I've always had a thing for Russian guys, because they're sketchy as fuck. They always have the exotic hard to find drugs like G.H.B. or Special K. I like their uncut penises, and tight eastern European bodies. I've noticed that mainly, there are 2 types of Russians- the lighter skinned ones to the Northwest, who look vaguely British only with way better bone structure and teeth, and then the dark ones who look mixed. Genetically speaking, many eastern Europeans are actually Chinese, due to a long term intermingling between the Caucasian and Mongoloids ancestral DNA combining throughout Eastern Europe and Western Asia. Misha was the latter... he looked Mongolian if anything, but was really into being Russian. He had such great cheekbones I always wondered why he chose to have long hair, because it totally hid those important lines. I wondered why he was so into his Russian heritage although he was obviously not just genetically Russian. It's strange when people see themselves as something just because it was the setting they grew up with.

He had really pretty tan skin with blue eyes, which I've always found to be the most appealing combination of coloring in my opinion. I love it when Black people wear grey contacts. What I liked most about him is how possessive he was over me, it really turned me on. He was taller than me by a few inches, and I think that he liked to look at me as something perfect, small and powerless that needed him to protect me. He grew up on the streets in Russia, and although he never really revealed the details of his past extensively, I had a feeling that he'd seen some shit. I met him through a mutual friend, and from the moment we gave each other a first meeting hug, I knew we had a lot of sexual chemistry. Touching him was electric; the first thing I noticed was his really meaty and perfectly symmetrical shoulder blades. He has a strong back, I thought to myself. He probably has a lot of confidence, that's pretty powerful.

"What it is, your name?" He asked me. "I think you are so cute." His accent was too good! It made me want to fall in love immediately. We don't have to talk anyways. I though it must be fun to be the hot foreigner, cause then everyone wants you so they all compete, and you get to pick the very best one. Aside from the shoulders, the other thing I notices was his great cheekbones, and perfect jaw line. No amount of plastic surgery can ever give someone good bone structure, cause it's genetic. We started having sex soon after that first meeting, at our friend's party. At first I was glad he was so much, it was fun being around him, and he has a very adventurous side which guaranteed anyone who spent an evening, or an early morning with him, a very good time indeed. He was always getting into trouble, in some way, most of the time. He told me a few times all his problems were from having bad luck, but at the end of the day he could have turned it all around if he wanted to. After the third time we had sex he started checking my phone, reading all my texts right in front of me. He had huge trust issues, and was always convinced I was sucking someone else's dick, yet at the same time always talked about wanting to have threesomes with me.

The sex was so good that I didn't want to get with anyone else, but he never believed me; the more I reassured him that I wanted to stick with him seemed to only further his feelings of self-doubt and powerlessness over the situation. His friends told me that he was always talking about how I was the one, and how he'd never been so much in love before, but has a weird way of showing it. What I liked about him is that he was so kinky. Sometimes, I tell a guy I have no limits, just so I can see how they react to that. I really don't have any limits. Well, I do. I'm not going to get anyone stick a hydrant up my ass, or kill me to get off on it in a sex type way. Misha really didn't seem to have any, and sometimes I wonder if he did some things to get himself off or for no reason at all. I always had cuts and bruises after a weekend with him, and I'm glad to say I always leave my mark on whichever guy I happen to be having sex with. I even let him drink my blood, which I thought was really hot. I never really knew anything about the last time he was tested, so I chose not to ingest any of his fluids, although we did pee on each other all kinds. What I liked a lot is that he would forcefully hold me down while fucking me, or punch my in the stomach in order to get me to submit to him. To make a long story short, the sex was amazing... but I guess that was mostly it. Misha has a shitty personality, and although he's really adventurous and passionate about life, he really wasn't that fun or happy, and wouldn't let me have a single guy friend. He was just too jealous to allow me to have any males in my life except for him.

Since our relationship was so hot, sometimes really scalding, it did have to get cold at some points. We had some legendary fights, even though I really hate conflict and do my best to avoid it at all costs. It's just so devolved to me. I would never try to claim that I got all wrapped up in an abusive relationship, because it's not the case. I hit him too, all the time. With guys, you have to be like that, especially if they're as crazy and ghetto as this motherfucker, because getting physical is the only way they will respond. However, the makeup sex after would just be so good that I couldn't help but ache for him, the center of which was deep inside my pelvis. He was such an amazing fuck, and although we'd usually only see each other a few times a week we'd always have sex for at least several hours. I'd always tell him he was just too good, and that was the only reason I couldn't quit him. I always knew he was bad for me. Because our relationship was so much all the time, it predictably fizzled out after 5 months. It just became too much to always deal with his constant bullshit and jealousy, and being treated like a possession. I never break up with guys, because I always want it to last as long as it possibly can... I really do try to believe in love at the end of the day, regardless of how delusional that happens to be.

Misha was the one guy I had to end it with, because even though he made me feel ways that no man was ever able to make me feel, he isolated me too much. He didn't really have any friends, and didn't want me to have any either, he wanted to be the only figure in my life. I understand where these feelings come from, essentially he tried to control me cause he was totally out of control of his own life. When the time came to end things, I could tell he would take it really hard. I couldn't really remember exactly what I said, cause I had never broken up with a boyfriend previously. I guess something to the effect of it's not working out. "How can you do this to me? You told me you loved me..." he said pitifully. I didn't know what to do! I wanted to love him, but I couldn't. He made it impossible. All I could think of was about all the times this has happened to him before. It seemed like more than a couple guys had probably taken all they could from this poor dude until getting totally over it and getting rid of him, never really giving it a second thought. He never really told me that much about himself, which is fine because I really didn't care anyways. I don't care who you are, or what you did. Still, my heart goes out to anyone who can't really get things right, and I'm always a sucker for hard luck stories. Even though everyones' lives are so different, and not everyone wants the same thing, when it comes to the main themes of life, everyone really does. Everyone wants most what they can't have, and he wanted me- probably 10 times more now that I told him he couldn't have me. Isn't wanting what you can't have the basis for attraction?

A few weeks went by, and aside from manic calls at four or five in the morning from a gaked out Russian, the only other ways he tried to contact me was through texts and e-mails. I replied to a text or two, just letting him down easy, insisting that we could still be friends, and insisting that he would totally get over me and find someone way better anyways. When boyfriends broke up with me in the past I totally would cut off 100% of communication, thinking it better to have them be totally out of my life if that's what they really wanted. There's something intensely powerful is cutting someone totally out of your life, essentially it's the worst way to hurt them, and hurt them the most. See, even when guys break up with me they come to regret it hella quickly, and always to re-establish a line of contact. But, if someone breaks my heart, it means I won't forgive them, and I will soon forget them. If someone hurts you bad enough then forgiveness is the reaction of a fool.

So one Saturday I went to a place I'm known to go to. Sometimes I go out alone. Sometimes I think that sounds really pitiful, but then sometimes I think that sounds really awesome, and shows my independence. Most of my friends work minimum wage jobs, which means they're not always able to just go wherever whenever. This night I was out alone. It only meant I would leave my house alone, and arrive at the club alone. I'm sure I'll see at least a few people I know, of course talk to some of them, hopefully meet any cute single friends they dragged out with them, and hopefully either get them to come home with me or go home with them. I'm not picky, I'll take what I can get. Dating has never been easy for me, aside from visualizing what I want most in the end, which is a boyfriend. I'm getting better at overcoming hopelessness and accepting the fact that everyone has to start somewhere, and that somewhere always seems like it's so far away that I'll never achieve it. I hope I meet someone who wants to stick it out with me, but I know goals like this don't achieve themselves, and I have to do something to make that happen. So, I'm assertive. I go up to cute guys and tell them I think they're cute. They either are sweet, or turn into bitchy egotists right after, and you never really know how they're going to act.

The reason Misha could never go up to guys he didn't know was because he was fundamentally insecure. Can't blame a person for that, there are many people like that in the world. I'm young, so I like to go out on Friday or Saturday nights. I still have a lot of energy, and even though occasionally on weekends I still have to work, but as long as I don't work until late I always find time to go out. Something, anything is better from sitting on the couch and watching TV while I go on the Internet. Life is so short, I want to grab it by the horns and have the most fun I can. I like to forget about everything bad that happened or is happening to me. Yeah, I haven't been able to really do anything with my life, I know superlatives are a total joke in the sense that the most or best are not realistically possible. Never will I be the most attractive, the richest, or the funniest guy in the club. I know I'll never be a star, although that's what I wish for more than anything- a way to get everyone to love me. I know the real reason I never get guys is cause I don't have a car. But tonight, I'm going to dance to amazing house music and be the fiercest fucker any of these club yuppies have ever laid eyes on. That can be something to want.

For many years I just assumed everyone was conspiring against me, that the rest of the world only existed to subvert my goals and give me nothing but opposition. I still think it's true, to a lesser extent, but from living outside of mainstream society, I was always horrified at the notion of the direction in which direction my life would go. I'll never wear a suit to work and sit at a desk taking advantage of people in 3rd world countries to increase profit margins. I'll never have a 9-5, never drive a nice car, never own my own house, and I know all my dreams aren't going to come true. I've accepted the fact that I'll never get married, and I'll never have kids. Even though this life can be so liberating, it's also terrifying. I forget sometimes that life isn't certain for anyone, however security is much more certain for the lucky ones, and many are practically guaranteed it. So what else is there to want? Just to have a good time I guess.

I was with Misha long enough for him to memorize my work schedule, and I know he listened to me enough when I spoke to remember some key details about me and what I like. I hoped that I wouldn't fun into him, and I'd been lucky so far, but I knew the eventual moment in time would come where we meet, and he's either nice and really fake or will start acting like a bitch immediately. I hoped for the best, realistically expecting the worst. I guess tonight was my lucky night. In the middle of a conversation with a nice guy I feel a tap on my left shoulder. "Well, look at which ho decided to come out and parade her ass through through the bars tonight," he said with a smirk, but I couldn't tell if he was trying to be hurtful to make himself feel better, or to try to make me insecure in front of other people.

"Girl, I have thick highlights. I can do, say, or be whatever the fuck I want." Since English was my first language, there were some ways that he could just never beat me. Sure he's taller, cuter, buffer, and arguably more interesting than I am, but definitely not smarter. Or maybe I just psych myself up to thinking that's true and that's what makes it true. It's anyone's guess what really makes some people smart and others stupid. The guys standing around me laughed him. Gay guys can usually read people fairly well. It comes from having the rest of the world read us on a daily basis. "Look, if you want to talk you know I'm always here for you. You know I'm not trying to make your life harder. I told you a million times I hope you get what you want." If I've had sex with someone before it creates an unspoken bond for life. I'll always think back back to them at various points throughout my life forever, just purely from the fact that I'd crossed boundaries with them that I hadn't crossed with just anyone. I'm one of those people who can remember all the guys I've been with. I was being diplomatic yet real.

"Why would I want to talk to you? You're only good for fucking, and that's it. Your mouth ain't made for talking, and you know that." I could tell he was still upset when I explained that as far as our compatibility goes, it was purely sexual. Why he is trying to embarrass me in front of peers? Ironically, it wasn't going to work considering that everyone knows I'm not a slut. "OK fine. Then don't expect me to use it to speak to you, in that case. Don't follow me around tonight. I'm trying to be charming. Don't follow me to the other places I'm going to go. I was hoping that we could be cordial but you're being too immature about the situation." I always seemed to have to take the authority and speak to him like a parent. Usually he liked to be told what to do. I wonder if he ever had a real parental figure in his whole life. It's unfair to expect your significant other to be your parents. And it sets the relationship up for a quick failure.

Parallel, he always got really pissed whenever he thought I was talking down to him. "Seriously, you need to leave me alone tonight! Look, I'll talk to you soon, but now is not a good time, OK!?" I put a lot of stress on the word OK in the hopes my tone would send a message. They say most of communication is not the words one speaks, but the tone in which one speaks. I didn't understand what it was about the way I was communicating him that was being so ineffective, cause he looked at me like like he was looking right though me. I wonder what it feels like to be so powerful? He gave me the look of a sad child who's done something wrong, but only for a split second. The look quickly contorted into anger. He wasn't getting what he wants. Opposition. All of us face it. How can one still be powerful in face of opposition? "Look, I'm going somewhere else. All my friends are just going to talk shit about you anyways." Shit, that wasn't what I meant. I know he really cares what people think. I'm not trying to set him off, or make him look bad in front of potential boyfriends.

I got in a cab with one of my close friends Rob and we went across town to the SOMA. Sure the guys will be 2 decades older and most likely HIV positive, you know what else? They're only going to be nice, and only serving big plates of smiles. They'll respect boundaries when you tell them no, and if you think they're judging you it's totally projected. They're only want to make me feel good about myself. Drama free is the way to be. I'm trying to get negative forces out of my life cause I'm psychically, physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. I'm tired of all the time, and I know it's from psychic vampires. I'm sure you can guess what I mean. I'm referring to those people who although special and magical in their own way, have this strange power in that they are able to suck the life out of people around them, or suck all the energy out of an entire room of people just by being themselves. Or perhaps, the friend who is upset so they call you purely for the attempt to make you upset as well. These people are to be avoided at all costs. Besides, I'm the only psychic vampire who is allowed to take others energy.

So we went to Club 8, which seems to draw a younger crowd. I take pleasure in the fact that all the major porn production companies shoot all that sexy gay porn within a 10 block radius of where I'm standing right now. The sexual force of nature from the 70s never really left, and even now you can always see guys walking around in pigs masks on a daily basis. Sometimes, it scares me. I guess I mean it makes me feel inadequate, like sex means nothing to me because I can't be it. I can't be sex. It wasn't long before a cute Mexican guy made friends with Rob, so they went upstairs probably just to make out and feel each others dicks through jeans. This club, in the big scheme of things is upscale, and it wasn't a former sex club and they don't have a place for sex inside it. I don't mind that, in face it takes the pressure off me. I don't really want to get off with someone unless they're my man or could potentially become my man. You have to always try things out first to make sure they're good. The bathrooms are clean but they still smell like piss.

10 mins went by, and the first article of the gay constitution, I found someone to fuck so we'll talk some other time, was now in full effect. I accepted the fact that I would probably not see Rob again tonight, and was excited that he found someone to get off with. It's cool, I saw 2 guys I recognized from school, so that gave me the chance to shoot the shit with someone. I always like to meet new friends. And new old friends. The music was ok. The club was cool, but after the second drag performance I was getting tired. Misha was making me nervous earlier and I still had the residual feelings deep inside my stomach. I didn't want to have sex with anyone tonight. I was drinking earlier but now I was just coming down. I'd actually been out of the house for about 3 or 4 hours now and it was cold. I put on my jacket and stood against the back wall. I'd always dreamed about this as a kid- a room full of hot guys all of whom were attracted to me. Does this mean dreams really do come true? I accepted this happy realization and tried to make it linger. I try to keep hold of good feelings as long as I can.

The world is so fundamentally dark. If you're not in your bed, it seems like everything is cold, hard, and inviting. We live in concrete mazes, stone and glass, sharp and clean, hard like my heart, with no romantic illusions of changing the world. Opposition faces you at every turn and nobody ever seems to get what they want. Who gives a shit? I was fierce tonight, and everyone wanted me. I always get whatever I want. I looked behind me and noticed Misha walking through the club. He knows I come here, so he probably was looking for me... I wonder if he's been to my other stomping grounds tonight. Regardless, this was all bad, so I went out the back door. I hoped he didn't notice me leave, because I do have a somewhat memorable walk. People come from around the world to admire my killer ass. We never made eye contact but like a Siamese fighting fish, he always quickly goes on the attack. I looked behind me and noticed that Misha followed me through the back doors and out of the club. The cold wind hit me like a ton of bricks, as it always does, because I hate the cold and never seem to escape it. Statistically, San Francisco has a colder yearly average than Alaska. It's the weather that will eventually make me leave.

But it was that fucking asshole back at the club that made me leave tonight, he was really bumming my stone! You know I bet the reason Misha never wears a coat is because it probably snowed in Russia. I liked how he sweated easily here, I liked the way his balls smelled. "So now you got some more clothes on, I guess," he said to me running up from behind. I wasn't mad but I was annoyed. I just couldn't deal with his bull shit, and whenever situations arise in which I'm probably going to crazy on some bitch's ass, I usually like to take myself out of the situation completely, I've found that it's the only thing that works for me. "What do you want from me? What do you want me to say or do?" I asked furtively. I was hoping to scare him off off tonight by being aggressive. "I want for you to say you love me," he yelled, when I expected him to wimper it.

I wondered what was going through his brain? Who has time to follow someone around all night. "I love you! I fucking love you so much it's making me sick. You're the best baby, the only man for me." I was being obviously sarcastic, due to the fact he couldn't always pick up subtleties like sarcasm or humor since he was foreign. "You're the best dick I've ever had!" Misha grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me against a concrete wall. It only hurt my shoulder blades themselves. I pushed him off of of me but it only seemed to fuel his fire. He grabbed me again and did the same thing. "Misha, stop it! What the fuck is your problem? I could give a shit less about your shitty and fucked up ghetto past. You can't just do whatever you want to, whenever you want to. You're acting like a crazy bitch."

"You do this to me. You love to torture me." I mean, in a way what he was saying was true, but not how he meant it. I like to be the one in control, and if someone in a love relationship with me is going through some power struggle with me then yes, I would love to tortue them. Only if they do something to deserve it. There can be only one. And in a healthy relationship like this things of this nature never even pop up, they're never even an issue.

"You're crazy. I keep telling you I wish you the best and I hope all your dreams come true and shit. How may time have to told you I hope you get what you want, it just can't be me? You're damaged. You lower my worth." I never like to be nasty, but he was giving me no choice. He pushed me up against a building again, the concrete wall of a barely lit warehouse. I wonder how many porno movies Raging Stallion had filmed here under the same premise of forced sex. He put his right forarm over my collar bone. I tried to push him off but he was too strong. Also his emotions were pumping away, so that can make one even more powerful than high functional strength. He pressed his face against me and tried to kiss me. Maybe I should say he forced his tongue inside my mouth and stuck his hand down my pants at the same time. My dick wasn't hard. I was thinking of too many things and I didn't want to do anything with him tonight. "Let it happen," he kept saying. The idea of biting faces always grossed me out, but I bit his lip and tasted blood. He pulled his face back and I tasted more. I spat it in his face, and then he punched me in the face. I saw stars, yet kept thinking that having his blood in my mouth is a health risk.

"Don't I don't like it! Don't! Stop!" I was trying to cause a scene, but I was in a random alley way, under the freeways at night, in a somewhat questionable part of town. I'd been mugged before, which made me realize that no matter how much or how loud you scream, ain't nobody going to come and help. Ironically, the top floors of all the buildings are filled with expensive loft developments, but the wealthy who live in them hear people die on the street or whores getting raped on a daily basis. A few more nondescript screams aren't going to get the cops over here.

"Don't stop? OK, I won't then!" I realized that he had already taken his dick out and was already sporting a semi. What does one do in this situation? He wrestled me to the ground and started pounding on the back of my head with both of his fists. I guess I shouldn't have told him all that useful information I learned in those anatomy classes of the fastest ways to kill people or make them loose consciousness quickest. He was trying to make me black out. I saw stars, but managed to get him off off of me long enough to punch him in the stomach and he doubled over. His dick was out but pants were still up around his mid thighs. I figured this was my chance and totally thought I was about to get away. As I made run for it, he grabbed my ankle with one hand, the other hand still clutching his stomach. I fell to the ground and my arms covered my face, which all slammed against the concrete. It made me disoriented. He climbed on top of my back and held me down with all his body weight. The combination of all these intense experiences made me groggy, but obviously I knew what was happening. He was about to copulate with me. I always think it's strange how men always want to stick their dick in any hole, regardless of who or what it's on. More wasted jizz that will never turn into a baby.

With is upper body and big arms he held my torso to the ground. His front of his ribs were digging into the back of mine and he kept my face to the ground with one of his arms as he put his other one under my pelvis, raising my ass up. "Get your hole up here," he said, 2nd world spit trailing onto the back of my neck. Somehow he'd gotten my black 2xist tank top up and over my shoulders. That shit is paper thin, I was surprised he didn't just rip it off. I was also missing my pants, and my shoes, so I guess my skinny jeans had taken my shoes off as he wrenched me out of them. I was naked except for socks.

I was already thinking how if I went to the police they would do nothing but make my life more difficult, and probably even think "Get the fuck off of me you sick twisted fuck! I'm going to call the fucking police," I tried to think of where my phone could be. I guess somewhere in my pants, or somewhere in the alley way. I tried to squirm my way out from under him, but he had either fucked up my vision from hitting me in the back of the head, or the combined trauma from my forehead hitting the ground as well has me totally out of it. I thought it was totally fucked up that instead of raping me after giving me GHB or Special K, he decided to just fuck my brain up for reals. Who does that?

"You're going to take it bottom bitch. If you call the police I'll fucking kill you." It was at that moment I realized just how serious he was. Sure, I know people who break the law on a daily basis, and yes, I know people who know how to make drugs. At the end of the day, me and my peer group are living on the fringes of society. But I never thought I knew anyone that could or would kill. How deep did this shit go? Had he killed boyfriends before, cut their heads off and dumped the bodies in a ditch? I know the police never really care about bodies when they belong to ghetto faggots or sex workers. Wow, he really was a bitch I could roll with. He spat all over his index and middle finger and also in my hole. I was totally clenching, because I was nervous. I'd been fucked a lot, but my asshole wasn't super loose. Definitely not loose enough to be fucked sans lube. He stuck 2 fingers in me at once, and once again remembered why I never let him finger me. He never cut his finger nails and even when he did they were usually black underneath cause he was a ghetto bartender, always touching dirty shit. His dick had been rubbing against by butt cheek, his dick was hard and already wet at the end of it. "I have the best cock in the world, and I know you want it bitch. You always want it. You go crazy for it. You want it to happen."

Normally I like to bottom, especially if the cock is attached to a hot guy such as this one. I like to watch their bodies thrust me, it makes me feel like I'm the object of desire, which is in many ways powerful in my opinion. I love being hard while a dick is hitting all the right spots deep inside me. I have to be relaxed and into it, you know? In this case my dick could not have been more flaccid, looking at it was disgusting to me, cause it was an obvious barometer of how much fun I was having. I knew he was going to fuck me without a rubber, and I didn't want his 2nd world dick inside my shitbox without a plastic barrier device. I had no clue as to how many people he'd fucked, and even if I asked I knew he would never tell the truth about it. That's how guys are.

Before I knew what was happening, he'd put his penis inside my ass. I was yelling, how come nobody heard? Everyone in the club had the excuse because the music in there covers up anything. What about the hundreds of people who live in earshot of my screams. My mind wandered back to my childhood, when my mom told me about a famous murder that took place in the middle of the street, in the middle of downtown NYC, in the middle of the day. Some girl got stabbed to death in front of hundreds of witnesses, and nobody intervened or did a single thing to help. That seems like a good example of the way humans really are. If someone stumbled upon what was happening to me they'd probably just go home and jerk off to it anyways. At least his dick had a lot of slack to it because he was uncircumcised. Drips of pre-cum, blood, and smelly spit were dripping down my guiche and onto the back of my balls, before coming to a stop on the ground underneath my crotch. I felt like a little kid, when my dad would always touch my penis and stick his meth addict fingers inside my asshole. I was totally powerless.

I'm no stranger to getting pounded, but when it's essentially unwarranted, it's torture. "Get the fuck off me! I don't want to get AIDS!" I yelled, but just like the 10 minute tumbles in the sheets guys call sex, I could tell that he was really turned on and most likely was going to bust a nut soon. I never let a guy fuck me without a condom, especially him, mostly because I had no idea how many times he'd fucked raw. He claimed to have an AIDS test but he never showed it to me, so that might have been the truth and it might have been a lie. There's a big power in not telling people the truth, setting them up to live in a fantasy world of self design.

With the inside of his elbow he pulled my neck up, which at the same time made my ass go down. My legs were half apart, but not totally spread, so he was probably trying to tighten me up? He used to always bust nuts in condoms cause he liked cumming in my hole. I'd always prefer if a guy just pulls the condom off and jerks off all over me, cause it makes me feel like I'm good at something. After a little more I could feel him squirt inside me, which at any other time would have been comforting. He pulled his dick out of me and I could tell my hole would have retained the size of his dick, cause it was torn up and bleeding. I could feel drops of jizz falling off his dick all over my butt cheeks. My endorphins were going crazy but I still couldn't move. I rolled on to my back, my whole body in searing pain. I wasn't thinking about my hole because my head hurt so much. I knew I'd have a headache for at least 2 days. He picked up my pants sans underwear, and threw them on my chest.

He looked down at me with a supercilious look, like a child who'd just gotten an A on his or her math test. "See, I tell you I'm the best fuck babe," he told me, simultaneously pulling his pants up at the same time.

TO BE CONTINUED