Going Deeper (Inside Strange Men)

NOTE: Somebody asked in a comment, where they can support me on socials. I have a BlueSky account with this same name: RubMyButch. I used to have a Twitter before the Nazis took over, and I have an Instagram with the same name, but I never post. My email is the same name at gmail.com. I'm not (at least, not yet) setting any of this up as a subscription or Patreon or anything like that - but I've contemplated the possibility. For now, I love the freedom of being able to write when I have inspiration and time, and not to worry about pleasing anyone but myself and the beautiful men who share their experiences with me. I want to be myself, and not a product or a character.  This is a post with some really complicated feelings. There's race play in here. Quite a bit of it. There's not a lot of actual racist language, but there's considerable discussion about my growing up with some racially charged situations, and the beautiful boy who introduced me to race play as a BDS...

This evening is another lesson in how the best laid plans are only an estimate - a fantasy - of what will happen once you are really there. I've been chatting with this beautiful submissive boy. I've played with him once before, looking down into his liquid brown eyes as he sucked my cock, trying unsuccessfully to penetrate his beautiful tight hole. We had a good time. This time, though, he's wanting a really intense scene - spanking, blindfolds, some very intense racial/ethnic language, a pill bottle full of frozen semen, sharing him around with other white cocks. He's Indian, and although the issues are different than they are for other races in this part of Texas, they're still big, scary issues.  We negotiate carefully - what he can handle, how specifically things should be phrased. He gives me word lists and suggestions for things to do with his body. He gives me three lists: one of things he likes, one of hard-limit things that he doesn't want to do, and o...

  I'm going to a pool party birthday of a guy I know from other pool parties, but haven't had the pleasure of getting over my knee. He told me earlier, that he'd be up for some birthday spankings... I brought my paddle.  I get there, and it's a beautiful house, and they clearly do parties a lot. There are ranks of drinks and mixers, colorful cups so you can get one you remember, a kiosk filled with packaged snacks in a rainbow of popular flavors. I show up with a meat and cheese tray, because it's what I do for parties (see also: Slappy Birthday  or The Fraternity of Handsfree Daddies: Part 1, And One to Grow On ). If you go to a y'all-bring-somethin' kind of party and you see one of these platters, there's a good chance somebody is on the veranda sucking my dick. And flowers; I have learned that these are perfect for parties in one of the fat little Ozarka bottles, and that way you don't have to worry about trying to figure out if you know a person ...

  It's a little bit of a weird Wednesday. My Husband is heading out of town from work, going on a family visit, so I need to do the Duty with the animals - walk and feed the dogs, feed the fish, feed the cat and the random raccoons, opossums, crows, and squirrels that share her outdoor dish, water anything that's wilted. I arrange to take my lunch at the end of the workday, so I have time to go home and do all the chores - and, incidentally, it's kind of nice to get to hose out my ass with my Shower Shot, so I'm sure it's all good. My usual regimen of fasting, Immodium, Cholestyramine, and fiber plus careful cleaning with a water bottle (Yeah... y'all stop acting all fancy. You take an easy-to-squish water bottle, and you hold it up against your butthole, and you crush it like a fratboy smashing a beercan on his forehead. Get the cheap water bottles; they crumple easier) is usually effective, but knowing I've had some quality time with the irrigation station...