My Conversion
I started barebacking when I was 21. I
was dating a guy who was POZ.
He was a total Bottom, and I hadn't yet found out what I was—so I
accommodated him. After a few torn
and ripped Condoms, I concluded I was more likely to die in an auto accident
than to acquire HIV
from a Bottom.
After we broke up I discovered the joy
of bathhouses. I had a friend who
was big on bookstores, so I persuaded him to go with me to the Baths. I always topped bareback unless the
Trick asked for a Condom. All
that changed two years ago.
For once in my life, I wanted to get fucked. I asked my Buddy to fuck me. In seconds he had his Dick up my
Ass. I'd never pried into his
Status, but told him to pull out if he were POZ. He did.
By the time my POZ Bud moved away, I'd converted to
full-time Bottom on an unending quest for a regular Fuck Buds. I took on all Cummers and never
asked anyone to pull out. I figured
I was POZ already,
so what the hell!
Life in a small town sucks when it cums
to sex. Often you gotta travel for
miles. So I didn't get out very
often—what with work and all.
Around December I couldn't find any sex
what with the holidays and bad weather.
I sunk into a slump. Over
the next several months I had sex with a few local guys.
In March I got tested, and the results
came back NEG.
The Counselor told me the tests were 90% accurate after 3 weeks. In the 3 weeks
prior, no one had shot up my Ass, so I had a clean bill of health. I figured
that was my second chance, and maybe I should reconsider my lifestyle. I swore off the Baths. I allowed locals who said they were NEG to fuck me—because in a town
this size you can't conceal your Status very long. Any POZ guys I ran into always lived too
far away—so I could chat without fearing they might want to meat up.
Saturday of Memorial Day weekend I
worked until evening and didn't have to be back till Tuesday afternoon. That gave me most of the weekend to
fuck around. I logged on,
intending my first stop to be the local Chat Room, but I misclicked and ended
up in a Cincy room by mistake.
Within seconds I got an i.m.
from a Dude in the burbs. He was
really horny and wanted to drive up and fuck me.
"You're a Top?" I inquired with some trepidation.
"Totally and completely. And I only bareback."
I couldn't help it. MY
KINDA GUY!
"You POZ or NEG?" he asked.
I told him I'd just tested NEG,
and he announced that he was POZ. "Is that a problem?"
I took a deep breath. My ongoing conundrum—POZ or NEG. How I responded could (and did)
affect the rest of my life. But
simply put, I was bored, lonely, and desperate for sex. I decided to play semi-safe. It'd worked in the
past. After all, I was still NEG.
"No problem," I responded, "but I might ask you to pull out."
"Your call.
Ever been fisted?"
"I think I'm too tight.
Love watersports, though."
"Oh, yeah!"
"And humiliation..."
"Can you call me?" He gave me his number.
I called him right away. I gave him directions, and we made
arrangements to meat at midnight.
He arrived at 12:30. His pic didn't do him justice. He was
totally hot. I'm not the skinniest guy in the world, and I prefer partners who
are slightly rotund. Otherwise I
get insecure thinking I'm fat and wondering what some greek god would want with a fat slob like me.
He was thinner than I, but no 6-pack
abs or anything, so I felt at ease.
I took him in my mouth and shortly thereafter he rimmed me. He slid up my body, kissing me, and
pushed in me dry. It hurt, but not
as bad as other dry fucks. He
flipped me on my back—my knees pressed to my chest, my legs flung over his
shoulders. A couple of times
he froze deep within me. I was
thinking I shouldn't press my luck.
I told him to pull out.
"UGHHHHH! TOO LATE!"
I figured he'd give me fair warning,
but he was the strong, silent type.
Though it never really hurt, using only Spit for Lube, I knew I had to
be torn up inside. I felt elated,
yet feared that Fate would yet extract it's Pound of Flesh. He whispered he could cum again; and
since I'd already crossed the line, I saw no reason to demur.
I could taste my Cum and Ass Juice on
his Shaft, unadulterated by latex or lube. I sucked him till I ached. We threw caution to the wind. He wanted me to cum when he did. I jerked slowly, anticipating he'd shoot. Maybe it's my submissive side, but I
think a Bottom should never cum till the Top is satisfied.
He grabbed my Dick, stroked me, and I
shot. True to his word, he spooged
simultaneously, whispering what how spiritual it felt to feel me spasm
round his Cock. He pushed me on my
stomach, and stuck his finger up my Ass, then in my mouth, then back up my Ass,
then past my cum-deprived lips, force-feeding me his creamy white Toxin.
Since I had just gotten off, I wasn't
in the mood for further foreplay.
I thought he was gonna fist me and told him that I couldn't handle
that.
"SHUT UP AND TAKE IT LIKE A MAN!"
I tried—but it hurt like hell. It felt like he was forcing his
whole fist up my Rump; and, in retrospect, he probably was. I believe he was purposefully roughing me up, cause,
not 10 minutes later, he stuck his Cock back up my Pussy.
I reiterated I couldn't take anymore.
He responded he'd "MAKE IT VERY QUICK AND DIRTY!" I didn't even feel like a Quickie by then.
"Wanna rest awhile?"
I
hinted none too subtlety.
"Nah!" he replied. "Got church
in the morning."
He shoved his Cock in hard and held it there.
I had tears in my eyes; but he
whispered, "You can take it. You'll be okay. This won't take but a minute. You'll be
a little sore in the morning; but in a few weeks, you'll cherish this
forever."
He came in me for the 3rd time. I think he knew exactly what he was
doing. I was not nearly as relaxed
as when GETTIN'
POZZED was just
a fantasy. I knew he had scratched me up
with his nails, just as surely as he had spewed Poison Jizm up my Cunt.
I couldn't cum again but I was still
hard as a rock. I had taken 3 POZ Loads that Sunday. I wasn't concerned about HIV or AIDS, but I remember thinking that
my Counselor at the Health Center would be pissed big time if he knew.
It was 4:30 am. I was worn out, and he still had to
drive back to Cincinnati for church. We traded cell numbers. On the
way downstairs he told me he had a Boyfriend who insisted on playing safe ("What a bummer!" was
his aside) and they were moving cross-country next week.
Boy, did I feel like a Tramp! I had let the guy POZ
me. I found that out later for
sure. He had a Boyfriend, so there
was no chance for any kind of LTR.
And he was moving across the continent—so I'd never see him again.
I anticipated his Cum dripping out of
my Hole. When that didn't happen, my first thought was that he hadn't cum in me
at all. An orgasm is a relatively
simple thing to fake. I went
to the bathroom. Sure enough I did
push out some Spooge—quite a lot, actually. I looked at it in the toilet. It had taken on that buff color that old Cum acquires as it
ages.
I stared at the Lethal Jizm that had congealed in my
Pussy, wondering if it had taken. If my tests came back NEG, then I'd won another
reprieve—but would I screw that up as well?
Getting POZZED is scary, but potentially
liberating. But testing NEG again would bore me to tears. I didn't know how I wanted it to cum
out. As it turned out, my druthers
were irrelevant. This cat had used
up all of his nine lives.