In Search of the “Tantric Fuck”

by Brad Amberheart.

My teachers taught me that PLAY is at the core of Tantra.

Without play, there is no Tantra.  PLAY releases us from the chatter of the mind, it opens us to RECEIVE information and knowledge which no one could ever teach us.

What makes buttfucking joyously TANTRIC?

Tantra is ultimately about learning and discovery, fueled by curiosity and play.

A lot of people have never heard Tantra described this way, so I like to make every effort to share what I know and what I’ve learned in my course of 20 years of indulging in creative Tantric experiments…

I’m often perplexed when I hear the word “Tantra” used in so many unfamiliar ways.  For example, what is a “Tantric massage”?  What do people mean, when they say they’re “new to Tantra,” and what is running through a guy’s mind when he asks a question like, “Do you ‘do’ Tantra?”  The pronunciation of the word is also odd…often with the flat “a” sound made only in America…kin to the word “tantrum”.   



The magical world where “failure” no longer has meaning

The place of freedom, 

The room for learning

The playground of discovery fueled by curiosity…

Where “everything is an experiment,”

Where our curiosity and questions are more important than answers

Where SACRED and TABOO become one…


I just fucked a guy for 2 hours.  Was it “Tantric”.  Fuck yes!  How so, you query?  

Well…we were present, for starters.  I know I didn’t mention yet that Tantra has anything to do with presence, and I also am just now getting around to mentioning any association between the words “Tantra” and “sex”.  I like putting the two words together.  Check this out…

Tantric sex: What sets it apart from so-called “ordinary” sex is that when I’m having Tantric sex, I always get a “download”.  Tantric lovemaking is fueled by curiosity and a sense of new discovery.  Today, hours of prolonged, euphoric whole-body assfuck fun actually led my curious bottom-buddy to ask me, “So how did you get into…all of this?”

He was curious!  His curiosity—combined with our commitment to actively notice what we were experiencing while fucking—led this to be a super-fucking-fun example of Tantric Sex.  

My buddy came to me knowing that he not only would get the living fuck fucked out of him, but that he would also learn something knew.  He knew I did something called “Tantra,” and he was a curious fellow, so Tantra is, indeed, what he got!

So now we’re reclining on a soft bed and pillows after our marathon assfuck session, and he’s asking me, “How did you get into this?”

He’s asking me right at the moment when I’m explaining how it doesn’t matter whether our partner is fat, thin, old, young, what color his skin is, how big his dick is, or any of that bullshit…

“So you’re asking me how I wound up enjoying wild, wonderful sex with every man who’s willing and ready?”

“Uh-huh,” He nodded.

The result:  My newest YouTube video:  GAY SLUT.  The video is, indeed, a true “download,” fueled by hours of joyous assfucking with focused intention on the heart, the mind, and vivid imagery. 

You see, I not only have wild, joyous sex with guys because I LOVE it, but also because I get to travel to places beyond my “ordinary” world, and see God.  In the end, when we’re lying on our backs, sweaty and taking deep gulps of fresh air, it feels like all of life’s questions have been answered…or more like there never were any questions in the first place…  

Deeply-connected, prolonged sexual pleasure connects me with so much creativity and voice!  In fact, what I’m writing now literally sprang from 2 full hours of joyous assfucking.  Hooray for Tantric sex! 

My 2 hours of joyous sex-fun with a buddy also gave birth to this video I’m sharing with you, which we literally recorded in bed.  Oftentimes, I find that great sex and the sweet sensations of being in bed with another attentive lover bring out the best stories in me, so I hope you’ll enjoy this story, which is an answer to my Fuckbuddy’s question:  “How did you get into this?”  The man I spent the afternoon in bed-with waned to know how I wound up with JOYOUS SEX as my livelihood—not just what I do for a living, but what I live to do.  This video is my answer.  Enjoy!  

If you would like to help me make more videos like this, then come have a session with me and allow an extra half-hour at the end for us to set the camera rolling!  Your presence brings out the best in me, and if you can allow an extra 30 minutes or so at the end of your session, I can set up the tripod and record myself (I’ll be the only one in the video, much like the video you see here) telling you a story.  

And here’s a different request, at another level of excitement:  If you actually would be willing for me to film our whole Tantric-erotic session together and share it with the world, then I’ll be happy to provide your session free of charge.  You’ll need to fill out a consent form and provide me with a copy of your ID so that I can officially release your video (standard protocol for adult videos—click here to see some videos I’ve made).  What happens in my sessions is unique and special, and even though I’ve attempted to convey some of the magic in spoken word via my podcast, I’m ready for men who are excited to convey this magic on camera for the benefit of others who can learn from it and be inspired. Visit to pick the type of session you would most enjoy!

Gay-Men and Hallelujah!

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“We Can Sleep When We’re Dead”

by Brad Amberheart

The morning sunshine—OH!  My God, she’s beautiful, filling the whole front room of my house with beautiful, muted golden light.  Nothing could be finer than to sit in complete and golden…peace.  I feel it most when I write, just like this, on my first luscious, warm cup of coffee with butter and honey in it…next to…an altar filled with pictures of people who are no longer alive…

My ancestor altar—I sleep next to it now.  I discovered sometime last summer that there was still one more place in this old house where I could sleep extra-soundly, and that was next to the pictures of the dead.  I mean…one could also rationalize that it’s the corner of the house furthest from neighbors, with the most foliage outside the windows to keep it cool in summer, but truthfully…

I think it has everything to do with…my ancestors.

I’m looking at their pictures now…

Some curling at the edges, yellowing…

Some framed…

Most coated in a rather thick layer of dust.

One Grandma stands amidst her garden of yellow flowers…

The other is playing her big jumbo Gibson guitar on a stage…

Dad has such a hot body—shirtless, next to a wall of sandbags.  You can see a distant horizon of ocean behind him—the South China Sea, Vietnam…

My Grandpa’s 12 brothers and sisters are there, in black and white…

And an iconic rendition of mother Mary and baby Jesus—both ancestors, evidently—right next to a beautiful picture of my handsome nephew.  He stepped out of a gay bar on the full moon, 2017, and was hit by a speeding police car…His affection for other men was unknown to me until after his death.

Yes, “July 8, 2017” is permanently etched on paper beneath his picture, right next to where I sit now…

Right next to where I sleep for 10-11 hours each night, soundly.

“We can sleep when we’re dead,” I’ve heard night-owls and party animals tout.

But my God…how I cherish peaceful, restful sleep…Yes, how I do!

Now, I’m almost 49.

That’s 7 times 7.

I take at least a moment each day, to stare at the pictures of my beloved departed, laid before me. I take a few deep breaths, and grasp hold—again—of the notion that life goes on here on Earth, without them.  

They danced here…they danced through.  

They came…and they went…

And I’m still here, dancing, in a human body.  

I get to keep on dancing on this journey through life, in a body, for a time…

I get to participate in the world now!  This is my time to live on Earth!  The full production is ON and I am right in the middle of it!

And one day—maybe soon—probably, umm…later…

The world will keep on dancing, without me.

Ahh….I can see and hear the waltz…the way the dancers spin one another ‘round and ’round in a swirl of grace to the three-part rhythm.

They get to keep dancing…and I…well, I am gone.

And I’m not quite sure what to do with my feelings around that, so I just write words…

And let my tears well up and stream down my face

And thankfully—thanks to my tears and my passion—

I remember.

Thank God, I’m ALIVE!

(I do this every day.)


I’ve taken to hauling out my notebooks and journals full of writing this week, in search of my favorite pieces to share with the world.  (I’ve kept a copy of basically every letter I’ve written for the past 30 years.).  There’s a lot there, so to keep things simpler, I started with a search specifically for my best stories about transformational, transcendent SEX.  I have a big audience waiting for that….

Sitting amidst 30 years of writing and deciding what to do with it–Christmas Morning, 2021

The floor of my main room, across from he ancestor altar (next to which I now sleep) is now strewn with notebooks and journals, marked with color-coded “post-it” notes.  My search for the hottest gay sex stories inevitably led to the discovery that I’m also swimming in a sea of poems, prescribed Tantric exercises & teachings, and innumerable prompts that are seeds for profound blog entries.

I think my main learning has been that I enjoy the process of writing so much that I haven’t ever taken much time the actively share what I’ve written with a hungry audience.  (Duh!)

We used to have to go find someone to “publish” our work.  Now, I have a podcast, a YouTube channel, a well-trafficked website, a mailing list of 1100+ people, a Twitter following, and countless friends with a much larger audience than I have, so HONEY_-when I am ready to share something of value now, a LOT of people are ready to hear it!

And yes…plenty of journals, books, and anthologies are going to love publishing my stories in written and audio form.

A-Them and Hallelujah!

Thank you for joining me in this long-awaited, affirmative proclamation that the day has arrived for my writing to reach the masses who are thirsty, and that all may thrive lucratively on this Earth. 

Gay-Men, & Hallelujah!

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“A Woman was Having an Orgasm on my Kitchen floor Last Night.”

Join me as I deeply question the meaning of the word “single,” and what it means to be a gay man living alone in a house devoted to the full, unbridled expression of the human spirit.


This is a story about an EXTRA-ordinary day…

I suppose it’s fair to say I don’t live an “ordinary” life, by most people’s standards.  I grew up often wishing I could be more “normal”.  Quite quickly, from an early age, my peers managed to inform me that there was something “abnormal” about the way I walked, the way I talked…even my talents were “abnormal”—most notably my affection for playing the piano and making home-made jam and Christmas stockings with my grandmas.  I was—most prominently—what is known as a sissy boy.  

And then, lo and behold, the day arrives…when the very special gifts of a “sissy boy” can finally be recognized, appreciated…even applauded.  We wait for it all of our lives, it seems.  Many of us cannot wait anymore and we finally just fucking give up, resigned to the notion that we will, most definitely, Never be “normal”.  We may never find our place…so we retreat into the cavernous recesses of our own Privacy, to relish the joy of solitude, where at least we can be guaranteed to be left the fuck alone to bask in our own fucking weirdness….

Gay men…yes…we’re what’s been called “bachelors” or “single men”….ones who live alone, to follow our own rhythms, manifesting in village life as cobblers or schoolhouse teachers, choir directors or even ministers.  Our aloneness has somehow seamlessly integrated itself into the fabric of our culture, and yes—we have our function, yet…who are we really, and where do we belong?  Have we really, in fact, found our place, or simply settled for the places we oddly land, after we’ve sifted down through the cracks?

History, they say, repeats itself…but that’s actually not why I chose to write to you today, my love.  No, in actuality, I chose to write to you because I had a story to tell you, and now—it’s not a repetition of the same old sad song, but a new, refreshing take on being Queer in the modern time…something I’ve managed to create for you, just by living another day, “alone”….


My roommate of 7 years moved out last month while I was away on a work trip.  It was a long-awaited day.  We had lots in common…both ministers, both on a Tantric path, both somewhat isolated by our weirdness….

But we were never meant to live together.  Why did we?  I suppose it happened by happenstance…perhaps even—like most marriages—it happened out of “convenience”—but in the end, it was far from “convenient”.  It was a down-right hindrance to our life’s expression, fulfillment, and purpose.

So now he’s gone, and I Live “alone”.  I say “alone” in quotes because my house has been so full of pleasure, joy, and down-right euphoric bliss since he’s been gone, that I can barely fit all of the joy I’ve found in these pages….

But I will..


Life, Bountiful and Full.  That’s what this blog entry is about.  It’s about what happens when we finally just fucking let go…let go of what we thought we might have needed, and surrender into the realm of the unknown.

Here’s the essence of what I set out to say, before my long discourse:

There was a woman having an orgasm on the floor of my kitchen last night…

Let me start over:

Yes, it was just another “ordinary” day in my life…I was making fresh vegetable juice in my juicer, naked in the kitchen. The juicer was humming away, shredding up celery and carrots and extracting liquid life essence, and…

The sounds of a woman in orgasm filled the room.  I wish I could say it was my neighbors, but unfortunately, I’ve yet to hear the sounds of orgasm coming from any of the neighboring houses in my village.  No, I must say the only sounds of orgasmic joy I’ve heard in this neighborhood in the 10 years I’ve lived here have come from inside of this house.  So it should come as no surprise if I tell you that the sounds of a woman orgasming filled the room…only this time, it was a little different…

I pause to clean out the carrot, celery and apple pulp from my juicer while I relish the symphony of pleasure at my feet.  There, right in the middle of the kitchen floor, on a yoga mat, she lies, filled with orgasmic life, pleasured by the loving caress of her partner’s lips….

A woman was having a full orgasm on my kitchen floor last night.  Yes, that’s the story in a sentence.  That’s what happened.  Such is the story of my life being “single” again.


Anyone reading this story would swear it’s fiction…but I swear it’s not.  I’ve lived an amazing life on this Earth, and still, I never cease to be amazed by what can manifest in my life, in my “single-guy” home, or on my kitchen floor…

Ah!  The joys of being “single”!  Not that I was ever married, mind you…but Good Lord…what a difference a little space in one’s life—and one’s kitchen—can make.

It could’ve happened with him still here, of course…but it fucking didn’t.


I suppose such a one-sentence story deserves—or at least calls for—an explanation.  But what would I tell you, even if I sincerely tried to explain?  Let’s see… “Two friends of mine from out of town stopped in for a 1-night visit…they wound up fucking on the kitchen floor while I made dinner…”.  Hmmmmm…Does that explain it?  Let’s see…maybe there’s another way…OK…here, I’ve got one:  “I hadn’t seen my friends in a long time.  I love them, with all of my heart and body and soul, but they live far away.  They live with lots of other people, but no one ever gets to fuck on their kitchen floor, so they asked all of their friends where the closest household was, where they could fuck on the kitchen floor, and everyone directed them 5,000 miles away, to my house…”

I think the story is complete now.  Love y’all!  More to cum from my “everyday life”.



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The Summer of Love–Is it Time for Farewell?

“No…no fucking way!” I say.  There’s no fucking way it’s time to say “farewell”.  I don’t even like the word, and besides, I’m on the way to the beach, right now.  Maybe summer will be over on Monday, but in my heart it’s still Friday…

I would say I’ve had a most excellent summer.  The ups and downs of life these days seem to have me seeing roller-coasters in my sleep, but all in all, I guess maybe I’m getting better and riding the ups and downs.  How about you?

I often like to write and refine stories from my life.  My last blog post, called “That Summer” was a memoir of the summer I quit my job at age 25 and hitch-hiked to Alaska.  Today, however, given that I’m not quite ready to say “farewell” to summer, I’ll consider this note to you to be a little morning “hello,” along with the great news that I was part of a creative, really fun, and sexy erotic film project this summer called “Summer of Love”.

“Summer of Love” was a series of authentic, get-real gay sex videos filmed in New York in June.  The producer and director asked me if I had any input on how to capture real-life sex hook-ups on film.  He asked me, “How can we film the sex as if no one is there, yet somehow surmount the insurmountable fact that there’s a film crew in the room?”  The strategy was to reduce the number of people in the room so that the Lovers could fuck like nobody’s watching, but they still thought my input as an on-set sex and intimacy coach might help the guys relax and get into their groove…

So they asked me to coach the guys into states of sexual ecstasy from a thousand miles away!  Initially, the idea was for me to coach the guys on set via Zoom, but that didn’t feel sexy and fun to me—at all—so instead, I suggested a better plan…

The plan was to have 1-on-1 conversations with each guy before his sex hook-up over the phone.  All of them were meeting up with guys they had had sex with at least once before, and so when I talked to them, I asked them certain questions with the full intention of making them hard.  (Fuck, I love my job!). 

“What turns you the fuck on when you think about the last time you two fucked?” I would ask them, then I would carefully listen to their answers.  The excitement was so potent that I could just about feel their cocks swelling and their assholes tingling, vibrating through New York City.  

I encouraged them to tease each other, beginning a few days before the shoot, but not to CUM.  This can be really difficult for some guys—especially men in their 20’s and 30’s—but when you watch these videos, you’ll see that something in our strategy paid off!  The second video was released this week, and the 3rd one comes out on Sept. 27.  We now have three smoking-hot gay sex videos, filled with raw, unfiltered, primal summer lust and the sweetest and most luscious man-on-man fun!

Ahhhh…the summer of love!  My underwear collection—still scattered all over my playroom with the windows raised—is a testimony that I’ve had a lot of fun this summer.  I’m leaving it there for the time being, except for my beach attire, which I’m putting in a little back-pack and taking to Florida this weekend.  I’m not quite ready for my “summer of love” to be over, and besides…thanks to the art of erotic film, not to mention the stories which live in my heart, “summer” is most definitely an eternal state of mind.

Want to check out “Summer of Love” and over 200 other of the world’s most innovative gay erotic videos?  Use this link to try out Himeros TV for a month at 50% off!

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by Brad Amberheart

I almost died on the way but I really don’t think I cared. 

Something inside of me much bigger than myself was guiding me, and I had even created my own mantra:  “There are a lot of things worse than death…like a miserable life…”. 

Finally, the day had come, when I wasn’t at that desk-job anymore, and I found myself standing out by the road near Talkeetnah, Alaska one late-June morning, waiting for my final ride up to Fairbanks.  I figured I might get there in time for gay pride.  I hadn’t been waiting long when a young woman named Nathalie picked me up.  I’ll never forget her name, Nathalie…

We almost died together. 

She was driving one of those mini SUV’s made by Suzuki…the Suzuki Samurai, it was called. The vehicle had been recalled because it tended to topple over easily when the driver swerved…

We were behind a line of campers and RV’s, probably 6 or 8 of them, crawling along the Talkeetnah highway at a mere 55 miles per hour.  There was no posted speed limit in sight, so all of a sudden, Nathalie swerved into the left lane of the 2-lane highway, stomped on the gas, and accelerated to 85 miles an hour, directly in the face of oncoming traffic.

I knew right then that my life was over.  It honestly looked like we had less than a hundred yards left before head-on impact…and the end…of my life…

But evidently there really are angels….

Suddenly, we’re swerving hard back to the right, into a tiny space between two RV’s, up on two wheels, cutting in so close to the Grandma-and-Grandpa RV behind us that our rear bumper nearly clips them.

“FUCK!” I screamed, visibly shaken and literally almost crying, “I don’t fucking want to DIE today!”  I was looking at her like I definitely would’ve strangled her with all of the strength and passion I had in me, had she not been driving.

“Me neither!” She said, eyes still sparkling, “But look!  It sure would’ve been a great place to die, right?”

She gestured with a majestic wave of her hand toward the wide-open road ahead of us, and there…

There she was…Mount Denali…the highest mountain in North America, towering so high above the road in front of us that I had to lean my head into the windshield, turn my head sideways, and roll my eyeballs way back up in my head to see all the way to the top…

I nearly collapsed onto Nathalie’s dashboard, where my brains had nearly been splattered moments before.  My body began to shake, just as it does to this day, when I write this story of my life…just as it did the very last time I had seen that mountain…

I cried for a good long while, the tears streaming down my face, struggling to catch my breath in between my sobs.  

“Dude, are you OK?” Nathalie said, more than once, but there was nothing in me that could bring myself to respond to her.  I just kept crying a puddle of tears and snot on her dashboard, and she just kept wondering what the fuck…until finally she pulled over and said, “I think I’m going to let you out.” 

I slept at the feet of the mountain that night.

Oh Nathalie…if you only knew…

This isn’t the first time I’ve cried like this, and no—

it’s not because you nearly killed me, Nathalie, no…

It’s actually not because of you at all. 

What you’ll never know, Nathalie, is that the last time I cried this way was the last time I saw this mountain…

The day I left Alaska…the day my “Big Boss” bought me a ticket out of here…

The day I really died to who I was

To go and live someone else’s dream, Nathalie…

I died the day I stopped hitch-hiking around Alaska and got on that plane…out..

Yes, that was the day

I died.

And today, when you almost killed me, Nathalie, 

This is the day when I began to live again, 

So Thank You, Nathalie…

Thank you… 

Nathalie will never know the story behind all of my tears and my sobs in her car that day, but you will…


The job I had left behind had been super-high stress. I was an environmental geologist and Russian translator.  I’d sat at a desk all day, day after day, in Colorado, editing environmental reports in Russian and in English. I had just finished college, but I still lived in a house-full of undergrads, graduate students, and bartenders. We spent all of our money on margaritas and skiing, but the fact was that I spent about 80-90 hours per week at work, very unhappy, staring out the window and wishing I could die…

I had no sex life because I was deeply in the closet about my sexuality, and pretending to like girls certainly didn’t help me get laid. Also, it didn’t help that on any given day of the week, when I got to my office, there could be a plane ticket on my desk for me to go home, pack, and head to SIBERIA that day to go and work with teams of scientists at a remote gold-mining site built by forced labor under Stalin’s gulag (no, I’m not kidding). I drank a lot of vodka to get through it…

Still, deep inside of me, a heart was still beating—a passionate, longing heart that could never forget the truth…and could never forget my last sight of that mountain…

The day I had been hired for my job was a big day.  Not only was it the day I “won the game”and got the Big-Boy job I had always dreamed of…it was also the first time I saw the summit of Denali—up close—from the windows of a plane…and oh—by the way—

It was also the day I first got laid.

“It will take us another week or two to review all of the applications, and we’ll be in touch” the Big Boss had said, finishing up our interview at a conference table in an Anchorage hotel, “but for now, we definitely want to reimburse you for your travel expenses.  We realize Fairbanks is a long haul from Anchorage.  How did you get here?”

A big smile spread across my face.  I relished the pure pleasure of looking him right in the eye and telling him the truth:  “You won’t need to reimburse me,” I said.  “It really didn’t cost me anything to get here.  I hitch-hiked”.

There was a momentary pause, as his mouth fell open and my words hung in the air.  Next thing I knew, he was picking up a pen, then writing out my salary and benefits by hand on a sketch-pad.  When he was done, he tore off the page, handed it to me, and said, “We would love for you to start as soon as you can, and we’ll cover your relocation expenses.  Would you like to fly back to Fairbanks today?”

“I love hitch-hiking,” I said, “and I would be happy to hitch back, but flying sounds like fun, so…sure, why not?”  He had twinkly blue eyes I could trust.  I liked him.  He was friendlier than my own dad had ever been.  He took me to the airport, dropped me off at the curb, and said, “Stick with us, kid, you’ll wear diamonds.”

The plane ascended out of Anchorage for the short 45-minute flight back to Fairbanks.  I looked down at the same road I had hitch-hiked the day before, winding across the taiga to meet the great Alaska Range, and then, the pilot came on and said, “Well, folks, we’ve got a special treat for you today”. 

Yeah, I bet you do, I thought.  Did he know what had just happened to me?  I was feeling very emotional and quite swept-away by the rapid events of the past hour…the interview…the sudden job offer…and now, a flight…

I held my breath, halfway feeling as if the pilot might have somehow gotten word of my success and was picking up the mic to congratulate me, but instead, he said,

“We only get about 15 days a year with this kind of perfect weather, so we’re going to take full advantage of the clear skies and give you a close-up view of the Mountain.”

Something inside of me said Oh Shit!  It was as if a part of me knew what was coming, and then, suddenly, without warning, it happened…

I turned my head to look toward the window, and there, looking right back at me, was my Soul Mate…

She was wide awake, staring at me with all of her beauty.  Yeah, she was a She—and no, I don’t mean I fell in love with a woman.  I mean I fell in love with a Goddess…in the form of a great white giant…

She was the highest mountain in North America.  Her name, Denali, means Great One in the Athabaskan native tongue.  The plane passed so close to the summit of that I could almost touch Her.  The air was so perfectly clear that there was no separation between me and Her.  I could breathe Her, taste Her, smell Her…and by the time the flight attendant passed by to hand me apple juice, I was literally shaking in sobs.  I couldn’t hide my emotions from her or from the world.  I took my drink and turned back toward my new Lover, to commune with her those few moments in time, suspended, so close that our hearts could touch.

I landed in Fairbanks and found out there was a party that night. The party wasn’t for me, mind you, but it might as well have been, because I had a fuck-load to celebrate—a new job, not to mention my close encounter with Her, and now…yes, that other great First you’re dying to hear about…

He was sitting across from me at the party.  Our eyes met across the circle, and while everyone talked about everything and nothing, I motioned with my head for him to follow me out the door.  Within seconds, we were in a full-on embrace—our throbbing boners pulsing against each other through our jeans.  The Alaskan night in August was only 2 hours long, and it was right in the middle of that 2-hour night, with the aurora borealis over our heads, that I got my first kiss…

I was 22 years old.  It was the day I’d “won the game,” gotten my first big job, met my Soul Mate named Great One, and now—I was getting my first kiss.  Truthfully, I had had a few kisses in high school and college…with girls…and all of them had told me that it felt like they were kissing their brother.  This kiss was different—way different.  We ate one another’s faces hungrily and even sucked on each other’s tongues.  When it came time to go back inside, he nibbled me on the ear and whispered, “That felt fucking good.  We should get together tomorrow.”  He slipped his phone number in my pocket…

I woke up the next morning slightly hung-over and found the number next to my pants.  I immediately tore it up and threw it in the trash can, but I immediately wished I hadn’t.  A surge of excitement flooded into my cock that left me flushed and extremely horny, so I quickly beat off, shot my cum all over my sheets, and…thought of him.  I literally couldn’t get him out of my mind as I shot my load, imagining just how much fun it could be to actually strip and get off with another guy and bathe each other in our cum…

That thought was the most taboo thing I could ever dream up.  It was so taboo that I did everything I could do to get it out of my mind.  I thought jacking off would get rid of the thought, but I literally jacked off 3 times that day, and still couldn’t get rid of the fantasy of getting naked with another eager, horny guy, and so then…

I fished through the garbage can for the pieces of paper, re-assembled them until I could see the number, and called him.

“I’m, uh…”

“Yeah?” He said, unable to hide his building excitement.

“I’m uh…fuck man!  I’m just so fucking horny I can’t stand it anymore.  I want to get naked with you so bad it fucking hurts.  I’ve jacked off in the shower 3 times today and I’ve still got a fucking hard-on that won’t quit…”

“I’ll be there in 5 minutes,” he said.


I had water heating on the stove when he got there.  I had a well-thought-out plan, which included stripping to our underwear and wetting each other down with warm water and wrestling.  I promptly told him what I wanted to do, saying, “I’ve waited all of my fucking life to do this with another guy.”

“By all means!” He said, as I unbuttoned his fly, stripped off his t-shirt, and pressed my hard cock, tented in tight red bikini underwear, against his bulging tighty-whities…

Within minutes, we were tearing into each other like wild animals, pouring warm water all over our horny bodies, wetting the fucking bed down and not giving a fuck anymore…spurting cum load after cum load in each other’s underwear…stripping the wet fabric off hungrily, sucking each other off in a 69…We were both in our early 20’s with a lot of pent-up cum, and we just busted our fucking balls in celebration until we had unleashed every last fucking drop from our aching nuts.  It was, indeed, a long-awaited celebration for me that I could never forget…

And so for the next 3 years, every night, when my toilsome work day at the office was over, I would crawl in bed, and remember….

I remembered him, and that joyous sex—the first and last sex of my life.  No one knew my secret.  It was just between me…and him, and Her…

I would close my eyes and She would come to me…the beautiful mountain I had seen out the windows of the plane, the day I left Alaska, when I was hired for a job with promises of grandeur and diamonds. I would see Her, Denali, and share my fantasies with Her during my dreamtime. Some part of me, deep inside, was not numbed by the corporate world, and knew that one day, I would go back Home…

One day I told a queen in Boulder I was quitting my job and moving to Alaska, and he said, “so, do you have a trust fund?”

I looked right at him and said, “Yeah.  It’s called TRUST.”

I wrote a letter to the twinkly-eyed, friendly boss, saying, “Thank you for taking the risk of hiring a young man who hitch-hiked to your interview with his khakis and penny loafers in a ziplock bag.  We’ve done great work together, and I wish you all the best.  Right now, my heart is calling me to explore parts of me that have been neglected for a long time.   Again, thank you.  I’ll always be grateful to you.”

The office manager intercepted my resignation letter to the boss from his inbox. “Are you sure you want me to give him this?” She said.  “People don’t usually write him things that feel so personal.” 

“Yes, please,” I said. I liked him—probably far more than she or anyone else did—and he deserved, for once, to have one employee who would tell him the unabashed truth, with love…even (or especially) if those were my last words to him…  

I had actually written the letter on one of my 14-hour flights to Siberia 6 months earlier.  The stark irony of my corporate life had me flying back and forth from Denver to the Russian Far East frequently, with a 4-hour stop in Anchorage in each direction.  I perpetually found myself with my nose pressed against the window of the plane, trying to catch a glimpse of Her in the distance during take-off and landing, but she was forever hidden behind a veil of thick clouds.  One golden September day, she teased me.  I looked out the window across a landscape covered in gold and crimson, and there she was…her summit capped in clouds, yet with her base and mid-section visible…

And that’s when I did it.  I got out my laptop and started writing my resignation letter.  By the time I landed in Russia 4 hours later, I knew my corporate days were done.

I waited 5 months to hand the boss the letter.  My father died that February, and when I came back to Colorado from his funeral, I knew it was time.  My father, a Vietnam war veteran, had died with a broken heart.  He had never gotten to live out his life’s dreams, and I knew how much he had wanted me to live out mine.  So among other things, I told the Big Boss about my father when I wrote my letter, and I would be willing to bet that the reason the office manager had hesitated to hand him the resignation letter was because she was afraid she would have to see him cry.

Several employees had dropped away in the years I had been there, but I didn’t remember him giving any of them getting a going-away party until the day I left.


Free at last and having departed on good terms, I sold the only material object I had that was of any monetary value (my tiny Toyota pickup truck, for $3500), packed what I could fit into a backpack, and headed North…

I dreamed of hanging out with artists…and people who played with flowers.  A big part of me, it seems, had been stuffed down into a tiny hole in my heart, and I was ready to unpack the family jewels.

When I was a little boy, my grandma taught me to play with flowers.  The other grandma taught me to play guitar.  My grandmas and I made crafts at Christmas to give away—little jars of jam from wild grapes I’d gathered in the woods, tied with red ribbon around the tops…cute glittery construction-paper Christmas trees…hand-sewn stockings with sequins….

I was a glitter-boy, eventually somehow convinced I had to learn how to live in a MAN-TOOL world…and while I’d come to LOVE man-tools, the glitter boy in me still hadn’t had the chance to strut his stuff, and now was the time.


I very quickly watched my Alaska dream manifest before my very eyes.  I literally needed almost no money.  I could sleep anywhere, in the tent and sleeping bag I carried on my back, and the oatmeal, beans, and rice I ate certainly weren’t a big cut into the whopping $3500 I had in the bank after 3 years of busting my ass at a desk.   The risk I’d taken by leaving behind a life that didn’t work became my ticket to ultimate freedom, fun, and new discoveries.

I hitch-hiked all over the state, meeting every musician, artist, wild-crafted-jam-maker and vagabond I could find.  I even met fantastic lovers in the least likely of places, pitching my tent in the back yard of a hunky Alaskan near Fairbanks who, in my adventurous eyes, looked just like Magnum PI—the stud for whom I’d lusted back in kindergarten, when I was just a little glitter boy.


The dream is ALIVE in the stories I’ve lived to tell. The story continues to the present day. I’m 48, sitting out on the front porch in my underwear on a summer’s day, writing my memoirs and speaking them aloud for all who have ever longed for the courage to dare to live our our life’s dreams…

There are many stories left to tell, and today, here and now, I pray I’ll find a way to tell them all before my life in this body is over. (Yesss!)  But the story I most wanted to tell you today is the story of my first job, my first fuck, and my First Love…

The story comes back around, full circle, right back to where we started—but with a brand-new perspective:

I’m 25, standing out by the road near Talkeetnah, the jumping-off place where mountaineers gather to plot their course up the great mountain.  Countless lives have been lost in pursuit of conquering Her summit.  But I’m not here to conquer…I’m here to live, bay-bee!  I’ve come back to LIVE!

I’m a seasoned hitch-hiker.  I’ve almost never had to wait very long.  The secret is in the smile…the aura we project out into the world while we’re standing there, heart-and-soul bared for all to see, waiting by the road for a resonant soul who can see us and trust us…or at least someone who is crazy enough to pull their car over and take a chance…

I haven’t been waiting more than 10 minutes when a Suzuki Samurai pulls over.  I go to open the door, getting a good look at the driver as my hand pulls on the door handle.  She’s got her windows down.  The stereo is playing It’s My Life by Bon Jovi:

It’s my life…and it’s now or never,

And I ain’t gonna live for-ever!

I just wanna live while I’m alive…

My heart is like an open highway

Like Frankie said “I did it my way…”

I just wanna live while I’m alive…

‘cause it’s…my…LIFE!

“Where you goin’?” She says.  She’s smiling big, eating half an avocado with a spoon and holding the steering wheel with the same hand the avocado is in, while she waits for me to get in.  

I know I can trust Her.

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How to Travel the World from Your Front Porch (in your Underwear)

What if our “work” were to do everything we could do to maintain peace and balance in this body, so that we could be ready, poised, and collected… ready to do our part in this grand scheme, even if we don’t quite know yet exactly what our part is going to be? 

I’m sitting on the front porch in my underwear in January. It’s 43 degrees Fahrenheit (about 6 degrees Centigrade).  I’m in the mountains of North Carolina—not Hawaii—but it feels like Hawaii to me!  

I’ve been sitting in my underwear on my front porch every day when it’s sunny, at mid-day. The same sun shines on all the porches in the neighborhood, but I don’t see anyone else out in their underwear. Why? Are they staying inside worrying? It’s even more likely that they haven’t yet discovered that when it’s above 40 F, and you take off all of those bundlesome layers, the SKIN absorbs the sun and the sunlight feels like a warm fire…Am the lucky one who discovered this?

We should be working.  We should be doing something,” that elusive voice-from-somewhere says.  But what if my “work” were to do everything I could to maintain peace and balance in this body, so that I could be ready, poised, collected… “together”…ready to do my part in this grand scheme, even if I don’t quite no yet exactly what my part is going to be?  The best way to know the next step to take is to be present–in this body, alive, and listening–rather than caught in the quagmires of doubt and mental confusion…

I have a quote on my wall from a Christian Cactus Shaman which reads,

“The true Shaman is one who holds the Golden Dream in his or her heart, until it comes true on Mother Earth”.

What is YOUR Golden Dream?  What would you dream if you even DARED to allow yourself a moment to DREAM BIG?  I dream of a world where we can walk in peace, and touch one another with love and excitement…where even our abilities to reach out and touch someone become so magnified that we are always connected, ecstatically ONE with our divine lovers, everywhere, past, present, and future.  Let it be so.  See it to be so.  It is so.  Gay-Men, and Hallelujah!

SECRET #1:  You can be anywhere!  Close your eyes, breathe, dream!  Dream so vividly you can taste, smell, touch, hear, and see Hawaii…and then, it’s as good as being there.  I promise.

SECRET #2: YOU create your own Hawaii–even when you’re in Hawaii!

I’ve been to Hawaii more than half a dozen times, and I can tell you that I’ve seen just as many miserable people there—if not more—than right here at home.  We have lots of reasons to be miserable right now, apparently—like a global pandemic which threatens to cut us off from people we love, or even take their lives, and still…

Where do I want to go today, sitting right here?  I’m in Hawaii, on my porch.  Am I transcending my problems?  I guess some could argue so, but My Truth is that if you have access to heaven in a body, why would you focus on everything that could go wrong…when there just might be a possibility…of touching God, and bringing something back home to Earth that can make life better for you and other people?   If you could do it, wouldn’t you?  Of course you would!

My sky-clad sun meditations at 40 degrees have been paying off! The peace and serenity I manage to create in this crazy world on my front porch are becoming fertile ground for written words (like what you’re reading now), evolutionary audio podcast recordings, and yes–even dynamic sex videos!

Every week or two in 2021, I’ll be sharing my favorite collections of inspirational articles, songs, dance tracks, guided exercises, gay erotica, and yes–even special TRICKS to help make life easier (and yes, I DO mean TRICKS as in pictures of hot guys I would love to take to bed (or have!), as well as TRICKS as in tips or suggestions to help enhance the depth and quality of our daily lives.)

To receive my weekly or bi-weekly collections of favorite articles, podcasts, songs, reflections, tips for making daily life easier, and yes, my favorite gay erotica, please go to and follow the prompts to join my newsletter! 

Happy New Year, Honey!  I’m excited to share this journey with you.



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I’m very excited to announce my new series of explicitly-hot gay sex stories, interspersed with live interviews, discussions, and exercises you can try at home! ENJOY the fuck out this blissful, unprecedented deep-dive into gay men’s sexuality! Yum-yum! Enjoy! Brad.

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Tight, Sexy, Hot, Gay-Ass Bikini Underwear

A Story of Thrilling Sexual Magic Fetish Fun!

Photo on 10-11-19 at 10.05 PM (original)Did it ever occur to many of us that HOT GAY SEX is really all about the HEAT and PASSION of two men letting themselves be fully expressed in heart, body, cock, asshole, and voice?   

We know all about the cock and asshole (or so we think—even though multitudes of men have never had a conscious finger in or near their asshole)…but what about the full expression of heart, body, and voice?

I want to take pictures.

I want to document this life of blissful communion with the divine

in a Temple made for ecstatic, euphoric, hot sexual love between (and among) men…

a place of soft-glowing light

and warmth

even on the coldest of winter days.

But Today, the picture I paint is via the embodied magic of words alone…

The man who arrived at my door today wanted to find the confidence he needed to fully enjoy his life.  He was ready to let go of the perfectionism and lingering self-doubt which had held him back from fully realizing the beautiful, soulful, wholly-sexual and magical being that he really was!  Best of all—and lucky for the two of us—he realized that his horny, excited body was going to the best possible fucking tool imaginable to fuel his life’s dreams and heart’s passions.

I’m never really sure if a guy will show up.  I’ve had guys who traveled a distance of over a hundred miles to see me, then got within a block of my house and chickened out.  You just never can tell what will happen when a man’s fears get the very best of him….

In this case, he made it, and I was deeply and authentically grateful.  I was especially happy he showed up because I knew for a fact that by the time he got here, he would be so fucking excited he could barely stand it.  Sometimes, that much dick-throbbing excitement is more than a man can bear…more anticipation and excitement than any of us are used to knowing…

And so here it is, excitement—throbbing in the place where our two hearts and pelvises meet…Oh, FUCK yeah!


I had coached him to build and hold his excitement for two full days, which I knew was a lot to ask.  Why was it a lot to ask?  Because I knew what a horny, excited fucker he was!  We had talked on the phone, and within minutes, we discovered that we both enjoyed a man-fetish which excited both of us to the point where it almost hurts:

Tight, sexy, hot, gay-ass bikini underwear.

We both liked to see it on a man’s body.

We both liked the way it felt on ours.

We both loved the way our cock strained against the ball-hugging, dick-tickling fabric.

We both loved it when we started to undo a man’s pants and our hands discovered very brief briefs.

We both loved it when our fingers softly traced the outline of the soft fabric where it met his skin….

And so we had told each other, on the phone, two days in advance of our meeting, how much we loved hot underwear.  He knew what excited him and I knew how to do it.  We knew all I had to do was say “hot sexy men’s bikini underwear” and he would almost immediately shoot a fucking load in his pants.  When we hung up the phone, my last words to him were, “Be sure to play with yourself as much as you can for the next 2 days, but don’t cum”.


You never know if a man can hold it that long…

You never know what he’ll do when he’s so excited he can’t sleep.

And so…1 day after our phone call and 1 day before the hot date, I sent him just one more email…

just to make sure he knew there was more than one of us throbbing in his fucking pants…

just to make sure he knew there was more than one of us rubbing our throbbing dick all over the sheets and making fuck noises day and night….

just so he knew there was basically a fucking guarantee that there was some fucking over-the-top magnificent dick-balls-and-ass-and man-fucking FUN to CUM!  



I love writing like this.  I know, almost without a shadow of a doubt, that there isn’t another man on this earth who is writing like this right now.  These are my words, my song, my signature!  These words are the conveyor belt which brings soulful hot SEX back into the collective consciousness!  Yes!  Gay-MEN, and hallelujah!


They were briefs—very brief, and silky to the touch…I could tell by the outline of the soft fabric under my fingers, as I gently, slowly unbuttoned his fly and slid my fingers inside his trousers warmed by his body heat.  

By the time I got his pants down to his knees, his big dick was throbbing in the his tight fucking underwear, which looked as if it had been purchased specifically to accommodate a dick as big as his…throbbing, curving downward, straining against the soft athletic mesh while my beard—then my tongue—traced the inside of his thigh, gently nibbling the outside of his balls, right where the fabric met his pubes…nibbling his balls through the tight fabric, until the smell of the sweet sweat of his balls excited me so much that I had no choice other than to put his big dick in my mouth—still in his underwear—so that I stretched the fabric even tighter down over his shaft, my teeth gently closing just enough to put gentle pressure on his throbbing, happy fucking shaft….ahhhhhhh!


I consider myself to be one of the luckiest men alive.

I get to HAVE SEX with excited, horny men

every day, if I want to

and I get to call it my livelihood!

Day after day, year after year, I cultivate the fine art of euphoric sexual FUN!

And in the end, when it’s all said and done, we all prosper.

We all prosper and throb and electrify and magnify this magnificent life on Earth…not only for ourselves, but for every person, tree, plant, animal, river, and ocean.

We do it for life.

This is my life.

This is my livelihood.

Gay-MEN, and Bless-It-Be!


My dick excited him.

He relished the way it throbbed.

He savored every slow, intentional brush of my beard against his…

every slight caress of his nipple with my scruff

every gentle nibble and inhale of his luscious armpits

every delicate, intentional caress of his face, neck, and chest with my hand

We could live in this delight forever, and we knew it.

We could live in the delight standing…heart to beating heart and cock to throbbing cock…upright, with vertical, horny dicks throbbing in our briefs…savoring, relishing the touch of beard on skin and tongue on lips, dick-on-hard-fucking-DICK and heart-beat on heart-beat…

We were happy.

We were fulfilled.

And, apparently, by most people’s standards, we hadn’t even started yet…


We hadn’t even started yet, and yet still, we felt completely fulfilled, already.

What kind of a fucking paradoxical miracle is that?

What happened?

What happened to the rush, the urgency to CUM, the insatiable desire to




What happened?

Well, if I might venture to answer, here is what I would say:

What happened was that two men got horny, then two men relished the full EXCITEMENT of being excited.  Two men enjoyed whole-body excitement from the first touch.  Even before they ever touched, there was something present which many, many people never get.  Many people never get it because they don’t even know they’re seeking it, and the reason they keep seeking it is because they never got it.  

How did we do it, this man and I, today?

We did it by merging ecstatic sexual excitement with heart-felt intent.

“SEXUAL EXCITEMENT—but you weren’t even having sex!” you say.

Well, I don’t know about you, but when I was 12 years old, I looked up “human sexuality” in my family’s set of encyclopedias.   Excited, with fingers trembling and my little cock already growing larger and more excited with every word I read, I savored these words: 

“Unlike the female sex organs, which are internal, the male sex organs are primarily outside the body.  The penis usually hangs flaccid outside the body, but when a male becomes sexually excited, the soft tissues of the penis fill with blood, and the penis becomes erect, and much larger.”

I throbbed for days after I read that.  I was so hard that I couldn’t force my dick downward enough to piss in the commode, and so I had to go outside to pee in the woods for 4 days straight, where my erect cock could just spurt piss up into the air like a fountain.  I hadn’t learned to jack off and squirt my own cum yet, so I just throbbed, excited by the hot liquid squirting up, outward, making a nice high arc into the air and down onto the dry, crunchy autumn leaves beneath my feet, beyond the edge of the woods at the end of our house.

Sexual excitement, YEAH!  Have we become conditioned, somehow, to believe that anything sexual must involve some form of penetration?  Surely not!  So back to the story…

Two men enjoyed whole-body ecstatic excitement from the first touch today.  How did we do it?  We did it by merging ecstatic sexual excitement with intent.  First, there was the endless, cock-throbbing, dick-writhing EXCITEMENT which filled our whole horny bodies from head to toe for days on end before we even got together.  And when we finally did get together, we enjoyed the excitement of our pent-up balls to no end.  For us, there was no end to the bliss.  We wrote a brand-new story that dashed old paradigms to pieces and shattered the sexually-frustrating, unfulfilling, tragic old story of millions of men who live in a world where sexual excitement can’t live for more than a few minutes—or even a few seconds—before the CUM SHOT comes spurting out and it’s all over and pants are back on and men are out the door and back to…work?

Yeah, WORK!  Back to work!  Even while we throbbed and relished the excitement of throbbing in our fucking pants, I took my time, remembering that I was here to do the unprecedented work of inviting my lover to breathe with me, and to remember the intention he had brought to me today.  He was here to let go of the self-doubt that had held him back, and I was here to remind his dick-throbbing, underwear-fucking-excited body and heart to enjoy his life with the full confidence and passion he had within him. 

If you ever want to see a fucking horny, excited man go into cathartic whole-body orgasms—even when he doesn’t even know what that means, and even without knowing any fancy techniques—just ask him what he’s ready to invite into his life, and what he’s ready to release to make room for it.  Yeah, ask him what he’s ready to invite into his life, even while you’re undressing him and pressing your hard fucking dick against his.  Ask him, “What are you releasing today, Lover, to make room for your wildest dreams?”  Ask him while your tongue caresses the underside of his throbbing, pulsing dick-head…

My lover today wanted to invite in a sense of confidence and presence in all of his endeavors, and he said he was ready to let go of his self-doubt and perfectionism to allow in this new confidence and freedom.  I pulled his underwear down underneath his ball sac, caressed his whole cock with my tongue, then took his whole cock in my mouth with salacious delight, and sucked him devilishly until I could tell by his shouts and moans that if I sucked him another half-second, he would most definitely CUM.  I stopped just short of his cum-shot, stood up, and said, “Let’s take a few deep breaths together.”  

We stood, one foot apart, breathing deeply and throbbing while we looked directly into one another’s eyes.  I stared into the depths of his luscious brown eyes and told him in my best “fuck me, lover” voice, 

“I’m here to support you in letting go of your perfectionism and self-doubt, and inviting in a life of confidence, freedom, and celebration.  I’m celebrating your life with my whole fucking body while I excite the living fuck out of you…”

He writhed, squirmed, and shivered head to toe in cathartic whole-body ecstasy, even when I was barely touching him…

Sexual excitement, for these two fucking excited men today, had nothing to do with fucking, sucking, or getting fucked—at least not for the first 45 minutes of our excitement-filled rendezvous…

Fuck yeah, there’s plenty of time for fucking, but only when you want to fuck so bad that you can’t fucking wait another second.  But until that moment, when you just fucking can’t stand it anymore, the fun is in the pure sexual excitement.

Everybody likes to be excited, right?  I mean, really, who doesn’t?  We love to feel our heart beat and our blood pump.  This beating heart and this throbbing dick remind us that we are, indeed, fully alive in a world which, all too sadly, has become ultra-dominated by mind and thought—errant, self-destructive, and illness-inducing thought….

And yet, on an unconscious level, are we suppressing our desire to be excited?  Are we unconsciously trying to cum way too quickly because the excitement is more than we can bear?  Let’s face it…we’ve been completely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt conditioned by gay porn.

So what’s next?   What’s going to fill the place of our aching, longing, balls and never-ending strife?


Hot dick, throbbing behind thin cotton, caressed by gentle, fully-conscious use of my teeth, my beard, my roar, my growl…every part of me that can possibly titillate, exhilarate, and excite a man’s throbbing boner…

Body-to-Moaning-and-Groaning-Body, we relish the delicious, wonderful fuck-bounty of heart-centered fuck sounds.   Undulating, writhing, gyrating, caressing, growling, I shout out to him “Fuck YES, I love you, you fucking STUD!”



I loved him, I really did.

I loved the way his lips met mine.  I loved the way we caressed each other’s bodies like we loved each other.  I loved his soft, warm, brown eyes and glowing brown complexion.  I loved his slight belly and smooth skin.  I loved his throbbing, beautiful cock.   I loved his nipples.  He loved my kiss.  And while we fucked, he looked directly into my eyes and said, “Thank you, Lover”.  I taught him to do this.  I taught him that “love” is not a word which means “I want you and you’re mine.”  No, love is a word which means, “I’m here to represent every single lover you’ve ever known, and every single lover you ever will know.  Right here, now, our pasts and futures merge into this infinite, never-ending, timeless moment we call the present because it is the greatest gift, and we are sharing it, together…”

“I love you,” I told him, “and I’m seeing you making all the right choices in life, with complete confidence, every step of the way”.  Then, in the next breath, said, “I know just how to excite you, fucker.  All I have to do is tell you how fucking hot and exciting you look and feel in your hot gay bikini underwear…”

I had his code words dialed in.  Something about “gay” and “bikini underwear” and “I fucking love you, lover” just sent both of our fucking excitement levels to the zenith.  He nearly shot a load of cum out of his dick when I said it.  Shudders went up and down his body, from head to toe and from ball-sac up to heart.  I knew I was just about to fuck the cum out of him.  My dick pulsed and throbbed in his perfectly-hot, exciting fuckhole.  I saw a big drop of cum ooze right out of the end of his excited dick, but I knew just when to pause…

Breathing, panting together, we lay, motionless, my cock up his ass, my hands behind the upper part of his back, his heels braced solidly between my chest and shoulders.  We could see our bodies in mirrors on either side of us, and I was the lucky guy who could see my pelvis right up against his hot ass, in a mirror which stood at the end of the bed, just past the back of his head.

“OK,” I said, “it’s time to move energy up from Daddy’s pelvis, toward his heart, or he’s going to unload a big shot of cum right up your fucking ass.  You don’t want this to end yet, do you?”

He shook his head gently from side to side, smiling a devilish grin, while taking each of his well-oiled hands to my pelvic bones, and gently caressing me up, along the lines of my abdominal muscles, and back down, while we looked into one another’s eyes, taking deep breaths together, from cock and balls, up to heart and back down.  We followed one another’s breath, without words.  We were perfectly in tune.

One thing I noticed several times in our session was the amount of eye contact, and how it varied.  Face-to-face was easy, but for some reason, the few times when he was on his belly, ass-up, with my hard cock wedged in between his fucking HOT ass cheeks, seeing each other’s face in the mirror in front of us seemed difficult.  To be more specific, I think that looking at each of our own faces was somewhat of a challenge.  I knew I was a bit self-conscious of my gray hair and my age-telling face.  My guess was that he either still had a bit of residual shame about being in a submissive (bottom-up) position or found some part of his appearance unacceptable to his own eyes.  I noticed that he wouldn’t look at us long, there—me on top of him, cock up his ass crack, nibbling his neck.  I checked in once to ask how he was doing, and he responded with a slew of positive words like “euphoric, incredibly happy, blissed-out, loving the feel of my hard dick on these sheets”.  I must admit, he was an exceptionally-expressive lover, which might be explained by the fact that he hold me at one point during our session that his favorite sex was GROUP sex and that he enjoyed orgies every chance he got—mainly at a specific sex club in Washington, DC.  It was evident that Fuck-Buddy LOVED sex and enjoyed it often, and for this and many other reasons, my day’s “work” was made exceptionally fun.

Of course, no matter how exciting and fun the session gets (and this one was pretty up-there in my repertoire of memories—about to be immortalized by this marathon writing stint), I take extra care to periodically remind the client (and myself) that my full attention is on supporting him in the intentions he brought to me, which—in this case—were to fully embrace his life’s purpose by letting go of residual perfectionism and self-doubt, and to invite in more confidence and celebration of the pure perfection he already is.

And boy, did we have fun, constantly remembering why we were here, and interspersing the sweetest of incantations with the raunchiest, most exciting words we could find to keep each other right on the brink of sexual climax for…my God…hours

Right on the brink of sexual climax, we writhed, my cock undulating, squirming, bouncing, gyrating, and drilling his fucking wonderful, hot ass!  Rhythmically, I periodically slowed by circular gyrations, while I whispered in his ear “You have everything you need to live your life to the fullest,” then continued the delightful, rhythmic, undulating, gyrating dance of fuck-me-up-the-ass-pure-bliss.

Gay-MEN, and blessed be.


How does this story come to an end?  Is there more?

Does it end when we cum?  If so, the story won’t ever be over, because we never came.  I just fucked the living daylights into him…first in our hot underwear, then body-to-body full-frontal fucking, then hot deep-dick assfucking.  Does it need to end?  


Eventually, I saw him back out into the world.  I had told him at the very beginning, when I took his coat, that he wouldn’t be the same when he left.  I had told him that I would hold the intention, throughout our time together, to send him back out into the world in a way which would enhance the rest of his day and make it more fun and more fulfilling.  When he crossed my threshold going the other way—back out—I saw a man who was fully at peace, confident, awake, happy and alive…and would it even suffice for me to say that I was a new man, too?

For more than 10, maybe 15, years, it seems, I’ve waited to write this story.  Many times, I wrote parts of the story, until today…I felt like I wrote it all.  I could have another experience, with another lover-client-friend, and somehow, I think it might be the same story.  I think maybe, possibly, I’ve written the Universal truth now, which transcends who we’re with, what they look like, or even what we do together.  Wholeheartedly, I am letting the world see into a reality I’ve held dear ever since the first time I shot a load in my new bikini underwear during a wet dream I was having at age 14.  I’ve waited for a day when I could let the world see, and my heart sings out, today, “The day has arrived!  The day has arrived!  Praise fucking hot-gay Jesus, the day has arrived!  Gay-Men!”

And so gay-MEN, and Bless-It-Be the Reading of this Holy Fuck-Majick Word.  Gay-Men.

This is my life.  This is my purpose, and nothing can ever—or will ever—come between me and my soul’s purpose again, ever, because I am home now, and I am home to stay.  So it is, declared to be so, and known to be so.  Blessed be, and Aho!


Heart = Intent

Body = Arousal, Movement

Voice = Sound

Spirit = Breath


Try this:  Fuck in your underwear.  Make as much noise as you can.  Make fuck-noise like it’s the best fuck of your fucking life.  Go ahead!  And I don’t mean fake it.  I mean make sounds that just fucking feel good in your cock and balls, and shake your body with fuck-fun bliss.  Fuck-fun is a state of being.  You can activate it from the core of your body through sound.  Believe me, I’ve done it since I was 14, and I’ve discovered that the more privacy and safety I feel that I have available for expressing myself, the more I can let go and go completely ape-shit with unbridled passion.  Go ahead, do it!  What’s fucking stopping you!  If your life’s not set up for that much privacy and expression, then prepare for your life to change….soon.  Gay-MEN!


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Dirty Fucker

This is an excerpt from a story which will appear in my first collection of REAL GAY SEX stories from my life, The Book Of Matthew: Sexually Ecstatic Love Epiphanies from One Man-Whore to Another, in April 2020. Check back here each week between now and January 1, 2020 for yet another dick-throbbing, heart-pounding excerpt from my rich, widely-varied, and VERY gay sex life! Also, be sure to visit to find out that types of transformational Tantra sessions I’m offering right now, in person and online!

I estimated him to be about 55.

It was his 2nd session with me.  This time, he’d told me in an email, well ahead of time, that his purpose in coming to me—in addition to the immense sense of exhilaration and excitement he got from completely surrendering control—was to allow his vision to come forth, of his life filled with travel to beautiful places, enjoying delightful sexual encounters with dynamic, exciting men!

“You’re gonna get it,” I told him, as I wrapped my hard cock in an ultra-sensitive non-latex condom, greased up his hole and my shaft with the world’s best lube, and teased him just enough to hear him BEG for it.

“Please fuck me, sir!” the horny fucker begged, gutturally…

“Can you see your beautiful life behind that blindfold?”

He nodded, panting, the upper half of his face well-covered by the same wide strip of red fabric that I had recently I had used on a porn set.  I had put blindfolds on two different porn stars, but honesty…I don’t think the fuck-magic of two porn stars even came close to approaching magic we were making here, now, fueled by his vision of a life filled with beautiful places and exciting men.

“You fucking love dirty lovers, don’t you, fucker?”

He nodded again, holding his breath as I took both of his feet in my hands, held them over my head, and pressed my well-lubed throbbing dick-head right up against his asshole.

“You’re not gonna get it till you’re ready,” I said to him, fully cognoscente of the double-entendre I was speaking—not only for his begging asshole, but for his hungry life, which longed for freedom, greater ease of movement, and—alas—wonderful, dynamic, empowering FUCK-fun, just like we were just about to enjoy…right…NOW…

“Breathe with me, Lover,” I said to him, gently, even while holding his feet firmly and letting him feel the throb of my pulsing dick-head, just entering enough to gently stretch out his outer sphincter with each pulse…

Together, we breathed…

“Let’s take 3 more breaths,” I said to him.

His body relaxed—even his legs, suspended in my hands—and for those few seconds, it felt like all time disappeared.  No needs or longing remained…just 2 men, alone, in a room…2 men, alone…

“It’s just us two, just you and me, love-buddy…” I said to him, pulling my dick back for a minute and leaning forward to let my pounding heart vibrate against his taint meat…

It’s opening now…

The Earth is opening beneath me,

and I’m falling, falling…

I lean my head back…

My heart opens to the sky,

and I can see the sky 

through the ceiling

opening, opening…

until I can see the stars…

even in the daytime…

even while my heart pounds


My heart BECOMES the pulse of life

the DRUM

to sustain all life.

I pull him onto me, 

feeling how long he’s been waiting, begging…

My body dances inside of him, 

standing up

while he convulses, writhes,

and laughs cathartically…

We’re skyrocketing now

through the fucking universe

Two Men


with Everything that ever existed…


I climb up onto the massage table and slide his well-oiled body back toward the wall so that I can really lay into him and fuck him on his back, from above, with his feet almost touching his ears and my two hands gently massaging the back of his scalp and neck, pulling his body tight against my pelvis while we kiss and eat each other’s face like hungry animals, grunting gutturally with the pure thrill and exhilaration of whole body euphoric FUCK-fun…

I pass his right leg in front of me, past my chest, to meet his other leg, and in one smooth movement, I hop down off of the massage table while I pull his body toward me.  Now, he’s positioned on his right side, perfectly positioned so that his ass is within inches of my throbbing boner.  I take his right shoulder with my right hand and pass my left hand between his legs to get a grip on his left inner thigh, and proceed to fuck the living shit out of him, on his side.  The massage table—oil-slick, yet anchored by yoga mats on the floor to make the legs skid-free—becomes the ultimately-HOT surface for me to pull his whole body onto and off of my throbbing dick, giving him the luscious sensation of being FUCKED at a particularly unusual and sensational angle, on his side, weightless, slithering, and completely under the care and control of a dominant, excited TOP…

JUST what he asked for!

I fucked him for two solid hours.  Repeatedly, the energy oscillated from wild abandon to complete stillness…

“Dirty Lover” became his magic words, which simultaneously excited the fuck out of him and invoked visions of years of wonderful, kinky lovers to cum 🙂

“Your lovers really love your wonderful, naked, beautiful, life-filed body,” I affirmed in innumerable ways.  “Your lovers are filthy, wonderful fuckers who get excited by getting naked and hot with you in bed!”

T’was a transformational Magic Fuck scene indeed!  And did I mention he never got hard?


Our culture has removed itself very far from what passionate sex really is.  This man loved sex!  His whole body was alive, passionate, and excited!  It’s amazing to even conceive for a minute that most—if not all—men this man had encountered, up until now, would have perceived his sexual expression to be dysfunctional, based on how hard his dick got and how long it stayed hard!  What?

This man was a euphoric lover, enthralled with ecstasy!  I loved every fucking minute with him, and so did he!

When would the rest of the world catch up with us?  Soon!  In the meantime, all of his lovers have caught up, because we shifted the reality of sexual enjoyment for him and named the quality of his favorite, soon-to-be-clearly-manifest DIRTY Fuckin’ LOVERS.

Gay-Men, and Hallelujah!

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Just Another Day in Brad’s Life: Fuckbuddies, Friends, a Porn Shoot, and Talking to Trees

A raw, unedited entry from my journal.  Jan. 28, 2019, Asheville, North Carolina, USA

So here I sit, looking out on frost-covered Earth, beholding that brilliant deep-orange sunshine beaming horizontally across this room while I sit in wooly socks and thermal “drawers”.  I’m in my big rocking chair with feet and legs propped up on a massage table so that I can relish writing  from a semi-reclining position…

What could I say to anyone now, that would most matter?

A voice from deep inside says, “Be still and know that I am God.”  I see, feel, sense…a tranquility when I stare at the tree outside my window, covered in an evergreen vine filled with red berries, still, even in the frost.  For a flash of an instant, it feels like nothing in life is more important than hanging out here, being as still as this Tree in Winter, with nowhere to go and nothing to do…

Throughout the day, whatever I’m engaged in, if I focus just ever-so-slightly, I can navigate the world of dreams.  I can see my dreams, even (or especially) while I interact with other people.  I have access to a vast, never-ending supply of riches for my soul.  It’s always here, coursing down through me, head to toe, to head to heart to cock-and-balls to taint meat.

And it only takes a little nudge for me to start singing.  The song reverberates through me, even when my lips are not moving and my vocal cords are at rest.  The song is home.  

Rising up from me is a fountain, a well spring.  Tears and laughter become one as she rises in me to give Birth to the life which is my Heart, my True Voice.


I guarantee that what I am writing is true.  I can see it painted on the world I see, when I peer through the windows of my eyes…

And anyone I were to tell this to might say, “This is all your imagination,” but the Truth is…imagined or not, when I get to see the landscape which outpours from my heart, before my very eyes, I feel at peace.  I feel elated.  I shift from stress and strain to grace and ease.

Can I be like this all the time?  Will anything in my life get accomplished, when I become like the tree—still, singing with reverberant, vibrant life?


W from P-Town and a young guy he’s been exploring intimacy with dropped into Asheville this week!  They stayed with M and P, since I was just landing from a film shoot in Amsterdam.  Last night, their last night, I invited the whole gang over for dinner.  Simultaneously, I got a HORNY text message from a 20-young-something hot lover I fucked once back in December.  He wanted to bring his big throbbing dick right over.  Who was I to say no?  I put sweet potatoes in the oven, took meat out of the freezer to thaw, and proceeded with faith that dinner would get made and I would enjoy a hot NEKKID dick-and-ass-fuck-fun-good time with my new fuckbuddy.

I let my boyfriend Jimmy know that if he came at 5:15, he might walk in on a hot scene.  He smiled via text 🙂

I told all the others that 5:30 was a good time to come, imagining Fuckbuddy fun would likely be finished by then and if not, then…oh well!

(All of my friends understand, quite well, that my home is a designated sanctuary of sexual freedom and expression.)

So Fuckbuddy was a bit late arriving…

W and BF were early arriving.

And Me and FB were immersed in hot face-fucking fun right by the fireplace when the front door opened…

In walked by two dinner guests, food-in-hand, greeted by my ass in a hot guy’s FACE.

Their mouths gaped…

Then they adjusted, as I invited them to sit and watch or otherwise be comfy for a bit while me and FB continued to indulge in Heart69 mutual ass-eating ecstasy…

And they actually did watch…

Young Fuckbuddy was a little cautious at first (even though I had told him that all my boyfriends were coming over, and that had excited him), but I kept whispering “You’re safe…everybody here enjoys being around men who are enjoying beautiful, hot sex together.  You’re completely safe here.”

Euphoria ensued.  I nibbled his inner thighs, taint, and balls while resting my warm-oiled palm on his throbbing shaft.  He writhed in pleasure.  We gripped one another’s torso tight, our cocks pressed hard against each other’s chests in a 69, conveniently positioned to eat each other’s tasty fucking ass while we squeezed each other around the waist with every bit of strength and passion we could summon…

We were smoking a cigar when Jimmy arrived.  Hot young wrestle-buddy loved Daddy-Jimmy, so we have a DATE for hot 3-way fun Wednesday at 5 PM…at the end of cute Jimmy’s next-to-last day of work.  

Jimmy quit his job.  His last day of work is Thursday.  We leave for Mexico Friday morning at 7  AM.  I love him with every fiber of my being.  He’s the sweetest thing.  We always laugh a lot.  My work tends to be leaning toward a lot more public visibility, and it’s in times like these when I feel so grateful to be with Jimmy, OFF work.


I know you’re dying to hear about Amsterdam…and I know I want to tell you…It’s just that all I can seem to think about right now is going back to bed…

Perhaps it’s the jet lag…or the general sense that there’s so much I think I need to do in 4 days that I don’t know what to do first…

I suppose there’s plenty of time.

I suppose a relaxed body is more time-efficient…

Yeah, I’ll nap.  But for now, what I’ll say about Amsterdam is…

It was hard.  We pulled it off.  One of our 4 models dropped out on the first day when his past traumas surfaced during an introductory Tantra workshop I was leading.  I was prepared to fully support him, but he insisted he basically didn’t really want to be a porn star anymore, that he had been just doing the job for money, and that he felt it best to just go back home.  We grieved the loss and continued with our plan to film 12 short erotic films over a 3-day period in a large, grand old hotel on the edge of Amsterdam.  It snowed outside, and the wintry landscape outside the large windows of the beautiful rooms formed a perfect back-drop for the video concepts I had spent 3 months writing, but of course…being short one model meant that we needed someone to fill in for several of the videos, and guess who that was!

I like making erotic videos.  I didn’t mind the last-minute change at all!  I got to do a kinky fetish video with a gorgeous African-Caribbean German, and my long-term lover Norm and I got to enact a concept I wrote called “Fuck Me With your Whole Body,” which is a video about how to have euphoric, over-the-top sex with your entire body, head to toe, irregardless of what your dick is doing.  Norm, at age 85, is perpetually erect when he’s in bed with me, so the interesting twist on the video we created was that I—the younger of the duo—was the one who wasn’t hard all the time!  It was perfect!  The audience will now get a raw, authentic representation of male sexuality which transcends age and type.

Of course, the big drawback to modeling in several of the videos was that the filming of those videos was scheduled to happen at the same time that I was supposed to be leading workshops for the porn-star models.  The idea was for me to coach the models in how to connect more deeply and authentically and convey a sense of whole-body pleasure, ecstasy and FUN on film, which would set the films apart from the “same-old” gay porn.  So instead of coaching the models in 2-hour increments, I only got 15 minutes at the beginning of each shoot to shift their whole reality, which—needless to say—didn’t always work, although sometimes it did…

In the end, the models thanked me.  We all agreed that our 3 days together in Amsterdam had been a life-changing experience, but the hard lesson learned was that we all wished we had simply had more time together, so plans are now being made for future retreats where the guys have lots of time to explore ecstatic whole-body sexual connection in a serene retreat setting, rather than inside a hotel in mid-winter.

Overall, we had fun.  And now I need a nap.


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