Hiring guys from Machofucker

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Hiring models from Machofucker or any other website or porno requires a heavy dosage of realism. This is important. If you are not realistic enough to keep in mind that pornography is fantasy, then you are being unrealistic...and if you're wrong from Square One, then everything else follows fucked up. Speaking in general terms:

• Why would a model want to go to bed with you? No, seriously, that's the blunt question. If your answer is "I dunno know" then you're unrealistic and should never, ever contact a model.
• If you can't afford to confirm a booking with a telephone call or deposit, then your cheap ass can't afford a date. No sex worker should give you the time of day.
• Just because a guy has sex on camera doesn't mean he wants to have sex with you...or is even easy to have sex with. Doing porn doesn't obligate me to pay attention to you, let alone fuck you.  
• Though he be an escort still doesn't mean you'll get to have sexual relations together.
• It ain't hard to hire strippers or porn actors for private functions

BUT if it ain't easy for you either, then chances are high the snag is on your end:  you are either in too remote a location, the wrong city (remember supply and demand? No sufficient demand, no supply), or are just too goddamn shady to be bothered with.  As the saying goes, Joe, No pay, no play. 

A very, very simple equation, that -- if you are REAL.

Pose with javelin

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 Louis Lasalle photography

Juicy, bootylicious booties - wish list

I love me some James Brown and, man, this song is popping! Never heard the long version before now. I can dig it, though. 

And the visual catalog of cakes - big ones, brown ones, round ones 
(but none of 'em mine ones) - teased in this video is mouth-watering and, um-um, arousing. Dick-stiffening. Hello! Perfect song for the subject of booty and its succulent treasures. Yessah, I likes those cakes over there! 

Small white briefs, black muscle cheeks

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Paco Ojeda photography

More phone sex losers

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So I get this ring (at night) and on the other line is a bloody English accent. Okay.... This "Englishman", like the brotha man from the earlier post, said he tried to reach me in Mexico. Funny, when my black ass was in Mexico nobody tried to reach me; now that I'm long gone every Tommy, Dicky and Harry suddenly knows about Mexico. But I digress.

Do I know you? I ask, wondering 1) why is he acting so 'familiar' and 2) how has he my number? 

English Accent claims we met during a shoot at Tim's. (Tim Tales???) For one thing, I only met one bloke while in Berlin and, for another, the shoots for Timtales.com were always a closed affair. And for another thing, my current number didn't even exist then. BUT the caller ID shows the number is from abroad so...I cut this prank/suspicious call short and tell English Accent who wants to know my travel itinerary to send me an email.

"But what's your email?" He asks.
"It's the one on the website."
"I didn't go to a website," he says.

Time for the zinger! 

"Where you found  this number," I say, "is where you'll find my email address. This number is only two weeks old so if you have it you must have got it from a website (profile) because I haven't done a shoot between then and now," adding, "I have no plans to visit London so why don't you just call me when you're here."
"But America is a big country. Where? I'll be in L.A....," he claims.

In this business I answer to no one. I don't have a boss.

Why do people always say that?! America is not that big of a country. We're the world's superpower, yes, but we're not all that big of a landmass. So I say:


"Well in this business I answer to no one so...maybe I'll be in L.A. and maybe I won't. I don't have a boss. Anyway, America is not so big you can't buy a ticket [for me]. Right? Okay then. Good. Thank you. Ciao, ciao."

If English Accent is a bona fide client, then I'm the king of Spain.

Phone sex losers.

I bought a Playboy magazine in 3D

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I had an early morning flight out of Mexico. Checked in my bags with no problem and was left with oodles of time to kill. Great! I felt so good that I bought a magazine from the kiosk. That and I wanted to get rid of Mexican pesos.

The Playboy Mexico cover (#103, Mayo 2011) with a blah-dow! naked Larissa Riguelme busting out of it is so hot that I didn't even need the enticement of 3D pictorials. (All the same I made sure 3D glasses were included before I bought it!) Aye, aye, aye! Whoever she is, this Latina bitch is soooo smoking...and beautifully proportional: lovely sexy face, long legs, nice size ass, long dark hair, flat stomach and royal goblet size titties. Not too big but, more importantly, not too small. King Henry VIII would piss his fat ass to possess those goblets. And in 3D! Yeah the delight in oogling a girlie magazine in - drum roll, please - bi-color cardboard glasses feels like juvenile perversity. But, so what. It's good, clean fun. Booyah!  

3D photography

3D photography...and looking so damn suckable and squeezable!

Phone sex losers

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What is it with people who call me and try to "chat"? If you need to spend some ten minutes to "get to know" the person because you don't feel right or good about hiring an escort then, please, don't bother the sex worker. And that's what it is: a bother! Go to a bar or the section of the public park where faggots cruise or, here's a novel idea, stay in and read a good book. But if a guy needs to talk it out, then his ass needs to make an appointment with a psychiatrist. 

Like tonight: I get two calls from the same "discreet" and "busy" man. Discreet...busy? Blow me. First he calls with a blocked number, which I just happened to answer because I was in good spirits, and starts talking some stupid shit about the bottoms in my videos. Huh? Then this strange man calls back and claims to have tried many times to reach me in Mexico. Yeah right! Only thing was, he wasn't even in Mexico...he just wanted to, get this, talk on the phone. 

Major fucking losers.

I hate phone sex. Phone sex is for losers.

 

A fan of rimming

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Exactly a week ago I met a really cool fan. We made a booking - serious people don't chat, they call and get right to the point - I made it to his place and we chatted and drank wine for about twenty minutes before any clothes came off. No need to clock-watch when I'm with a genuine person. He kept saying, "You're really Troy Moreno!" I kept grinning, In the flesh.

I chose a straight porn from the hotel's movie selection as he started fluffling me. It didn't take much: the porno bitches were really hot and homeboy's blowjobs were the audible, wet gushy stuff skull fucking is made for. I was rock hard...and his face and chest were covered with his own gagging spit...which made my rock hard even harder. Then I moved him off of his knees and onto the bed face down, and pulled off his underwear. Juicy, pinkish booty with a very, very pink and SMOOTH asshole. My tongue wasted no time lubricating that hole and pawing his fleshy rump. 

 With my ass in the air it was treated to a quivering tongue worship

"Ready?" I asked. He affirmed with a breathless moan. Slipped on a condom, drizzled down some water-based lubricant, and slipped into that ass. Nice and easy at first until I could feel his asshole welcoming me more. Then I gave him more. More dick. More thrust. More force. And still I watched the porno. Hot!
I pulled my dick out and flipped him over to hook the back of his knees onto my shoulders. We fucked in the missionary position for a good while and gave nipple -play to each other. Now I was ready to take it up another few notches and really give his ass an unforgettable sensation. "Ready?" I asked. He bit his lip and nodded, Yes.

I POUNDED SCREAMS OUT OF HIM FOR HALF A MINUTE...then did a quick repeat. Then pulled out and prepared to jack off. That's when he surprised me with a request to rim my ass. Can you?! Hell yeah! With my ass in the air and one foot on the carpet my butt was treated to a quivering tongue worship. It felt so good. I stood up and busted a load all over his chest. Noticing I was still hard several minutes later as I lay on the bed, he began kissing my chest and playing with my balls some more. "Suck my balls," I told him, pushing his head down. In no time I came again -- in his mouth. Whew!     

Oh that Berlusconi!

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Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi publicly declared, in a nod to "gay rights" or acceptance, in April that in all of us there is 25% homosexuality --including himself. "Only that after much intense analysis," he explained, "they discovered that mine is lesbian." At the function, the audience, like me, burst into laughter. But then the gay rights groups took umbrage with it, accusing the richest and powerful Italian of machismo and homophobia.

I thought it was a rather cheeky punch line. Oh that Berlusconi...!

Poppers come, poppers go

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I went into the boutique to buy a bottle of poppers, not really taking notice of the guy who was chatting up the clerk. I was in and out in under twelve minutes and noticed the guy loitering outside the store. By didn't really take notice I mean I didn't make eye contact with him but my radar did slyly observe how well those jeans fitted his little ass. So...fuckable apple bottom just 'hanging around' outside, me with a fresh bottle of poppers and a super sensitive hard-on owing to unrequited hornyness for the past 96 hours?  (I masturbated constantly but always stopped short of orgasm..so, yeah, I was really pent up.)

Perfect equation for casual sex! Plus it was a Friday.
Talk was brief: My place or yours? and Can you suck dick?

His place had his visiting madre and my place had a mess (I was preparing to move). To my place! Mi cama es tu cama and tu culo es mi culo! My bed is your bed and your ass is mine! And it was. I was soooo raging sexual it wasn't even funny. We engaged in crazy passionate oral for an immensely enjoyable while, sucking and ass licking and French kissing (it's rare but I have sometimes kissed). I tore at him like a sex starved fiend. (I'd been given a hokey sex pill - like Viagra but not Viagra - that proved not to be so hokey. Six days running and the stimulant was still coursing in my system. Damn, I wish I knew the name of that pill!) My sex tool throbbed to be satisfied. His fellatio was wet and succulent. What his throat lacked in gag reflex - couldn't take all of me - his mouth made up for with sloppery earnest suction. 

Mi cama es tu cama and tu culo es mi culo!... I tore at him like a sex starved fiend

I was prepping with Jack Daniel whiskey mixes and he was prepping with the poppers. Then - voila - my dick was finally inside. For most of the night, and it was a long night, I fucked him like a woman: with easy, 'love-making' strokes. When I edged it up a few notches the ruthless pounding caused him to drop the vial --spilling the entire contents onto the mattress. Fuck! My new poppers...gone! It wasn't long then before he was complaining about a sore ass. Too bad. Served him right. I plowed ahead. Then my quads started to burn and I made him ride me, as I wrapped around spreading his ass cheeks, until I felt certain his fuzzy apple bottom really did need a rest.  

It was fun. I blew a big load. He did too but I didn't notice it until I woke up in the middle of the night and felt his dried cum on my stomach. I took advantage of him a little more - mainly oral - and went back to sleep. In the morning we started touching some more but his booty was still tender so, instead, he took the iniative and went down on me, welcoming my new day with one of those wonderful good-morning blowjobs until I blew my load again.

caused him to drop the vial --spilling the entire contents onto the mattress. Fuck!

I'm out of poppers but, man, gotta love morning blowjobs.