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  1. what are you waiting for.jpeg

    Citizenship in a Republic

    Theodore Roosevelt, 1910

    It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

    I count myself among the libertines of the world, the deviants, the outcasts. But I find it necessary to call to your attention that I am by no means self destructive. It is not out of some twisted self loathing. No, it is an act of being true to myself, of having the balls to live the life I know, deep in my heart, that I am called to live, and live fully. It is the life of cock. My cock, others’ cocks. And so for me, this is my arena. This site and sites like it. It is where I get after it.

    And I am fortunate to have met some awesome men on here who indulge me in their attention and allow me to influence their erotic meanderings, to assist them in their bird-dogging the next nut.

    I have for the past four years developed my place to be a reflection of this life. It is a locker room, a bate den, a place for men to work out and get off. And I recently added a private gloryhole. And this has brought me to a whole new level.

    As now, on both sides of the partition there is a struggle that must happen, an effort, on both of us, me and the guy who I am going to suck off. We both have to be vulnerable and honest enough to accede to our mutual desire, me to get on his cock, him to get off with a minimum of hassle, of connection, of commitment. And to trust his cock to me, and for me to entrust my place to him…

    It is a real turn on, and ultimately I am finding it to be paramount masculinity. It’s aggressive, and dangerous, and risky and horny. For even though anonymous, and impersonal on many levels, it is also intimate as both of us are intently focused on this one act.

    And no matter what happens, know that I am content to have made the effort. To have, for my part, shown up. And it is amazing when some of you do the same.
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    Lining up before the race, all nine of us still and alert, poised for the oncoming crush of the demands of getting the boat down the course faster than any of the others. Time seems to slow or stop, as we breath deeply not sure whether at this exhale we will get the command to row. Staring at the back of the neck of the man in front of me , the stroke, and feeling the pent up energy of the guy behind me in seat six. As a team we of course know each other, but on a deeply athletic level we are intimate. Our eight bodies with a dancer’s synchronicity as we anticipate one another through a connection far beneath consciousness. We are committed to one another, dedicated to each other. We care about each other. In that way that most of our friends and lover’s find cause to be jealous. It is for a season, for this discreet amount of time, and then, inevitably, broken up. This sense of imminent passing away somehow makes it more powerful a bond, adding an urgency to savor it deeply and store it away so as to be able to pull it out and let this time of brotherhood embrace one later, desperately alone.

    Hiking Club

    We have three and a half hours to make it up the peak and back. Our leader, the teacher who leads the Hiking Club at school, is confident and sets a pace we, as high school students, can certainly keep for the ascent. We are at first chatty as any group of boys would be. As we ascend, and hit some rock ledge we scrabble over, one behind the other, we settle into a silence broken by grunts and heavy breathing. Even though it is late autumn and the air is cool, we all take on a sheen as the exertion of the climb demands more, and the gentle way we hold one another in our sight following the lead of the guy in front, watching the placement of each boot step and mirroring it in kind for the guy behind. The expanse of the peak, the view is the reward, and taking gulps of water before our descent into the gathering gloom of the woods below us, we take some moments and splayed across the rock face like fallen greek warriors, our bodies are all beautiful to behold, and we are, in fact, in love with each other even if none of us would admit it for a moment. Confirmed by the way, later, in the van on the return to campus, we lean into one another and doze, heads nodding as one, our noses inches from our buddies neck, smelling the mixture of autumn leaves, moss, sweat and damp wool.
    You, Myleftnut, bonerandnads and 10 others like this.
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    If I could do anything today it would be to go on a nice long hike in the Adirondacks. Kidnap him from his demanding weekend and embark on a climber, With views to reward the effort, and plenty of ledge to scrabble over. The scent of the waning summer and the clear morning light at the trail head as I carefully search the ground cover for a suitable walking stick. Some good solid shoes, woolen socks, rugged stained shorts and a flannel shirt with torn off sleeves…crumpled Dad Hat. No sunglasses, A bandanna around my neck and a cool backpack stuffed with the trail map, some binoculars, a rain cover, toilet paper, bug juice and a good book. A HUGE bag of trail mix and some oranges,,,and of course water.

    No rush, no hurry. a trail i hiked fifty years ago and still recall. Saying nothing much at all. An eye out later in the day for a suitable outcropping on which to splay and take in the vista as the sun soaks into our bodies. Letting the mountain own me, even if only for a day. No lawn mowers, no traffic noise, no cell service. Hawks. Turkey buzzards, Chipmunks.

    Passing others (or being passed) on the trail, grins exchanged, the secrecy of our revelry safe from the poor suckers who are at the mall, or the golf course, or the gym. This is living. And as the daylight bends toward dusk, rambling down the last few miles back to the parked car, in the deeper shade of the woods, the pools of light and shadow intermingle with that unmistakable aroma of detritus on the forest floor harkening the rushing in of autumn.
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    Here on the shore is a developing connection between the sea and I…well, truth be told between a boat and I and together we dance with the sea. I am an open water rower, and have a boat that is old yet new to me just a little less than a week now. And so we are still in the getting-to-know one another stage. Each day I get a little more familiar with her peculiarities and she with mine and we are finding how to work best together. Mornings are our best times. This morning, after writing these words, she and I will go out.

    Today the seas are not calm and not rough. A middling of fairly disorganized chop, barely any wind, and a glowing golden dawn. And so I will once again guide and be guided as we glide across the surface of the Sound and have adventures, usually involving a visit to Tuxis Island, inhabited by a rookery of gull and cormorants, who, like fog horns, announce the proximity to the island’s granite faced banks and allow me to circumnavigate the place as the adolescents arc over me not sure what I am offering, food or threat. Their chorus imminently useful as we will be remembering I am in a single scull and inconveniently facing backwards, which offers a great vantage over the wide expanse of where I have been, some peripheral skills for the immediate future but alas, little foresight of where I am actually going.

    Her name is Buoy Boat, aptly named as the experience of her ride is less racing shell and more of a bobbing along on top of the perky waves, more bronco rider than racing jockey. Despite these quirks of design I am falling in love.

    buoy boat 1.jpeg
    You, Myleftnut, Mario_Silva and 4 others like this.
  5. Photo on 7-11-20 at 10.15 AM #3.jpeg
    So, for the first time in many many years I have the summer off. No commitments really to speak of. And so I am headed for the shore. My extended family have had a place since before I was born and I am going to be there as usual, but rather than the occasional weekend or week, for the duration of the summer.

    I grew up on this beach. Summers, especially in adolescence, being in the posse that was made up of my cousins, my brothers, and the kids in our immediate neck of the woods. We all learned how to swim together, sail, body surf, and the art of blue crabbing. We also entered into the territory of sexual activity together, and so many crushes. Mostly on my part with the older guys home from college for the summer. They were all so happy in their own skin. Unlike me at the time, gawky and awkward as I was growing taller than I could keep up. My middle school years punctuated by a chronic sense of confusion.

    This year, as I am spending so much time there, I took the leap and purchased a single rowing open water shell. It's a beat up old girl, not the prettiest boat on the water, yet I am thrilled. A nice 20 foot Alden Martin.

    In anticipation of doing some serious open water rowing I have been training hard. And that, too, has been a real source of pleasure (although it is kicking my ass). To have something to focus on, to look forward to each day.

    This is all a way for me to dig even a little deeper into my jock self...with discipline and consistencey. This brings me such a deep sense of calm. I don't get fussed if I post a less than great time, or have to pause and rest mid-set...I am not competing so much as conditioning. And I feel so much more grounded and in my body and just overall settled. This is in the midst of some enormously unattractive upheavals in my work life (my business imploded and I am in a forced early retirement) so much disfunction and drama in the world, and the challenges we all must face about the future. So I am super grateful to be able to do this.

    So many of those guys are gone but some remain, and we will hang out (at social distance) a funny way I feel like I am going home. It is a place I belong. The house, the town, the beach and the place I find myself physically are all feeling like home. And I need that now. And I am happy in my own skin. Labor Day will come barreling along soon enough.
    You, Myleftnut, LowerCapeCod and 13 others like this.
  6. So I just finished my first naked row of the awesome being able to work out naked. Such a privilege and I do not take it for granted. Anyway I am starting a new program today...something I heard about on a blog I have been following. It's a close group of men that challenge each other and hold each other accountable to one another. I had to pledge in and everything. It seems pretty intense. One thing I have vowed: I will not hide in this group of men. I won't be a pervert, but I won't be hiding either. For it is precisely the connection between my cock and my bate and being a man that I want to truly strengthen. But I also want to overcome some fears...I want to learn how to fight. I mean really fight. Well. And I want to learn how to cam...I think it is important for me to get over my sense of stage fright (I know can you believe it?)...

    And to continue to cut away at my false self...wherever I come across it.

    So I will let you all know how that goes. I took this picture today as I try to put up a new profile picture every New Years Day on my Bateworld profile...I was struck after editing it at my expression...didn't know I was
    doing that with my mouth...but it captures one of my resting faces. It's an expression that usually comes across my face when I m about do to do something, well, certainly is like I am about to say "watch this!!" my favorite famous last words....

    Happy New years LPSG community guys and gals....
    You, Myleftnut, Platinumage and 19 others like this.
  7. As you can tell if you have stumbled across my profile and pics on here, I am not really a shy guy. And while I identify as a solo sexual (which as controversial as it is, remains the truest identifier in the sexual department), I am definitely into other guys.

    Always have been since I was a kid…and it’s really a holistic kind of attraction. I enjoy just hanging playing pool, hiking, all kinds of sports (playing) and sometimes even going to sporting events. Especially if a buddy is actually competing.

    But I wanted to write about a particular aspect of my interactions with guys. My love of being a provocateur. NOT like Milo Yiannopoulos, and hopefully less annoying. I like to get other guys aroused…no matter what their sexual preference…I don’t care…I just like to get their engines running. I have no idea why. Form of connection maybe? Not sure, but it is a turn on. So I guess I am kinda a pornographer deep down inside. I want to find out how a guy ticks and then feed him relentlessly.

    It’s seduction in a way, although I am not necessarily needing to be the object of his lust…that can be cool though…especially if it’s not his usual thing (another guy)…such a turn on.

    And I definitely don’t have to have anything to do with resolving his desire to cum everywhere…so in a sense I am a classic flirt. But once in a while I like to hang out somewhere dark and cruddy where there are video booths in the back and get guys off…rarely but it happens. Get used. Like a dutiful wingman taking care of it because it’s uncomplicated and feels good. Serving a guy’s carnal needs.

    come hang out bro.jpg
    You, Myleftnut, GA_770_Dad and 16 others like this.
  8. I have been thinking a lot about this lately. It’s a personal thing that seems foreground right now.

    So I guess I’ll start with a confession of sorts, or an acknowledgement more like it: This is a LOT about ego, a lot about body shame, a good deal of it is rooted in resisting getting older (and invisible).

    Also too, I presume to know my audience…and that some of you might identify with some of this and do me the honor of replying either in the comments or privately…

    Be sure I don’t SUFFER this as much as it nags at me.

    I am in my sixties and it sometimes feels like it. But most of the time I am just me, like I have been for decades and decades. I can wear the same jeans, the same shoes, the same swimsuits…maybe a bit of a change in the eagerness to get into designer underwear and such…but it’s more an issue of not wanting to be ‘that guy’. You know, the one who is OBVIOUSLY old enough to be a grandad to the kids at the_______[insert here: party, bbq, bar, nightclub, tailgate, Super Bowl party] who is tragically insistent on trying to wear whatev Timothée Chalamet is sporting and is SO oblivious to the fool he is making of himself. PLEASE STOP ME if you ever see me do that on here or anywhere.

    As time has evolved I have become quite the amateur athlete (have talked some about that) and so bucking the trend of my peers a bit…but it is a very private activity….not a lot of people know I am such a committed rower…it is really what I like to do in my spare time.

    But recently I have noticed that I am NOT ok with the way I look when I catch myself in the reflection of a window on the street, or worse, see a pic someone took of a group of us at some place…I look nothing like the way I think I look. My self image is nothing like the real thing.

    This has now gotten to the point where it is bugging me enough that I am super determined to get the real me closer to the self image me.

    Now here is the rub: how much of this is pathetic.? Is it something I should just give in to? Try to come to terms with? I mean it’s not like I am unable to do any of the stuff I am now engaged in during my shred: weights, rowing a ton, eating cauliflower and kale, and resisting sugar and caffeine….

    Because I actually want to look at myself, take pics for this site and others and LIKE what I see, actually truth be told, get turned on by what I see.

    And let me stress: I am not in a place of hating what I see in the mirror, it’s more like that wince you do when you hear a recording of your own voice and it is NOTHING like your voice….but FUCK! That is what people have been listening to all this time!

    One more thing about this. I touched on the invisible thing. It sucks to know that no one sees you. This is not something I can change by the way I look, or act, but it does matter that I let it matter. The better I feel about myself the less it seems to happen. So I wonder how much a positive self image (or lack thereof) has to do with the sense that you are undesirable, unnoticeable, even a bit repellent?

    I know I can’t control what other people think of me. Trust me, been down that road. But I can and must work on how I think of me. It is an inside job. And then there's that idea or approach that I have to be the best steward to the body that I kind to it...feed it well...change the oil every 5000 miles.

    To wrap up I am on a rowing team. There is one guy who is just 100,000 meters ahead of me throughout the season…I bird dog him every season…he’s 74…and the best season distance on the team? 75 years old and has done 5 times the meters I have done this season. So I am in their wake…and that keeps me from thinking I am getting too old for this shit. It actually makes me so proud to be on their team! And they’re mentors of course…and kick my ass into gear….All important roles to have someone in by my reckoning.

    You, Myleftnut, nevton40 and 5 others like this.
  9. I wrote this in response on another site and thought I would post it here as well as it fairly well describes a dynamic that comes with my workout that most of you will likely identify with (if not think obvious)

    I have no desire to live to 120, and my mortality is something I think I have come to accept, but will never know for sure until the moment comes...we are dealt the hands we are dealt...Greg is an example of how to include the new material in the current assessment and move on...

    I row on an erg. (kinda a lot). and I do 10-20 K a day. I used to run before I started rowing about 10 years ago. Both running and rowing there comes a point...a place...sometimes quickly in the set sometimes later on...when suddenly...almost mind says STOP....and the ways it says that is telling me that I am in pain...but I have come to recognize that it is not the same as when my BODY says stop...that is completely different. And I have somehow come to recognize when it's my mind and am able to hear that and continue rowing. Now if my body says stop I STOP. Usually it's something fairly serious like dehydration or heat related.

    When I row through the mind signal telling me to stop, like running a red light in a way, it stops...fades...and a few strokes further I get into that place all rowers (and runners) love...a place of seemingly effortless motion.
    Myleftnut likes this.
  10. So in High School (I went to an all boys boarding school) None of the guys there would have placed me the the “jock" social subset. I was a ski kid, in the mountain climbing club, did Lacrosse and Soccer and into making art. But there was a substantial percentage of the kids who were definitely jocks. A full Varsity and JV hockey team, decent football team attracted to the school by a pretty ambitious outreach by the school to get talent into the eyes of colleges and universities.

    Strangely I was envious…mainly for the community they had…the bonds…and I ran in the periphery of their orbit a lot…befriending some. After school I became more and more athletic…the inverse of what you might expect. My early career and ambitions in that domain kept me from structured team sports until I was in my 40s.

    In the 80s when ‘going to the gym’ became a regular part of social life I again thrived. And since then I have more or less been above average active athletically for my age group.

    But it is all not because I want to be healthy, keep the weight off, or look good (although those benefits are certainly not accidental) it is mainly because working out, doing sports and exercise is like ‘coming home’ to my body. Well not ‘to’ my body…as that sounds a bit like it is separating myself from it…it is the way I embody my lived experience. It feels kinda like it does when I wake up without the alarm in the morning…’coming to’ or gaining awareness.

    My cock has a definite role to play in all this. Because it is in this awakened physical sense that I am most turned on…it is when I am most alive. And most creative, and enthusiastic as well…it’s not just sexual energy…it is life energy.

    So I am a jock I guess…and looking back at those men I knew in school and seeing athletes around town I recognize that energy in a sense.

    And I love community like this…where sometimes (often to be honest) I just log on and scroll the threads to hear the voices and see the images to be reminded that we re all alive, vibrant and to some extent robustly seeking life at its fullest.
    You, Myleftnut, bonerandnads and 13 others like this.
  11. So...I have a theme to this kind of work that I am showing here...the tenure or scope of the pictures and stuff are really about being a guy Raised by Men.

    Many of you know what I am talking to some extent we share this sense of following in the footsteps of the men we admired growing up...the ones we revered and in a sense worshiped. I was lucky in that mine were very relaxed and comfortable in their own skin for the most part. Naked or bare assed a lot of the time around the house (saved on laundry and felt good)...pissed with the door open, pissed together outside side by side...admired one another physically and challenged each other to be the best version of man we could be: to have courage to stand up for ourselves in a fight; to talk straight to one another; to be there for one another come what may.

    Sexually w talked a lot LOL...about porn, about pussy, tits, cocks and how good it felt to beat off...and did so often together.

    I crave the simplicity of that time, and so I guess I am piecing it together here and there...and this is part of that.
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    You, Scrotumlicker2, Myleftnut and 9 others like this.
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