The Breeder es uno de nuestros pornógrafos favoritos, pues, en su mesurada prosa logra unir añoranza, confesión y sexo crudo. No es fácil encontrar una mezcla tan bien lograda a cuyo compaz sea, además, fácil marturbarse. Para nuestro deleite es también un narrador prolífico. Su blog, A Breeder's Journal, inició apenas en marzo de este año y ya cuenta con cerca de setenta entradas. En su mundo –real o ficcional: eso es absolutamente irrelevante– se unen casualmente sus desprotegidas aventuras eróticas, con menciones de su hijo o su matrimonio, pues es un atractivo hombre casado de cuarenta y seis años. Un poco más abajo encontrarán algunos ejemplos de su obra.
The Breeder is one of the most accomplished pornographers on the web. Meticulous in his style he is able to mix raw bareback sex encounters with longing memories. He's a masterful storyteller. Because even if his fictional world is real, as he claims, it doesn't matter. All his posts –one each day– read as perfect cohersive chapters to an ever-developing novel. He started his blog, A Breeder's Journal, in March this year, and he's been able to gather almost 80 posts. You can find a small selection of his work here.
My first load came while I fucked him like that, driving in while pushing his enormous body into the bed, my mouth on his shoulders and my hand shoving his face in the pillow. He grunted like a pig, waited until my body’s spasms had subsided, and then rolled me off him and cleaned my dick with his mouth. Then he sat on me. […] “Did you enjoy?” I asked him, when I’d mopped him off and we were lying down next to each other. “Oh fuck,” he said, chuckling to himself. “You make me feel tiny, every time we fuck. Like I’m just a small guy. It’s great.” I mulled over that one again—the fantasy of a giant to feel tiny and totally in someone else’s control. It didn’t take long for me to decide that having that power to transform was a gift of sorts indeed.
When he made that announcement, his voice was as choked with worry as mine had been. I looked over in surprise, to find him trying to assess me. His eyes darted away. I had the realization then that as nervous and excited as I was, his anxiety was even higher. I'd thought we'd come back to this dark spot so that he could ravish me. Now I realized that I was going to have to be the seducer. Once I grasped that notion, my own nerves disappeared. "It's okay," I told him, softly. I reached out and put my hand on his.
I saw very little of Mark after that day. We stopped meeting on weekends and after school. At the YMCA he’d make certain to rush out after class and take an earlier bus, so we wouldn’t have to ride together. I’d always linger until I was certain he was gone. He immediately found himself a girlfriend who let him paw and kiss her whenever I was around. Every time his lips would meet her cheek he would look at me in sullen, challenging defiance. I’m definitely not one of those fags! See?