re: TD Music Board Original CopyPasta Thread

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"Positive," he said. "I'm sorry. But with modern drugs, it doesn't have to be a death sentence." I couldn't remember what my name had been thirty seconds ago. Even before the counselor had finished saying "positive," I knew what I would be called for however long I had left to live. I would be known henceforth as Johnny Deathseed. I'd spend my days exploring the modern American frontier of suburbs, exurbs and gentrified urban cores. I'd be spreading the gospel of bareback sex, of fluid exchange, and of AIDS far and wide. The counselor droned on, but I had stopped listening to him. I knew I would never weaken the power of my new virus by taking drugs. I hadn't practiced safer sex before and I certainly wasn't going to start now. I was a male. I was designed to inseminate. Now, finally, I could get my partners knocked up. I started to stare at the counselor. He was young, maybe 20 or 21, with blond hair and blue eyes. He was clean-cut, with a polo shirt just tight enough to show off his muscles and khakis on. He screamed pre-med student, volunteering here to beef up his transcript for medical school. He was gay; that much was clear. I interrupted him. "Are you poz?" I asked. "No, I'm not." There was a hint of revulsion in his voice, like he hadn't ever had a drippy cock yet. I wondered if he had even once accepted the joy of a man's raw cock in his arse, the sacrament of sharing seed. He quickly added, "But some of my friend are." "Do you ever wonder what it really feels like?" The man I had been a few minutes ago was dead. Johnny had taken over completely. "To have a deadly virus in your body? An incurable disease? To be able to spread it by making love to another man?" He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Yes. I do." Silence again. He had gotten off-script. "I do this three times a week. Each person reacts differently. And every night, I wonder what they think as they fall asleep that first night." Another pause. "You're the first person who has ever asked me though." "The caretaker needs care as well," I lied. I just wanted to know if the carpet matched the drapes. There was another brief silence. It didn't bother me, but clearly I had rattled my boy. "Um, do you know how you got infected." "Yes," I said. It wasn't hard to know. Every weekend for the past three months, I had been to the local bathhouse. I had let anyone and everyone bareback me. I hadn't refused a single load. "Bareback fricking," I said. "Have you ever barebacked?" I asked. "No," he answered, far too quickly. I knew he was lying, so I didn't say anything. He had to fill the silence with the truth. "Well. A few times." "And?" "It felt great. But I..." He trailed off. "I didn't like the fear and uncertainty afterwards." I put my hand on his arm. There was a light layer of hair on it, just blond enough to be hard to see. "You don't have to be afraid, you know," I said. "You could choose just to enjoy the pleasure. The intimacy." He stared at me with those innocent blue eyes, a battle raging in his mind. I stroked his arm again, and he lost the battle between pleasure and prudence. His free hand went to his neck, and unbuttoned the top button of the polo. "It's what you really want," I said, and he unbuttoned the other two buttons. "It's going to be great." He pulled off his shirt, exposing a tight, muscled chest and stomach. There was a spray of slightly darker hair across his stomach, then a dark blond trail leading down into his khakis. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he said, as he stood up, and undid his belt. I got up, and checked the door. I didn't be disturbed as I carried out my first mission. It was locked. I pulled off my t-shirt, and the counselor let his khakis drop to the floor. He was wearing a pair of underwear that were hugging his arse. I didn't even notice his cock. I unbuttoned my Levi's, and my cock sprung free, already hard. "Wow," he murmured. He started to kneel down, trying to suck on it. I didn't want to waste time with oral sex. I bent him over the desk, and pulled down his underwear. On the counter behind him was a basket of condoms and lube. I grabbed two packets of lube, and squeezed one onto his hole, one onto my cock. I stuck a finger into his hole. He was tight, almost like a virgin. I worried he wasn't going to be able to open up enough for me to get my shaft into his hole. I didn't have to worry. As I pressed my finger into his body, he readily let me in, willingly accepting anything I gave him. It didn't take long for me to get a second finger into him, and quickly after a third. He was moaning in pleasure as I stroked in and out of him. "Please, man, give it to me," he begged me. I greased up my shaft, then lined up the cockhead with his hole. "You ready for it?" I asked. "Yes. I need it," he said. "frick me raw. Bareback me. Cum in me. Shoot me full of your seed and your virus. Make me poz." I had been ready to frick him from the moment I saw his preppy arse, and with that plea, I didn't wait for a formal invitation. I pressed my cock into his hole and it slid in easily. It felt great. My first raw hole of my poz life. My first neg hole, even. He was just tight enough to provide some resistance, but loose enough that I could get my thick shaft into him easily. And once inside, his hole was hot, moist, and alive. I started to pound his hole hard. For the first time, I didn't have to worry about how rough I was or if I was ripping up his tender skin. In fact, that was the entire point of today's frick: to rough up his arse, to injure it, to render him defenseless before I sprayed him full of my newly toxic seed. "Feel good?" I asked, but honestly, I didn't care what his answer was. "It's rough. But don't stop. I want this to hurt." I continued to frick him hard, pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back into him. "This needs to hurt," he continued. It was the best frick in far too long. I felt powerful. I was powerful. My cock had always been a source of pleasure for me. I had seen enough other men to know it was above average: big and thick. But now it was something even more amazing. I had a loaded weapon, and it was hanging between my legs. I could change a man's life permanently. Men were going to worship it, honor it, destroy their lives to have the chance to pleasure it. My awesome cock and my beautiful balls were going to be the defining elements of the rest of my life. I needed to spread it far and wide and let every man, willing or otherwise know my power. I was getting close. The first man was soon going to have the pleasure of my very first deadly load. "I'm getting close," I s "Give. It. To. Me." he grunted, a fierce determination audible in his demand. I didn't give him a chance to have a second thought. I pushed in deep: let my beautiful tool have its way and let my balls, filled to the brim with my brand new virus, drain themselves into his helpless body.

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The tent smells like crack smoke and a little bit like poop

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after getting fed up with this fake bitch arse "scene" that involves pussies who like shitty fricking EDM, pins, fans who've seen under 40 shows, horrible DJ's, no good weed, no metal headz, no LSD, too much inferior cocaine, unpurged BHO, unknown pills, vape pens, and stupid fricking people who want to hear a god damn awful fricking song just because it's a bust-out, I quit coming around here and finally accepted my invitation to the Basis. That's the real deal Bisco family and I know they're proud to have me be part of it. To you fricking custie arse bottom feeders who aren't at the Basis, please KYS and dont' even respond to what I have to fricking say It's been coming to my attention that some of you stupid arse pill poppers think I'm randy flagg. I'm not. I have no fricking idea how or where you delusional drug addicts come up with this shite. I've now had 2 people ask me this shite and I'm here to tell you once and for all that I'm not Randy along with all of you Feel Good Inc fluffers owe me a fricking beer and a fat fricking joint for all of this confusion...and it better not be any of this god awful shite they are selling in the legal shops. I'd rather smoke Oklahoma's worst weed than anything out of these shops out here. I swear to god I'd even smoke some of that over rated over fluffed Sour D grown on the East Coast than the garbage out here these days

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Oh, and I am a real lawyer. I've also really done all of the following things:

- Been in non-public areas of the White House
- Produced papers that were put into the hands of the President
- Had my picture taken with the President
- Attended a private briefing with the First Lady
- Sat in the President's box at the Kennedy Center
- Sat in the office chair of a well-known Presidential candidate
- Had a private lunch with at least one Senator
- Had lunch in the private Senate dining room
- Been to a private party with two (different) Senators, and two political talk-show hosts
- Had drinks with a (different) Senator in his chambers
- Been told an off-color joke by a (different, and of course Republican) Senator
- Represented three Members of Congress in communications with the public
- Been one of four people in a meeting with the Mayor of a top-3 American city
- Had drinks (and been at a Dead show) with the Deputy Mayor of a (different) top-3 American city
- Been sought out as a source by one of the top reporters on cable news

And all of that was over a decade ago, before I turned 24.

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