I. - Sex-Dread
In order to lay the foundation of my path towards being the rotten, sex-crazed degenerate spinster I am today, I must start from being a kissed-crazed kid.
As a tween, when I saw people kissing women on screen, it would give me the biggest butterflies imagining what it must be like. Beautiful women, soft skin, long hair, smiles; a type of attention I craved, feeling desirable, worthy, and intimately soft. In terms of a proper education, socialization, and regulation around women, it was noticeably lacking. I never quite knew how to be anything more than kinda goofy, very annoying, and discretely derogatory spending a very concerning amount of time kissing pillows, plushies, my own hands inevetably leading to, you guessed it, an active bed-fucker (where you hump a bed with the fury of a thousand springs).
My sex-ed teacher through middle-school would describe a specific type of women as "a slutty sinner showing off everything"; women with big tits, women with makeup, women showing midriff, anything flashy beyond what a mystery-solving BBC heroine might wear. She would postulate about the moral neccesity of remaining chaste, openly weeping at how awful abortion was, tying her daughter's life as the moral anchor-point to resisting the social pressures of having an abortion.
While she was teaching class, she was often planning out a new diet based out of a periodical. She hated her body, the fat she carried, the way her husband would stop by school on his way to work to squeeze her up, speak in an egregious accent like the dirty French dog he is, and ignore her pleas of "Please stop, we're in front of the children". I would often catch him looking at the "skinny skanks" out of the corner of his eyes with a glazed look to them, like trying to focus on an eye-floater without directly looking at it. He thought he was a smooth criminal the way he described one-way mirror sunglasses as a way to perv out.
He was my afterschool sex-ed mentor, assigned to me because of a budding hyper-sexuality. His stories of how to socialize with women often ended with him howling the most horrendous laughter describing rape and predetorial behaviour. The only good advice I think I can recall that, to this day, I put into practice once in a while;
"When you're with a girl and you're about to have sex, put on a concert album so that way you get a round of applause every couple minutes"
I hate to even categorize this as 'good advice' but given his other favorite story ended with him howling in laughter; "and then I gave that cheating slut the clap!"; yike!
How could the public school system keep these two walking HR violations employed for so long? Because they weren't; they were my parents and I was homeschooled. While there are some things I absolutely adore about the way my mother encouraged me to be creative in exploring what the world is like through the creation of art, this same joy I have found in the pursuit of becoming who I am today is entirely lost on her. She assumed she was protecting me from the corruption of a sinful, sinful world by holding me hostage to a shadow the child she wanted. Like, consider that around 18-years old, I found out I wasn't vaccinated at birth from chicken-pox because of the efficacy of the anti-vax crusades of the late 1980s. She held beliefs that I could have turned out autistic or possibly gay.
And yet, here I am; a transexual fag, a home-school drop-out.
Way to fuck it up.
II. - That's a lot of nuts!
So, in terms of fucked-up drop-outs, I was entirely unprepared for puberty and when my testicles dropped. I immediately hated them and prayed to god that if I shoved them back up from where they came, my body might absorb them back, break them down, dispose of them. I asked my dad about when they'd go away, upsetting him that I didn't want them because god made my little body perfect. To illustrate how important my testicles were to him, I think it was only a couple years before when my family was on a road trip and I had gathered a large collection of acorns, far too many for my tiny hands to hold, and they started spilling on the car floor.
"My nuts! I dropped my nuts!"
My dad immediately veered to the side of the road to check on me thinking my testicles fell off my body; I was 7 years old. I feel this story pairs well with a tale from my infancy when my mother had been out of the house for long enough that I, a literal baby, was crying, fussy, hungry, and probably sitting in my own shit. When my mom came home, she saw my absolute buffoon of a father, topless, trying to get me to latch to his nipple.
"How do you do this?!"
I hope you can forgive and appreciate how heroically well-adjusted I am today given this disastorous upbringing, and how far I've come since. Speaking of come, the whole point of this first chapter is to tell you about how the first time I came and, in gods infinite wisdom, marked me forever as a fag. It was probably around 12-years old that I began having non-stop erections and *no* idea how to stop them. They say that if you look at anything in the environment you're in now and reeaaally think about it, you have a pretty good idea of how it tastes. I was like that, but for touching my dick to things; Soft fabric, harsh carpet, paper tubes, concrete, mud. You could classify both the state of my existence and the existential culprit as "nuts".
III. - Disasturbation
In the complex I lived in, one of the more popular jokes at the expense of the freaks-of-the-week went along the lines of...
"Hey, did you know (eg. Michael Jackson, Dennis Rodman, Marilyn Manson, Paul Reubens) had 2 ribs removed so he could suck his own dick?!"
I didn't know. In fact, the idea had never crossed my mind before given I had no idea about masturbation. I was around 12-years-old and involved with gymnastics, swimming, skating...needless to say, my body was the most flexible I've ever been, and my singular focus was sucking my dick; a tricky, slippery slope. I knew, as a young god-fearing man being groomed to become an evangelist, that I was dabbling with the devil's homosexuality; "Is it really gay to suck one's own dick?"
The answer is clearly yes, but left enough reasonable doubt that I clung to like a bargaining chip with god. I made a deal that I was going to attempt sucking my dick around 11pm on Saturday night for an hour so I could immediately request forgiveness on His day. I have to assume he was cool with this immorally-sound venture.
My heart would beat faster and faster as my sinfully selfish hour approached. The first couple sessions, I was experimenting with best positions, hardness exercises, (and sticking things in my butt since I was already in for a penny). Eventually all this work paid off one blessed night when I found out how to roll my ribs over themselves and got the huge, throbbing end of my dick to my lips.
Praise the lord, glory be.
With a bunch of markers occupying my tiny butthole with the stimulation on the head, I was in sinful fucking bliss. Keep in mind, I still have no idea about masturbation at this point; I was just chasing a dream. Colour me suprised when, half-way into an amazing session, I felt my prostate kick-up for the first time. I thought I had to piss because that's what it felt like, and it was all I knew. Removing the markers from my asshole, I went to the bathroom to piss away that feeling. No dice, and my hour was almost up so, making the most adult decision in my life up to that point, I resolved that if I pissed in my mouth it would help deter me from such lecherous behaviour.
Folding myself over again, loading my stationary, I resumed with the ferocity of a dog gnawing a bone with a vendetta. The prostate kicked again and I ignored it. Who gives a fuck at this point? And just as it was getting good, I started cumming in my own mouth at the exact moment my brother opens my bedroom door and sees me in this horrifyingly erotic pretzel. I swallow my cum as I roll away from the door, covering my body with my blankets.
*gulp*, "GET OUT!"
...and, with that, is the story about how the first time I came was in my own mouth with my brother watching; double yike!
