Virgin

Most people don’t understand molestation. They don’t understand how it makes you disappear. I don’t know my own pleasure. I only know when I’m alone. I only know when I’m jacking off. I play the game. I was supposed to grow up and mate. I was supposed to grow up and have sex. And when I starting having sex, I liked it for the power. It didn’t do anything for me. It didn’t do anything for me.

I’m only satisfied when I’m alone. I want someone to witness it. I want someone to witness how I touch myself. How I feel when no one is watching, like how I like my nipples. How I’m this top. I think I’m a top even if I love being a bottom. I want them to understand how I love the stroke of the dick. How I love the touch of man. I want to smell him. I want to kiss his armpits. I want to eat his sweaty ass. And when I’m jacking off, alone, I’m safe. I want him to see my face. Because I don’t think anyone cares about my pleasure. Its goes back to molestation, she didn’t care about how I felt. She only cared about getting hers. So I think I’m just this pawn. So for me to be real, I must believe I’m having sex with myself. Maybe that’s the key. Maybe that’s the key. When I have sex with others, I’m just the jack off material. I just think of myself as the jack off material. I so want to have sex. I’m still a virgin. For as much sex I’ve had, I’m still a virgin.