Author's Note: My name is A. I won't give more than that, but these stories are true. I just want to share my thoughts and experiences, some of my stories and fantasies with a community of people who I think are quite accepting. I'll share some intimate, personal stories about my life too. It might get emotional sometimes. So, if you want to really get to know me, here we go.
March 3, 2025:
The photo I attached is from today. I took it in the shower after working out my chest, abs, and triceps at my university's gym.
Today was my eleventh workout in just under two weeks. I started at the gym again because exercise is the only thing that will quiet my brain anymore. My baseline anxiety levels are probably diagnosable after a lifetime of emotional trauma. I used to be so warm and fearless about who I was. I knew I was more feminine than the other boys, that I never fit in with my guy friends as well as I did with the girls. Somehow, I made that my strength: I was funny. I was lovable. I never worried about whether people would like me - why wouldn't they? Being different was the best thing about me.
Now, being different is the only thing about myself that I'm sure of. I don't know who I am at all. I know that I love stories and music and numbers. I know that I want to fall in love. I know that I want a sense of security after a lifetime of instability. I know that when I do fall in love - for a person or an idea - I'm in it with everything I've got.
That's why I ended up at the gym again. I fell in love with a Tinder date. We talked every day for months, saw each other at least once a week, and I started to feel a sense of security. We exchanged sentimental Christmas gifts. For Valentine's Day, I put together this cute candlelit dinner with rose petals and fairy lights. We exchanged gifts, cuddled and watched a movie. We made out. His kisses were full and deep and I loved the way he groaned when I kissed his neck. We got naked and I sucked his uncut dick. His was bigger than mine by a few inches. He was taller than me too - I liked the way he made me feel tiny and safe. I was obsessed with his furry chest hair. We moved to the bed and things were really sensual and sweet. Just cuddles and skin contact, the feeling of body hair dragging when we rubbed against one another. He fell asleep in my arms.
We just laid there and the oxytocin flooded my brain. I wanted to feel like that forever. He woke up an hour or so later and got up to put his clothes back on. I took it as my hint to leave, but stopped him. I said I loved him. We'd been talking around it, but love was showing up more often in our conversations when we described things about each other. I thought he was waiting for me to make the first move. Instead, he looked shocked. In a high, nervous squeak, he just said, "Thank you." That was when I knew. I told him I didn't expect him to feel the same way or say it back, but that I just wanted him to know that's how I felt. I could tell he wasn't in it though. Cried on the way home. The next morning, he texted to say that he didn't feel the same way. He withdrew and messaged a lot less. He never opened my last message.
It spiraled into a lot of confusion. It really seemed like he cared about me and I could point to so many sweet moments where he reciprocated the emotional intimacy. I felt like I must have missed something, but couldn't trust myself to know what it was. And underneath all of that, there was just sadness. He didn't love me and didn't see that changing in the future. I wasn't enough.
I looked in the mirror and just didn't like what I saw. I don't think my appearance would have changed anything, but I wanted to be confident in myself again. As soon as I got myself moving, all of the worry just dulled. I think my mind was just always anxious, so when those feelings lifted, I felt like a huge weight was lifted.
I don't think I'm ready for love yet, but I still crave intimacy. Things have been so chaotic that I want to just surrender control to a partner and let someone else tell me how to feel, what I like, who I am. Daddy's slut, good boy, whatever he wants to call me. I don't care. As long as it turns him on and he'll fuck me until I can't think. I don't want to cum unless it's from his dick slamming against my prostate. I want to feel him shoot inside me and hear him say he's proud of me for taking it.
It's probably not the healthiest way to cope, but I don't really care right now. There's a person I'm hoping to see this week who says he'll dom me if things go well. Fuck, I hope it happens.
March 3, 2025:
The photo I attached is from today. I took it in the shower after working out my chest, abs, and triceps at my university's gym.
Today was my eleventh workout in just under two weeks. I started at the gym again because exercise is the only thing that will quiet my brain anymore. My baseline anxiety levels are probably diagnosable after a lifetime of emotional trauma. I used to be so warm and fearless about who I was. I knew I was more feminine than the other boys, that I never fit in with my guy friends as well as I did with the girls. Somehow, I made that my strength: I was funny. I was lovable. I never worried about whether people would like me - why wouldn't they? Being different was the best thing about me.
Now, being different is the only thing about myself that I'm sure of. I don't know who I am at all. I know that I love stories and music and numbers. I know that I want to fall in love. I know that I want a sense of security after a lifetime of instability. I know that when I do fall in love - for a person or an idea - I'm in it with everything I've got.
That's why I ended up at the gym again. I fell in love with a Tinder date. We talked every day for months, saw each other at least once a week, and I started to feel a sense of security. We exchanged sentimental Christmas gifts. For Valentine's Day, I put together this cute candlelit dinner with rose petals and fairy lights. We exchanged gifts, cuddled and watched a movie. We made out. His kisses were full and deep and I loved the way he groaned when I kissed his neck. We got naked and I sucked his uncut dick. His was bigger than mine by a few inches. He was taller than me too - I liked the way he made me feel tiny and safe. I was obsessed with his furry chest hair. We moved to the bed and things were really sensual and sweet. Just cuddles and skin contact, the feeling of body hair dragging when we rubbed against one another. He fell asleep in my arms.
We just laid there and the oxytocin flooded my brain. I wanted to feel like that forever. He woke up an hour or so later and got up to put his clothes back on. I took it as my hint to leave, but stopped him. I said I loved him. We'd been talking around it, but love was showing up more often in our conversations when we described things about each other. I thought he was waiting for me to make the first move. Instead, he looked shocked. In a high, nervous squeak, he just said, "Thank you." That was when I knew. I told him I didn't expect him to feel the same way or say it back, but that I just wanted him to know that's how I felt. I could tell he wasn't in it though. Cried on the way home. The next morning, he texted to say that he didn't feel the same way. He withdrew and messaged a lot less. He never opened my last message.
It spiraled into a lot of confusion. It really seemed like he cared about me and I could point to so many sweet moments where he reciprocated the emotional intimacy. I felt like I must have missed something, but couldn't trust myself to know what it was. And underneath all of that, there was just sadness. He didn't love me and didn't see that changing in the future. I wasn't enough.
I looked in the mirror and just didn't like what I saw. I don't think my appearance would have changed anything, but I wanted to be confident in myself again. As soon as I got myself moving, all of the worry just dulled. I think my mind was just always anxious, so when those feelings lifted, I felt like a huge weight was lifted.
I don't think I'm ready for love yet, but I still crave intimacy. Things have been so chaotic that I want to just surrender control to a partner and let someone else tell me how to feel, what I like, who I am. Daddy's slut, good boy, whatever he wants to call me. I don't care. As long as it turns him on and he'll fuck me until I can't think. I don't want to cum unless it's from his dick slamming against my prostate. I want to feel him shoot inside me and hear him say he's proud of me for taking it.
It's probably not the healthiest way to cope, but I don't really care right now. There's a person I'm hoping to see this week who says he'll dom me if things go well. Fuck, I hope it happens.
