Memory.

When people tell the story of their first memory it’s usually something about toys or childlike things. They seem happy.

I don’t know how to feel about my first memory. It’s pretty detailed. I must have been 2, I remember waking up in my long shirt pjs and rubbing my eyes so that I could see past the eye boogers. I walked across the hall to my parents room and opened the unlocked door. I can’t remember what I saw, all I picture is a black space. I don’t remember either of my parents coming to get me, I remember just closing the door and thinking that they didn’t love me anymore. That my parents didn’t think I was good enough, because for what ever reason I realized that they were having sex and that sex equals babies. I don’t know how I knew what they were doing, or what sex was to begin with but I vividly remember running back to my bed and crying. No one to comfort me. Just tears running down my face as I laid there in the fetal position thinking about what a horrible child I was. I was only 2.

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and see what those blocked-out memories were. The unwanted memories of what built the mind that I have today. The mind that is ever consumed with sex. The thought that sex equates to love. That sex is the only way I can ever truly relate to another human being. That I need to have another person inside of me to feel complete. I would never say that I was an addict. How can you be addicted to something that you have control over?

It’s funny, you’d never know by looking at me but I really like sex. I like the thrusting. The sweat. The sounds. The smells. It’s like a new season beginning at every occasion. It’s lust at it’s finest hour.

I have this on-going struggle in my mind to restrain myself from thrusting my body against the first hot person I see on the street.  The men in their suits with their perfectly cut hair. The euro-trash wannabes with their I-haven’t-showered-in-days look but still smell like Dolce & Gabbana. Women have never turned me on in person, but in order to get a quick orgasm I always turn to lesbian porn. The quick videos that download to my computer of women licking at the organ that I hold between my legs. The wetness of their tongue to the slippery fluid slowly building on the outer labia, that I can feel happening between my legs. It’s the best way to get a quick one off.

I don’t dare tell anyone about these thoughts or the things that I’ve done because of it. What would people say? What would they think? I can only imagine, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. In my imagination.

So, here we go friends. Come and read the tiny little secrets that occur in the deepest depths of my past, present, and future. My dirty deeds to my politically incorrect everyday thoughts. I’m here to bear my soul.

Anonymously, of course.