This story was written for the
750 Word Project 2024
, below this line are exactly 750 words:
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It was a warm summer's night a few years back in Sydney, Australia. I was home on a Saturday night, debating whether I should stay in and whack off, or head out on the town and look for a little action.
For me, it's nearly always about sex. Though not officially diagnosed, I'm a raging sex addict. I'm an exhibitionist in my twenties who loves getting nude, preferably with women watching me. I spend hours training to get my body as ripped and muscular as I can, principally to attract as much female attention as possible.
I like to show off and put myself in potentially sexy situations, particularly around Sydney's many beaches and secluded coastal bays. I also frequently stroll around at night on busy weekends looking for action wherever I can find it. I am constantly horny, and I've enjoyed a lot of kinky hook-ups in my time. I'm also a chronic masturbator.
I eventually opted to stay in. Why? Well, there was a group of people drinking and talking on one of the apartment block balconies opposite my building, up a bit higher than me. I was intrigued. It was dark, and I couldn't tell what they looked like, but from the general outlines of their bodies, and the sounds of their voices, it was obvious that they were all actually women. I couldn't hear the familiar sounds of a masculine voice. I got very, very excited.