I'm a rule-follower, and I always have been. I guess you could say it's second-nature to me, and I think it's served me pretty well. I was recognized throughout my schooling for my perfect attendance; I was always rated the top athlete in the state for anything I tried; and I've worked my way up via reputational capital to atypical prestige in my professional endeavors as an adult. So again, I think it's fair to say that my rule-following nature has served me pretty well in most ways.
And I fucking hate it.
It may sound weird, but doing what I'm "supposed" to do always feels so fucking stifling, and that's mostly because doing what I'm "supposed" to means suppressing what I'm not. Almost like, every time I do something to conform to what's expected of me, I'm adding another shackle on the endless chainlink containing my darker desires. And trust me -- locking up and suppressing has been my constant state for as long as I can remember. Same old story, of course (sing along if you know the verses): I grew up in the cult of southern Baptism as a gay man, though no one would have guessed it by my athletic stature and constant parade of girlfriends; my parents actively punished discussions (or even questions) about sex and romance; pornography (of any kind) was vilified; and social expectations mandated peak masculinity and a heterosexual ideal in presentation. So there was a clear way to exist correctly. Fuck girls, deepen your voice, masturbate infrequently (and NEVER to porn), play sports, look away from other guys in the locker room, leave at least one urinal between you and the next guy, wear boxers, etc. etc. etc.
And all I wanted -- all I can remember ever wanting on the most primal of levels -- was the exact opposite of all of that.
Men. Cocks. Musk. Balls. Armpits. Blowjobs. Cum (and lots of it). Piss. Anal. The taste of a hole. Jockstraps. Lingerie. Poppers. Constant raunchy, filth porn. Mutual masturbation, circle jerks, gooning, three-ways, gangbangs, cuckholding, cheating, bukkake, BDSM, spitting, leather, cum control, restraint, and so fucking much more. In short, I wanted everything I wasn't supposed to have.
Not wanted. Needed. Painfully, achingly, unequivocally, and desperately needed.
I have always done what I was supposed to. I followed the rules, and to some extent, I still do. But when I was 19, I finally decided to claim my right to perversion and filth. And for those of you will with me, this is the story of that journey.
Going to college was liberating for me. I remember really hoping to be able to get out of Mississippi, where the safety of anonymity eluded me in my small town, and land in a really urban, really huge city where I could finally exist as an unknown. And luckily, that happened -- I got a scholarship to a comparatively large school in NYC, a city known for its population density and, fortunately for me, its sex positivity.
By the time I'd reached the age of 19, I guess I was pretty experienced sexually -- at least with women. I can't count the number of drunken, sloppy blowjobs I got after football games and such, and honestly, with my stature, I could get (and in fact got) any girl I wanted. I came on tits, ate girls out, enjoyed "God's loophole," and had more than my fair share of pregnancy scares (girls always wanted my dick raw, which was fine by me), and I guess I'd describe all of that as simply... "fun." Satisfying. But something was always missing, and I guess I always knew that. Despite all the jizz I'd sprayed, I was still the walking embodiment of blue balls and pent-up sexual tension. My genuine sexuality -- the perversion that lie dormant inside me -- was set to erupt, and it begged to, but I couldn't acknowledge it. Not yet. Not there.
Physically, I think any porn aficionado worth his salt would have described me as a verifiable, blue-collar jock at the time -- 6'2'; perpetual 5' o-clock shadow; white skin; muscular frame from a decade's worth of football, basketball, and wrestling; blonde hair; hazel eyes; thick guns, treetrunk legs, and a muscular ass that never quite reached the level of "bubble." So, in short, masculine. In terms of equipment, I've always felt lucky with the 7.5" I've been given -- I love my veins, the way my mushroom head bulges when I'm really turned on, and the fact that I precum (I guess not all guys do?), but it's certainly nothing compared to the horse cocks with ostrich-egg balls I've seen in my years since.
I really lucked out my freshman year in that I was selected to be in a single-occupancy dorm. How was that lucky, you may ask? Privacy. Privacy to explore my interests -- all of them - privacy to not have to pretend my dick was a compass that only pointed towards pussy, to find out what I was really about. I remember distinctly the instant I stepped into my dorm, turned around, and clicked the lock. My cock, almost instinctively, perked up and twitched. It was almost as if it sensed the unrestricted freedom it was about to enjoy and wanted me to not waste a single second of it. In retrospect, it's almost comical that my first college task was cleaning up my freshly sprayed load off the wall (even before I even unpacked my first suitcase), but in an important way, that small moment of prioritizing my pleasure and sexuality -- my perverse, primal urges for satisfaction -- was actually the perfect prelude to what the next year would be for me.
That first night was memorable because it was my first night of genuinely and completely unrestricted internet access. I no longer had to worry about my parents monitoring my internet history for anything spicy or potentially barging in while I was pumping out a load, which was unfortunately really new to me. The secrecy itself got me excited. I remember returning to my dorm after my first dining hall dinner, recognizing the potential for what the night could be, and immediately starting to strip. The moment my rising meat bounced out of my boxer briefs, I felt a surge of power that, until that moment, had been completely foreign to me. There I was, cock out, hole accessible (I remember distinctly being aware of my hole for the first time in this moment), completely vulnerable; and yet, no one could take that from me. This moment, this nakedness, this hard-on, this scent -- it was all mine, and I could do with that moment whatever I wanted for the very first time. That simultaneous vulnerability and empowerment turned me on. I felt the throbbing of my cock all the way through my taint and couldn't wait for this -- this freedom -- to be my new norm.
