ConTuesday! Guilt cage.
I feel guilty a lot, mostly because I do stupid things a lot. Not malicious things, not even selfish things… literally I-did-not-think-about-this-at-all-before-I-went-ahead-and-did-it-my-bad things. Or sometimes, alternately, I’ll have thought quite a bit about something before implementing, but prioritized the exact wrong thing. Guilt is not useful or helpful in any way, but it’s familiar.
It’s not exactly foreign to some of you guys, either.
…I shouldn’t be pointing it out like that, should I? I’m such a douche.
Had a hot, sweaty, sexy, awesome summer threesome with two lovely ladies once. Everyone was into it, everyone was into each other, and a half-dozen condoms later we fell asleep in each others arms. It was the perfect threesome.
All of us were poly, kinky, sex-positive, and dating others at the time. All three of us agreed to keep it to ourselves (and my housemate, who couldn’t help but notice). Despite this being one of the hottest things I’d ever done, I still feel a little guilty that we didn’t tell our respective other lovers. I felt even more guilty knowing that I’d have done it again.
With all the poly and sex-positivity in play, I’m curious as to why you kept it a secret. But no matter. I’m not here to judge. Say fifteen “Oh, God”s while masturbating to the memory, and thou shalt be shriven.
I don’t really get along with most of my co-workers, and I spend most of my time there yearning to be elsewhere.
My supervisor is eleven years my senior, is tall and bulky, has piercings and a deliciously deep voice, and is an obnoxious, puffed-up braggart. I’m not normally attracted to men, and I can’t stand him, but I keep having these horribly vivid fantasies about him. Fantasies like locking up the training room, slapping him in the face, shoving him to the ground and forcing him to suck whichever cock I was packing that day, and then doing awful, degrading things to him until he cries. And then bending him over the desk and spanking him while I fuck him, and making him cry some more while I use him to get off.
I feel kind of guilty for thinking like that about someone I work in such close proximity with (apparently, I have a thing for humiliating and objectifying people who are much bigger and stronger than I am, physically speaking), but it certainly makes the work day go by more quickly…
Okay, I’m worried about saying this because then everyone I know will have to wonder whether I’m perving over them, but you have a right to have sexual and/or kinky fantasies about pretty much anyone and everyone you know. Very often, acting on it or even telling them about it would be crossing the line, but thought crime does not exist.
Unless it does. In which case I’m a monster and so are 98% of the people reading this, minimum.
I’m young, broke (but come from money), sexually rapacious and forced to live with a mother I can’t stand (we came within an ace of killing each other when I was 14), a father who could care less and a little brother I’ll miss when I finally leave this hell-hole. Now, onto the actual confession.
About a month or so ago, I was out with a few friends, ducking my mother’s return from a business trip in Boston, when I noticed that I was getting the once-over from a guy across the dance floor. I looked him over right back, he grinned and made a beeline for me. In a little under a half hour, I had danced with him, made out with him in one of the bathrooms, and gotten him nice and buzzed. Then I let him tag along with me and my girls (who also had a few guys of there own by the end of the night, so I wasn’t the only one).
We all crashed at my homegirl’s place, where the party continued … downstairs. Upstairs, in one of the spare bedrooms, my new friend and I were having our own party. I fucked his brains out until he fell into a deep sleep.
So deep he didn’t notice when I got curious and started rifling through his wallet. He had a lot of cash (mostly in 20 and 50 dollar bills.) I took three twenties and got the hell of there before my conscience could get the best of me.
Since then, I’ve been doing the same thing off and on: Pick up random dude, fuck him senseless, then go through his shit while he’s out cold (and I always leave ’em good and tired). If I find money, sweet. If I don’t, well … at the least the sex was good.
I’ve tried to feel guilty about this, but I need only to hear my mother’s ”you-have-shamed-me-merely-by-existing” tone to remind me why I feel the need to pick a lover’s pocket, why I can’t afford something as basic as underwear, and why I’ll never ask that sadist for a fucking dime.
I think this is generally referred to as a “sin tax”.
On a more serious note, I keep getting reminded lately that I should really and seriously never have a one-night stand. And why I should deposit the Christmas money that’s still sitting in my wallet.
Sometimes I kind of hate my boyfriend’s face. At proper angles/when he makes cute facial expressions/when his beard is trimmed, he can be the cutest fucking boy in the world, and once in awhile I do think he is just straight-up for realsies hot. But a lot of times I look at him and recognize that, objectively, he’s pretty fucking weird looking. Maybe even a little gross.
I would never tell him this, and sometimes it even works to his advantage – if we’re doing a rape scene, or if he’s just generally in Creepy Dom Mode, it really fucking turns me on to look up at his face and think, you know, ”oh, this ugly, weird-looking guy can do whatever he wants with me, and I’m completely helpless even if it disgusts me.” But sometimes, when we’re cuddling, I look at him and I feel like a fucking monster for thinking these things about such an amazing, sweet, perfect guy. I know I’m not perfect either, and I know it’s really shallow. But none of that stops me from thinking it.
Feel not guilty, my child. You should just hear the shit he thinks about you!
Totally kidding. I am such a dick.
Confess your sins and wins here!