My very first memory was of swapping oral with my grandfather.
(If you can take a moment to get past whatever disgust you now feel, perhaps we can talk about some REALITY for a moment. I mean, it happened. He’s passed. I give you permission to use an open mind as I recall the birth, blossom, and bloom of MasterHead69.)
That memory, that first recollection of life, was also my first feeling of sexual stimulation. You heard me right. I KNOW my body was reacting, because I remember it most vividly. I became hot. And, although unsure, somehow I must have recognized that what I was doing to him was resulting in some wonderful sensations coursing throughout my abdomen. I believe that my addiction for pleasure must have began that moment, and is likely why I remember it so vividly.
There are so many distinct memories from my childhood of events, emotions, and sensations that even time has not erased. Once, I was on the floor with my brother and cousins, and I can even now hear my grandmother’s voice loudly asking my mother, “well, why does she always hump the floor like that?” Oh yes. It was most obvious, even then, that I enjoyed touching myself.
You know how this works. Once stimulated, you can never quite go back to your innocent beginnings. No, more often than not, there seems to be a steady progression through different sexual personalities. And should you decide to feed that throbbing beast, it will continue to hunger for more and more of that which sates it. Even out only momentarily. So, of course, it wasn’t long before I’d attracted a few more family members who found me much more than they seemed able to resist. (Of course, that’s what I was told.)
Now, get it straight. I had never actually had sex. Oh, I often performed oral on them, but most often, they seemed tho prefer to lick and touch my hairless snatch. Sometimes, even inserting a finger in my tender flesh. I would always pretend to be asleep, for fear of the embarrassment if they knew I actually enjoyed their assaults. Of course they knew. My body’s own reaction was unmistakable. And surely it was noticed how i would yawn and move just a bit, allowing them just a bit more access.
Even worse, was my addiction for playing with myself. I discovered over the years that I really liked touching myself, and often I’d insert household items inside of me. I kept them so well hidden beneath my clothes that no one ever knew. But even more so, I absolutely LOVED watching MYSELF pleasuring MYSELF! I learned to hold a reflective object as a mirror (confiscated from my mother’s designer plate collection), between the heals of my feet at just the right angle that I could actually observe my own curiosity driven pleasure-filled budding clitoris. Most delicious to see was the way my pussy would begin to swell tightly closed and turn a delightful purple hue, after intense play and orgasming.
I was 14 when it finally ended. Okay, certainly not all. Just the kinfolk fondling. I mean, I’d always been attracted to men. I actually began writing my sex stories in middle school. But for the first time, I finally had a less perverted experience with a guy. He was a whole lot closer to my age (5 years older), and, although he wasn’t my first, he certainly was the object of my lust for awhile. And, to be honest, I was actually happy to show him that I was experienced and able to please him. Suddenly, my childhood just seemed an odd dream compared to these new experiences and the insane attraction I felt for this 19 year old drop-out.
Oh, I definitely didn’t stop there. Over the years, i fed my perverse pleasure beast large amounts of the flesh it so desired. Male and female. In turn, my experiences began to get wilder and wilder. In my late teens and early twenties, my fiance’ and I were frequent bisexual swingers, and attended orgies at least once a month. It was an absolutely fantasy-like time where the boundaries were blurred, and all senses were heightened.
And that has led me here… a place where I’ve surrounded myself by all types of stimulation; allowing myself to explore the depths of my intense hunger completely to the verge of my most perverted desires. All in a day’s play…
So, is it nurture or nature that influences the progression of one’s intense need for pleasure fulfillment, despite most consequences? Maybe, I was just born this way. It’s always felt completely natural to me. Just a deeper side of my personality. One free of judgement and guilt, with only one goal… the giving and
receiving of pleasure. So, I say it again… and much more loudly…
“FREAKS ARE BORN. NOT MADE”, my friends.