A visceral, raw attempt to explain my sexuality. Posting in hopes some can relate. [fsub] [fM] [fm]

Am I the only who has struggled with deviance?

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I write this in hopes that you will understand me.

I've struggled with my sexuality for as long as I can remember.

As a child, before I even knew what sex was, I recall having the most debased fantasies that my memory has hidden from me until recent years of high school and middle school (I will explain my discovery later). I found that when I straddled my toddler-sized purple plastic chair, thoughts of Jasmine kissing Jafar under his spell would surface and feel…interesting. When my mom caught me in this act, she asked me why I was doing what I was doing. I pondered the question for a long while, and finally answered that it gave me a tickly feeling. I told her that I thought about Jasmine and Aladdin on a carpet ride, because how could I explain what I was thinking? I imagined Jasmine hypnotized, Jasmine being forced to do the splits by a machine, Jasmine being put under Jafar's spell and coerced into kissing him in front of Aladdin.

I continued to masturbate often throughout my childhood, all the while hiding my acts from my parents. Somehow I had an inherent sense that what I was doing was wrong without the slightest notion why. But I continued, using stuffed animals, fondling myself because my lady bits "felt soft," upgrading from my humping plastic chair to humping the corner of desks–which proved to be the most effective method. And, inevitably, my fantasies grew: A skinny woman being squeezed by a machine into having a voluptuous figure, a pre-pubescent girl drinking milk and being massaged until she grew enormous breasts, kneeling and putting my head under the shower faucet while thinking of a group of men pissing on me, dreaming of being a mother, breastfeeding, and kissing my baby…secretly, passionately.

All these thoughts passed through my mind as fleetingly as fantasies of a dream vacation might pass through one's mind. I grew up, learned what sex was (oh, so that's what it all meant!), and found myself in middle school.

6th grade meant research reports. Research reports meant Internet. Internet meant deviance. Hours were spent in the wee hours of the morning reading erotica and playing hentai flash games. Days were spent in a fog from little sleep, sitting in class and thinking about the new, tantalizing scenes I had read the night before. Life was spent struggling. You see, I was a devout Christian. I knew all the answers in Bible School. I prayed at every meal, and at every opportunity. God was my purpose in life. So I was sorry, Lord, I was sorry I was so weak to my temptations…I swore off of porn for a year for You, Lord…I know I went immediately back to it after Dec 31st, but…what was wrong with me…?

7th grade. First boyfriend. We dated for two years. Making out? A given. Fondling? Heavy. Oral? You know me. Sex? Not before marriage! A little bit of anal experimentation wouldn't be the same as sex though…right?

One night, my 7th-8th grade boyfriend and I were having a classic, cutesy, late-night phone call talking about fantasies. He asked me if I would ever have a threesome; if I would ever kiss a girl. I wasn't lesbian. I'd had the self-evalutation, I thought. Why did kissing a girl appeal strongly to me then? As usual, I took to the Internet. Was this girl attractive to me? Would I make out with this girl? What about this girl? Yes, yes, yes. Bisexual. A revelation. My parents rejected it.

Though I fooled around with my middle school boyfriend often, I was never sated. We did everything, save sex, and I was still sexually frustrated. There were nights when I felt like a bitch in heat. My body thrummed with desire, and I wanted to kiss every man on the street I laid my eyes upon. I masturbated desperately. In 8th grade, I went back to the Internet, to a camming site where users were matched in a video chat with a random stranger. My matches would tell me I was beautiful. They responded to my flirting. They were older. I had control over older men. I stripteased on camera for them, sucked my finger as if it was their dick, stuck the end of a highlighter in my ass, all because I felt powerful. I could skip over many men before I chose one attractive enough to be worthy of my show. I was valuable, and they praised me. But I was never sated.

I confessed what I'd been doing to my boyfriend, and it broke his heart. As much as I wanted to, I felt no remorse. I wanted to feel terrible. I couldn't. I hated the monster I was.

High school came, and my boyfriend went.

Which brings us to the present. How do I explain my need for kink? Normal sex is vanilla. It's beautiful. It's a sweet, intense expression of love. But what about the chocolate chips? The sprinkles? The triple chocolate fudge brownie rocky road extreme that I know of? The kink I've seen on the Internet menu, the kink that sounds delicious, but that I've only tasted in my fantasies, in the scenes behind my closed eyelids, in the warmth that pools in my stomach when I need to go pee (my expanded bladder stimulates my G-spot). When I say kink, I mainly mean BDSM. I have an inexplicable desire to be dominated by a man… to be tied up, to be called a little slut, to be teased until I cry, to be slapped, to be choked, to be punished, to be called a good girl curled up in daddy's lap, to service my Master exactly how he wants me to. I've done a lot of reflection, and I think my desire to relinquish my control sexually stems from my high-stress life. The more stress from responsibility I have, the more I crave a Dominant to sacrifice my control to. He would tell me what to do, I would do it, he would be pleased, and he would praise me. Simple.

I think my first realization that I needed kink was after I broke up with the nicest guy I ever met and wanted another because I was physically attracted to him. I couldn't explain it. I wasn't strongly attracted to his looks, it was his dominant personality I found sexually attractive. My ex had been.. too nice. I'm not into guys for sex, but I had had 0 sexual chemistry with this guy, and I couldn't stand the frustration.

I ended up dating the new guy, though my initial interest was only sexual. I ended up loving him, but he was completely different from my ex. Where my ex had been nice to the point where I couldn't tell what his true feelings were, my new boyfriend rarely said anything good about me. He occasionally said "you cute," but then again, he occasionally jokingly said"you ugly af" when I made bad faces. It annoyed me that I needed to hear good things about myself to feel good about myself. I wished I were more independent.

Enter, John. We met in a cryptography class. I couldn't figure out how to open the door to the building. He helped me. We exchanged funny pictures of dinosaurs during class, and stifled laughter at how pitifully useless T-rex arms were. He laughed at every one of my lame attempts at cleverness in conversation. The teacher rambled about decrypting a key to find a secret number.He asked me what my secret number was.

Later, I texted him to let him know that I was 17 and only interested in a friendship. He said he was only interested in my mind, and we arranged to meet again. Twice I couldn't make his invitations, but the third time's the charm.

I wasn't stupid. I felt the tension. It was the playful tension of flirtation, the action potential that hung in the air amidst witty banter and smiling for so long that it hurt. There's nothing in the world that feels like that. It's probably what I like best about relationships–the chase. I just didn't think he would catch me. He wouldn't try to do anything with me, why would he? I was underage, I had a boyfriend. He was almost 30, he was rich. I was wrong.

He brought me to a bench that overlooked the entire city, a breathtaking sunset view straight from the movies. He asked me if I had ever kissed on a first date before. "No…" I hadn't. Wait, but who said this was a first date? He kissed me. I didn't resist. We kissed. I told him I had a boyfriend. He said he thought I should try new things. We kissed again, getting into it this time. He told me he liked scratching. I tried it. His breathing grew ragged, and I took pleasure in his response. It was getting late, and I needed to get home soon. He wanted to show me one more thing. On the walk to the next thing, he admitted that I was incredibly attractive. He continued to compliment me on the walk to the next thing, until we got to his Nob Hill apartment. Read, hella expensive apartment. Power in the form of wealth. At this point, I wasn't thinking. I wasn't me. Who does this cheating, underage shit? But we still bantered. He promised to take me for a ride on his prized motorcycle in the future, to show me the donut place he loved, to teach me about a cool programming language. I'm not going to go into detail about what happened in the apartment, but we didn't have sex, don't worry. I don't even remember his face. The only memory I have of his face was one shot, as if it was a movie that I was watching and I took a screenshot right at that moment. His color changing mood lighting played on his face as he climbed on top of me on his sofa. He brought his face to mine and I could just make out the permanent wrinkles at the corner of his eyes as he slitted them in pleasure from my scratching. He groaned. He brought his weight down on me, tangled his fingers in my hair, and whispered in my ear, "You're so incredibly gorgeous, Kristen."

I didn't regret it. I learned from it though. I learned to lock the monster in me up. It had consumed me, and wounded my boyfriend, the man I love deeply. It was a wonder that he still stayed with me. We still have issues with my sexuality, though, and I don't know if he can understand me, as he's on the conservative side (Syrian, disapproves of promiscuity, homosexuality,etc.) I actually don't know if anyone could understand me. A previous boyfriend once understood me, but he was a submissive. He thought I was a monster. He was probably right.

I am a monster. Insatiable. But I'm not ashamed. If you hear me, please reply.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/3sulr1/a_visceral_raw_attempt_to_explain_my_sexuality