(date posted: Tuesday, August 24, 1999)
I anticipated much as the family reunion approached, as I knew my cousins to be wonderful souls, all caring Christians, all strong men or beautiful women with whom a man of the world might pass an evening pleasantly, engaged in rapturous conversations on all manners of sophisticated subjects. At sixteen, I was enrolled in the type of stuffy boarding school made infamous and demonized by the literature of the nineteenth century, and welcomed any and all opportunities to flee from its confines and join the larger world. A sun-splashed country lawn with a swimming pool and a barbecue, a paradise around which ran delectable, sumptuous nymphs, tossing flowers at the reserved gentlemen that stood watching; this was my hope for the hereafter and my expectation for the fast-approaching summer Sunday afternoon.
To Whom it May Concern
(date posted: Tuesday, August 31, 1999)
I am a human being, a person, and people are sexual. No one believes that girls have urges, but I am one, and I should know, and I do. I do know and I do have urges, and no one can tell me that they're not natural or not normal. My boobs are starting to really grow, and I've got some hair down between my legs, so nature must be telling me that it's time to start going after boys - men, really - and all the laws and statutory rape rules can't tell me that nature doesn't know what she's doing. So I'm getting desperate here. I live in a little town and I never have a chance to do anything with anybody but my family (except for Jeff, they're no fun, and I know you're all into broher-sister stuff but I'm not) or my friends, who are all my own age and won't do anything fun. I can't go looking for older men because they're all afraid even if it's consensual, and I can't go to "I Love Older Men" chat groups even though I tried, but they're all just undercover cops and really gross perverted guys. They're scary. I just want to find some guy, nice, cute, who will be like a boyfriend except with more than kissing. Sex and stuff.
Sympathy for the Used-Car Salesman
(date posted: Wednesday, August 18, 1999)
Day after endless day, I sat in class and stared, eyes wide, at the heaven-sent angel of a goddess of a beauty of a teacher of mine. Stared wide-eyed at her tits, gaping, allowing my stares to be known along with the rest of the tormented male souls in her class as she flaunted her tempting, teasing body in front of her juvenille subjects. Unbuttoned blouses, cleavage, pantylines, no pantylines, seductive smiles, sensual strokes of her finger or the deft touch of her hair, all these manners of dire tantalization drove us in general and myself in particular nearly to madness. But I was a child and she was a professional instructor in that rigidly civilized structure that is education and there was no opportunity to vent my divine frustrations. I masturbated constantly, joining a number of other desperate souls in the boys' bathroom directly after Miss Hoover's class.
(m/f, m/ff, M/f, M/Ff, M/g, beast, s&m, etc.) (05k)
(date posted: Friday, August 4, 2000)
The gripping, compelling testimony of a recent convert.
(date posted: Friday, October 29, 1999)
I, I was lucky to have her, if a woman like Jessica can be had. I am nothing, a middle-class man with impartial looks and impartial brains, with no aptitude for dealing with women. Looking back, I wonder if that wasn't exactly the reason that Jessica decided to date me and to marry me. I was perfectly inferior and she would be free to excercise her rights over a lucky husband. She did not, however, count on certain peculiarities in my character, and her blindness will make the pennance all the more torturous for her, and all the more rewarding for me. It was her own damned fault.
Portrait of the Lover as a Young Man
(date posted: Friday, May 28, 1999)
Jeff had just turned 13, had just moved from a small town to the Chicago suburbs, and had just realized that he was turning into a man. His cock was noticably larger, and had a sparse bit of hair growing around it. As he made the transition to a new school, his developement was augmented by an explosion in sexual knowledge, as the boys informed him verbally of the possibilities of masturbation and intercourse and the girls informed him more subtly of th effects the opposite sex could have on his body. Back in his hometown, none of the girls had worn makeup or clothes that revealed nearly so much, and none had the tits that these new classmates had. Jeff was driven to distraction and experimentation by their developing bodies.
(date posted: Wednesday, July 7, 1999)
She was iredeemably fifteen when she walked in the room, precocious, loquacious, and beautiful, with pony-tailed shining blond hair, a diminutive rounded nose, slender little lips and penetrating eyes. Instead of failing me, adjectives freely flow when I enter the pressence of a beautiful member of the girlish race, and Melissa certainly qualified. At nineteen, I am a poet, a sensitive sort whose emotions can easily be swayed by anything from Shakespeare to dramatic music on SportsCenter highlights, and I am a lover, having awarded my heart to a slender little girl when I and she were children, but my esthetic appreciation never waned. As she stood, nervous eyes, awkward arms, in front of a room of strangers, I absorbed her as I would a painting, free of any sexual intent.
(chat / story) (21k)
(date posted: Tuesday, July 13, 1999)
I was sitting alone one evening, looking at this very site when a was contacted by an unidentified fuckable object. The following are transcripts of our early discourses. More will follow. MaLyWy ( 9:59:06 PM): you don't know me but i know you! Jeff1613 (9:59:34 PM): I don't know me but I know you. MaLyWy (10:00:10 PM): uh...ok... do you know me? Jeff1613 (10:00:21 PM): Sorry. I'm just odd. No, I don't know you. Shall I guess? MaLyWy (10:00:43 PM): ok! i'll give you a hint. Jeff1613 (10:00:46 PM): Go. MaLyWy (10:01:14 PM): ok, i'm a girl and i go to your old school. high school. Jeff1613 (10:01:30 PM): All right, that narrows it down. Are you bigger than a breadbasket? MaLyWy (10:01:35 PM): yes!
Life Is Funny
(date posted: Tuesday, August 17, 1999)
Everybody says that life is funny, but not very many people mean it. I mean it. I think that life has to be funny, if you stop and think, because there really isn't any reason for the comedic, hilarious little things in life, and in the real world, meaningless things are actual. I speak to you on good authority, because I am an actual person, who was actually in actual situations. In fact, I was in some of the most real places, at the most real times, in all of history. I know because they mention them in history books, and they seem like dreams. Floating. Disconnected. Unreal. In reality, things are never what they seem.
(date posted: Wednesday, June 16, 1999)
If the door had creaked, perhaps, the whole affair could have been avoided. If Jessica had decided to stay after school a bit, to chat with one of her friends or play a little longer, maybe the ball wouldn't have ever started rolling. Perhaps, however, something else would have come along to provide the impetus for our little adventure, and none of the ifs would have mattered at all. I suppose we'll never know. As it is, Jessica did come straight home from school, did walk boldly through the door without informing her sister of her arrival, and did proceed to listen with interest to the sounds coming from the living room. She did peek with slight trepidation around the corner, and was greeted with the sight of her fourteen-year-old sister lying on her back, with the giant cock of her boyfriend ramming into her tight snatch. The young man was plowing his obviously euphoric lover with hard, long thrusts, impaling her on his chunk of engorged brawn, driving her closer and closer to her final ecstasy. "Oh, God, Kory, fuck me," Jessica's sister begged between her wimpers of delight, "Make me cum on your cock."
Jennifer and Michael
(m/f voy) (17k)
(date posted: Sunday, March 26, 2000)
I follow my daughter and her boyfriend into the woods, and end up watching her ride his big prick like a slut. The sight sets of a series of devilish thoughts.
A Rape: The Interplay of Great Minds
(date posted: Friday, August 27, 1999)
I fucking hate to go to work. Every fucking day its the same damn thing, getting dressed too early and I'm all groggy and can't see because my eyes are dry, and finding my socks and putting them on my wet feet because I just got oout of the fucking shower and I couldn't sit under the water like I fucking want to, and putting on my tie and coming to this fucking bus to sit with a smelly bunch of poor bastards. This one right here next to me is smellier than most, and dirty, and I fucking hate sitting next to dirty people. I don't know where they've been, or what sort of fleas they fucking have on their dirty fucking bodies. I wonder when the last time this one took a fucking bath was? I bet it was years ago. Maybe I ought to have sympathy for these poor fucking assholes, but when they keep fucking sitting down next to me on the fucking bus, well, I'd be a fucking sap if I put change in their little fucking tin cups when they asked me for shit on the side of the street, with their sad stories and their wheelchairs that they probaby fucking stole from the hospital. And they probably just buy fucking crack with it anyway, and won't get a job like fucking decent fucking folks like me. Damn it, I fucking hate to go to work.
The Epic Adventures of a Well-Hung Guy
(date posted: Wednesday, September 1, 1999)
Sara looked up from her notes in a dream, as she often did during Psychology, bored by the instructor, the notes, and the material, and captivated by the handsome junior in her class. Sure, she had heard the rumors about how he treated women, and how his last couple relationships had turned out, and sure, she despised that type of behavior and whole-heartedly supported love, respect, and commitment, but she didn't whole-heartedly support them with her whole heart. Sara new very well that there was a part of her that craved that type of treatment and sought objectification on the grounds that she at least wanted to be a meritorious object. Plus, there were other rumors, started by Jeff's previous girlfriends and relayed by giggling freshman - children - along the halls of St. Julian's Academy, and those were they type of rumors that could really interest a girl.
First and Only
(date posted: Monday, July 31, 2000)
I find myself alone on the beach with a beautiful twelve-year-old girl.
(Mf dad/daut) (03k)
(date posted: Thursday, July 29, 1999)
I love my... Daddy. But he gets mad... mad at me sometimes... when I'm bad... and... he hits me... he hits me... and it hurts.... I love my Daddy... I love him, but when he gets..... mad... I don't like it, and I don't... I don't like it when he hits my sister, either... when I'm bad... sometimes, when I'm bad... he hits my sister, too. We.... we cry a lot... Nana and me....
An Episode with a Younger Woman
(date posted: Wednesday, June 9, 1999)
Having grown up in a rather restricted community, sexually, entrance into the wonderful world of college women was met in a manner not considered wise by prevailing social standards - which is to say, enthusiastically. After a couple of years at the University, I'd already fucked dozens of girls, each of them dozens of times, and was dreading returning home to the land of the prudes for the summer. However, an illness in the family required my presence, and I returned, albeit in a rather dejected manner. A spent the first day back at the home of one of my old friends, helping him repair a roof that had gotten damaged in a recent storm. The day was hot and humid, and we were sweating profusely after the first few minutes, as the work was by no means easy. We eventually decided to adjourn for a bit, and descended into his kitchen.
(date posted: Thursday, July 8, 1999)
Decrepit, a man on the street, and down the street floating, sterile on the best shock absorbers a life of platitude can purchase. Rotting, a radio pounding and pounding on beat after happy beat into infinity, and never halting in the holes of the souls of those it serenaded daily for years. Calm, and distant from all that were closest to him, a speechless and indifferent entity rolled closer to destiny, oblivious. For there, on the corner, perched on the sunlit and everything tied to the tired and bright of gaudy summer days, stood his dark enigma of a bride, dead. Stopping and staring amidst the wrath of those still wallowing immersed in beat after beat after beat after beat after beat, he noticed the nation revolving around the sun for the first time in history, turning bedazzled and observing a silly world for the first time and time stood expelled and prohibited in the land of his wonder.
(date posted: Saturday, July 10, 1999)
You may already know me, or you may not. I have been displayed, paraded in front of the peephole of the imagination, by an unconscionable young man who is himself of ill repute. I admit, now that I am old and beyond shame, that I was once a precoscious young woman, influenced by my upbringing and the various traumas that befell me, and that I made some decisions, sexually, that may qualify me as a deviant. I will not, however, consent to be denounced, to be labeled as a bad person. My experience has taught me that there is no such thing as evil; every decision is understandable, and everybody is capable of, say, conducting an affair with their junior high student if the circumstances align themselves properly. We like to believe that we are free agents, capable of choosing right from wrong, but the revelation of determinism shows us differently. We choose what we are inclined to choose. We act in our own interests, whether we are altruistic or Hitler. Or Sade. I hope that you can separate titillation from philosophy, the bedroom from the heavens. I present to you the cumulative works of the recorder of my life, the man who saw fit to exhibit me and my loved ones. I submit them in the form in which he recorded, the pornographic style, simply to highlight the contrast. I recognize that he attempted to provide a portrayal of my predestination, and that of all the other exhibitted individuals, but the attempt was clearly made in the interest of providing context to the reader's arousal, to prevent the pervert from feeling cheated. I ask that you read this with reality in mind, with the notion that actual individuals are buffetted by the winds of circumstance. See how he blunders to simplify my desires, and imagine for yourselves what I actually lived and experienced, what thoughts ran through my younger head. Thank you.
(date posted: Tuesday, August 31, 1999)
I think, I think, with an English accent, although that perception may be the mere result of the perils of a mute extrapolating his thoughts. I can't very well silently form words with my mouth to test my notions, and whenever I bark, it sounds much like the vocalizations of your average French Poodle or a German Shephard. So I don't know a thing about my accent.
A Rollicking Tale of Incest
(date posted: Tuesday, July 27, 1999)
I was eleven when my father died. So it goes. With that little tribute to him and to literature, I must confess that my story really begins when I befriended a little boy from down the street. I was thirteen, he was ten, I had little budding breasts and he had a nubbin of a cock that stood at attention when attention was directed at it. By me. I could make him hard simply by bending over in front of him, my shirt down and my nipples up, and I could make him cum, I soon discovered, simply by rubbing my leg against his cock. It wasn't much of a cock though, and I'm a slut, and I needed more. Plus, he was just a cute little kid, and I like men. Doubleplus, I was completely in control of him, and I don't think I deserve to be in control of anyone.
(date posted: Wednesday, September 1, 1999)
October 1, 2017 short years after the supposed birth of the supposed Savior of the World: I do not know why I am writing this, but only that I feel the need to put my thoughts on paper, to see them birthed into the physical reality that fostered and deluded this damned race for the past tens of thousands of years. There will be no later generations to whom I may pass what passes for wisdom, and indeed there was probably no wisdom at all, ever. Our race is doomed.
(date posted: Friday, July 2, 1999)
Sweaty hands - my pudgy cub paws - groping in the lonely car, their lust concealed from the golden goddess floating over iol slicks and gum wrappers, through the parting parking lot as men swiveled obscene heads to lend their dirty looks to clean Jean, cute Kate, faceless nameless flesh. I was 13, horny, five hard inches of greasy throbbing cock, my masturbattention focussed on gone, foregone ungraspable woman-tits, wet dreams, skulking passions, dark sightless enigmatic nights of building, building, gone. Ugly adolescent aching acne ecxtasy, five pulses, done, to sleep in stained and dripping briefs. I knew it was perverted, jacking off while pristine Jill floated by, but perversion is often more motivation than detriment, and I soon was near the wet fruit of my labors. Cumming, six spurts, done and shrinking as she waggled to her car, mounted the lucky seat and drove off into oblivion.
(date posted: Friday, August 27, 1999)
I have, you will soon realize, devised the ultimate consumer product. Highly addictive, highly harmless, highly expensive, slightly over half the population will want one, will need one, almost as soon as I put it on the market. Imagine, me, little Billy Kunderson, Billy Cunt, to my classmates, could be a trillionaire. And not just that. Those girls, all those girls that laughed at me, the ones that made fun of my hair or my glasses, they'll all want me. I'll be like a god, damn it, a god. They'll be at my mercy, after all these years. Even this momento, this little entry in a journal I've just started keeping, this would be enough to make them scream with lust, reading this little story. Anything about me, anything related to my person, they'll love. That's how I made it.
(date posted: Tuesday, August 17, 1999)
Writing English easy communication Englishmen ago. Words thoughts lines space talkie-talkie between times. Difficult translation endeavor. Hope decoded comprehension. Appy-polly-loggies.
Mr Double's Palisade
A MrDouble Production:
Changes last made on: Tuesday, August 24, 1999