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Forgive me for wanting to stick my cock in a mouth or a pussy that turns me on like a wildfire. Forgive me for violently desiring, when I see myself as a fat pig. With my rolls, my mouth I can't stand, my yellow teeth, my messy hair, my huge ass. I'm a virgin, yeah. And it's eating me up. Not because I want to "fuck to check a box," but because I'm scared to death. Afraid of making love and not knowing how to do it. Afraid of getting naked and seeing the embarrassment in her eyes. Afraid of not being good enough.
I have butterflies in my stomach thinking I won't please her.
Not being good enough. Not gentle enough. Not hard enough. Not man enough.
Afraid she'll see me as a failure. Afraid I won't receive a tender look afterward. I'm craving everything: skin, breath, sweet words, caresses, cum, and hugs.
I'm a wounded man who dreams of being loved even in his imperfection, even in his panic, even in his fall.
And yeah, it makes me furious to have to beg just to be looked at with love.
But you know what? I don't look down anymore.
Because this cock is mine.
Because this body, this same body I've learned to hate, can make you tremble.
Not despite its flaws: because of them.
And that's when everything changes.
You think I'm weak?
I'm more powerful than these televised fantasies.
Thomas Shelby? Christian Grey?
Let them stick to their scripts.
Me, I'm real. And what I give off is stronger, rawer, more vibrant.
I don't need to be smooth.
When I'm here, I'm whole. I'm alive. I'm real.
I'll make the women you think are untouchable fall.
The most beautiful. The richest. The most desirable.
Not with money. Not with style. But with the sexual and human charge I carry.
With that piercing gaze, with that voice that trembles but remains, with that intensity that no one can copy.
They make you dream.
Me, I make you feel. I make you vibrate. I make you explode.
I'm not perfect. But I'm irreplaceable.
And once you taste me, you look for me in everyone else. In vain.