From masturbation to being sexually assaulted

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

I first witnessed "that thing" when I was thirteen. It was late that night, very hot, and I couldn't sleep. I went to the window and saw a man and a woman on the bed across the street. The man was on top, his buttocks moving up and down, and the woman was on the bottom, writhing. It felt very strange. Later, I learned what it was, and I cursed them inwardly for being so lewd, not even closing the curtains in the summer, setting a bad example for young girls.

One day, after urinating, I felt a tingling sensation when wiping myself, and started frequently picking at my genitals with my fingers in private. Later, I learned it was called "masturbation," and I felt ashamed and cheap. But after going online and finding out there were so many others who shared this interest, I felt better. I was fourteen that year.

As time went on, my need for masturbation grew stronger. When reading romance novels, I couldn't help but touch my sensitive areas, closing my eyes and imagining having sex with the handsome male protagonist (at this point, I didn't really understand what sex was; it was probably just intimate acts like mutual touching and hugging). Sometimes I think how romantic it would be to embrace the handsome guy I like. On weekends, I spend all day in bed, fantasizing and masturbating like crazy. The sheets get soaked, but I'm too afraid to get up and change them, so I dry them with my body heat.

Once, after a long sleepless night, I masturbated countless times until I was completely exhausted and started bleeding, but I still wasn't satisfied. Later, I gradually started masturbating in public restrooms, changing rooms, dorm rooms, balconies, internet cafes, and other places. Whenever I felt like it, I would do it. One night around 2 AM, I found a phone booth on the street and masturbated four times until 5 AM. I smeared my bodily fluids on the glass and looked through it at the occasional passerby on the street; the feeling was indescribable. Now it's an open and individualistic era, who's afraid of who?

The first time I was "taken" was when I was seventeen. He was the handsome guy in my class, and it happened at his house. It was a weekend, and all the students in his dorm had gone home. The first time I actually saw that "thing," I didn't feel anything. The red head was slightly tilted, and the little hole in the middle opened and closed. I could sense his nervousness. Unlike in novels where a girl's first time is filled with butterflies in her stomach, I was calm. I even hoped he would enter me quickly, to experience the sensation of penetration.

But instead of a surging, endless climax, I was met with excruciating pain. I immediately pushed him away, instinctively kicking him, accidentally hitting that "thing." He immediately curled up in a ball, clutching his groin. I was terrified and huddled on the bed, staring blankly at him. We broke up after the college entrance exam. Later, at a class reunion, I secretly heard someone say he was impotent and had never married. Thinking it might be because of that incident, I felt quite guilty.

After that, I was quite afraid of "that kind of thing" for a while. I only masturbated occasionally, and not very frequently. It wasn't until college that my boyfriend started groping me indiscriminately, leaving me weak and hot all over. Before I knew it, he had stripped me naked, and when I woke up, we were pressed together, completely naked. Looking down, I saw the sheets were soaked. My boyfriend whispered in my ear, "You're so wet." Then he licked my ear with his tongue, sending another wave of dizzy, tingling sensation

through me. He grabbed my breasts, his fingers constantly teasing my nipples. This was something I had never experienced before. I couldn't help but moan softly. He gently put me down, his tongue licking from my neck down to my genitals. It was incredible; so this was what sex was like. I don't know how much I wet myself, but when we finished, the sheets were practically soaked. It was winter. When he entered me, I initially felt some resistance, but then I realized it wasn't as uncomfortable as before. Instead, he quickly and smoothly entered me. A feeling of fullness I had never experienced before filled my body—warm, smooth, full, and powerful. I felt like a little bird, needing to be nestled, needing someone to care for me. This is the joy of sex.

Just as I was bracing myself for the coming storm, he stopped, staring at me with wide eyes.

I asked, "Why did you stop?"

"What? Why did you stop?" His eyes looked at me mischievously.

"You're so naughty." I was both ashamed and anxious. I punched his breasts wildly.

He took the opportunity to lean back, thrusting forward hard, his penis making me cry out "Ouch!" My whole body went numb and weak, and my raised hand fell back down.

I felt even more ashamed and anxious, wishing I could disappear into a hole. My face burned, and tears streamed down my face without me even realizing it.

He quickly bent down and wiped away my tears, then began to thrust gently.

He breathed softly in my ear, "Baby, you're so cute." These words acted like a catalyst, and I hugged him tightly, my legs clamping together. He seemed to sense this and increased the speed of his thrusts.

"Oh, so good," he said passionately from above. I thought he was about to ejaculate, so I said to him,

"Don't leave it inside."

As soon as I finished speaking, he suddenly increased the frequency, and his breathing became rapid. After a series of "oohs," he suddenly pulled out his penis, and spurts of liquid gushed out. My stomach was full of gooey.

After that pleasurable experience, I started having sex with my boyfriend frequently. One weekend, I stayed in my dorm all day, eating instant noodles, going to the bathroom, and having sex like crazy. Later, he couldn't take it anymore, and we broke up because of that. Apparently, he lost 20 pounds while he was with me, but his weight and everything else returned to normal a month after the breakup. Because of this boyfriend, my roommates called me "a man's dream."

Without him, life was really hard, because simple masturbation couldn't compare to the "warm feeling of fulfillment." Besides dating again, I started using condoms for masturbation. I bought condoms from a vending machine, opened them completely, and then added milk powder according to my needs. Less for shorter durations, more for longer ones. The hardness and softness could achieve different effects.

Once you reach your desired hardness, tie a knot in the excess edge of the condom. Spread your legs, use the ring fingers of your left and right hands to open your vagina, and slowly push it in. If the area is relatively safe, you can take the opportunity to thrust back and forth a few times to enjoy it. Then, when it's fully inserted, stick a sanitary napkin on your underwear and put your underwear on. After a few experiences, I prefer to wear tight-fitting underwear, partly because it feels better, and partly to avoid the embarrassing situation of the condom falling out.

Using this "trick," I can really indulge in some "sexual pleasure" anytime, anywhere. Imagine having sex with a mature and charming teacher during class; just thinking about it makes me react immediately. I can wiggle my butt a few times on the chair, enjoying the pleasure without daring to cry out. After class, I go to the toilet to change my sanitary napkin. If I'm hungry after evening self-study but too lazy to go out to buy anything, I simply take out the condom, dissolve the milk powder inside, and drink it. Hehe, it's definitely better to be prepared!

[The End]

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