Confessions from The Rabbit Hole
By RandyKneeling.
That was the half-joking comment that became the seed of this essay. An admission that I’m so far down the porn rabbit hole that I may be permanently lost. My friend Randy writes porn (he calls it erotica), and he said if I can write down my thoughts, he’ll clean it up, polish it, and organize it into a story he can put out there where like-minded individuals might find it entertaining.
I remember him saying he’d keep it short — I believe his words were he wanted to keep it to a “single session” length. Pretty sure that means a bunch of dudes are going to whack over it, but I’m cool with that. He says I might even find it cathartic. Not sure about that; for all I know, he’s just using me, but it’s not like I haven’t tossed out a few loads fantasizing about that! As long as he doesn’t reveal my identity, I figure I’ve got nothing to lose, so here goes.
*****
What’s wrong with me? I’m so ashamed of the private thoughts I have. Things no one but me knows about. It gives me endless arousal to imagine telling someone — anyone — about the things I think about—the things I want to do. So, if you’re ready to hear my confession, I’m going to start by telling you.
I’m a pornosexual, so I guess I should begin with the predominant content of porn I consume – cocksucking. It’s been years since I identified as the man being sucked in those scenes; nowadays, I’m always the one doing the sucking. Still, I’ve never actually done it… so technically, I’m just a wannabe cocksucker. But I’m a believer in the notion that if you spend as much time as I do thinking about sucking cock, you’re a cocksucker; you’re just not an experienced one, yet. But beyond that, things get murky. Some would say I’m gay, but I’m not attracted to guys — just their cocks.
So it’s not surprising I get off looking at cock porn, mostly cocks getting sucked. Big dicks, thick dicks, black dicks, white dicks. Anything bigger than mine — which means statistically, I want to suck the cocks of more than half the guys on the planet. And if I’m being honest, when I’m getting off on cocksucker porn, it isn’t long before I get horny enough that there aren’t many cocks I’d actually turn down if they were staring me in the face.
And speaking of cocks, ever notice how black guys seem to prefer the term “dick” to “cock”? Personally, I’m partial to “cock”, but I guess that makes sense, since I’m white. I know if I were ever lucky enough to kneel for a black man, I’d sure as shit call his BBC a big ol’ dick, just like he’d want me to. And if he called me whiteboi, I’d probably cum without touching myself. What does that say about me? Race aside, when I hear “dick”, I tend to picture a long, slim one. When I hear “cock”, I picture the thick ones. Ever notice how pronouncing the word cock makes your mouth open wider than it does for dick? I have. Then there’s that special term, reserved for only the biggest of the big cocks: “God-cock”. It hardly needs to be said, but God-cock demands worship. Seeing God-cock gives me an irresistible compulsion to fall to my knees and pledge my fealty. Is that normal?
No cocksucking compulsion would be complete without devotion to the balls. Of course, the bigger, the better, and low hangers have an undeniable appeal. Smooth sacks, hairy sacks, many egg-sized balls swinging above my face, feeling their weight resting on my eye sockets. The smell of scrotum as it smothers me while I suck cock. Lovingly rolling a man’s balls around in my wet mouth, churning up the spunk that I’ll soon get to eat.
And ah, that spunk! Personally, I think it may have been the original inspiration for the phrase life’s sweetest reward. Coaxing it out, gagging on it, being inundated by it. The thicker, the better! Looking into a man’s eyes as he watches you play with his sperm. Wringing all the flavor out of it before swallowing it down while he watches. Feeling it coat your throat, knowing remnants of it will cling there for hours.
Looking at all those delicious packages of man-meat, it isn’t long before I spiral down, imagining how wonderfully degrading it would feel sucking off a truly fat man, feeling his big belly resting on top of my head, bouncing against my forehead as I bob on his cock. Sacrificing my dignity by sucking off disgusting men with filthy cocks. Ignorant troglodytes who regard sex as nothing more than an opportunity to defile someone with their repulsive ejaculate. It’s times like those that I get off on the idea of being called faggot, and I revel in my descent into faggotry, even as I know I haven’t earned the title. Perhaps someday.
That said, I still spend a fair amount of time looking at pussy porn. I love a hairy pussy. And I don’t mean what usually passes for it today — a neatly manicured triangle crowning a bald vulva. No, I love a wild, lavish growth that takes over the entire area, spreading across the inner thighs. My favorite pubic hair is straight and long enough to comb—a genuine beaver pelt; even better if there’s a treasure trail leading into it. But whether straight or curly, please let it be thick enough to require parting in search of the prize.
What about a harmless kink like armpit hair… how can something so benign encourage a similar devolution? Once I delve into those relatively innocent pics, my thoughts degenerate disturbingly fast. At first glimpse of a woman’s hairy pits – maybe she’s in a sundress or a sleeveless top — I have an overwhelming urge to confess my filthy thoughts to her. If I told her I wanted to put my face under her arm, would she understand? Does she know that when a man like me sees that hair under her arm, my thoughts go straight to her bush? If she isn’t shaving her pits, it’s a safe bet she isn’t doing much grooming down there either. I haven’t even been granted the privilege of sniffing her funky pits, and I’m already dreaming about the wonders that await me if I can just get my face in between those gorgeous thighs. I ate a fair amount of pussy when I was younger, but back then, my oral adventures were limited to the comparatively pedestrian tastes of fresh pussy. I had not yet come to understand my own depravity.
Some women reject a guy like me, whose first reaction when seeing a sopping wet pussy is “God, I’d love to taste that!” They want a manly guy who thinks “God, I’d love to fuck that!” But the reality is, I want to fuck that just as much as he does. But I know that the first taste of her is special – an experience not to be missed. I know if I slurp up her sticky secretions, she’ll just make more — lots more. And if I keep eating and do it right, eventually she’ll beg me to fuck her.
I know a lot of guys who think they’ve got experience eating pussy because they’ve ended many a date night lapping the pussy they want to fuck, just to get those juices flowing. They have no idea how much girls put into preparing for a date—the amount of cleaning, shaving, trimming, and douching. Guys who’ve never been married or been in a long-term relationship may have no idea what it’s like. It can get pretty musky down there. Tart and tangy. Some might even say stinky. So why is that the thing that gets me the hardest?
I honestly find my own degeneracy mystifying. I mean, when I get close enough to tentatively smell a woman’s pussy, and I find it nasty, what makes me continue breathing it in? It would be one thing if I were simply avoiding an immediate pull-back to spare her feelings. But that doesn’t explain why I force myself to acclimate to the aroma, and then move in for more. What makes me want to dig my tongue into her cunny as deep as it will go, slurping up her slimy mucus and savoring it before swallowing it down. I mean, what kind of filthy perv dreams of that?
Now, can we talk about eating ass? That’s a completely different thing to me. I don’t even have to try it to know there’s no way I would ever think it tastes good. But here’s what I don’t understand: if the woman is pretty enough, and I’m talkin’ really beautiful… if a drop-dead gorgeous woman tells me to eat her ass, I’m going to despite myself. It’s a perfect way to acknowledge my place beneath her. It’s another form of worship. I don’t actually want to do it; I need them to make me do it.
I want them to make me! I love the added element of an ample ass. Not one of those skinny girls who can display both holes by simply presenting. I’m talking about women with ample buns, making me want to spread those ass cheeks to get in there deep. Now, can we talk about black girls for a sec? With their luscious, meaty buttocks just begging to be pried apart, sniffed, and licked? If you don’t understand the distinction between eating ass and eating black ass, then I doubt I can explain.
It boosts every aspect of the act… the nastiness, the submission, the humiliation. I know I’ll never like the taste, but I would love the degradation. The stench filled my nostrils as I made tender love to her little brown hole, eating out her dirt pipe like a shameless bottom-feeder. What the hell!
All these things that come to mind as I navigate through the filth… I dream of sharing those dirty secrets with a woman. Once again, of course, a beautiful woman. We might both be fully clothed, it matters little; as long as I bare my soul to her. Then later, when I encounter her in a public setting, we lock eyes, and neither of us can help but think about it. All the filthy, nasty things I’ve told her I do. It’s thinking about it that gets me so hard. Is it natural that it leads to the idea of telling others, of confessing my shame to a room full of women? Being subjected to their searing laughter, their jeers, and taunts. And worst of all, teasing and humiliating me for my inadequacies and my… propensities. The things they delight in hearing about and witnessing for themselves, always at my expense. It makes me feel such deep shame… but why does it also make me feel gratitude?
Not surprisingly, imagining such a situation gives me the irresistible urge to masturbate, and why not imagine being in front of a beautiful woman while I do so? And that same natural progression to do so in front of a room full of them. The progression of that fantasy often culminates in a lewd exhibition in which I do my utmost to please them by jacking off into my own hand and then eating my own cum. They all want to see it and urge me on, calling my cum things like “inferior worm sperm” and doing their best to act like they’re “making me” do it. Why is it better if they’re ridiculing me about my inadequate endowment?
To be honest, my dick’s not all that small. Yes, I’ve admitted I’m on the smaller side, but I’m in the lower end of the average range. I lived decades with a healthy self-image and a fairly confident attitude, until SPH porn got me. Probably because of my submissive tendencies as much as my physical endowment, but whatever the psychology, I’m ashamed to say I love it. And if you’re thinking the increased shame over admitting it just feeds on itself, you’d be right. I might wonder how you have such a keen insight into it, but that’s none of my business.
All I know is, when I encounter small penis humiliation, it’s like a siren song for a degenerate wanker like me. I get pulled in quick and deep. When a sexy woman looks me in the eyes and tells me that I don’t deserve to be with a woman like her, that I’m not really a man, that I’ll never be able to satisfy her, that all her friends know about me and laugh at me behind my back, that she’s going to expose me naked in front of all of them! Fuuuucck! I blow my load every time! And just as my magic word is “fag” in the context of cocksucking, my magic word during an SPH session is “boy”. The reason why is painfully obvious. If I’m not a man, I must be a boy. Calling me one just feels right, and treating me like one puts me in my place. At this point, it shouldn’t surprise you (cause I’ve said as much before) that there’s one way to compound the thrill of that word — boy– and that’s when circumstances are appropriate for the woman to call me “whiteboi”.
Now, here’s where things get really twisted… (I’d say no judging, but who am I kidding?). Sometimes my mind comes up with some really crazy shit, things that aren’t even in the videos I watch, like the other day, when my porn marathon led me to a cuckold video in which the beta husband is made to ejaculate into the toilet while his wife is in another room, audibly being fucked. I know the viewer is supposed to identify with the beta, being forced to waste his sperm in supplication to his sexual superiors. It’s a powerful tableau, one that I have embraced and enjoyed for years. So, what does it mean that now, when I watch that miserable failure of a man spend his seed into the pristine toilet bowl, my only thought is: Uuuuggghh!
There needs to be someone there to eat that! I want nothing more than to have my face pressed up against that cold porcelain bowl, watching as those milky clouds of sperm spread through the toilet water, begging to be sucked up by someone low enough actually to enjoy it. Someone like me. Someone who could barely wait for permission, who would certainly need no encouragement, let alone coercion. I want to get my face down there in the bowl with a straw in my mouth and chase after each strand of his leavings, suck them up, and swallow them down. My shameful desire is only heightened by the knowledge that it’s far dirtier to eat it out of the toilet, and far more degrading knowing it comes from a male whose own wife looks down on him. I ask you, what does that make me?
And what about you? You just read all this filth… did you get off on it? It’s OK, my thoughts are arousing, and Randy did a helluva job of supercharging them. But maybe… just maybe, you have similar thoughts? Maybe you’re secretly a cocksucker too, or you have a deep desire to serve a woman who can put you in your place, make you feel things you desperately want to feel. Maybe you just long to be called whiteboi. Whatever it is, you know who you are… and you know what you are. Are you really that different than me? Don’t be too hard on yourself; maybe there’s nothing wrong with either of us.
*****
Afterword:
Randy let me read the above before posting, and I asked him if I could add a few additional thoughts. First off – man, that fuckin’ guy can write! I mean, the thoughts and feelings are mine, but he sure pumped things up! Also, I no longer have any doubt about what his “single session” comment meant. Anyway, I just wanted to address those of you who read this and recognized yourself to some degree… if you find yourself taking comfort in the fact that you’re not as far gone as I, I’m happy for you.
I do the same when I encounter truly warped stuff — things that even I can’t comprehend enjoying. I console myself in the knowledge that there are others out there who make me look like a Boy Scout in comparison. Well, maybe an Eagle Scout, but you get my drift. And to those of you who get into that deviant stuff, I hope you enjoyed reading what, for you, must have been nostalgia, filled with quaint desires and passions. If you recognize your former self in me, you must know I’ll eventually catch up to where you are. What I want to know is: by the time I do, does it scare you to think about where you’ll be then?
The End.
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