Psycho . . .

I’m going to indulge in a bit of psychoanalysis. I’ve been Jung and easily Freudened, so I’m qualified.

Actually, a guy I knew at uni—I’m not just a pretty body, you know, I’ve got a pretty little brain as well—was a psychologist. Weird. Manic depressive. Do you have to show some sort of syndrome when you apply? I’ve always wondered. He liked swimming nude at night . . .so did I. But I fancied his brother . . .trouble was so did a lot of girls. So he was straight.

Where was I? Apart from wondering what that last sentence gives away about me except for why I don’t get off with as many boys as I’d like to, making that sort of mistake.

Oh, yes, since I thought my sprained wrist was healing, I took the bandage off for a bit and went camerawhoring. Mistake. My god there are some ugly pricks out there. I mean, there I was, looking fairly sexy, so I thought, full length in a thong, and these guys just want to show closeups of their dicks.

And then they just used me as a kind of centre-fold boy, a kind of cyber version of a paper double page spread that gets all crinkly and wrinkled with being masturbated over.

(I hope I don’t end up all crinkly and wrinkled being masturbated over cybernetically? Do you think that’s likely? Sort of like a Web 2.0 Dorian Grey? I wouldn’t be happy about that at all.)

And I can’t say I was all that happy about their hardons either. There’s something about wrinkly, thick-veined dicks with purple heads and foreskins that look like eyelids after a really heavy weak on the booze that turns me right off, somehow.

Even when they’re only on cam, never mind in real life. Maybe that’s what put me off. I got picked up by this guy once. Must have been in his thirties, and he’d been kind of stalking me for a couple of weeks off and on on my way home. (I didn’t know that at first mind you. He admitted that later. At first he just said he’d seen me before and liked my legs. It was summer, and I was wearing cut-offs a lot.) He said he’d really like to give me a blowjob . . .

I was a bit pissed, and I thought that was quite a nice offer, and he didn’t look that bad under the street lights. I should have twigged though, really. I tell you, nine times out of ten when a guy says he’d really love to blow you, what he really means is he wants you to swallow him, and you’re not going to get a look in. It’s you who’s going to end up gagging a bit and licking the cum off your lips while he gets his trousers back up and legs it.

I don’t know why I let him come home and then went through with it. Just like these guys on cam, he pushed his dick right into my face. . .It was weirdly wrinkly, sort of corrugated, almost. And thick. I’d never sucked one off, or even had my hands on one that wasn’t kind of smooth and slim, before. God knows how it got into my mouth, but he’d got both hands holding my head down by then and I was a bit scared to be honest.

So I shut my eyes and got on with it. And he pushed it so far down my throat I nearly damn well choked. And then . . .that was it. Up with the pants and scarpering. Sound of door slamming. I felt like shit, apart from feeling a bit sick from the cum as well. I mean, I’m not a rent boy. Never have been. But I felt like a cheap whore.

And behaved a bit like the psychology student I mentioned at the beginning did when he had one of his depressed phases. Spent the rest of the night hugging my knees to my chest and staring at the wall. Not even crying.
Never saw him again, thankfully.

Now, look what you’ve made me do. It’s all gone wrong. I didn’t mean to tell you about that. It’ll have told you a bit more about my psychology than I was banking on, possibly. What I meant to do was tell you I’d come to the conclusion that these guys with ugly dicks are conscious of it, so, just like that guy, they want to force the ugliness on to you. And then they use you, like I said, as a kind of rent-boy centrefold.

I think it probably makes them feel powerful. I also think they’d like to do it for real, but they probably aren’t gay, and their ugly dicks probably scare off the girls too. So they go for boys who are sort of, well, maybe not so masculine looking, like me, I suppose, me not exactly having the build of boxer or a builder. I’ve come across guys like that in the loos in clubs. Well, not literally, of course. No way.

One practically raped me once, talking to me as though I was a girl as he forced his way into me. . .he hurt me, too, and I cried, and he wouldn’t stop. I don’t like being hurt. And I was sore for two weeks and terrified of seeing blood. I run a mile from them now. I’ve learnt my lesson. He had an ugly dick too. Prick as a weapon. Rape as the exercise of power over someone weaker to sublimate feelings of inadequacy. The girls needn’t tell me I don’t get all that because I’m a boy.

So, all that bringing back some bad memories, I packed it in. Just too soon, because when I logged in the day after, I found I’d had a message and a pic from what looked like a really cute guy. No cock-close up: just a lovely slim smooth shapely upper torso, slender hips, not that muscled, but nice. Just the sort of boy I would have really liked to jerk off on cam with. But he’s not been online since.

(I was wrong about the sprained wrist, by the way. One wank on cam, yes I do it with my right hand, that's the one I sprained, if you must know*, then typing this—I type with both hands, isn’t that clever?—and it’s hurting again. I’ll have to find another pic or two for you instead of another story.)

*Go on, do the poll over on the left if you scroll down a bit. I really am curious.