pprimus43
I am owed Sex
- Joined
- Apr 25, 2024
- Posts
- 934
- Reputation
- 1,059
Alex Wu’s 29th birthday was like any other day—silent, uneventful, and soaked in the bitter taste of failure. No celebrations, no messages from friends, because there were no friends. The calendar just marked another year lost, another reminder that he was drifting further into the void, past the point of no return. Twenty-nine years old, KHHV, stuck at a dead-end job, and still living in a crumbling studio apartment with a roommate who had somehow escaped the hell that Alex was still trapped in.
That morning, as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror, something inside him finally snapped. The usual numbness he carried around, the suffocating blanket of hopelessness, began to burn away. In its place, a pure, primal rage started to swell. He had wasted 29 years of his life, and for what?
The reflection in the mirror hadn’t changed. The same weak jawline, the same tired eyes, the same body that had refused to grow despite five years in the gym. He was a living failure, and now the numbers on the calendar were mocking him, counting down to his thirtieth year like it was some cruel joke. Thirty. He was almost thirty. Still a virgin. Still nothing. How the hell had it come to this?
Alex’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He could feel his heart pounding, his chest tightening as the anger bubbled up from somewhere deep inside—a place he hadn’t known existed until now. The thoughts started swirling, faster and faster, each one feeding the fire.
"I’ve been cheated."
He stood up, pacing the tiny room, his hands shaking. His breath came in ragged gasps, the fury rising like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. Twenty-nine years, and what had he achieved? Nothing. He was still the same broken, awkward loser he had been at sixteen. Every plan he had ever made, every attempt to escape the genetic prison he’d been born into had failed.
He thought about the blackpill, the cold, harsh truth that had become his worldview. He had tried to fight it, tried to outwork it, but it had won. The hierarchy was inescapable, and he had been born at the very bottom. The truecel abyss. The world had taken everything from him—his dignity, his hope, his future—and left him with nothing but his own useless rage.
The anger kept building, his mind spiraling. He thought about Matt, his MTN roommate, the guy who had stumbled his way out of truecel hell with his mediocre face and gymmaxxing routine. Matt didn’t even know how good he had it, how lucky he was to scrape by with what genetics had given him. And Alex? Alex had put in the same effort, spent the same hours in the gym, and yet he was still stuck.
“Why him? Why not me?” The thought tore through him like a knife. He could feel his teeth grinding together, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Every day he watched Matt go through life without the crushing weight of truecel status hanging over him, while Alex was left drowning in it. It wasn’t fair.
He slammed his fist into the wall, the dull thud barely registering over the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. The pain felt good. It gave him something to focus on other than the thoughts that were ripping him apart. The crack in the plaster grew, spreading like the rage inside him.
“I’ve wasted my life!” he shouted, the words tearing out of his throat before he could stop them. His voice echoed through the small apartment, but no one was there to hear it. Just like always. No one cared. The world didn’t care that he was unraveling. The world didn’t care that his life had been a series of failures, one after the other.
He kicked over a chair, the cheap wood splintering as it hit the floor. His breathing was wild now, his vision blurred by tears of frustration. He wanted to tear the entire apartment apart, to rip down the walls and burn it to the ground. Anything to release the boiling rage that was threatening to consume him whole.
The past few years had been a blur of nothingness. Every morning he woke up to the same hell—grinding away at a job that dehumanized him, lifting weights that refused to change his body, swiping on dating apps where no one even looked at his profile. Twenty-nine years old and still a ghost, still a reject, still invisible.
“It’s all a lie!” Alex screamed, his voice hoarse with fury. All the advice he’d been given over the years—“Work hard, things will improve. Just keep trying. Be yourself.” It was all a lie. No one ever told him the truth: The world only cared about looks, status, and genetics. If you didn’t have those things, you were nothing.
He grabbed the mirror off the wall and threw it across the room, the glass shattering into a thousand tiny shards. For a moment, Alex stood there, staring at the broken pieces, his chest heaving with every breath. He felt like those shards—fragmented, broken, and scattered across the floor.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
Every time he tried to claw his way up, the world shoved him back down. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he sacrificed, he couldn’t escape the fact that he was genetically inferior. Truecel for life. The words echoed in his mind, taunting him.
And now, at 29, there was no more time. Time was his enemy, slipping away with every year, every month, every day that passed. He could feel it—his youth disappearing, his chances of ever breaking free slipping through his fingers like sand.
The third option, the extreme measures, surged back into his mind. Surgery. TRT. Hormones. Was that his only way out? His only chance to salvage whatever was left of his miserable existence? Could he really risk everything—his health, his savings, his sanity—just to escape the bottom of the hierarchy?
The thoughts raced through his head like a storm. He could barely think straight, the rage clouding his mind. He wanted to break something, to hurt something, to make the world feel even a fraction of the pain it had put him through. He wanted to scream until his lungs gave out, until the world finally took notice of him.
But then, in the silence after his outburst, the same cold, brutal truth crept back in. The world wasn’t going to change. His circumstances weren’t going to improve on their own. The hierarchy didn’t care about his suffering. The world didn’t care about him.
The realization left him standing in the wreckage of his apartment, fists clenched, heart pounding, staring down at the broken mirror. This was it. This was his life. His rage couldn’t change it. His pain couldn’t fix it.
Alex closed his eyes, trying to force the thoughts to slow down, trying to breathe through the anger. He knew what the rage was telling him—that he needed to act, to take that third option before it was too late. But part of him was still terrified. What if it didn’t work? What if the surgeries failed, what if the TRT backfired, what if he went through all of that and still ended up as a nobody?
But there was no turning back now. He was on the edge of 30, the abyss of irrelevance yawning wide in front of him. Time was up.
The rage burned through him, but underneath it, there was only one thing left: the cold acceptance of reality. The next move had to be his.
He couldn’t live like this anymore.
The time to act was now, before the fire inside him died for good. Either he’d rise, or he’d burn. There was no other way out.
That morning, as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror, something inside him finally snapped. The usual numbness he carried around, the suffocating blanket of hopelessness, began to burn away. In its place, a pure, primal rage started to swell. He had wasted 29 years of his life, and for what?
The reflection in the mirror hadn’t changed. The same weak jawline, the same tired eyes, the same body that had refused to grow despite five years in the gym. He was a living failure, and now the numbers on the calendar were mocking him, counting down to his thirtieth year like it was some cruel joke. Thirty. He was almost thirty. Still a virgin. Still nothing. How the hell had it come to this?
Alex’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He could feel his heart pounding, his chest tightening as the anger bubbled up from somewhere deep inside—a place he hadn’t known existed until now. The thoughts started swirling, faster and faster, each one feeding the fire.
"I’ve been cheated."
He stood up, pacing the tiny room, his hands shaking. His breath came in ragged gasps, the fury rising like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. Twenty-nine years, and what had he achieved? Nothing. He was still the same broken, awkward loser he had been at sixteen. Every plan he had ever made, every attempt to escape the genetic prison he’d been born into had failed.
He thought about the blackpill, the cold, harsh truth that had become his worldview. He had tried to fight it, tried to outwork it, but it had won. The hierarchy was inescapable, and he had been born at the very bottom. The truecel abyss. The world had taken everything from him—his dignity, his hope, his future—and left him with nothing but his own useless rage.
The anger kept building, his mind spiraling. He thought about Matt, his MTN roommate, the guy who had stumbled his way out of truecel hell with his mediocre face and gymmaxxing routine. Matt didn’t even know how good he had it, how lucky he was to scrape by with what genetics had given him. And Alex? Alex had put in the same effort, spent the same hours in the gym, and yet he was still stuck.
“Why him? Why not me?” The thought tore through him like a knife. He could feel his teeth grinding together, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Every day he watched Matt go through life without the crushing weight of truecel status hanging over him, while Alex was left drowning in it. It wasn’t fair.
He slammed his fist into the wall, the dull thud barely registering over the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. The pain felt good. It gave him something to focus on other than the thoughts that were ripping him apart. The crack in the plaster grew, spreading like the rage inside him.
“I’ve wasted my life!” he shouted, the words tearing out of his throat before he could stop them. His voice echoed through the small apartment, but no one was there to hear it. Just like always. No one cared. The world didn’t care that he was unraveling. The world didn’t care that his life had been a series of failures, one after the other.
He kicked over a chair, the cheap wood splintering as it hit the floor. His breathing was wild now, his vision blurred by tears of frustration. He wanted to tear the entire apartment apart, to rip down the walls and burn it to the ground. Anything to release the boiling rage that was threatening to consume him whole.
The past few years had been a blur of nothingness. Every morning he woke up to the same hell—grinding away at a job that dehumanized him, lifting weights that refused to change his body, swiping on dating apps where no one even looked at his profile. Twenty-nine years old and still a ghost, still a reject, still invisible.
“It’s all a lie!” Alex screamed, his voice hoarse with fury. All the advice he’d been given over the years—“Work hard, things will improve. Just keep trying. Be yourself.” It was all a lie. No one ever told him the truth: The world only cared about looks, status, and genetics. If you didn’t have those things, you were nothing.
He grabbed the mirror off the wall and threw it across the room, the glass shattering into a thousand tiny shards. For a moment, Alex stood there, staring at the broken pieces, his chest heaving with every breath. He felt like those shards—fragmented, broken, and scattered across the floor.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
Every time he tried to claw his way up, the world shoved him back down. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he sacrificed, he couldn’t escape the fact that he was genetically inferior. Truecel for life. The words echoed in his mind, taunting him.
And now, at 29, there was no more time. Time was his enemy, slipping away with every year, every month, every day that passed. He could feel it—his youth disappearing, his chances of ever breaking free slipping through his fingers like sand.
The third option, the extreme measures, surged back into his mind. Surgery. TRT. Hormones. Was that his only way out? His only chance to salvage whatever was left of his miserable existence? Could he really risk everything—his health, his savings, his sanity—just to escape the bottom of the hierarchy?
The thoughts raced through his head like a storm. He could barely think straight, the rage clouding his mind. He wanted to break something, to hurt something, to make the world feel even a fraction of the pain it had put him through. He wanted to scream until his lungs gave out, until the world finally took notice of him.
But then, in the silence after his outburst, the same cold, brutal truth crept back in. The world wasn’t going to change. His circumstances weren’t going to improve on their own. The hierarchy didn’t care about his suffering. The world didn’t care about him.
The realization left him standing in the wreckage of his apartment, fists clenched, heart pounding, staring down at the broken mirror. This was it. This was his life. His rage couldn’t change it. His pain couldn’t fix it.
Alex closed his eyes, trying to force the thoughts to slow down, trying to breathe through the anger. He knew what the rage was telling him—that he needed to act, to take that third option before it was too late. But part of him was still terrified. What if it didn’t work? What if the surgeries failed, what if the TRT backfired, what if he went through all of that and still ended up as a nobody?
But there was no turning back now. He was on the edge of 30, the abyss of irrelevance yawning wide in front of him. Time was up.
The rage burned through him, but underneath it, there was only one thing left: the cold acceptance of reality. The next move had to be his.
He couldn’t live like this anymore.
The time to act was now, before the fire inside him died for good. Either he’d rise, or he’d burn. There was no other way out.
