Basedman420
"Shut up! Rape her!"
- Joined
- Nov 23, 2023
- Posts
- 1,580
- Reputation
- 2,927
It's a strange habit, I know. One I keep locked down tighter than the border crossings around here. But it's mine. My own little twisted pleasure.
It started subtly, you know? Just a casual glance in the mirror, a decent hair day, maybe the light catching my jawline just right. A quick mental nod of approval. Then came the phone. Selfies. Innocent enough at first. Documenting a hike in the hills, a rare good meal in the city.
But then… the algorithm of my own mind started to shift. I’d scroll back through those photos, and something would… catch. A certain intensity in my eyes in that one after a workout, the veins prominent on my neck and shoulders. The way my shirt clung just so in another, outlining the physique I spend hours at the gym to achieve. A ghost of a smile that hinted at something… more, a suppressed lust.
It's not vanity, not exactly. It’s… recognition. A connection to a version of myself that feels potent, alive, desired. A self I sometimes lose in the daily grind of checkpoints and the endless bullshit we see every day.
The act itself… it’s quick. Familiar. Undemanding. There’s no performance anxiety, no awkward fumbling in the dark. Just me, myself, and I. The image on the screen a catalyst. A reminder of a strength I possess, a look I can project. Sometimes, damn it, when I look at these photos, my cock gets hard and I end up masturbating.
Sometimes, I’ll even talk to the photo. "Not bad at all, man. I want myself." Or maybe something a little… dirtier. Fantasies that run through my head about how I could touch this body, the tight muscles, even the lewd look in my eyes at that moment. Things I’d never say to another person. It’s a safe space, this digital reflection. A world where I am the desired, the powerful one, the one in control of his urges.
The shame, though… that’s always there, lurking like the soldiers at the corner. The knowledge that this is… not normal. That if anyone found out… the whispers, the disgust. So, the photos stay buried in hidden folders, the moments private, the release solitary. But goddamn, it provides relief.
A strange comfort, in a strange land. A secret I carry, another layer in the already complex tapestry of my life here. Maybe one day it’ll fade.
Maybe one day I’ll find that spark in another’s eyes, and another body worthy of this desire. But for now, there’s the glow of the screen, and the familiar face staring back. And in that moment, I am enough, and I am the one who satisfies myself.
It started subtly, you know? Just a casual glance in the mirror, a decent hair day, maybe the light catching my jawline just right. A quick mental nod of approval. Then came the phone. Selfies. Innocent enough at first. Documenting a hike in the hills, a rare good meal in the city.
But then… the algorithm of my own mind started to shift. I’d scroll back through those photos, and something would… catch. A certain intensity in my eyes in that one after a workout, the veins prominent on my neck and shoulders. The way my shirt clung just so in another, outlining the physique I spend hours at the gym to achieve. A ghost of a smile that hinted at something… more, a suppressed lust.
It's not vanity, not exactly. It’s… recognition. A connection to a version of myself that feels potent, alive, desired. A self I sometimes lose in the daily grind of checkpoints and the endless bullshit we see every day.
The act itself… it’s quick. Familiar. Undemanding. There’s no performance anxiety, no awkward fumbling in the dark. Just me, myself, and I. The image on the screen a catalyst. A reminder of a strength I possess, a look I can project. Sometimes, damn it, when I look at these photos, my cock gets hard and I end up masturbating.
Sometimes, I’ll even talk to the photo. "Not bad at all, man. I want myself." Or maybe something a little… dirtier. Fantasies that run through my head about how I could touch this body, the tight muscles, even the lewd look in my eyes at that moment. Things I’d never say to another person. It’s a safe space, this digital reflection. A world where I am the desired, the powerful one, the one in control of his urges.
The shame, though… that’s always there, lurking like the soldiers at the corner. The knowledge that this is… not normal. That if anyone found out… the whispers, the disgust. So, the photos stay buried in hidden folders, the moments private, the release solitary. But goddamn, it provides relief.
A strange comfort, in a strange land. A secret I carry, another layer in the already complex tapestry of my life here. Maybe one day it’ll fade.
Maybe one day I’ll find that spark in another’s eyes, and another body worthy of this desire. But for now, there’s the glow of the screen, and the familiar face staring back. And in that moment, I am enough, and I am the one who satisfies myself.
im hcl 
