i masturbate to my own photos.

Basedman420

Basedman420

Nape and Rever come back
Joined
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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.
 
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rep me ignorant goys :lasereyes:
 
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Sometimes I dream and fantasise about myself from different eras. Ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, Ottoman, Native American etc (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Wearing cute clothes and pretty jewellery. Going on adventures and having fun. It’s beautiful 🥰✨
 
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I’d expect nothing less from a looksmaxxing incel :love:
 
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chad trait
 
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I masturbate to myself looking into mirror
 
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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.
Based narcisit
 
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Sometimes I dream and fantasise about myself from different eras. Ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, Ottoman, Native American etc (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Wearing cute clothes and pretty jewellery. Going on adventures and having fun. It’s beautiful 🥰✨
 
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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.
Average htn+ when they look in the mirror
 
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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.
Just what the fuck
 
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.
Werido
 
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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.
just delete it your boss in 5 years will prob see it
 
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Something Barrett does
 
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Fucking gay faggot
 
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You’re a fag. All of those words just to justify jacking off to a man.
 
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You’re a fag. All of those words just to justify jacking off to a man.
and that man is me nothing wrong
 
and that man is me nothing wrong
You’d be better off jacking off to other men, the more you do it the more eternally you wanna get pegged.
 
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Pce peace out 1
 
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You’d be better off jacking off to other men, the more you do it the more eternally you wanna get pegged.
i don't.
 
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.
Guys who don't jerk off to themselves are creepy in my opinion. If you look good and you know this, use it when jerking off.
 
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IMG 20250324 032629 216
 
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How
 
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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.
Self confidence WE yes WE. Will ALL achieve one day
 
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IMG 6684
 
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its not bad to love oneself tbh
 
One time i jerked off to the thought of a clone of my self sucking my dick
 
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Have you ever recorded yourself wearing girl clothes just to see what you look like and then became aroused by it? I haven't done that, just asking
 
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Sometimes I dream and fantasise about myself from different eras. Ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, Ottoman, Native American etc (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Wearing cute clothes and pretty jewellery. Going on adventures and having fun. It’s beautiful 🥰✨
Average htn+ when they look in the mirror
Guys who don't jerk off to themselves are creepy in my opinion. If you look good and you know this, use it when jerking off.
I masturbate to myself looking into mirror
One time i jerked off to the thought of a clone of my self sucking my dick
finally someone normal in this forum :love:
 
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Have you ever recorded yourself wearing girl clothes just to see what you look like and then became aroused by it? I haven't done that, just asking
Im not a faggot.
 
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.
Was shocked at first until realized i do that too
 
Nice copypasta

Where’s it from?
 
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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.
ur basically a faggot
 
Sometimes I dream and fantasise about myself from different eras. Ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, Ottoman, Native American etc (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Wearing cute clothes and pretty jewellery. Going on adventures and having fun. It’s beautiful 🥰✨
tf is wrong with u:lul:
 
weird hands made this
 
mega true, i goon to videos of me gooning that i send 2 foids
 

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