Once again I wake up drenched in sweat. I get up again burning and spliced. Once again I wake up thinking about you. Dam

Once again I wake up drenched in sweat. I get up again burning and spliced. Once again I wake up thinking about you. Damn those dreams that torment my mind, damn those nightmares that stab my conscious side. Damn the unconscious side for provoking them, and damn It is also for not telling me its meaning. I am here again, in this bed that you did not want to know, in this room that you could have entered whenever you wanted, to this sanctuary, my sanctuary, which I had wished to have shared with you. I'm low the sheets, with my winter pajamas, but I'm hot, and I'm erect. Low my right hand towards my penis. It's hard, hard like it's never been. It's so hard that it hurts, it torments my soul. It's like this Because of you, yes, you are the cause. I hate to write this, but with all the pain in my heart, I start to masturbate. I grab my penis from the base and I jerk off, raise and lower my hand along its entire length. I don't think you need his description, or is it? It's a normal penis, and you know it, it's neither long nor fat, It's not that of a porn actor by any means, but you told me you liked it. Hopefully was true. You said it was sweet, that it was a special flavor. I still remember how your lips wrapped my member, and, that painful pang that is the I remember, it excites me and kills me. I remember how we devoured each other with kisses, how we We caressed, how you guided my hand over your pants towards your sex. I remember that heat, indescribable, that emanated from your crotch. I remember your sighs and your blushes. I remember how you kissed me with passion. And that makes a dent in me, that excites me, that, in some way, makes my member grow almost imperceptibly in my hand. And I keep masturbating. A small slimy drop appears at the tip of my penis. HE It slides over the glans and helps me with masturbation. I know it has a name specific, but I don't remember which one. I only remember you. I know you liked them penises, not in the bad sense of the word, I'm not implying anything, because I know you (or knew you, that is) and I know that you liked sex. you were always enough burning. You were always a kind of teacher to me. You helped me a lot, and I say thank you for that. I don't know what women find about penises, they don't like them. I find grace, really. Maybe it's my heterosexuality talking, but Your body is infinitely more erotic and precious than ours. You I prefer, but I also prefer you. I keep masturbating, and I keep remembering. I remember your body naked, your suggestive curves, your rounded breasts and your erect nipples. Beautiful, I have nothing more to add. I remember how surprised you were the first time to suck your nipple, you should have seen your face. You were beautiful, beautiful, sublime. I also remember your pubes, with hair, almost fresh depilated. You asked me for forgiveness for not having it completely shaved, as I told you. that I liked Gods, it was and is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life, I couldn't It didn't matter that you hadn't shaved, it didn't matter to me at all. Only you. My penis is thick, under the sheets. The friction with The pajama pants tickle my glans, causing me more pleasure. My hand continues with that almost mechanical movement that we men have, it is a practically reflex movement. I keep remembering, I hope you don't mind. I remember your smell, wonderful. Have I ever confessed to you that during the entire week that we couldn't see each other, I was smelling a jacket impregnated with your smell? Yes, I did. How pathetic, right? It's more pathetic to keep thinking about you after all. I also remember your taste. Delicious, you were the most delicacy exquisite that I have ever tasted in my entire damn life. I wish it had the taste of your pussy in your mouth forever, I wish they bottled your elixir. would be my only drink, my only food. I also remember how you begged me not to leave a mark on you some. That makes me doubt, my hand hesitates, my member weakens a little when I remember your words For a split second I question whether to continue masturbating or No. When in doubt, I apply a small "sprint" to my career, I can still continue. I continue with my little moment that houses pain and pleasure in almost identical. I'm close to finishing, I notice the tingling that precedes the spasms typical of an orgasm. But before finishing, I have to confess something to you. stuff. I couldn't reach orgasm with you not because I was nervous, but because There was something that prevented me. That something was you. I don't even want to kick you out the blame (I think it was both of our faults, honestly), but everything that you said, about not leaving marks, about us needing a condom, about your expression of "this is wrong" all of that hurt me. You were not mine and I couldn't pretending that you were, I couldn't fool myself anymore. I think it's normal, I think you were right. I think I'm going to cum now. My penis shakes, spits the semen violently against my pajamas There's no time for paper, there's only time for you and me, for pain and for pleasure. He doesn't spit much, today I already masturbated more times, but it's enough to stain your pajama pants. In I am very strict about stains, but the pain (and the pleasure, let's not forget) What I feel when I remember you, after so much time, prevents me from doing anything other than cry. I cry, yes, and I am not ashamed to say it, because no one here knows me. I cry and curse everything there is, all of existence, you, me, him, the destiny, to everything there is. Another night thinking about you, another night lost. another night of insomnia. [If you read it, go back to who you were, please don't hate me Don't even hate yourself.]