Blah 15: Nineteen

19 years old. Reminds me of that time. “19 + 9,” we used to say. “9 months in the womb and 19 years of your life, jerking off.” Me and my friends were all nineteen and virgin back then. Two years had to pass for me to finally pop my cherry with the girl who was my girlfriend for the next 8 years. What a waste of time. Of life. 19 + 9. Fucking 19.

She’s 19. Ah, lovely age. She’s not the first one. I wonder what the sex will be like. I wonder if there will be sex, at all. What a little fucking pervert I have become. Running away from commitment or any kind of significance by engaging in immature sort-of-relationships with immature people. Girls. Almost literal girls.

Who am I, anyway? What are my credentials? I have none. No great achievements, no success. So here I am, a heretic turd in the temple of their juvenile bodies and minds. “That older man who fucked me once.” Something like that. Improper. It makes me uncontrollably excited, turned on, aroused. The idea of doing something wrong. Of being, somewhat -maybe- bad. Giving the finger to society, to its rules, to the submissive people of this conservative country and this hopeless, goddam world. Taking them all, in togetherness, up their asses.

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