Do you have any nude pics of yourself?!?? i think you are HOT
First off, is this creature really something you want to see naked?
Thanks for the question. I am the incarnation of beauty in its purest form. Each time I look in the mirror I’m reminded of an old aphorism scraped from the collective unconscious: Beauty, it’s only Gabfrab deep.
I don’t have any nudes of myself. When I was 18/19 I recorded myself jacking off on the side of my bed and dubbed it onto VHS using two busted VCRs and a garbage TV I bought at a pawn shop. I was completely nude in that. You get to see me groan and squirt fifteen times (ki-ki-ki).
On that same tape is a video I made of myself using the bathroom in a sit-down manner. I don’t know why I filmed these things. I guess I thought they’d be interesting to look back on years from now in the sense that I could think “damn, that was absurd,” or “Nolan, you’re a dipshit.” I uploaded the bathroom clip to show some people on a forum I frequent. Their reaction was something along the lines of “Nolan, you’re an absurd dipshit, but we love it.” The next day I accidentally posted a link of the video on my Facebook thinking it was a leaked Modest Mouse album. Didn’t realize my mistake for almost twelve hours. Ruh-roh. I don’t know if any friends or relatives saw it. If they did they now carry an image of me sitting naked on a toilet, narrating movie reviews to a camera.
Once I was scrolling through videos on my computer with a roomie and a screenshot of the toilet video showed up. I panicked, but he saw nothing. I don’t know where the tape with these recordings is anymore. Perhaps its being preserved at the Library of Congress. I used to keep it in a desk drawer, but it was unlabeled, and I haven’t seen it in two or three years. Hopefully it’s warping in a trash pile somewhere and not under my parents’ TV.
I’ve never sent a sexting photo to anyone, though am the recipient of a few and have jacked off to a ton of webcams in my life — primarily in my younger years. All of these were strangers except for one person. With her it was always better in every way — emotional, sexual, etc. — than what the hundred or so strangers provided.
As a teenager I sometimes spent five or six hours a night in pursuit of girls flashing online. This involved hours and sometimes days (occasionally up to months) of talking, sly hints, and outright begging in order to get a few seconds of pleasure and forgetting. Sometimes it panned out, often it didn’t. It was a wasteful lifestyle, but one I was very much entrenched in.
When I was fifteen I used to go on my cam in these chatrooms, naked, and would prance around my basement pretending to clean things with a duster while donning a sombrero. It was stupid and unfortunately my impulses outpaced my sensibilities. I’d draw designs all over my penis in marker, then show it to people thinking it was a good laugh. Now I look back and wonder how I could have felt brave enough to do that, even if what I was doing was ridiculous and unfunny. I guess hiding behind a computer screen gave me a power I couldn’t actualize outside of my basement.
At school I had no confidence in anything except academics, and this vulnerability was magnified when body issues were put into play. In high school I was forever afraid to shower after gym because I feared my penis would be mocked or made irrelevant. I developed an elaborate system of washing and changing so I’d never be exposed. Well, it wasn’t that elaborate. I’d rinse up in the sink, dry off, then change with a towel around me or just continue wearing sweaty underwear. Sweaty underwear was the reality most days. I always tried to get gym later in the day so I wouldn’t feel gross for the rest of my classes. I always chose a locker in the back corner so I could hide better. All because of insecurity. It was pathetic.
I’m more comfortable with myself now and don’t think nudity is such a big deal. It’s proliferated so widely on the internet and tons of people send those kinds of images to their boyfriends/girlfriends/someone they like/someone who gives them attention. That’s not to say I’d be ecstatic if a nude photo of myself showed up in the public sphere, but it wouldn’t kill me either.
Once I was scrolling through photos on my computer with some friends. One I’d taken for my eyes only of me in underwear, as a joke to see how horrid I could look, popped up. This is a recurring theme in my life. They noticed and I had to explain my way out of it with a series of lies — something I’m practiced at since from time to time large swaths of my life have been built on them. I was embarrassed for a minute, then didn’t care. It was just a photo of some pasty white guy rolling around on cheap carpet in his blue tighties. Fuck it.
I mean, we all want to see naked people and fuck until we die, so who cares. Though I guess if you perceived your looks as faulty, and were at a point in your life where you felt vulnerable and insecure with your physical image, you probably wouldn’t be happy about a nude or icky undie photo existing. But if you’re that worried then don’t take one in the first place. Resist the urge, no matter how much some guy named Gabfrab begs you to on the internet at four in the morning. They last forever. If a nude of me ever pops up, I hope you guys disseminate it so the lonely men and women of Planet Earth can use it for pleasure and laughs.
Penis. Yes or no?
My own? Yes. Others’? Nah. Me cob is my god and I don’t worship false idols. I have to deal with this one every day because it’s stuck to me. I’ve probably touched my penis more times than I’ve made toast or hugged my parents. From an architectural standpoint I think the male cob is visually bland but highly functional. I’ve figured out a way to piss with mine that requires minimal hassle. It does a good job of fucking and sensing pleasure. If it weren’t for the elimination — semen — it’d be a perfect machine.
We all know cobs aren’t the most pleasant things to look at, and there’s no shortage of them around, so they just need to be accepted and from there you can move on. There’s a reason guys love to obsess about pussy — the visual aspect, textures, taste, physical sensations it causes — while most girls aren’t thinking about dicks all day. Nor are they fingering themselves to pictures of cocks (at least I think not, and I guess with the advent of Facebook, nudity isn’t as important anymore to me either).
I’m not the kind of guy who’s grossed out at the site of a dude’s cob. I watch elderly gay porn sometimes simply because it’s so sad and joyful and bizarre. I think of how these men probably fought the Nazis yet now have to suck down cum just to get by. On the rare occasion I use porn I still prefer straight action between a guy and girl over lesbians or whatever else. I like things I can relate to, even in fantasy scenarios.
Some of my first exposure to talking with people online involved penises. When I was 13/14 (I’m 24 now) I used to go over to my cousin’s and we’d troll MSN chatrooms until four in the morning. We didn’t know how webcams worked and when some dude invited us to watch his we opened it; thought we were getting flicked off. Turns out that middle finger was a plump cock getting worked. During these trolling sessions we found people who were suicidal, pretended to sympathize with them over voice chat, then ended it by blaring a Mindless Self Indulgence song at them that went:
And go, go, go, go, go, go
Motherfucker go kill yourself
Motherfucker go kill yourself
Motherfucker go KILL…
We were horrid people, and I still am in too many ways. I guess that initial webcam exposure to cock did me in. This trolling was the precursor to the next five years of my life where I spent countless hours hurting people on the internet, most likely because I was a lonely, sexually frustrated dude. At least that was the source of the wound, but I chose to perpetuate my misery unto others. Project the feelings that made me feel so horrid and alone. I’d go into Yahoo’s North Dakota chatrooms and pretend to be a girl. I’d get guys to drive ridiculous distances to come meet the persona I’d devised (a combination of flirty willingness and raiding someone’s photobucket for pictures). Then when no one showed up to meet them, I’d usually leave a message telling them what pathetic, horny dipshits they were. This coming from a dude who at that point had never even kissed a girl.
The most memorable incident from these times was with a guy I got to fall in love with a nice girl persona I created. We planned on having our first meeting on Thanksgiving since dude didn’t have any family where he was living. He was to cook a big meal for us, spend the day with me doing fun shit — a couple in love — and end it all with a big Thanksgiving fuck. The day after Thanksgiving I told him I wasn’t a real girl. It was good shit, and I probably emotionally devastated him for quite some time.
Later on I began talking to some girl online who lived near me. She thought I was cute and funny and so said we should get ice cream and mess around. I was fifteen at the time. I was too scared to go through with it even though I was getting off multiple times a day to combat my wants and loneliness. I felt extremely isolated living on a farm in North Dakota with no romantic prospects at my high school, and wanted a girl in my life more than anything else. I never did anything with that chick. A couple years later I was at a restaurant and saw her there. She was with the Thanksgiving dude that I’d fucked with. Apparently they’d been dating for some time and met in the same North Dakota chatroom I knew her from. It was pretty cool for them. I think he knew who I was since by that time I’d burned a lot of dudes from that room. I sort of had a reputation as this really pathetic guy who mocked and hurt people for the exact same thing that he was desperate for.
About once a year I go into this chatroom when I’m at some low point, feeling desperately lonely, and yet still have the arrogance to think it’s sad I see the same people in there that I first met 8-9 years ago. I usually beg for sex, realize that won’t work, then switch over to a fake account to pretend to be a young boy or girl.
Pedophiles are the easiest and most enjoyable to burn, even though I feel sorry for a lot of them. I have no moral agenda with pedophiles, but often went after them because they were easy to lure and always pathetically desperate. Talking to people who want something so bad, something that society completely repulses them for, is a great, raw bit of insight into human longing. I love finding out what they’ll do and all they’ll risk for a couple minutes of satisfaction, escape, and power. They seek a dalliance with our ultimate taboo. When I’m pretending to be a twelve year old girl I get some guy to talk to me, arrange to have him pick me up for sex, then give him the address of the police department in his town as my home address. I started doing this years before Chris Hansen was getting dudes to blow their heads off.
Once convinced a dude, after he drove by the police department and freaked out, that I actually just lived in an apartment attached to the back of the place. He wouldn’t come over again but said he’d meet in a nearby parking lot to fuck in his car. Dude was so desperate for a couple minutes of sex he’d risk years in jail for it.
I got some truck driver to call a taxi for himself (he couldn’t drive his semi through the residential streets of the town) and he came in it to pick me up. I gave him the police department address. I’ve tried to imagine how the ride went and what he did when he got there. What an adrenaline rush he must’ve had when he saw where he was. I wish I could’ve seen what he did and how panicked he felt when the taxi pulled up to a row of cop cars. He must’ve had a realization at that moment that all his plans were based on a lie, and now he was going to have to wiggle his way out of it. I tried to contact him but that message of my address was our last communication. I wonder if he’s managed to rape any people since.
When I’m at my most lonely I too often resort to making strangers feel like shit; don’t know why I do it and wish I didn’t. I can keep myself from doing it for a year or more, then relapse in a night. I don’t always do these things during a sad state though. In the past most of the time it was just because I felt bored. I once convinced some college dude to fuck me (I was thirteen in this scenario) but made him agree to help my fictional eleven year old sister with her math homework after he was done shooting cum on my middle school face.
I had marathon Chatroulette sessions in late December 2010. I’d heard about the site for so long but this was my first time using it. The first day I went on I didn’t log off for over twelve hours straight. Much like my North Dakota chatroom sessions, I came to the site from a point of loneliness. I hoped to find some cool people to chat with about pointless shit to take my mind off a recent breakup. Soon I learned the site was mainly dudes jacking off or cooking pasta in the nude. I spent my Christmas watching Santa blow one all over his belly. I entertained myself with stuff like this for a while. I got an old dude in a neck brace to jerk off to completion for me. It was horrifying and funny.
After a few sessions the site became a sex search for me. I ended up finding a few cute girls who talked to me for hours and let me see them topless without any begging. It felt nice to be wanted again for the first time in a while, even if it was just sexual attention from a stranger. I was back to coping mechanisms I’d discovered on a farm a decade earlier. After doing this a few nights it wasn’t interesting anymore.
I made friends with a girl who added me on messenger. I’d have her go on Chatroulette, find the ugliest and loneliest looking guy she could, then flash them. Immediately after flashing I’d have her insult the dude harshly: Fat; Pedophile; Old rapist who needs to shower. She told me all the details and sent me screenshots over AIM. We’d laugh, then I’d send her out again, and again, ad infinitum. The idea was to bring brief joy to these sad, lonesome men before wrecking them. After ejaculation, in the moment they felt desired and hopeful, they were hit with cruelty. It was such a prick game.
Whenever I make friends with a pretty girl I inevitably end up telling her that if she were willing to sacrifice her mind and body for a few minutes she could completely change the trajectory of some lonesome, nerdy guy’s life. Or at least give him relief for a little while. But perhaps these men would be more crushed when the girl disappeared. Loneliness is more desirable than heartache since to be lonely is often more intangible than tying your feelings to a specific form of loss. Or so I feel.
After getting this girl to do that flashing game to men on Chatroulette many times I realized how shitty of an act it was. Sure the guys were most likely there just to jack off and do little else. It’s still not right for someone to pretend to be into a person, only to tear them up at their most vulnerable moment. Nobody wants to be called a fat dipshit when their pants are down and they’re covered in semen.
After that I only went on the site to have genuine chats with people. My gimmick was to have a crayon hanging from my mouth like a sucker and say I forgot it was there when the person commented. Lame icebreaker, but it worked more often than not. The crayons tasted horrid.
I ended up talking to a really great girl from France for an entire night. There was a chick in Russia who I accidentally hung up on when she went to pour cereal. I’d ask anyone I met from a different country if they had Cheerios and then tell them about how obsessed I am with the stuff. I talked to a couple guys down in California who had as much enthusiasm for concerts and music festivals as I did. There was a high school girl in San Francisco who liked to go to lesbian raves every weekend. I always came away from the computer feeling a lot better after a two hour chat than if I had spent that same amount of time getting some girl to take her top off so I could drain one.
After a week of going on Chatroulette every night for six or more hours a stretch I burnt out. Most days I stayed up until eight in the morning on there, then slept until early evening. It wasn’t the best lifestyle. I was trying to avoid loneliness. I was thinking of how in a recent breakup I’d lost the most important part of my life and there was no replacement for it. I tried my best to fill that loss for a few hours at a time. Even if that meant stuffing it with unhealthy things. A few hours of forgetting a day was the most I could hope for in terms of pain management. I counted down the New Year with some Australian couple in love and decided that was as good a time as any to quit. I haven’t been back on the site since. Maybe I’ll log on some day in the future to watch a fat dude shoot his rope into a box of Honey Nut, but hopefully I’ll end up chatting with a cool Paris girl about books and travel instead.
I guess what I’m saying is that I can be a bad and miserable person, especially in how I treat others, but I’m working on it.
So much of mine and other mens’ lives are driven by the desire to satisfy what our penis wants. A lot of it is the base physical, but that only works for so long. In time develops the idea that if we fuck enough then maybe, if lucky, intimacy will be found. Will fix what’s wrong with us. At least this is how it is for me since loneliness and lust have been the two never-ending banes of my existence. I feel like I understand the desires and anxiety they cause more than anything else in life.
Everywhere I go I look around and think about who I’d fuck. If I’m standing in line at a grocery store, by the time my cantaloupe is rung up, I’ve already imagined a years long sexual history with the cashier. Her and I have traveled the world and fucked in pyramids. It’s almost always been this way, minus the periods of my life I’ve been in a good relationship. When in a relationship I either don’t think of other girls that way, or when I do, try to distract the impulse. Monogamy perhaps isn’t natural, but it’s also the only realistic option when you care for someone. Jealousy and insecurity, love, the ease at which someone can abandon you for another, are too strong of factors.
The initial desires driven by our penis often lead and branch into other things more emotional than ejaculating into some cute girl. That’s not to say this ejaculatory act isn’t great on its own. Most of the time you really do just want to blow one off into someone good. But as much as my cob wants it to be different, sex and feelings for someone often become intertwined unless the girl I’m sleeping with repulses me.
Experience tells me I need more than a quick fix fuck if I want to be happy long term. The time spent rolling around in bed with a girl or beating off to a stranger in the middle of the night can be great. And it can be lonesome. Even if my penis says all I have to do to be okay is drain one, I know it isn’t so. Sex with only that intent can help you forget your life for a while, but not forever.