Hola, alguien más le ecxita, el tal hecho de pensar, observar, espiar a mujeres desconocidas, familiares ?

A mi me encantaba espia a mis primas.

I have too many regrets Too many guilts And too many bad habits My moral Compass, my conscience, my mental health are way too messed up

While I drive my car I randomly think about crashing it against the barrier and end everything

When I hit puberty I didn’t know what to do with those hormonal surges I would sit and fantasize about a imaginary girl who would provide me pleasure and I would cry out loud when it didn’t happen

I have been in three relationship, have been sexually assaulted by a grown adult(non blood related) who took advantage of me when I was a kid asking me to grab his penis. I have been cheated upon and have cheated on to two of my girlfriends While being in a relationship I try to fantasize about other women and time and again visit porn site followed by guilt trip of doing so.

I have a great degree and career, wonderful family, but I find it difficult to mingle with either family or friends. I stay alone most of the time

All in one I just don’t know what my mind wants to do Like I am lost completely in this matrix

I have these mood swings of being religious at times then going months not praying or visiting a temple.

I was 12. I was visiting in Ohio, near the cincinnati area and there was a place where you could see animated model trains. It's very well known. On one of the benches there was a phone left. It didn't have a password and little me was feeling sneaky. I snooped inside the phone and decided to play a "prank" and told the wife of the owner that he was cheating on her. Then I texted all of his friends.

Eventually they caught on and wanted the phone back. I then ran outside and curb stomped it and threw it in a sewer.

As a 20 year old now, I'm sorry.

Hi im a 16yr old boy name link. These last couple weeks have been awful I have moved out of my mother's house now paying rent I failed my drivers license 3 times. My friends don't like me anymore because I'm always sober and tell them not to drink and drive and not to smoke pot before class. I feel like I don't fit anywhere these days. My grades are slipping and I feel lost like I have no purpose anymore. I live with all downs no ups. I have been ao upset lately and I have never been one to get emotional but I find myself crying almost daily. I have thought about killing my self alot I drove my car 180 on a highway in pouring rain with the plan to drive off and kill myself but the person infront of me hit an animal and I pulled over and helped them. I went to hang my self but couldn't find anywhere to do it in my house because I'm slightly taller. I also sat on the edge of a bridge in -35C contemplating life till a lady offered me a ride home. I have a wonderful girlfriend who is the only thing stopping me from ending my life these days i just don't think she would be able to move on after I die. What should I even do anymore? Do I cave in with my friends and smoke and drink with them non responsibility so I can atleast have some support from peers? Should I end it with my girlfriend so she might not take it as hard if I do kill myself what's the answer these days?

A year back or so my friend at the time now ex friend forced himself on me and touched me inappropriately. I never told my parents in fear of what he would do to me for snitching.I regret not telling them and letting myself get dragged down in a depression because of bottling it up.

What's this mix up about ? Hit me up .

I was a freshman in HS, 2015/2016 school year. It was some sort of engineering class. So I unofficially have ADHD (I've never been tested but I have the symptoms). During the class we used the school laptops a lot. Me being the bored fucker in the class due to the teachers eachings (he was a young teacher so idk why he was boring to me I think he was 24 at the time) had this weird dopeamine hit where I would pull off any keys on the laptops keyboard. We we're in groups so the other kids in my group knew but didn't say anything. So I didnt for a long time before one day the teacher told me he had enough as a lot of the laptops had missing keys. He told me the dudes in my group snitched, and he wanted to know if they were lying or if they weren't. I was scared because I knew I'd get in instant trouble if I did get caught, especially by my parents. I told him something along the lines of "look sir they are lying, I would never do this because my family is poor and we can't afford to pay hundreds of dollars for the laptops and for a ton of personal reasons id get in serious trouble with my parents. I think they were pinning it on me because they need a scapegoat". Teacher then said "it's ok I understand, I'll talk to them again & I'll see what will happen." After that I've never heard of anything related to that again and I don't think the kids who snitched on me also got in trouble because nothing happened to them. I think he let it go or something.

And yes before you guys call 15 year old me out, I was poor and I come from a poor household so I know how it feels to be poor. I may have used it in vein but it also had legitimacy because it wouldve been a bitch for them to replace it. I'm still poor now but I'm in college to hopefully fix it

Is it jus me or do yall watch twilight / Harry Potter marathons to this day although yall almost 30. Lol I can’t seem to get over it, every time I watch them it’s like the first time.

You always say some people should be ashamed to say certain things out loud, but has it ever crossed your mind that reminding me once a month that you wanted to get an abortion with me is something you should be ashamed of saying out loud AND to my face? And that the only reason why you did keep/have me was because Dia and Laura told you when you got pregnant that you shouldn't keep me because YOU KNEW that it wasn't a good idea and that you didn't want me. But for some ignorant reason you decided to take that as a challenge and keep me as a fuck you to them. Without EVER having the intention of loving/caring/protecting me truly. And because you still hold a grudge against Dia and Laura, you always put me in a competing ring/match with Lynn(Dia’s daughter). Everything I do, there's always a comparison with Lynn. And the only reason you're still friends with Laura is because her life is a mess and you find joy in her misery. You're sick. All I am to you is a trophy that you encourage to do great things so you have something to rub in everybody's face and brag about. That's all I am to you, that's all I've ever been to you. You could care less if I never speak to you again, but you'd have to much shame when anyone asks why we don't speak so you keep up this fake "healthy" relationship between us. You never had the intention of being a mother to me. Everything you do is a front to LOOK like you care in front of grandpa/nana/great grandma/your friends/family. I felt for you when you told me the way your mother and sister would gang up on you and treat you like shit when you were younger. That hurt my heart and I was willing to hate them for you. BUT, looking back at the way they treated you- that's how you treated me growing up. And Ive come to learn that you enjoy being treated like this because that's the only yeah you feel cared for AND get attention. From a young age, I always felt it in the pit of my stomach that you didn't care for me. I can remember walking in the house and you wouldn't even acknowledge my existence and when I talked to you, you just looked so bothered. A few weeks ago, I knew you were a selfish money hungry pos when I admitted to you how my incarcerated Uncle made me feel used by him and I even broke it down to you one by one of all the ways that made me feel and you deadass looked at me and said "well he was/is incarcerated, that's what men like that do. It's all he knows".. Not a care in the world for my feelings and basically "okay'ing" his actions. Im sorry I stole your spotlight as a child when you got pregnant with me. Im sorry all eyes were off you and on me. You've carried nothing but envy, jealousy, hatred, bitterness and competitiveness towards me. Towards your own daughter all because you no longer can be the center of attention. You low-key love to see me fail, that's the only time you feel above me and/or better than me. When I fail or something goes wrong, you and your boyfriend thrive in it. You enjoy seeing me weak, that's when you feel above me. Everything with you is you being above me. As long as I don't do better than you, you can be nice and tolerate me. You come into my life and aim to steal, kill and destroy me because you need me to feel as insignificant as you. As long as I continue to make/have great things for myself that I WORKED HARD TO GET, I will always "owe" you too. What I have, you should have too. Once again, I don't deserve anything for myself. I don't mean to sound selfish or bratty but shouldn't I want to do/give you great things on my own? From the kindness of my heart and not out of guilt. As I've gotten older, Ive realized that you are nothing but a narcissist and someone who just constantly wants control. I remind you of your failed relationship with my father and that's why you tarnish your own relationship with me and my "perfect" image. Ive been nothing but mentally and emotionally scarred from dealing with you and trying to figure out how to make you love me. Just because I'm your daughter, you feel like you own me. Im 27. Every time I joyfully would share my dreams of moving away and wanting to experience life else where, you always get emotional and do everything in your power to sabotage my dreams. You even say you'll follow me KNOWING im getting away from you, its like I CANNOT survive you. I also find it so funny that every time I make close relation with someone, you spew a bunch of hate and try to sabotage my relationship with them. You speak so nasty on them just to make me hate them. Ive even witnessed multiple times you going out of your way to befriend these certain individuals JUST TO be a monitoring spirit and keep eyes on me. You've done nothing but gaslight me my entire life when I tried to talk to you about how you made me feel growing up and Ive always been met with denial. Then once I started my healing journey, your denials became excuses and somehow you would leave crying and hurt. Never once acknowledged the way you made me feel. You say you've changed, but I don't buy it or your tears. I can feel it in my bones that my life will prosper without you. So with love, let me go! Please carry on being the truthful monster you are with your family behind closed doors. Thank you for everything you've done, now it's my turn to further heal and find/make/live (in) love for myself. XOXO Your "daughter"!

I was pretty alternative in middle and elementary school and i would say i was a weird kid throughout my childhood. i loved anime, rock and indie music, videogames, and just nerdy stuff stuff that i would never admit i ever likes to my current friends. i was so much happier though. i still look back to pictures from then and i smile and i laugh and i remember the pure joy i had every day the excitement was so surreal but i threw it all away so i could be more ‘popular.’

around freshman year, i realized life isnt like the movies and if i’m not a basic bitch i wont be accepted by the majority. i remember the day i decided i wanted to not be ‘weird’ anymore. i was embarrassed by my friends, realizing we meant absolutely nothing in the social hierarchy at my high school. so one break i decided to ditch my thrifted pants, the thinned brows, the chunky highlights, the black chunky platform boots and ordered myself a new wardrobe basically. i stopped thinning my brows. i got regular nikes and a pair of converse. i dyed my hair back to my natural color, and i stopped with the monochrome wardrobe and began wearing color for once. no more eyeliner, just mascara and concealer and some blush. and at first i felt so much happier.

i ditched the friends i thought were weird to go hangout with these basic girls i’d been eavesdropping on throughout the year and secretly yearning to be friends with. they loved me instantly, and i was so happy because for once i felt accepted by the people i thought would never like me. i started to realize i was right, i really would never be accepted if i wasnt basic. i’d be walking with these girls and we would pass by an emo kid at my school and they’d make rude remarks, barely regarding this person as a human but rather an object to laugh at then forget about two seconds later. i would honestly feel so insecure because it just reaffirmed in my head that i will never be accepted by these girls unless i stay conforming. i got a boyfriend. he was insanely good at basketball, everyone knew him. he ‘discovered’ me. we dated for 7 months before he dumped me. after he dumped me the thrill of being popular wore off, because i realized these people like me for someone im not.

now its junior year. i absolutely hate my friends right now. i’m friends with all these basic ass annoying loud girls with nothing interesting about them. they have no interests so they make their personality centered around their life and whatever stupid shit they get into. i still have interests, which is art. i havent lost that yet, but i also feel like i have to hide my more niche tastes to be accepted. i barely show anyone my art anymore though.

i regret changing so much. i am an actor 24/7. i am so self conscious and i feel like im never good enough. sometimes people find out i was emo in middle school and try and shame me for it. i started thinking of it as something i had to hide away, erase from existence. all the shit i thought i wanted i got. i got hot, i got boys obsessed with me, girls who want to be me and probably compare themselves to me. it makes me feel like i belong, but deep down i feel like i dont.

i cant talk about it to anyone. i feel like ive made such a mistake. i wouldnt even say im sad but i am numb and apathetic, which makes me sad but not sad, just empty and trapped. ive been acting so much as someone im not. i hid all my hobbies, all my interests all for attention from people whos morals i dont even agree with. people i have to pretend to think are funny. people I have to learn to talk to. i feel so guilty because i feel like an imposter because i absolutely hate it here, this just isnt me. i miss not caring about what people thought, but its too late to go back. I feel numb and void of pleasure in every way possible. i have a boyfriend who loves me very much, friends who, though i hate, adore me in a lot of ways. im really pretty, i have a great body and honestly i have everything a teenage girl could dream of but it doesnt make me feel content because i fake it all. it feels artificial. i dont feel myself around anyone. im on my toes always, trying to be as normal as possible. i wake up and go to bed and forget what happened in between. That whole day is a blur because it really just means nothing to me because its not authentic. i lost all those interests i have, i ditched all my cool artsy friends. now im so bored. i feel like ive lied to everyone around me and wasted the last two years of my life trying to be something im not, and i really dont think i can go back because thats such a drastic lifestyle change. i mean i would lose a lot of my friends, and even if in the long run they dont matter, in the moment it kinda does matter. i only have less then two years left of this hell, then i get a fresh start i guess.

(Throwaway acc)

Some background info: I'm 13.5 years old in the 8th grade, i'm 5'4.5 (probably will grow some more) and 174-175 lbs (kinda fluctuates). I used to be around 191-192

This kinda all started back in august when school started, and I wanted to finally start losing weight so I could buy a pretty dress for the end-of-year dance, won't be bullied in high school for being fat (I'm not really bullied right now but people mostly ignore me and I get teased a bit), and make my parents proud. So I learned how to lose weight, got a gym membership, went on a diet, and lost 4 pounds in 3 weeks. But then I messed up all my progress by overeating. It kinda became a cycle, one day I'd do good on my diet, but then the next i'd eat anything that I could see. And then one day during all of this, I just got so mad at myself that I- well, you get the gist. I used to do it once a week, but now it's starting to happen every other day. It's annoying because I know that it's unhealthy and stupid, but at the same time it's made my weight loss quicker and, in all honesty, there's a small part of me that doesn't want to stop.

Its not like I have an eating disorder, I haven't really been starving myself,I haven't lost a ton of weight in a short amount of time, and i'm (obviously) not even close to being thin. It's more like an eating problem in my opinion. I feel like dieting is starting to make it worse, but if I stop I feel like i'll just gain all of the weight back or not lose enough in time for the dance. And it's not like i'm thin enough to stop dieting anyways. I don't really know what to do or if it's gone too far. I want to tell people but I don't want to seem like an attention seeker or a liar. I'm stuck.

Baking has always been a passion of mine. Some of my earliest memories are of baking with my mother (an amazing women who continuous to be very particular about ensuring everything is clean and neat) and leaving her to deal with the clouds of flour and icing sugar that lined the kitchen surfaces while I watched Cartoon Network in the living room, waiting for the cake to bake so I could later make another mess when it was time to add icing. In no way am I clean chef nor baker in the present day, still more than capable of ruining at least three quarters of a kitchen on my own, but at the very least, I am now more responsible and self-sufficient, cleaning up after myself. Totally isn’t because I live away from home now and I don’t have a choice, no, not at all.

Alas, I digress. The point you need to take away is that I love baking, and through many years of practice and careful supervision, I became rather good at it, too. Frequently, I would be exploited for slave labour by my family whenever it was time for their birthdays and they required a cake, which I was more than happy to oblige by. With positive feedback from all, I became more daring, one day offering to make one of my secondary school teachers (that’s high school teacher for all of you Americans out there) a cake for their birthday, and once again, the response was positive and gave my socially anxious self just enough courage to try something challenging. Something fun. Something new.

The year was 2020. The dreaded c-virus was starting to rear its ugly head, and the English government were still in a state of delusional denial that everything was going to be okay. The staff at my school were becoming more and more stressed as the concept of remote learning became an increasingly likely reality, while the students (being students) proceeded to make fun of the situation relentless. Paired with the general misbehaviour of teenagers being forced to learn a school subject they have no interest in, and you’ve got the perfect recipe to drive teachers insane.

Through it all, the teachers (as well as the rest of the staff at the school) were working so hard, and I wanted to show them that even if it wasn’t always shown, their efforts were truly appreciated. I wanted to give them something to make them smile, something to lift their spirits, and that is how the Anonymous Baker was born.

I purchased a trio of small cake tins, five inches in diameter, as well as a large number of seven-and-a-half-inch square cardboard boxes. My usual recipe for larger cakes produced the perfect amount of batter to split between the three tins, creating three miniature cakes to which I could ice and decorate as I wished. Their small size meant that I could carry all three of them in a plastic bag, which wasn’t exactly an uncommon thing at the school as many would put their muddied sports shoes bags after P.E (gym class) to take home. As nice as it would have been to make three full sized cakes, these would have been unable to transport subtly, and the need to triple the amount of ingredients I had was financially impossible as I did not work, meaning that all of my funds came from birthday and Christmas money that I had saved, as well as the occasional random tenner (£10.00) from my nan who always slips her grandchildren a bank note like she was passing them an illegal substance.

Monday

The first batch of cakes I made were Victoria sandwich. No, it did not take me four attempts to remember how to spell sandwich. A Victoria sandwich consists of two vanilla cakes with a layer of whipped cream and strawberry jam between them (creating the sandwich, wow, who would have guessed?) and sprinkled with icing sugar. Through a combination of having woken up multiple hours earlier than usual so I could bake the cakes fresh; having to wear rubber gloves and a facemask (by my own volition) to ensure that I wasn’t going to pass anything on (despite all my c-virus tests coming back negative, I was still paranoid); and the knowledge that I was baking for other people; I can safely say that this was the most stressful bake of my life. Thankfully, everything turned out perfectly, aside from the fact I had to apologise to my mother who woke up to the smell of freshly baked goods and believed I had wanted to surprise her, only to find out otherwise.

Don’t worry, when all was said and done, she got a big cake to herself.

I packaged the cakes into boxes, setting them on a circular piece of paper so that they wouldn’t be in direct contact with cardboard. I sealed the parcels with tape, wrote a large number of, “THIS WAY UP,” signs on all the sides, including a, “YOU’VE JUST RUINED IT,” to the bottom. Finally, I printed out some general information about what was in the cake, including allergy information (as for whatever reason, I had an unshakable fear that I was going to cause a teacher to have an allergic reaction and somehow get sued. Don’t ask me what my logic was considering I was giving things anonymously, I was (and still am) a nervous wreck at times), and I finally added a unique message.

The first three teachers I was giving a cake to be all part of the mathematics department, all of whom I had either had as my teacher in a previous school year, or currently were my teacher. Thus, I could say something nice about each one of them in a personal way, to make the gift truly mean something. These messages were all printed, no way I was going to risk the recognising my handwriting.

With everything set, I went to school and began the terrifying, utterly horrific, downright hellish task of putting the cake boxes on each teacher’s desk. It was at this moment in my life that I finally understood why people in movies stereotypically draw attention to themselves when told to, “act natural.” Doing something secretive is surprisingly difficult. Would it be more or less suspicious to make eye contact with people? Was I walking like I had a purpose or like I was just going for a random stroll through the maths department? Were there any teachers watching me? I’m telling you; Solid Snake would have had nothing on me that day. Thankfully, the cakes were all delivered without any issues, and I quickly headed to my form room (homeroom class) as though nothing had ever happened.

That morning, my year (my grade) had assembly. Did I mention that one of the maths teachers happened to be the head of my year? No? Well, he was, and at the end of the assembly that he was running, he stated, “Before we leave, I would just like to say this: thank you for your random act of kindness. You know who you are.” That caused me to grin like an idiot, which in turn attracted the attention of one of my friends.

“What’s that look for?” she asked.

“I wonder who Mr Head-of-Year is talking about?” I replied, still smiling, not-so subtly letting my friend know who the culprit was. In the end, I told my small friend group about what I had done and asked them to help me pick the next teachers to target.

This would turn out to be a big mistake.

You see, Mr. Head-of-Year had done something incredibly unexpected – he had made it his mission to find out who the Anonymous Baker was. He went to his two colleagues, Mr Maths and Miss Maths, and asked to read their personalised messages for clues as to who I was. This in turn helped him to identify his first suspect: one of my friends, who I will refer to as Mx Friend, who was in his maths class (whereas I was in a maths class with Mr Maths).

One thing you need to know about Mx Friend is that they hate lying. On the few occasions they have lied, they sucked at it, making it very easy for me to out them as the Imposter in Among Us. Mr Head-of-Year asked Mx Friend during class if they were the one who made the cakes, to which Mx Friend replied truthfully that they weren’t. But then, for a reason that bamboozles me to this day, they added, “But I know who did.”

Mx Friend and I were always together at breaktime and lunchtime, we were in the same form group, and we shared the same friends. That shared friend group was small, meaning that immediately, Mr Head-of-Year is going to be able to narrow his suspect list down even further. This man, this absolute mad man, instead of teaching his maths lesson, he goes next door to my class and asks me directly if I was the one who made the cakes.

Simultaneously to when Mr Head-of-Year was asking Mx Friend, Mr Maths was asking my class about the cakes too. For whatever reason, one person was suspected, and thankfully, that person wasn’t me. She had absolutely nothing to do with it, and I’m sorry to her that they got accused so many times. This was causing a discussion about her, which was ongoing when Mr Head-of-Year entered.

“Was it you?” he asked me.

“I don’t actually know what we’re talking about,” I lie very believably, sounding confused as to what I was being accused of doing.

“We think it was This Student,” Mr Maths then said, noting the student who was being falsely accused. Thankfully, that was enough to get the attention away from me, and Mr Head-of-Year believed my supposed ignorance.

That lunchtime, Mx Friend rightfully became the target of many jokes and light-hearted criticism from my friends and I for almost ruining the whole “anonymous” thing on day one. Then again, it was my fault for telling my friends in the first place, so I guess I was the fool all along.

Tuesday and Wednesday

The next batch of three cakes, this time chocolate fudge cakes, went to members of the science department the following morning. This time, everything went off without a hitch. The next issue would arise with the third batch of cakes, a trio of lemon and orange cakes, which went to members of the English department. While delivering these cakes, I encountered a problem. An obstacle. An immovable barrier that not even an unstoppable force could cross.

A Year 7 form group.

In secondary school, the year sevens are the youngest, fresh out of primary school and still blissfully unaware of the many existential crises that is yet to come. They have no allegiance, no morals. They’re made of 50% illegally purchased energy drinks and 50% pre-pubescent rage, and there was no way I was going to be able to get into the classroom without them questioning me.

Through sheer luck, someone from my year group who I was well acquainted with happened to be walking by at that time and stopped to say hello. I vaguely explained that I needed to drop something off, but I was too nervous to go in, and the absolute trooper took the box from me, sprinted into the classroom, dropped it on the closest desk, and bolted out. My luck doubled that day as it turned out that the teacher the cake was being delivered to, Mr English, was in the classroom at that time, too.

He was my last delivery that morning, and on my way back to my form group, I had to pass by the outside of his classroom. His classroom had a fire escape with a window, and I couldn’t help but stop for a moment, looking inside from a distance. I got to watch him attempt to read his message in peace while a hoard of year seven students was literally swarming him, seemingly wanting to know what he had been given. I think the nicest thing, however, was seeing how wide his smile was.

Thursday

There was on last batch of cakes after this, this time going to teachers chosen by my friends, flavoured as chocolate orange.

Anyway, Mr Head-of-Year really wanted to channel his inner Sherlock Holmes or something, because he was still not done trying to figure out who the Anonymous Baker was. In the end, I found out that whenever he discovered a new batch of cakes had been delivered, he would email the teachers and ask them if they knew who gave it to them. This man was actually relentless.

Despite my best efforts, I wasn’t the best at maths, so I attended a voluntary afterschool club to get extra assistance. It was at this club that Mr Head-of-Year found me once more, now with new evidence. He had compared all of the “clues” I had left (they weren’t supposed to be clues, but okay, live that detective fantasy) and asked me again if I was the Anonymous Baker. His evidence was concrete, so I reluctantly confirmed that I was. It was nice, if not embarrassing, to receive a face-to-face thank you. At the very least, I got to ask for feedback on the cakes to which I was assured they were great, and that he regretted sharing his between some of the maths teachers that didn’t get one, because he wanted more. He also promised not to tell anyone that he knew, which I highly doubted would be the case, but I thanked him anyway.

Regardless, the jig was up. I had (somewhat) successfully delivered a total of twelve cakes all across the school to twelve very deserving people. The story, however, does not end there, for I would upscale this little underground cake ring of mine the following year which would up my total to thirty-two, but for now, this is where the post ends.

This subreddit contains some wild stories at times, many of them upsetting, so I hope that this story put a smile on your face, and maybe even inspired you to do something similar. Of course, it doesn’t have to be baking but taking the time out of your day to do something good, something nice, is going to be appreciated by those around you regardless of what it is. Check up on a friend, write a message to a loved one, volunteer for a charity, let someone ramble about their interests with you, take your dog for an extra-long walk, hold the elevator for someone, open the door for someone with their hands full… it’s all little things that can mean a lot to others. You may well be the one good thing to happen to them that day. Always remember that kindness is contagious, dear reader, so pass it on.

Sincerely,

The Anonymous Baker.

Am I wrong for doing something I find arousing, without partners consent?

A few months ago, my yoga class did a little dabble in Acro-yoga, where I discovered I have a certain interest in being lifted by a woman, I found it very arousing.

Fast forward, despite feeling very guilty about it, I decided to join an Acro-yoga class that my studio puts on. For the last month, I have partnered with a woman named Addie, and we’ve been doing a lot of Acro together.

She is 10 years younger than me, and married to a “gym bro” and I know gets nothing sexual from lifting me, but she has said she loves the feeling of being powerful, and loves the photos she gets being able to hold a man, that she posts on social media.

I, on the other hand, look forward to our sessions with more excitement than any sexual experience I’ve ever had. The other day, I met her and her husband at the beach, and she did a 5minute Acro-flow video while the sun set behind us, without my feet touching the ground once. I was very wet in my boxers with pre-cum when we were finished.

She is over the top gracious every time we work together, and genuinely loves doing our shoots. But I know, if she knew how turned on I am doing them, and that I’m really only there because of the fact I find it so arousing, she would be disgusted and never work with me again.

Am I wrong for continuing? Is it true that what she doesn’t know, doesn’t hurt her? She would never consent to this if she knew what I get from it.

Ok, so this post is gonna talk about serious/dark stuff, so I just wanted to get that out of the way before people read it. I'm a male and I'm 22 years old now, and I have changed from the disgusting person I was before. What happened mainly was from the ages of 14-17, when I was a disgusting, perverted highschooler/teenager, and I regret all my actions to this day. Again, before I say this, I wanna apologize and say that I feel really guilty and bad about all of this and I am sorry once again. From the ages of 14-17, usually when I was in a crowd, I would stick my hand out and either touch or grab a girl inappropriately. Or I would brush past them in an inappropriate way while walking past them or press up against them in an inappropriate manner. I'm not exactly sure but I think it happened around a total of 10 times. If I could turn back time and undo all these actions, I would. I was very perverted and disgusting back then, and I'm no longer that person. I've been feeling guilty about this, especially now that I can look back at it as a 22 year old adult, and I don't know if it's possible to redeem myself. Is there any way to absolve myself of these wrongdoings/guilt, and become a better person fit for society? Because I have been killing myself because of this for a while now, and I don't know what to do.

When I 30M get worked up… you know… I tend to do some crazy things. I love toys. And all of the fun things. My recent thing has been self sucking/ facials… yes. I know.

don't know if this is the correct subreddit for this. it's probably silly compared to other posts.

i usually feel absolutely nothing. it is typical for me.

when i do feel emotions it's usually negative like anger or sadness.

it is hard for me to feel genuinely happy. at best i usually feel completely numb. when i'm happy it could barely be described as happiness. when i smile and laugh with others it's typically faked. not because they aren't funny or anything, but it is truly difficult for me to smile and laugh genuinely.

i guess i would describe myself as a walking robot. i do what i do to please others and i feel horribly guilty about it as well. but i dont know how to be genuine. i try to mirror others usually so it comes off as real as possible.

by the time the day is done i am usually exhausted from faking so many emotions and smiles and laughs.

with all being said and done because of this it is easiest for me to dislike and hate others when/after observing them. i become angry quickly and easily and rather than liking others i usually feel indifferent because i could switch to hating them with a snap of my fingers.

this makes working customer service very difficult.

I’m married and I recently had a baby this year. We are going through a lot right now and another baby wouldn’t make sense. I feel guilty but I think that every child deserves a good life and I can’t provide that right now. I just got over my postpartum depression and I don’t want to go through it again. I have to focus on myself, my baby and my husband. I hope God forgives me. I hope that I’m making the right decision.

Feeling overwhelmed? Let's work together to find balance and clarity. Reach out for your therapy session today and take the first step toward a healthier, happier you.

English isn’t my first language

Im a teen I don’t wanna specify the age but less than 16. I’ve been in some social media selling pics and vids without my face, I lied saying I was 18+ I made some money yet today I feel more anxious than ever, feel like vomiting. I was talking to a guy in an alt account that sent me request from a group in which i said my real age. We called when i told him i was looking for money, he said he’s 19 and as the conversation goes by i can tell he had bad intentions on the inside and was interested in the fact im young. He told me he met other girls that were minors and sold lying about their age, got doxxed etc. I feel really alone in this because no one knows. He started getting explicit and I told him I didn’t like sexting he said he doesn’t like it either and that if he could buy pictures and videos from me, i didn’t sell to him at the end for various reasons but he was trying hard to get my trust. he isn’t the only man I’ve been talking to that I didn’t ignore

I don’t know what to do i was getting some money and gifts. By now im inactive, Is there any proper way to protect myself ?? I dunno about telling my parents or therapist… I think no boy would want me if they knew

I'm on a high note, but I'm about to spiral again and so I hope everybody gets it.

-Clay

I cant stop watching it. Ive watched it at-least 5 times every day for the last month. I’m finally getting this off my chest because I’ve rehearsed the movie word for word. I am just infatuated with it and I can’t stop. Sometimes it will be the only thing I do all day.

So basically, I started my first year and I chose an option called “Multimedia”. I did like it in the beginning a specially because It was something related to creativity and editing(something that I always dreamed trying). I got good grades and I got use to platforms like photoshop,illustrator and premier pro, but my only problem was development and web which is basically coding.

Instead of trying and do my exams for winter i decided to quit college without my mom permission. I told her that if I did my exams I would fail my exams and she didn’t want to listen and I just did it. Now I feel stuck because I have to wait till January for the next inscription and I’m scared she will notice that I didn’t do my exams..And I fill bad for lying.

Pls help me solve this problem…

So here’s the thing, I’m a good person and I know it. I always do the right thing, I’m kind, I’ll put myself into shit situations to help others. I’m the one everyone always calls for help, I don’t judge, I’m just good.

I feel like everyone takes advantage of me, and I’m sure I let them. I get lied to, cheated on, lied to again, used. And for what? For me to have the benefit of the doubt for these people. I’m a big believer that people can change, but it’s at my cost. I’m the one who gets destroyed in the end.

I’m tired, I don’t want to be nice anymore, I don’t want to be understanding, I don’t want to be kind. I don’t want any of it. I want to be left the fuck alone, because when I’m alone there’s no one to hurt me.

So I'm 22, and like all kids I had kinda of high ambitions for myself when I was younger but I've spend the past 4-5 years doing nothing to progress my life at all. This past month has been one of the worst I can remember. Always suffered with mental health issues but November was tough, felt dejected and demotivated, had to take time off uni. My mum and stepdad split up after about 15 years of being together, uni is hell and I detest it completely. I have done no uni work whatsoever. Been too scared to even check the deadline for assignments, but I already know for certain I've missed one, with the other two either already passed or will soon. It's not for a lack of trying. Last week I had a long overdue neurological examination which ended with a formal diagnosis of autism. It explains alot, socially I'm inept and when it comes to concentrating on mundane or uninteresting subjects, I might aswell not even try. I wish I'd have had the examination when I was in my teens because now I'm now tens of thousands of pounds in student debt, probably on the verge of being kicked out of uni, and have no life skills and no social life. As cringe and depressing as it is, the only enjoyment I get in life is from playing video games, I wouldn't have admitted this previously but I will now, I'm completely addicted to them. Simply put, you could argue that the transition to adult life has been a tough one. Now I sit here dwelling on what my life could've been had I had an examination earlier and actually got the support I need because I can't help but feel it's too late for me.

If you think you have traits that are common amongst autistic people then just please get in touch with a doctor or specialist because the last thing you want is for your world to come crashing down like mine has. If you're worried about the stigma around it or judgemental people, don't be. At the end of the day, the only people who will ever know are the people you want to.

I carry extreme remorse and immense guilt for the pain and suffering I caused Rae. I sat down with her last night, we had a good conversation, and she relieved some of my guilt, she told me she’s not upset with me, she doesn’t blame me, and she forgives me, which is hard for me to believe. She was still in pain, but nothing near as bad as the event, and she was in good spirits, not sarcastic or rude. I was extremely relieved. I’m glad she’s feeling better now, but I’m still at war with myself for putting her through excruciating mental and physical pain, as well as killing my own flesh and blood.

As much as I disagree with it, I had to support her decision and do right by Rae 100%. My conscience is clear in the aspect that I took ownership and responsibility for my actions, instead of leaving her on her own to deal with all of this. It’s time for me to look forward, not back, and square away the remaining guilt. This won’t be easy for me, as I’m harder on myself than anyone else ever will be.

I wish I had a father I could talk to about life’s worst moments, but I don’t. It’s times like these when I really need fatherly advice. I don’t know quite how to move forward with dad, it’s not my cross to bear, but I want nothing more than to have a relationship with him. My mom is an absolute saint and my best friend, she and I have dealt with dad together, so we both have each others back when it comes to him. She’s always been there for me when I need advice or someone to simply listen to how I’m feeling.

I often think about the first time this happened and all the stark differences between the two situations. The first time I wasn’t able to be there with her because I was in the military, I started drinking heavy, I made bad financial decisions, we both wanted a baby, she was on birth control, we were both 19. This time I’m 30, we both decided together we didn’t want kids, I quit drinking, she wasn’t on birth control, I live close to her. We will both carry this for the rest of our lives, even as a memory if we do both manage to square this with ourselves as individuals.

I have much respect for Rea, as she isn’t holding anything over my head, she’s been respectful and understanding, and she understands I had no malicious intent. She went through intense physical pain during the event, it was not fun for her whatsoever, but she stood up, and brushed herself off. I Miss her… I miss her gentle, yet reassuring voice, I miss her touch, I miss the way she fit in my arms so perfectly, the way she kissed me, the way she looked into my eyes. I know I’ll never be able to be with her because I can’t let myself get close to her again. I can’t hurt her anymore.

My self guilt makes me want to kill myself… it tells me I’m not worthy of this life, I don’t deserve to live after what I’ve done, that people would be better off without me here, that it’s the only way I can make amends. I often think about seppuku, and that if we existed in Japanese culture, I would have killed myself a long time ago. Even though I wouldn’t want anyone to find me in a state of ruin, I would destroy my very likeness, my facade would be unrecognizable, incapable of reparation, ripped apart and torn to shreds, just like I’ve done to her innocence and purity.

I never would have gotten her pregnant had we never met, yet I long for deep personal connection with a woman who cares for me as deeply as I care for her, I love fast and I love deep, I easily invest more of my time in my partner than I do myself, which keeps me on my toes, but can also wear me down, quickly. I often move too fast because I know exactly what I want, I just don’t always want to take my time to get there, which is an important step. I know how to be alone, it’s very easy day to day, but I crave intimacy and closeness with another person, I crave interaction with one person all the time, so I’m constantly trying to scratch that itch. Maybe I need to be single for awhile before I get involved with anyone again, or maybe it’ll help me put this situation in the past for good. Either way, I’m a fucking savage animal whose days upon this earth are numbered.

I still suck my thumb. I've been doing it since i was a literal toddler. When my mom was trying to wean me off my pacifier and bottle, i told her i would just suck my thumb instead. Its something that ive never gave up. It is the most comforting thing in the world to me. When I suck my thumb it makes rhythmic noises in my head. It's predictable its calming. I struggle with my thoughts being too loud, too fast to keep up with. but when i suck my thumb it settles it down. I focus on the rhythm. Its not sexual. I never get any type of pleasure its just calming. I do some other weird stuff. things that little children do to comfort themselves that i never grew out of. It is such an embarrassing secret.

I am (M)14. I’ve been making myself throw up. I just eat a bunch of food and throw up in my bathroom. It sounds silly and ridiculous but I really don’t like my classmates. Theyre always so loud and it makes my head hurt. So I’ve been doing this so I don’t go to school. I don’t have a lot of school work to do and I can finish it quickly. It’s a school for disability so the works really easy to finish. I sometimes do it to release emotional stress. I’m on the autism spectrum so I get overwhelmed easily and so when I get stressed or overwhelmed I excuse my self to the bathroom and and puke there.

Where I work, we’ve long had Casual Fridays, but with hybrid working, very few people are actually in on Fridays anymore, so already relaxed standards are effectively being relaxed even further. Since the 2000s are back, my friend and I came up with the idea of dressing like our teenage selves to relive our glory days. For extra fun, we’d keep the exact outfits a surprise until we were in the office.

Come Friday morning, I picked out some tight jeans I hadn’t worn in a few years, a belt, and an older hoodie. These went into my work bag to change into later, as I had some boring meetings to dial into from my desk in the morning, and knowing that my friend would probably not be available until afternoon due to her schedule.

Sure enough, she was slammed until late afternoon, so we figured we’d go for a stroll downstairs when her last meeting finished and maybe pick up a snack or drink from the supermarket inside our building.

About twenty minutes before we were due to meet at her desk, I was well and truly done for the day, and nobody was even left on my floor, so I went to get changed. Happily, the hoodie fit perfectly over my T-shirt, but the jeans…

As a late millennial guy, I was no stranger to wearing tight jeans in my youth. We were, after all, the skinny jeans generation. The problem is that, while I like to think that I take OK care of myself, I am very much not eighteen anymore, and it was immediately apparent that I was desperately out of practice.

So there I was, safely behind a locked door, standing in the middle of an immaculate accessible lavatory with only a T-shirt on, trying to squeeze myself into tighter-than-skin-tight jeans. The clock was ticking and I wasn’t about to chicken out of this, so I gingerly pulled the jeans up my legs bit by bit, and was eventually able to get them on. Luckily, this pair had a bit of stretch. I’ve always believed that the pockets make or break the way your arse looks in tight jeans, so I made sure to pull my jeans all the way up. Since I wasn’t wearing any underwear, I arranged my gentlemanly bits in front before zipping up, chucked my Converse back on and then popped on the belt and zipped up my hoodie. It all fit perfectly, with the bottom of my hoodie just touching the top of my belt, and the dark green hoodie contrasting nicely against my light grey jeans.

Looking in the mirror, I could almost believe it was 2009 again. (The fact I still have a side parting helps.)

Five minutes to go. I dropped my bag back off at my desk, mildly amused that the motion-sensor lights had started to switch off, and let my friend know via chat that I was coming up to her desk.

To get to my friend’s desk, I have to go up two lifts via an intermediate floor. This involves a bit of walking, and this is where the trouble started. Not only was I out of practice, but my bits were definitely no longer used to what you might call, with apologies to Fall Out Boy, the friction in my jeans. By the time I got into the second lift, I had a semi down my left leg, and with the jeans gently wanking it, it was getting stiffer with each step. On top of this, the centre seam cut deep into my arse crack, and the pressure from that added to the overall sense of being constantly stimulated.

I was well and truly committed by this point, so I soldiered on and mercifully made it to my friend’s desk without running into anyone, trying (and failing) to ignore the full-blown hard-on I had downstairs.

I said hi, and my friend spun around in her chair to face me. She looked me up and down, coughed lightly and said, “Nice jeans.”

“Thanks.”

“They’re very tight,” she continued. “I think your jeans might be tighter than mine.” She locked her computer and rose to show me her own outfit of a slightly cropped polo neck jumper in maroon and impressively low-rise (and skin-tight) dark wash bootcut jeans, plus nude heels. “What d’you think?”

“Fantastic,” I said. “Love the Olivia Munn look.”

This elicited an appreciative chuckle and a flick of her shoulder-length hair, and with that, we headed over to the lifts to head down for our break. Walking again meant that the friction resumed, and I felt my cock twitch. My friend was trailing me and saw nothing.

Our lift doors are mirror-finished, kept immaculate by our cleaners. This is convenient for noticing that you’ve spilt a bit of coffee on your shirt, but is especially useful for two people to stand side-by-side to examine each other’s outfits. We did this as we waited for our lift, and seeing my straining bulge reflected back to me did nothing to calm matters down.

As we stepped into the thankfully empty lift, I heard my friend say, “Oh.”

Not only do our lifts also have mirror-finished walls, but they have excellent lighting inside too. In this reflection, I could see to my horror that a small wet spot had appeared at the very tip of my cock.

“Dude, is that—”

It was definitely pre-cum. “Sorry, I—”

“Wow, you really like wearing these jeans, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m just not used to them anymore.”

“Mm.”

We made it out of our secure area and into the food court without further incident, though, and went to the supermarket to see what snacks or drinks were on sale. We ambled around looking for and comparing deals, and generally did not move around in any particular hurry. The feeling of being wanked off by my jeans eased into something less threatening, and I was able to comment on the crisps and biscuits like a normal human being. Nothing really jumped out at me, but my friend selected some Pringles, so we paid for them and left.

“Did you want to sit down for a bit?”

I explained that my jeans were far too tight to attempt to sit down in.

“That’s OK, we can head back up.”

So we did, but picking up pace on foot meant picking up pace in my jeans. While the sensation of being wanked in one’s jeans is not an unpleasant one, this was neither the time nor the place, and I tried my best to ignore it. This was harder (mind the pun) than I anticipated, as I could feel my cock throbbing and leaking more pre-cum.

As we swiped back into our secure area, I realised that I was in real trouble now. My lift door reflection told me everything I needed to know, and out of the corner of my eye I could see a faint smirk on my friend’s lips. I hoped to the high heavens that I could get back to my desk before "it" happened.

The lift arrived and we stepped in, and the friction from that pushed my overheated cock over the edge.

As the doors closed behind us, my hands flew up to cover my mouth as I let out a strangled yelp. My cock lurched and I felt a small but forceful squirt of cum shoot out as I started to ejaculate. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my arse as tightly as I could, but it did nothing as I helplessly felt my cock continue to jerk rhythmically as it pumped more and more cum, filling my skin-tight jeans.

After a few seconds, as the shooting subsided, I opened my eyes again to survey the damage. With no underwear to contain things, the wet spot down my left leg was now huge and glistening.

“Jesus, did you just… finish?”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m so sorry, I—”

My friend simply burst out laughing. “I can’t believe I just watched you cum in your jeans.”

The lift doors opened and my heart plummeted as I realised I was on her floor, not mine. A wave of humiliation suddenly hit me.

Stepping out of the lift, I immediately started grasping at straws. “Um,” I asked in barely a whisper, “can you help me walk back down to my floor?”

“What d’you mean?” came the equally hushed response.

“Can I, like, walk behind you so you can shield me?”

“Dude, that’s not gonna work. Your cum stain is so massive you can’t hide it behind me unless you’re, like, super close, and I don’t want your cum on my ass.”

I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

“Just like, cover it with your hoodie or whatever.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve got Pringles to enjoy and a couple more emails to send out, so have fun. Talk to you on chat,” she said, sashaying away, and that was that.

I unzipped my hoodie and took it off, holding it in front of my crotch as nonchalantly as I could, and bolted back down to my desk. By some miracle, I managed to make it back to my desk to grab my bag and then to the same accessible lavatory to get changed back into my much looser original outfit without running into anyone. It didn't bear thinking about what could've happened had I run into someone in such a state.

Suffice to say, I think these jeans will stay home for the foreseeable future.

tl;dr Wore tight jeans for the first time in forever, got a hard-on and was slowly wanked off by the friction they caused, and came in my jeans in front of a female friend.

This is my first post so sorry if it’s not the right format. background; When I started going to the gym (I was 16), I was learning how to use all the fun cardio equipment. I was planning on using the stairmaster which was directly located in front of all of the small cubicles where personal trainers would help clients.

Onto the story! 16-year-old me just got done with her first workout. I thought I would do the stairstepper to be unique I guess I don’t know. There was literally a sign that said “DO NOT USE” as the stair stepper was currently being fixed. My anxiety was so high, and I was so nervous that I got on set stairstepper and started “stepping”. Of course, a horrible crunching sound ensued, and it took my brain a total of five seconds to realize what I was doing. meanwhile, I look around and there’s five people who are staring at me and I actually wanted to die. Looking back I still don’t know what compelled me to do this, but I ran out of there so fast. I did end up continuing to go to that gym, but man, I actually have secondhand embarrassment thinking about it.