A Unique and Torn Romance

I’ve been lying in my bed and staring at the ceiling for the past…long time – realizing…stuff.
I’ve never had a crush. At least I don’t think so. I’ve always loved comics and action figures and superheroes, but that couldn’t be crushes. It’s all fictional.
But then again; I’ve heard of girls crushing on Prince Charming in Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty.

I’ve always been good at talking to girls. That's gotta be a sign. I’ve heard other guys – like in the locker room – talking about that one girl they like and how they always screw up when they try and talk to her. I’ve never tried that. I always thought I was lucky, or that the unicorn-gene had something to do with my smooth tongue and relaxed attitude towards girls and women of all ages, but maybe…

I’ve always been uncomfortable in the locker room. I’m sure all guys are, but… I’ve always been afraid to look at the other guys. I’ve been uncomfortable with my own body, but I’ve always been more uncomfortable looking at others’ bodies.
Girls’ bodies are interesting. They’re curvy and full and…odd. I’ve always found them fascinating, but…

I get up. I get to my feet and walk over to my computer. I never turn it off – I never know when I might need it. Like now.

I turn on the screen and go in under my private files. I type in my password.
All of my porn pops up. Hours and hours of downloaded porn – pictures, videos, sound clips – appear in front of me.
I swallow and look down at the keyboard. There’s a giant lump in my throat of…fear.
I sigh. I can do this.

I look up at the screen and double click on a picture, which then enlarges. I study it.
The female anatomy fascinates me. Men are so square and hard, while women look so soft and fluffy – like a pillow.

I close the picture and open another – my favorite. The woman’s boobs are huge and obviously fake. She’s sitting on the ground with her legs widely spread. I can see her entire anatomy downstairs. What I can’t see is her right leg – the guy is in the way. His face is about 4 inches from her crotch. He’s obviously on all four – his ass in the air.

I close the picture and open a video. The sound isn’t on – it’s Saturday, so my parents are home – but the images are enough to make my breathing uneven. I concentrate on not getting too turned on. I stare at the woman’s boobs as they bounce back and forth, while the guy is slamming his cock into her. She’s throwing her head back – stretching her neck. It’s like she forms an invisible line from her jaw that runs down her neck, chest, stomach and pussy, and then I’m staring at the guy’s cock. I admire it as it pulls out and when it disappears into her, I… I…
I wanna touch it.

I tear my eyes away from the screen and look around my room. I stare at all of my toys. My childish toys. I’ve never grown up. I’ve just kept on buying toys, calling it a collection when really it’s just a lame excuse to never grow up and… and…

I’ve always been turned on by the guys’ reactions. I never got turned on by the woman. She looked beautiful and her body fascinated me, but I never focused on her. It was always the guy. When the guy in the video came, I always looked at him – his red, flushed face and chest and stiffened hips. I wanted to feel like him. I wanted to feel him.

I whimper.
My breathing is quick – panicky. I’m panicking. I’m going crazy. I’m gonna get a panic attack. I’m scared. I’m actually scared.

I’m gay.