8 years
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We’re both teens. We’re both lesbians. I liked her. She liked me. Neither of us ever confessed. We still like each other. But she’s happier with someone else. I want her to be happy, even if it isn’t with me. But I wish something just a bit more had happened between us. And maybe it will, I don’t know. She was really the first person I ever felt like this for before. I’ve liked her for over a year now. Loved her. I hope maybe someday something more will happen between us. But as long as she’s happy, though it makes me feel a bit depressed, and I can’t really understand why, i’ll be happy for her. Because if I asked her to be with me, but she wouldn’t be as happy as she could be, then maybe I wouldn’t be as happy as I could be either. This all feels so confusing, yet I’ve had the best year of my life.

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When I was younger, about 16, I was insatiable and as a result of having my first anonymous hookup with another kid that was 16 (off omegle of all things) I sought to have more.
In this effort I downloaded Grindr and lied about being 18, eventually finding someone who hosted an anon darkroom not even 5 minutes away and who was more than happy leaving their door unlocked and a** ready. After I was invited over and tentatively entered their place I immediately set about u*********, going to nothing in a minute and slowly started up the steps to his room. Once in his room I was approached in the dark by him – a 30-something yr old man who was equally as naked but twice my size – and he reached down and started to blow me once he settled on his knees. Within minutes once I was sufficiently erect I prodded him onto the bed and had him bend over, eventually sliding in without any additional lubrication and begun to – at the age of 16 – f*** this older mans a**. I went for about 20 minutes by my estimation and slowly over the course of the f****** went from doggy, to sideways to having him lie fully down whilst I went to town on him.
Eventually I finished in him and got up and left. Once home I gushed to him about how much fun it was and how I appreciated him taking a chance with me, with some more conversation eventually leading to my age being revealed and – to my own surprise – him revealing that he’d prefer it if we kept going in spite of it. I’d meet him continuously, probably once to 3 times a month or even multiple times in the same week until I moved away at 18. I never saw his face but I remember being inside him so vividly.