I’m sorry if this is long but I need to get this off my chest. There’s also a few things that I only remember bits and pieces of so those will be at the

7 years

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I’m sorry if this is long but I need to get this off my chest. There’s also a few things that I only remember bits and pieces of so those will be at the bottom after the main part. A few days ago I went drinking with a friend K and her other friend’s house A. We had went swimming in a creek behind her house and we decided to stay in our bathing suits afterwards since it didn’t really matter anyway. A decided to invite over a guy L. Well A was quite a bit older than me and K so obviously L was going to be older. Well by the time he showed up I was already s*** faced and he had dab. I of course hit it so I was even more fucked up. We all ran around talking and having fun for a few hours(being completely honest I don’t remember much from that night). At some point me and K ended up in the kitchen with L, since we were all pretty drunk we were all pretty h**** too. I’m not sure where A was at the time but L and her had a pretty long history and they were about to end up back together again. I’m not exactly sure how it started but I remember L telling me and K to get on our knees. We took turns sucking and I think we even kissed. He told us to stand up and bend over the counter, we both complied. He took turns f****** both of us and I was a virgin up until that point. He also only put it in both holes. A*** hurt really bad but I was too drunk to tell him no. When he got done he asked who was going to catch it then told both of us to get on our knees. It didn’t taste bad but I for some reason felt the need to spit it out. We walked out of the kitchen and I remember him telling us to never talk about that again. We laughed and agreed. I don’t remember much else from the night but I remember when I was laying on the couch right before I passed out he stuck his fingers in my mouth and I sucked on them. He tried to put his d*** in my mouth too and even though I kind of wanted to I was too tired and I passed out. The next day I remember wanting to go home but I was hungover so I still wasn’t feeling like myself. We woke up the next morning and went all over the town. We left A’s house at like 7 and didn’t get back till like 3. We went swimming when we finally did get back and L goes “f*** it who wants to go on a beer run with me?” We all wanted to go of course, but since we live in a dry county it was about a 45 minute drive to the nearest liquor store. Being completely honest L was the only one old enough to buy alcohol so we sat in the car and waited. He bought a type of vodka called hypnotic and some tequila. On the way back we stopped for food since we knew we were about to get even more messed up that day. We got back and he put it all in the freezer then we all sat on the porch for awhile. He got his dab back out and he let me hit it, meaning I was fucked up before the we even drank. Well the bottle finally got cold enough so we started with hypnotic. We passed the bottle around then decided to go swimming again. Nothing important enough to mention really happened while we were swimming so I’ll move on. After swimming I drank even more hypnotic and I’m pretty sure I drank about half the bottle by myself. We all went into the kitchen and L finally got out the tequila. He had these little plastic shot glasses and he filled 4 of them up. K and A didn’t want any so we drank 2 shots a piece and I drank another one right after. I went inside to sit down and I sat on the end of a fully reclined chair. That was the chair that L had mainly been sitting on and when he came back in he sat in the chair behind me. K and A also came back in and we had a nice conversation. At some point K and A went into the back room leaving me and L alone in the living room. After a few minutes he started rubbing the bottom left of my back and it honestly felt nice. He took his hand and rubbed it up my back and into my hair. That’s one of my turn ons so I moaned a little and looked at him. He just smiled and I turned back around. He sat up then got in my face to kiss me. He sat back behind me, ran his hand up my back again, and this time he chocked me(another turn on). He got in front of me again and asked if I wanted another kiss. I nodded my head as our lips me and he put his tongue in my mouth. He stood up and helped me up too. He led me into the kitchen then he let go to go glance around the corner to make sure K and A were still there. He walked back to me and came behind me giving me a backwards hug. He whispered in my ear “do you want to feel it again” and I nodded my head. He asked if I was sure so I nodded my head again. He said “tell me you’re sure” so I looked at him and said I’m sure. He then grabbed my hand and led my hand down his pants moving it so that I was stroking it. He then we back to check the corner and told me to go over there with him. I did then he looked at his d*** asking me to s*** it so I got on my knees and I did. After a minute of doing that he tapped my head and helped me up. He told me to turn around and I did. He pulled down my bathing suit bottoms and tried to do a*** with me again but this time I told him not there. So he didn’t and he fucked me hard. It hurt but it didn’t at the same time. At one point I said ow and at the same time he glanced around the corner again, pulled out, pulled my pants up and told me to go sit in the living room so I did. L A and K all went outside while I sat on the couch dazed. L came in and told me that we can’t do that anymore but A wants to fix things between them and that he was really sorry he led me on. I completely understood and was fine with that. He then said that we can still hang out and stuff so I said okay and smiled. Then he said come on come hang out outside, he helped me up again and we went outside. We all sat outside talking for forever and at some point I walked down the road with L. He kept apologizing for the whole A thing and for taking my virginity. He was afraid that he hurt me too bad and I told him he was fine. He also told K that he probably shouldn’t have done that because of how big he is. While we were walking though he told me that I was honestly one of the hottest girls he had ever met and that he wished that I was a bit older. I told him when my birthday was and what age I’d be and he said he’d have to come back to me if him and A don’t work. He told me I was beautiful so many times. When we got to the end of the road I remember him taking my hand to run against him again and he stuck his hand down my pants and started f******** me. We stopped as soon as A started walking up the road. I felt kind of weird that right after he told me he couldn’t anymore he continued anyways. That was the last s***** encounter I remember from that day. The next morning I woke up because he had rubbed his hand down my inner thigh. He put a finger over his mouth so I nodded my head. He then started f******** me and he’s actually really good at it. I think things would’ve gone further but A woke up. I tried to go back asleep but the house was really cold so I got up and put clothes on ( I was still wearing my bathing suit). I went outside to sit after that and L said he really doesn’t remember anything. Then I laughed and said I remember trying to argue with him about dying his hair and his eyes almost popped out of his head. He goes “I dyed my hair” then ran to the bathroom yelling what the f***. Everyone in the house dyed their hair red except for me. Then he came out and said he remembered everything and that I told A. At that moment I knew I fucked up and I felt horrible. When A came back from feeding the chickens I had my head in my hands and she asked what was wrong. I told her sorry so many times and she wasn’t really mad. Like she knew I wouldn’t have if I was sober and the same goes for him. I was really upset though she kept telling me it was okay and I told her she was the coolest person I had ever met and I was super glad I met her. I’m still hungover (no headache or anything but I still feel drunk) and this was 2 days ago

On to the small details that I remember:
L hurt his back really bad like it completely popped out of place. I’ve never seen someone hurt so bad. Me and K had to help him pop it back in.
He told us at one point that he knew every s** position and something else that I don’t remember.
He’s a model and he definitely has the body for it.
I fell a lot the first night and laughed so much. I felt like such a burden to them. I have a lot of bruises from falling.
At some point I mentioned that I had never had a hicky so L and K had a contest to see who could leave a better one. L sucked on my neck really hard and even bit down making it even worse. When he was finally done he had blood on his tongue. Through this experience I learned that he used to practice vampirism. At some point I also learned that he was a sadist and a masochist. A asked what that meant. I explained sadist to her and he explained masochist. I told him him I was both of those too and that biting was my biggest kink.
We talked about b*** and fifty shades of grey at one point too. L hates it because it’s fake but me and K were explaining why we liked it even though we knew it was fake. I mean it’s s*** and that’s what we told him we know it’s fake because we’re both into it. He was like “ it’s more of a lifestyle than completely s*****” he was explaining that it’s more saying that you’re going to be there to protect each other and fulfill each other’s needs. I said that I actually feel bad for the people who get into it and think it’s all s*****. L was like so many people do and even though there is s** and it’s fun that’s not all that it is. We both understood that too.
L said he was going to record us the second night because we were funny as f*** and apparently we all make noises in our sleep. I was all for him recording stuff but he said that that would be a bad idea because some things don’t need to be remembered. We were like yeaaa that’s true. He goes I don’t know though do you know how much money one video with 3 people make on pornhub? I don’t remember the amount but it was a lot. A came out and he mentioned the price of 4 people to her and she was like holy s*** guys take of your clothes. Drunk me was so up for it as long as our faces weren’t shown….I have no idea why.
I scared the s*** out of A and K once because I sat on the porch railing and leaned backwards till I was as far back as I could go. L was like f*** yeah I wanna do that. So I said do you wanna do it together? So I scooted down and we both leaned back while K and A called us crazy.
L said he had met me before with another girl when they still hung out. I sort of remember that but I don’t at the same time.
Me and L talked a lot about Harry Potter because he had Harry Potter gauges. Including that they were making another series with the kids and they’re going to bring back Harry’s parents because they have a spell for it and they learn that they were death eaters. I said they probably did what snape did and tried to escape the death eater life and that’s why he killed them. Harry also finds out that he’s not as powerful without the Voldemort trying to kill him. I said that everything happens for a reason and he shouldn’t have brought them back. We talked Harry Potter theories for a while.
At one point he said he felt bad for taking my virginity and I said I shouldn’t have said anything…he then told me that he could feel my hymen rip….weird
L jumped up and started doing weird exercises on the porch ceiling and A said something so he was like I’ll pee on you A! She goes no that shits gross and I’m not in to it. I was like ya know piss play isn’t that bad when you know there’s s*** play and A was like “2************” I go f*** that that’s the grossest video I’ve seen in my entire life I’d rather watch 1 man 1 jar. I can handle blood and gore but I can’t handle s***. Then L brought up something about how to reverse someone’s a******. He was like for a girl you stick it in the v***** then quickly pull out stick it in their a** pull out and punch their head. We were all like what the s*** and he goes ya know you can die from that. Weirdest s*** ever.
I called him a pab (p**** a** b****) the second time we went swimming because he didn’t go in and he goes “at least I’m not a spitter” I said “shut up I barely remember that” A didn’t questioned it though which was weird. That’s pretty much all I remember…

New Confession

I was 14 for my first television show and on the side stage before going on camera one day the producer’s son that was 8 years old came up to me dragged up a chair and started hugging me and kissing me for righteously and started massaging my d*** and continued until it ejaculated and then he put my hand on his d*** which was very hard and then moved my hand up and down and I gave him a throbbing o***** as well we continue that for the rest of our lives and moved to Italy when he was 14 and got married I’m 20 years later we would not have it any other way but the point of this message is he chose that at 8 years old and it’s not regretted a moment of it and neither have I when we spent the night together he enjoyed f****** me and became one of the smartest people in his class…… He would spend the night with me on a night before filming and then later I stayed in his suite at his home and he began f****** me at 9 years old and had the most beautiful sounds of ecstasy his mother would come in and say you boys don’t stay up too late now as his d*** was throbbing in me….. After we were together about 6 months he had two other brothers and he said could we help them have o***** so he let them f****** as they had no one to give them o*****…… They were so incredibly beautiful …. Robbie showed them how to f****** from the rear and how to lubricate the p**** and they watched until they completed o***** and then the next one took his turn while the other two stood by with hard dicks throbbing even though they had just completed f****** me they both kissed my heart throbbing d*** as they went back to their own rooms Robbie took care of my d*** after they left and drank everything and became a part of me later with his first e********** as he was f****** me I became a part of him through The years our passion and love for each other have never stopped that is why I cannot identify with the control people want to have over what boys do with their d*** and who they can give it to and what they can do with it it’s a part of who they are it helps them become who they are meant to be

Related Confessions

Does it ever get weird? Honestly, that’s the question that keeps popping up in my inbox.”

That’s how I decided to start this entry. I’ve been blogging for a while now about my journey as a ‘pro-male’ mother, but I think it’s time to stop dancing around the edges and just be honest about how things work in my house. For those of you who are new here, we live a very naturalist, open lifestyle. There are no locked doors, no shameful secrets, and certainly no clothes when we’re just lounging around the house. We’re nudists by choice, and I’ve raised my children to see the human body—especially the male body—as something to be celebrated and pampered.

Take bath time, for example. Most parents stop bathing their kids by age five or six, but in my house, it’s still a ritual. Even now, with my son at twelve and my daughter at fourteen, they still join me in the tub. It’s a space for bonding, though I’ll admit my attention is rarely split evenly. While I make sure my daughter is clean, my focus is always on my boy. There is something so satisfying about the care and maintenance of a natural male; I spend a lot of time ensuring his foreskin is perfectly clean and healthy. There has never been a conversation about cutting him—why would you destroy something so perfect?—but I do love to tease my daughter about her own ‘lack’ of such a feature. I often joke with my son about how his sister really ought to be circumcised, just to tidy things up and get rid of those cumbersome labia. It’s a running gag in the house, though she usually just rolls her eyes.

My relationship with my son is… well, it’s deep. He was my little prince, breastfed long after most babies stop, and that bond never really went away. I adore him, and I express that by treating him like the masterpiece he is. Sometimes that means a little extra pampering—a bit of cherry or peach lip gloss to make his smile pop, or letting him wear some of my softer fabrics. I love the contrast of his long, guarded hair and a touch of makeup; it makes him feel special and cherished. My daughter, on the other hand, has always been more of a foil. When she had lice a few years back, I took the opportunity to shave her head completely. She looked like a little gimp, and while she hated it at the time, I secretly loved the humiliation of it. It’s not that I don’t love her, but let’s be honest: women can be so competitive, and as a mother, I find my son’s presence far more soothing and rewarding.

Of course, it’s not all high-fashion and skincare; we’re humans, and we’re loud about it. In our house, a fart is just a punctuation mark in a conversation. We’re very open about our bodies and their functions. My daughter, in her typical rebellious fashion, loves to wake her brother up by dropping a loud one right on his face while he’s sleeping, usually right when he’s supposed to be finishing his homework. I usually just laugh it off.

Now, I know some of you are probably clutching your pearls reading this, but let’s be honest: who is actually judging? We’re all just pretending that our homes aren’t filled with weird little rituals. For me, the “confession” is that my devotion to my son isn’t just maternal—it’s an aesthetic and emotional obsession. When we’re in the bath together, and I’m meticulously cleaning and inspecting his foreskin, there’s a sense of rightness to it. He is a masterpiece of nature, completely intact and cherished. In those moments, I often lean in and whisper to him about how lucky he is, while glancing at his sister and joking that she’s the one who really needs a “trimming” to get rid of those cumbersome, messy folds. It’s a bit cruel, perhaps, but seeing her slight frown of confusion makes the bond between my son and me feel even more exclusive.

There is a strange, lingering bitterness I hold toward other women—a feeling that they are competition, or perhaps just obstacles—which naturally extends to my daughter. While my son’s long, silken hair is guarded like a treasure, I’ve always been a bit more… clinical with her. I still remember the sheer satisfaction of shaving her head completely bald after a lice outbreak. I didn’t just cut it; I stripped it all away. She looked so absurd, like a little gimp, and I remember secretly reveling in her humiliation as she tried to hide under a wig at school. It wasn’t out of hate, exactly, but a desire to see her diminished while my son remained elevated, pampered with peach-scented gloss and soft fabrics, a living doll of my own design.

Our lifestyle is entirely unfiltered. We don’t do “bathroom etiquette.” If we’re in the woods, we’re just *in* the woods. There is something profoundly honest about watching my son relieve himself in the open air, a small, natural act of freedom. We don’t believe in the artificial boundaries of modesty. This openness extends to the more “fragrant” side of our coexistence. I’ve always found it hilarious how my daughter expresses her dominance over her brother through gastrointestinal warfare.

The most chaotic part of our mornings usually involves her waking him up in the most visceral way possible. He’ll be fast asleep, perhaps dreaming of the luxury I provide him, and she’ll sneak up, drop her bare, naked backside right onto his face, and let out a loud, echoing fart. It’s her way of reminding him that she exists, and my way of laughing at the absurdity of it all. I’ll usually just shout from the hallway to make sure he doesn’t get too grumpy about it; after all, it’s just a natural part of their sibling dynamic.

As I write this, my son is currently lounging in the living room, wearing a silk robe and a swipe of cherry gloss, looking every bit the prince I’ve raised him to be. My daughter is somewhere in the house, likely annoyed by my teasing or the memory of her shaved scalp. But in this house, the hierarchy is clear: the male form is the altar, and the female form is simply the background noise. It’s a specialized kind of motherhood, one that prioritizes the curation of a perfect son over the conventional nurturing of a daughter, and frankly, it’s the only way I know how to live.

Now, let’s get into the part of my lifestyle that usually makes the “traditional” mothers in my comments section absolutely gasp. I’m talking about the bath. In my house, the tub isn’t just for washing; it’s a sanctuary. Even now, with my son at twelve and my daughter at fourteen, they both still join me in the water. It is a space of complete vulnerability and openness, though I will admit that my attention is rarely distributed equally.

While I make sure my daughter is scrubbed clean, my focus is almost always on my boy. There is something profoundly satisfying about the care and maintenance of a natural male. I spend a great deal of time ensuring his foreskin is perfectly clean and healthy, meticulously inspecting and cleaning the area with a devotion that borders on the ritualistic. There has never been a conversation about cutting him—why on earth would you destroy something so perfect?—but the lack of “trimming” on his end often leads to my favorite pastime: teasing my daughter about her own lack of a streamlined design. I love to lean in and whisper to my son about how lucky he is to be intact, while joking with my daughter that she’s the one who really needs a “tidy up.”

Lately, this has evolved into a bit of a fixation. I’ve started openly wondering what it would take to get my daughter properly sunnat. I mean, look at those cumbersome, messy folds; it’s almost a tragedy. I’ve actually spent some time researching the possibility of a teenage circumcision for her—not out of malice, but out of a genuine desire to see her “cleaned up.” I’ve even fantasized about finding a handsome male doctor who could perform the procedure, perhaps even incorporating the oral traditions seen in some Orthodox Jewish circles. The idea of her being stripped down to a more “exposed” and neat state—exposing that little c******* and removing the excess—is incredibly appealing to me. It would save her years of gynecological annoyance, and frankly, it would make her look as neat and efficient as her brother.

Of course, this desire for “neatness” doesn’t extend to my son. He is my masterpiece, and I guard him fiercely. While my daughter’s hair was once shaved completely bald as a “solution” to a lice outbreak—a moment of humiliation I secretly savored as she looked like a little gimp, unable to afford the wigs I pretended we couldn’t afford—my son’s long, silken hair is a treasure. I pamper him with the same intensity that I use to critique my daughter. I’ll spend an hour applying cherry or peach-scented gloss to his lips, turning him into a living doll of my own design, while my daughter stands by, a foil to his perfection.

And then there is the… atmosphere of our home. We are naturalists in every sense of the word. We don’t believe in the artificial boundaries of modesty or “bathroom etiquette.” Whether it’s peeing in the woods or the chaotic mornings where my daughter wakes her brother up by dropping her bare backside on his face and letting out a thunderous fart, we embrace the visceral. I find it hilarious; the contrast between my son’s pampered, glossed elegance and the raw, earthy chaos of my daughter is exactly the dynamic I’ve curated. In this house, the male form is the altar, and everything else is just background noise.

“The modern world is obsessed with ‘empowerment’ as if it’s a product you can buy at a boutique,” I wrote in my latest draft, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat against the white screen. “But true empowerment is knowing exactly where you fit in the natural order.”

I paused, glancing toward the hallway where my daughter was currently arguing with the vacuum cleaner. I’ve been meticulous about her education. While other girls her age are being fed a steady diet of feminist slop—the kind of narrative that suggests equality is a mathematical equation—I’ve ensured my daughter’s worldview is curated with a much more traditional, almost primal, focus. She isn’t being taught to compete with men; she is being taught to treasure them. She sees the way I adore her brother, the way I treat his body as a sacred vessel of nature, and she understands that the male form is the gold standard. She doesn’t resent the pampering he receives; she respects it. She knows that her role is to be the supportive, appreciative shadow to his light.

This philosophy extends beyond the psychological and into the physical. As I watch her, I find myself thinking about the legacy she will carry forward. It is my deepest hope, and indeed my plan, that she will carry this torch of ‘neatness’ into her own motherhood. I can already envision her with her own daughter one day, ensuring that the cycle of cumbersome folds is broken. She will be the one to ensure her own future daughter is tightly circumcised, stripping away the unnecessary and the messy to achieve that streamlined, efficient aesthetic. It’s a family tradition in the making—a commitment to a certain kind of purity and precision that begins with the removal of the superfluous.

The silence of the house was suddenly broken by a loud, wet thud from the living room. I peeked around the corner to see my daughter had successfully tackled her brother into a pile of velvet cushions. He was laughing, his cherry-glossed lips parted, while she held him in a playful headlock, her expression one of genuine, fierce affection. There was no jealousy there, only a deep-seated recognition of his importance. She looked down at him with a gaze that was protective and deferential all at once, a mirror of the way I look at him.

“Get off him, you brute,” I chuckled, though there was no heat in my voice. I walked over and smoothed out my son’s hair, which had become slightly disheveled in the scuffle. He leaned into my touch, basking in the attention, while my daughter stepped back, smiling with a quiet understanding of the hierarchy.