Lost_Soul4
Slut
Is it odd that, at 23 going to be 24 in February, that I'm still a COMPLETE virgin? As in, I've never had sex, never had a blowjob or a handjob, hell, I've never really fully been kissed? Is it odd that nothing major ever seems to arouse any real emotional response?
I'm not ashamed of being a virgin still. I know that. But why does everyone around me seem so surprised at first that I still am at my age? Of course, then I get to talking and they instantly tell me it should be obvious why. I ask why and they tell me I sound bored with everything around me. Hell, my own mother has accused me of being apathetic.
I just feel ... I don't know what I feel anymore. Run down; tired. And, I guess, uncaring. I've never cared if someone called me a faggot, a loser, a bookworm, etc. I've been called every insulting thing you can probably imagine and it doesn't bother me, no matter how cutting the remarks are or how offesnive the tone is.
I used to write. I loved to write, to spell out whole world's where the only wall is what your imagination can come up with. It was a thrill to pull people into fantasies and have them experience dragons and knights, sorcerer's and fiends ... love and hardship. But it's been almost four years since I could stomach writing even a paragraph before deleting it in disgust.
I don't know why I wrote this down and I have no idea why I'm deciding to post it. I'm not looking for pity or sage advice. I guess ... I feel a little better just knowing that, somewhere, I put what I feel are my main issues down and can look at them later on. ... I think.
I'm not ashamed of being a virgin still. I know that. But why does everyone around me seem so surprised at first that I still am at my age? Of course, then I get to talking and they instantly tell me it should be obvious why. I ask why and they tell me I sound bored with everything around me. Hell, my own mother has accused me of being apathetic.
I just feel ... I don't know what I feel anymore. Run down; tired. And, I guess, uncaring. I've never cared if someone called me a faggot, a loser, a bookworm, etc. I've been called every insulting thing you can probably imagine and it doesn't bother me, no matter how cutting the remarks are or how offesnive the tone is.
I used to write. I loved to write, to spell out whole world's where the only wall is what your imagination can come up with. It was a thrill to pull people into fantasies and have them experience dragons and knights, sorcerer's and fiends ... love and hardship. But it's been almost four years since I could stomach writing even a paragraph before deleting it in disgust.
I don't know why I wrote this down and I have no idea why I'm deciding to post it. I'm not looking for pity or sage advice. I guess ... I feel a little better just knowing that, somewhere, I put what I feel are my main issues down and can look at them later on. ... I think.

















