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Tuesday, March 02, 2004

It’s no so much that I hate myself for masturbating, it’s that I can’t stand to think what will become of Leticia McKenzie lest she go down this path. I know I’m addicted. I’ve admitted it. The first step to recovery, right? But every time I come, something dies in me, and I’v been killing more and more of myself every day and there are a scant few scraps of the former me left.

If I could have that one perfect masturbation, the one that would satisfy my sexual cravings for the next twenty years, I would be ecstatic. But I know full well that won’t happen, and I know full well that the “next” one I have will not be the one that will satisfy me. And yet, here I am, time after time, pulling down my pants and reaching into my panties. It’s embarrassing. If God’s watching me, either he’s averting his eyes or wanking, himself.

So I know what I need to do: stop masturbating. Stop this blog. But I can’t, and I won’t. I’m addicted. There you are.

I wish I could stop. I would give anything to stop. But when you have the whole world watching you, you can’t. So I just do this time after time and remind myself that this is the collective societal worth of Leticia Jeanette McKenzie, that she’s nothing if not for the fact that thousands of horny boys check her site for the latest in wanking material. I’m nothing if not for the fact that I inspire the scant few women who aren’t afraid to discuss their sexuality.

So I wanna die. I know every 17-year-old says this, but I do. I at least want to leave my body behind and forget about it, drift around in nothing but my neural networks with no earthly desires to bind me. I would finally be free to think and to hold and to cherish and to be. But... I would not be free to love, to have emotion, to sense things as in being in my heart... I don’t know if I’d want to give that up. I’m not sure where me resides; is it in my heart, my brain, or my vulva? So far, all I’ve come up with is the vulva, and my vulva is coming up short as far as happiness goes.

So I’m taking a break. I will see you later. Thanks for your support and kind letters, y’all. I’ll never forget Leticia McKenzie.

(edit, since the best way to keep me writing is to say I'm taking a break: I think the main problem is my focus on, well, my fantasy. It has to be a really great fantasy or I'll feel sad when I come. This probably has to do with some more basic creative angst. Really, I feel happy when I orgasm, but I just get sad and frustrated when I don't come to something that I can write down and, well, post on my blog.
Blogsexing is a really dysfunctional way to masturbate, so I'll need to find some other outlet for my creative sexual urges. Watch for it.)
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