Online sexting chat rooms
Robert Louis Stevenson will forever be an erotic novelist in my mind.
I started staying up late, when Mom and Dad were snoring away in oblivion, to watch softcore porn on Cinemax. I didn’t know whether to hate her or love her, but I knew I needed her. My brother was three years older, and I'd wait for him to leave the house and then raid his stash, hidden in his bedside drawer under men's fitness magazines and school notebooks. Later, when classmates at my all-girls Catholic high school were talking about MTV, YM magazine and PMS, I was educating myself on all sorts of other acronyms: DP, POV, ATM and more. Some of the videos had horrible acting bits that made me giggle. This girl probably wanted to be an actress, but couldn’t make it. The more pitiful the story, the more I was turned on. What did it mean that my escape method was someone else’s supposed misfortune?
I didn’t know what I stumbled upon, only that it felt scary and wrong, but I tried not to care. Dredging through the book “Treasure Island” in seventh grade, I told myself I was allowed to masturbate to orgasm at the end of each chapter so I could finish by the due date.