How does our sexuality develop?
How does our sexuality originate?
At what moment does a person begin to feel within themselves a desire not just to fiddle with their pussy because it's pleasant, but to imagine something very specific, personally related to them at that moment—something that then leaves an imprint on their entire subsequent sexual life?
Of course, psychologists of all stripes long ago sent us back to the world of childhood (hello, Uncle Sigmund!).
But here's the question: how does that work? The same circumstances evoke absolutely different reactions in different little humans...
Take the television. And a "hyped" popular show. A child from an orphanage is being "placed in good
hands." A girl. They show a close-up: the girl is braiding her hair... And here she is diligently performing something from amateur arts for the camera...And suddenly the question:
— What do you want to be?
And the answer (without hesitation):
— A nurse!
A provocative question:
— And why?
And a wonderful, naive, delightful answer, full of passionate, deep conviction:
— I want to go into the bedroom at night, turn on the li! ght and give all the kids injections!..
)))…
Good luck to you, little princess of the magical land of BDSM!
Of course, one could put a period here. It's clear: a Mistress is growing up, and it no longer matters what she actually becomes, a tram driver or a businesswoman.
Another question—what about the other girls from this group, who survived the terrible nighttime adventure with elements of sadism from adult caregivers and a nurse? Will they all uniformly position themselves as future slaves and Mistresses?..
Not necessarily. This story might not affect some at all. And it might forever repel others from any manifestation of violence towards themselves, as well as towards anyone else...
A clear, fine autumn day. A bus packed during rush hour. A sweaty, greasy, burly man, pressing a little girl with a face crimson from shame and horror against the window. He shields his victim from the indifferently jostling people, slips his paw under her blouse and slowly, unhurriedly, kneads her barely formed plump breasts, breathing heavily and trying not to moan with pleasure...
Why doesn't the girl call for help? Why does she endure the violence, holding her breath and suppressing a scream ready to burst out? Ashamed that everyone will find out about it? Will they condemn her for standing in that exact spot?..
Or perhaps, through the beating of her heart loudly thumping in her chest, she discerns another pulse—the pulse of a sweet heaviness swelling somewhere in her lower abdomen? And, having run home and locked herself (for the first time locking herself!) in the bathroom, she furiously masturbates, squeezing her eyes shut and fiddling with her nipples?
And her "bus" violator at this time, snorting, gropes through thin panties the crotch of his young playing daughter at home, who absolutely does not react to daddy's caresses, long accustomed to them as something taken for granted...
An early summer morning. The whole camp is still asleep. The boys' room is filled with sweet languor, a premonition of a joyful carefree day, and the play of sunbeams on the virginally white walls...
Beds pushed tightly together. A hand under the sheet! , fingers trembling with lust, gently encircling (as if accidentally, as if in a dream!) the bud of the boy lying next to him, swollen with morning erection... And—oh, horror!... Oh, delight!... That boy's hand, responsively squeezing and carefully caressing his neighbor's cock... Sweat on the forehead... Fear of opening their eyes, to not meet each other's gaze... The agonizing sweet torment of the last seconds before ejaculation... Gasping breath, a deep final exhale when it no longer matters if you're heard or not!..
Hands smeared with someone else's cum, fear of exposure from the stained sheet, a quick turn onto their side awaiting wake-up...
And then—all day one of the boys casts inflamed glances at the other, unable to think of anyone else in the world, while the second, as if nothing happened, chases after girls...
Why does this happen, oh my precious, my curious reader?
Where lies that boundary beyond which our sexuality acquires the features of definition and the natural direction of future choice?..
Author's e-mail: аrgеntumfish@rаmblеr.ru