There was something about the way it was written, the words were like a music you can’t get out of your head.Getting ready was a task as my fingers ...lways found a way between my legs. Either my hormones were kicking in or it was time I got something hard and erect. Things became a little more exciting when I saw my favorite toy under my clothes. My brain quickly saw the watch and gave me a go ahead.My reddish pink toy was about six inches, which was more than enough for the moment. As I was. Maybe it’s the guilt of knowing I’m not normal, the humiliation of knowing I can’t do that. It’s also maybe the worry of ever being expected to ‘perform’ – though it’s highly unlikely any girl would even consider that, unless it was for money I guess, or charitable.No, I love being a wanker and wouldn’t want to change, and I love it when girls know I’m a wanker. I love the sense of delicious guilt and shame and humiliation – “just pathetic, you wanker!” I particularly love it when a girl knows. More

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