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From: "AnonEMoose" <anonemoose@usa.net>
Subject: STORY: The Logic of Suicide: A Woman's Experience (MF, rom, 1st)


From: an52783@anon.penet.fi
Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1993 14:23:34 UTC
Message-ID: <143302Z17121993@anon.penet.fi>
Subject: The Logic of Suicide: A Woman's Experience


Warning: Standard, this is sexually explicit material.

Request: Don't plagiarize.

The Logic of Suicide: A Woman's Experience

                        *  *  *

About two years ago, I was in the depths of depression.  I wouldn't
eat; when I did eat I forced myself to vomit.  Neither the
psychiatrist nor the drugs were helping me.  After years of
emotional pain, I decided that I could not live with myself, and
concluded that my only option was suicide.

The guy I was dating stopped by my apartment during this emotional
crisis.  When I didn't answer the door, he forced his way in.  He
knew my history of self-hatred and when he saw me in tears, he
accurately predicted my plans.  He told me that he loved me, needed
me, and not to kill myself.  I told him that I liked him but he was
"full of shit."  Another dam of tears broke from my eyes and
couldn't I speak anymore.  Neither did he.  He simply whipped out a
sheet of paper, wrote the following note, and forced me to read it.

  "The logic of suicide: A syllogism

  People who don't fuck are stupid.
  People who commit suicide don't fuck.
  Therefore, people who commit suicide are stupid."

In a failed effort to be "sensitive," he pointed out to me that I
was 24-years-old and still a virgin.  Tenderly, he said that he
would support me in my efforts to commit suicide.  He would help!
He was going to help me kill myself!  I wanted to die, but I didn't
want to die in solitude.  A smile came to my face when I realized
that he wasn't kidding -- he would help me kill myself.

Yet, there was one string attached.  He would assist, only if I
would comply to sleeping with him.  In a kind-sort-of way, he
pointed out that if I didn't sleep with him, he would foil my
suicide efforts by telling my mother.  My life then would become a
living hell.  What a come-on line!  He trapped me.  If I had sex
with him, he would help me.  If I didn't have sex with him, he would
tell my mother who would have me institutionalized in a psychiatric
ward -- as she had threatened many times before.  Mom liked him.  If
he told her, she would believe him before she would believe me.  In
this case, a lie wouldn't work with Mom.  The psychiatric ward is a
fate worse than death.  It is a fate worse than losing my virginity.

Part of me was outraged with the proposition, but another part of me
was flattered that he wanted my body.  He wanted the body that I was
about to destroy.  At the time, I didn't care what happened to me.
With an evil expression on my face, I matter-of-factly replied with
a "yes."  He was shocked.  Yet, I don't know what was the cause of
his shock.  Was it that I agreed to have sex with him?  Was it that
I wanted his help and support with my suicide?   I'll never know.

Like the scene from "An Officer and a Gentleman," he carried me off
to my bedroom.  Frankly, I couldn't understand his interest in me.
I hated myself, I was tearful, I was limp, I felt ugly, I didn't
feel sexy.  With all my unsexiness, he still wanted to deflower me.

When we arrived in my room, he didn't put me in the bed.  He had me
stand in front of him.  As I walked away from him, he took my hand --
I was startled.  I reached for the light switch.  I wasn't going to
have sexual intercourse with the lights on.  I didn't want him to
see my naked body.  He wouldn't let go of my hand and walked with me
as I switched off the light.  Instead of walking back to the bed, he
moved to the electric receptacle and flicked on the night light.
How did he know that was there?  At any rate, it seemed like a fair
compromise.  Not enough light to clearly see my body, but just
enough to know what was going to happen.  The silence was
uncomfortable, but I couldn't speak.  I stood in front of him as he
sat on the bed.

Starting from the bottom and with a deliberate slowness, he began
to unbutton the front of my dress.  The silence was killing me.
He stopped when he reached my panties.  They were simple -- just
white -- not sexy.  He pushed my dress around to my butt, held it
there, and pulled me forward.  His face moved toward my panties and
began kissing my private parts.  I wanted him to stop!  I wanted
him to never stop!  I didn't know what I wanted, but it didn't make
any difference because I was frozen in place.  I couldn't move or
speak -- or maybe I could, but just didn't want to.  I knew I was
about to lose my virginity and began to have doubts about suicide.

It felt good.  It felt right.  I began thinking, "this isn't going
to be so bad."  Suddenly, I became aware that my dress was totally
unbuttoned.  He pulled it off my shoulders and let it fall to the
floor.  As a reflex action, I wanted to tidy my room by picking up
and folding my dress, but I realized that I was in the presence of a
man who was gazing at me.  I had only my bra, panties, and shoes.  I
felt embarrassed and attempted to cover my private parts, but he
pulled my hands away and kissed me passionately on my lips.  It felt
good, but I noticed that my panties were damp.

I didn't want him to stop.  First, it felt good.  I loved that
tenderness.  Second, I knew what was coming next and I was afraid.
Yet I was breathless and just stood there as he removed his shirt,
pants, shoes, and socks.  When he was finished, he took me by the
waist and sat me on the bed.  There, he removed my shoes and began
to massage my feet.  It felt great!  He kissed my feet and gently
pushed my shoulders to the bed.  It was about to happen, I thought.

He, with a calculated slowness that was killing me, pulled off my
panties.  I couldn't believe how wet they were.  I felt cold and hot
at the same time, but then he gently rested his hands on my thighs
and stroked my sides till he reached my waist.  I was paralyzed with
fear -- I think?  I didn't know what he was going to do to me.  He
pulled his lips down to my wet private parts and kissed me.  He
continued to do it until I started to relaxed.  In fact he uttered
his first words to me, "relax, relax, enjoy, enjoy."  His soft and
gentle tone was reassuring but an unfamiliar sensation began to
come over me.  I thought that I was about to have my first orgasm.
THEN HE STOPPED!

He removed his underwear and t-shirt.  It was the first time I saw
a penis.  However, I was happy that I couldn't see it clearly in
the dimly-lit room.  He stood naked before me and laid next to my
emotionally-paralyzed body.  Then he finally decided to remove my
bra.  I was lying naked next to him.  No man has seen my naked
body.  He took a nipple into his mouth until it got hard.  Then he
moved to the other one and repeated his treatment.  I felt
embarrassed, but I wanted to lose my virginity.  He held me close
and told me that he loved me with his whole heart and could not
imagine a life without me.  Before I could say that I loved him
too, he kissed me on the lips with a passion that cannot be put
into words.

He repositioned my body with a series of gentle strokes.  It felt
warm and good.    He placed his head between my legs and began to
kiss my private parts for the second time.  I felt the emergence of
that strange sensation -- again.  I guess I started to moan, because
he stopped and asked, "Are you OK?  Do you want me to stop?"  I
wanted to scream but I couldn't.  It took all my energy to burst out
and say, "Please -- don't -- stop."

He moved to my face and kissed me passionately on my lips -- again
and again.  I couldn't believe the passion in his kisses.  I was
breathless.  Then, he began to insert his penis inside me.  I
wanted to close my eyes, but he commanded that I watch.  I'm glad I
did.  I watched every inch disappear inside me.  I don't have the
words to express how it felt to have a penis inside me, except to
say that I never experienced anything like this -- it felt good.
What an understatement!

He told me, "We are now one.  I love you like I have loved no one."
He insisted that I continue to watch as he rhythmically moved in and
out of me.  He wouldn't stop talking!   He told me that I was the
most beautiful woman in the world.  I believe he meant it.  With
his penis inside of me, I really felt like the most beautiful woman
in the world.  Gradually, I began to feel that strange sensation.
On the verge of tears, I pleaded that he not stop.  He replied,
"talking or pumping?"  "Both," I muttered.  I loved the feeling of
his penis.  I loved hearing him tell me I was beautiful and
important.  It came to pass.  I felt like my body was being pulled
apart.  My legs, arms, and back went stiff.  There was a brief
moment of almost bearable pain/pleasure, then the sensation snapped
and immediately I became sensitive.  It made my entire body feel as
though it touched a deep secret within my soul.  I screamed
uncontrollably.  I fell into a coma-like state for a few seconds.

When I recovered, I heard him say that he wanted me on top.  He
pulled his penis out of me.  I didn't want his penis to leave me!
but could not find the strength to tell him.  But he laid on his
back and I mounted him.  He adjusted our bodies, and slowly his
penis moved inside me again.  This time he didn't need to ask me to
watch.  I wanted and enjoyed the feeling of being impaled.  As if I
had done this for years, I began moving my hips.  It felt too good
to express into words.

This time the orgasm came with greater speed.  I began to have the
strange sensations again.  But he stopped telling me how beautiful I
was and I needed to hear that.  I took my eyes away from our united
mid-sections and looked at his face.  He had a beautiful face that I
never before noticed.  He was moaning.  I found myself moaning.  I
was approaching the peak of another orgasm.  I felt a pulsing of his
penis inside me, quickly followed by his sperm shooting into my
body.  The sensation of the sperm pushed me over the edge of another
extremely intense orgasm.  It was better and more intense than the
previous one.

I loved the feeling of the sperm entering my body.  It was the first
time in my life when I felt important and beautiful.  I began to
believe I was beautiful.  Perhaps beautiful and pregnant?  No,
thank god!

As soon as possible, I got a prescription for birth control and
started having sexual intercourse two to three times a day with
him.  More, if I was depressed.  It was my salvation.  When I make
love to him, I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world and
all my thoughts of suicide disappear.  When I told him that he
makes me like the most beautiful woman in the world, he replied
that I should feel that way -- because I am.

He got really tired of having sexual intercourse so frequently.  I
feared that if I stopped making love regularly, I would return to
those terrible suicidal feelings.  He had to limit it to once or
twice a day.  One time, we skipped an entire day, and I still felt
good about myself.  In fact skipping a day improved the intensity
of my next orgasm.  So occasionally, I intentionally skip a day.

The story of my first sexual encounter took place two years ago.
With regular sexual intercourse, I now feel like a normal woman.  The
orgasms have encouraged me to drop the idea of suicide.  In many
ways, I think I'm doing better than the average woman.  I love  my
man, he loves me, and I love the sexual intercourse he offers me.

He was right when he wrote:

"The logic of suicide: A syllogism

  People who don't fuck are stupid.
  People who commit suicide don't fuck.
  Therefore, people who commit suicide are stupid."

I'll keep his note forever.  It will be easy because tomorrow we
will get married.

___________________________________________________________________





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