/jp/ - Otaku Culture

[Anonymous No.]

Remember back when you were bullied in school, you console yourself by believing that one day you will be rich and successful, while those jerks will end up working at some fast food restaurant?

[Anonymous No.]

I was never bullied in school so no I don't know that feel

[yRan !mHBuh/tvfE No.]

>>6815111
I was never bullied at school, but probably 99% of /jp/ faggots was. That's why they are here. If they weren't bullied then they would be leading a successful life and stop talking about their imaginary waifus, as well as fapping to touhoes and shitty ass animus.
That's all I got to say.

[Anonymous No.]

I was never bullied, sorry.

[Anonymous No.]

There were bullies at my school, and sometimes my friends were, but I was never under any scrutiny myself.

It helps that I hospitalized a kid in elementary school when I was on ill-prescribed medication that gave me horrific mood swings. I was off them as soon as my parents noticed, but once you're "the kid that stabbed that other kid with a pencil", people just start avoiding you..

[Anonymous No.]

I just was the lonely guy with no friends, one guy tried to bully me in highschool and i broke his nose.

[Showa !ELzgBvX90s No.]

bump

[Anonymous No.]

>MFW I see people who bullied me at school when I go to get a double cheeseburger

[Anonymous No.]

>you console yourself by believing that one day you will be rich and successful

NOPE.

[Anonymous No.]

Bullied twice, first time I fought back and we became good friends 'till this day then the second time ended up with me running away and the other guy chasing after me. He ended up getting hit by a car and losing his legs, turns out he was after me because I was nice to his sister.

[OSad !YffGWo6BrM No.]

I remember I was a victim of attempted bullying once by a bunch of kids on eight grade. Everyone in class was mourning the death of the teacher's sister, and that was pissing me off so I said I didn't give a shit.

They all got buttfrustrated. A bunch of kids tried to beat me up after class but I was a year older than all of them. They all got their asses kicked by me.

Maybe it was me that bullied them in the end. Either way, I didn't really care.

[Anonymous No.]

>From Israel
>Dad is an Israeli war vet and was first ranked in his CQC Training
>Pretty much grew up learning Krav Maga, Tai Qwan Do, Boxing, Kick Boxing, and Wrestling
>Mom didn't like fighting and scared the shit out of me for wanting to fight
>Became a pacifist in elementary school even I though I was picked on
>Still had awesome friends
>Middle school, surrounded by niggers and spicks
>All of them hate White Jewish people because they are automatically rich and therefore equal the man that is keeping them and their parents down
>A group of 4 niggers decide to pick on my and make me their target in 6th grade
>Never really get hurt
>8th grade they decide to make a big finally and try to brutally hurt me
>Take me to roof of of 4 story tall gym
>Try to throw me off
>Decide to fight back
>Break both arms of one of them
>Grab a second one and use him as a human shield while his friend tries to attack me
>Shield passes out so I grab his friend and dislocate his arm and shatter his knee cap
>Last one and thei leader tries to run
>Catch him and slam his head into a stone wall and bust 4 of his ribs
>School supports me
>Principle wants me expelled
>Lawyer up and get the security tapes
>Niggers are expelled and parents sued them for assault and battery over an extended period of time
>settle out of court with two of them receive $200,000
>The other two don't want to settle and their families are forced to pay $250,000
>The parents of one is forced to sell their home to pay for it
>They still get prosecuted by the city
>3 in juvi 1 in probation
>Parents put me in private school
>Get public school district to pay for it due to voucher program
>Private school costs $25,000 a semester
>Public school gets $5000 per student a semester
>Never have problems again

I save this so I don't have to type it again all the friggin time.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815162
That wasn't attempted bullying at you, that was just you being a jerk.

[Anonymous No.]

I think I just assumed they'd all be more successful than me.

Was probably right too. Dammit.

[Anonymous No.]

I made friends because I owned up to all of the bullying like a bro. They all started to love me somehow.
Bunch of cowards gotta own up to your nerdiness, that's how it's done, son.

[OSad !YffGWo6BrM No.]

>>6815168
Hey, you're right.

...childhood mystery solved, I guess. Have a cookie.

[Anonymous No.]

>Remember back when you were bullied in school, you console yourself by believing that one day you will be rich and successful, while those jerks will end up working at some fast food restaurant?
;_;

I even told them that

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815143


When i was in elementary school me and my friends made fun of some kid, i can't remember what we said to him but 2 days later we were called by the principal, the poor kid had nightmares about us beating him, her mother even wanted us to get kicked out of school, she said he was waking up in the middle of the night crying.

After that we were respected by everyone in the classroom and the poor kid was bullied even more.

[Anonymous No.]

Someone tried to bully me, but I headbutted him and them punched him in the face repeatedly while he rolled around on the ground crying.

People were high-fiving me the next day because apparently plenty of people didn't like him.

I just bought a 600K AUD house in December, settlement is in 2 days
feels good man

[Anonymous No.]

Was never bullied at school, although I'm pretty goddamn sure I make more money than the stupid meatheads from my graduating HS class.

I've never really cared enough about people to go "I'll get my revenge someday" or whatever. I'm all about me, myself and I.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815167

Your wall of greentext gave me eye cancer, you jewish faggot.

[Anonymous No.]

I was never bullied at school actually. I was actually kind of popular. But those days are long gone after getting fat.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815190
Same thing happened to me except I only punched him once in the face.
Dropped out of high school, now trying to get high school certificate at age 21.
feels good man

[Anonymous No.]

I was constantly bullied throughout all years of school. Bullying is just another form of natural selection.

[Anonymous No.]

I was never bullied in school. However if I was in school now and my school had an Aeka, you can bet I would be sending someone to the hospital.

[Anonymous No.]

I wasn't bullied at all.
I was actually ignored by everyone.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815225
This. Each year I was surprised when I wasn't bullied.

[Anonymous No.]

I was bullied for one year or so. After that, I was always the reserved boy which would walk by himself on breaks while listening to music or sitting in a corner while writting novels on his notebook, but because I wanted to, and not because I felt secluded from the other students.

People still liked me even though I was rude to everyone because I wanted to be alone, far away from such imbeciles. Pretty odd.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815205
>popular in school
>But those days are long gone after getting fat.

I never thought i would meet someone like me.

Same here i was popular in school, i was the smartest kid in all schools i went to, many girls confessed their love to me and i rejected all of them because "i deserve something better" now i'm a NEET fapping to touhous and getting more fat everyday, i'm getting uglier, never had a girlfriend and i have no friends at the moment, i regret my bad decisions everyday.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815222

There probably was someone like that, you just didn't notice them or never saw it happen.

[Anonymous No.]

>Got bullied on 1st year highschool
>Faught back and talked shit behind his back to his friends
>IDK how but wee are best friends a few months later.

[Anonymous No.]

There's a board for this.

>>>/r9k/

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815242
Nah, only fat chicks and goths ever got bullied when I was in school. Even a white knight has standards.

[Anonymous No.]

I never got bullied. I think people were afraid of me or something because I was a perfect target.

[Anonymous No.]

Nope, I was never bullied. I did however used to beat up this kid who said FF7 was the best game ever and Windwaker Link isn't the real Link a couple times.

I later dated his sister.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815261

You, sir, are a hero.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815239
Why, you want to be a normalfag? Be grateful you've never had a girlfriend. They're a complete waste of time and can never compare to your waifu.

[Anonymous No.]

My Dad was a great guy but he used to go on business trips a lot, leaving me with my mum. She was a psycho and made me wear girls clothes at home because she wanted a daughter, she told me this many times, and often referred to me as she/her etc. Some of my school friends found out about this and beat me up, it stayed with me pretty much until I left Secondary School. My Dad found out and divorced her, and I live with him now in his flat. So everything worked out in the end, except I got beaten up nearly daily, my books ripped and every lesson made unbearable and impossible to study. So here I am.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815276
Everybody has a psycho mom, you're just a pussy.

[Anonymous No.]

OP pic sauce please?

[Anonymous No.]

nope, was never bullied but not popular either

beta plus

[Anonymous No.]

I got bullied so much that whenever someone was nice to me I thought they were a bully just trolling. They usually were anyway.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815283
Yeah, I pretty much am

[Anonymous No.]

I was never really bullied.. in fact, I got along with most people.

A few people thought I was a creepy yandere though.. I really don't know why.

[Anonymous No.]

got bullied back on grade school since I was a cry baby, no bullying in high school and got no friends too

[Anonymous No.]

I molested my little cousin in one of those big plastic tube slides as a kid

those were some good times

[Anonymous No.]

>She was a psycho and made me wear girls clothes at home

That sounds hot

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815307
How old was she and how old were you?

[Anonymous No.]

I probably didn't get bullied because I was reclusive and they thought I'd shoot up the school.

[Anonymous No.]

I threw a handful of nickels and pennies at the people who bullied me. As in chucked them as hard as I could directly at a group of assholes who were flicking said coins at me several minutes earlier.

Never got bullied after that.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815286
oh wow seriously?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yume_Miru_Kusuri:_A_Drug_That_Makes_You_Dream

[Anonymous No.]

I got dry humped by a pack of niggers in kindergarten at recess

[Anonymous No.]

I was sadly the bully through most of high school. Got away with a ton of shit thanks to my parents being teachers. Beat younger/shorter kids for their money, got some flunkies to pound some nerds in other classes, even taking score each day, utterly ruined a girl's prom by messing up her make-up and dress while my flunkies held her down.

Then in the summer between 11th and 12th grade, they invited me for some action, which turned out to be the rape of some mute girl. I pathetically white knighted her, even though she had already been raped by two of them, and ended the night busting the ribs of one, breaking the arm of another, and assorted minor injuries to the rest. In return, I got stabbed.

After that, I tried to straighten out, but being the last year, that was entirely pointless.

[Anonymous No.]

i was bullied pretty much all the time up till grade 8. then in grade 9 it was much less. then only name calling until i graduated

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815318
get out of /jp/

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815286

I wish to know as well, could anyone inform me?

[Anonymous No.]

in elementary school I alternated between being hated, ignored, and liked, every year it was different.

[Anonymous No.]

I remember when I was a girl in Ireland there was a girl who lived in our village, such a bonny girl, much admired, and she took to touching herself. First she went pale, then she got dark circles under eyes, and people began to wonder, and then she went thin, and people began to suspect, and then she became a hopeless imbecile, because the jelly of her brain was melted by what she did to herself and flowed away, and then people knew for certain. Now she has to be handcuffed for 24 hours a day.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815310
At the time she said she could get 'medicine' to make me her daughter, I didn't know what she meant at the time, now I do, obviously.

Sometimes I wish my Dad had never found out and she had done ;_;

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815322
see >>6815315

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815328
Slut had it coming

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815337
Well if you still have contact with your mum you could tell her you want to visit her, and surprise her by showing up as the little girl and ask her to cuddle you.

Bro you got like the only mum out of all anon who understands and accepts the "wanting to be the little girl" thing, might as well give it a try.

[Incestfan !pWKInCESTY No.]

>>6815328
damn you, the French were right
my whole life as a wank

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815321
Hey, I'm still a failure. I did flitter away most of high school, and never amounted to anything afterwards.

Only real positive thing is the mute girl and I are co-workers, but she's obviously not going to put out for me.

[Anonymous No.]

We didn't really believe the story but it did have a thrill about it. Afterwards Marion said "Don't be silly. That's all wrong, your brain has nothing to do with it, all that happens is it stunts your growth, you start to grow sideways, and get an enormous bust."

For weeks afterwards it was hard to look at Miss O'Callaghan and not giggle. In the refectory, at supper time, the mistresses would sit with us, a group of girls and a mistress or a prefect, making eight in all, at a table, and we were expected to try to make polite conversation. Marion, and Marina, and I were among "Miss O'Callaghan's girls".

"I thought Miss Robertson was looking tired this afternoon during our Latin lesson. I hope she isn't indisposed," Marion would say as though in all innocence; and we all knew: indisposed — the curse. Circles round the eyes: we know what she's been doing.

"I do hope that she is not overtiring herself. Do you think that Miss McIntyre is losing weight?" And of course there was Miss Martin, thin, tired, and with shaking hands. We knew what she spent all her free time doing, and there would be more suppressed chuckles, and if we weren't discreet, Miss O'Callaghan's eyes would dart about, take it in, and she would ask somebody:

"What's so entertaining, Angela?" and Angela or Elizabeth, or whoever it was who had been spoken to would reply as we all did:

"Oh, nothing Miss O'Callaghan."

"Well, in that case, compose yourself, child."

[Anonymous No.]

I suppose that I was lucky in a way. I started during the Summer holiday at home, and my mother looked after me. Some months before she had shown me how to put on the belt and pad, and everything was ready and waiting for the dreadful day. She wasn't very sympathetic, I can see why now. Every other woman in the world had to put up with it as matter of monthly c(o)urse. Every other woman had to hide it from the men in the house. Every other woman had to feel the tension, and the drawing, and the besmirching by the blood and mucus, and had to carry on as if nothing was happening, looking like a princess in pretty clothes, with aching body, and a bloody pad pressed up up between her legs. She was having to experience it twice over, on her own behalf and on mine.

[Anonymous No.]

Never really bullied due to the fact that I was smart, nice, and for some reason people thought I was the type that would just snap.

They were right.

[Anonymous No.]

The worst thing was that my father knew the very day it happened. Before I went to bed, while my mother was clearing up the supper things, he would read aloud to me. I loved climbing up into his lap, and lying in the crook of his left arm, and looking down at the pictures in the book as he read the story to me. He didn't read me girls' books: he read the exciting books he had read as a boy, big old-fashioned cloth-bound books with gaudy chromo pictures. I even remember the book. We were reading King Solomon's Mines. That evening he didn't sit down in his armchair, he sat down on the sofa and beckoned me towards him. I went to sit in his lap as usual but he said gently:

"Not tonight, Meg, that's just for little girls. Your mother tells me that you are a grown-up woman now, and so I must start to treat you like a lady. Come, sit here and we'll carry on with the story."

I sat down beside him because I didn't know what else to do. I was very sad.

He started to read, but it was a meaningless string of words.

"I love you, Daddy." I said.

"I know you do, my dear," he said, "and I love you." He closed the book. "Perhaps you have too much to think about now ... tomorrow, maybe?"

I went to bed bereft. We never finished King Solomon's Mines.

[Anonymous No.]

I was never bullied either. It's just that I didn't like going out to play so I was usually left alone with 3 or 4 friends who liked to chat in the classroom on breaks. But I had a good relationship with my other classmates, we just lived in a different world.

I feel sorry for people who was bullied here though, and I really would like to punch every bully in the world if I could and had the physical strength.

[Anonymous No.]

"Is that all?" said Marion, "You're lucky — you haven't got a brother." And she went on tell about her brother Ronald sneaking into her bedroom and finding the box of tampons and hiding them. "And then he stole the instruction sheet — you know the one, the one with drawings of the girl putting it in, and showed it to all his friends."

"What instruction sheet? Mummy got me pads." I said.

Marina said, "I asked if I could have tampons, but my mum said that she didn't want me putting anything in there just yet." She grinned and added "I couldn't think what she meant."

"You're awful", Marion said, "and so's your mother."

"Well anyway, I've never had to have pads and I think tampons are best. I've got a box in my locker, and I'll lend you the instructions and you can read them after lights-out in the dorm."

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815313
really. your lucky
even thou when i retaliated and smashed there bikes and threw large stones at their faces they still bullied me.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815355
I'm 19 now, I can't pass, and she didn't understand me, she was just crazy. It's the same as a dad forcing his son to play football, and he hates it, later in life he wants to do it but he lost both his legs in the war. The dad didn't understand the son.

[Anonymous No.]

That night, under the sheets with my torch I looked at the blue-printed drawings of the girl wearing the baby-doll nightie and the slippers with the pom-poms, squatting down and inserting the tampon. I thought her posture was absolutely obscene, but I remember feeling curious, I remembered Miss O'Callaghan and I remember wondering about touching myself. I switched off the torch, put it under my pillow, with the leaflet, and composed myself to go to sleep. Judging from the even sounds of breathing the other three girls in the cublicle were asleep.

[Anonymous No.]

I was puzzled about touching myself. What was the point in that? I turned on to my side, and tried to go to sleep, but I couldn't get the picture of the squatting girl out of my mind. Would starting a baby be like that? I wondered. I knew that the man had to put his penis into the woman's vagina, and that spermatazoa come out of him and fertilised the ovum, but I couldn't understand why anybody would want to do anything so obscene even if they wanted to have a baby. Penis and vagina, dick and quim. Then I wondered about how he would get it inside. I caught the hem of my nightie with my toe and flexed my knee bringing the hem up the bed to where I could get hold of it with my fingers and pull it up to my waist.

[Anonymous No.]

I touched myself, feeling the disgusting hair that had come, and I was shocked to find myself wet. If felt sick, as if I had become incontinent, I could foresee that for the years to come I would seep and leak between my legs and be completely unable to control it. I found the opening of my vagina — all those ugly words, vagina, vulva ; is there ever a word uglier than vulva ? Nasty name for a nasty thing — and pushed my finger into it. It was very tight and very slimy. I tried to dry off the wetness with my fingers and there it was, in an instant, a curious tension demanding some kind of resolution, but how? I touched myself, and the tension developing, tenser and tenser, until, encountering the beach, a long crescent of deserted sand in the moonlight, the slow sea-swell began to shear, to tumble, foaming into guilty fulfilment.

[Anonymous No.]

I wish my peers well but I doubt I'll ever hear about them again. My measure of success was never based on wealth or possessions, anyway. I've done everything I needed to do and I would be satisfied with my life if it ended today.

[Anonymous No.]

"But once won't turn me into an imbecile..." I hoped, prayed, remembering what Miss O'Callaghan had said: First she went pale, then she got circles under her eyes... as fingers and quim decided together, independently of my conscience or my wishes to seduce each other a second time, a third time...

[Anonymous No.]

Before my eyes long parallel bars of gold were sloping gently downwards to the left, resolving into shafts of sunlight shining on the wall through curtain-gaps — A beautiful Summer morning, tennis in the afternoon — to the cold-shower shock of recollection: I had still been touching myself when I had fallen, exhausted, into sleep, some time in the small hours of the morning.

I looked at my watch: forty minutes to go before the Rising bell. I wondered if my mind had been damaged, if I had forgotten anything that I was sure I knew. I declined mensa, and dominus, and rex; I could remember them so that seemed all right. We were doing Tennyson in English literature; so without thinking about its content I recited The Lady of Shallott to myself, and then of course when I got to "The curse is come upon me, cried the Lady of Shallott" — fits of suppressed giggles in the classroom, but here and now not a giggling matter at all — and my mind turned back to what I had been doing.

But perhaps things weren't too bad, I hoped; perhaps nobody would notice. I wondered if the circles under the eyes had come in the night, and if my hands had started to shake already. I turned over on to my side and resolved to keep my fingers away from my quim. There was a small sound, and I looked across to Marina. She was lying on her left side, her back towards me. I could see that under the bed-clothes her right arm was moving rhythmically... and I knew. As I watched the rhythm accelerated until she sighed and stretched under the covers and lay still.

[Anonymous No.]

I was kicked out of school in 3rd grade. Ended up homeschooling and, yes, actually being successful. My dirty little secret is, of course, funding my hobbies that include figurines, hgames, and paying off losers to secure h-doujinshi for me.

I'm still not sure what the fuck this has to do with Otaku culture.

>>>/r9k/

[Anonymous No.]

In the middle of the afternoon we were changing for tennis. I always stayed close to Marina when we got changed. I always change quickly: off with the skirt, unbutton the blouse, slip my arms out of the sleeves, pull my bra down, pull the back round to the front, unhook it, reverse the process with my games bra, step into the back of the tennis dress, pull it up, blouse pulled out before the tennis frock zipped up, and I was changed. Marina always seemed to manage to be more naked than the rest of us. She would unbutton her blouse and take it off. Then she unhooked her bra, always from the back, and would stand self-consciously un-selfconsciously cupping her breasts and she would complain to me, in secret pride, it seemed, about their weight, and about having to wear a D-cup bra already, and how lucky I was not to need the support — and she would slip the straps over her shoulders, lean forward slowly, easing herself into the cups of the special sports bra she needed for tennis, hooking it together behind her back.

I used to watch pinned in a balance between fascination, and revulsion at her flesh, her fatness; but she wasn't fat. I don't suppose that I was the only one who stared at her. I think Miss Milligan was fascinated a little because there always seemed to be a pause before she would say "Come along, girls, we haven't got all day."

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815370

I knew a kid back in early HS who was overall pretty funny and likable, got along with most people except this one big fat jock guy named Alex. I never noticed it much but apparently Alex went and pestered this kid every day in my morning chemistry class until one day, this kid snapped and suddenly turned and stabbed his pencil into Alex's hand as it was on the desk. It went in very deep and left a noticeable scar, some people say it almost went through his fucking hand. The kid who snapped got ... I forgot how long a suspension (this was like 10 years ago), but it was either a week or 3 days... and no one fucked with him for the rest of high school. He went from being being seen as just a funny guy to a funny and crazy guy.

[Anonymous No.]

That day we were standing together. Nobody else was close enough to hear. I was changed and she was changing. As lightly as I could — My heart was pounding so hard I could see the front of my frock shaking — I asked:

"What were you doing this morning?"

"Nothing."

But the contradicting blush surged to the tops of her very shoulders, her skin thickening with the scarlet. "When do you mean?"

I felt hot myself. I suppose that I was flushed as well.

"This morning before the Rising bell." I felt fluttery inside, different from the anything I had ever felt before, changed.

"I saw your arm moving. You were touching yourself weren't you?" but before she could say anything,

"Come along, girls, we haven't got all day."

So Marina finished dressing quickly and we went out to play tennis. We were playing doubles, and we had separate partners, but we were in the same foursome. It was while we were playing that I remembered what Marion had said about touching yourself: it made your bust grow and I could hardly look away from her to watch the ball. We had laughed when Marion had said it; I thought it was just a joke, but then Marina had such a large bust...

[Anonymous No.]

Later that evening Marion and Marina and I were sitting together in the common room in the half-hour after prep before bedtime. I was feeling skittish and, I suppose, spiteful.

"Would you like to know a secret?" I asked Marion.

"Not especially." — deflating me, but I went on anyway:

"I saw Marina touching herself this morning."

"It's not touching yourself," said Marion, contemptuously, "It's frigging. That's the word for it, and if you weren't such a baby we'd have told you about it before, but you're so infantile... My mum told me about it. She said that it's perfectly normal so long as you don't do too much of it. I frig, Marina frigs, you're just too immature. You're probably the last girl in the form to start."

"But I frig." I said, without quite knowing why I said it. "I've done it for ages."

We all stopped. Somehow we had all confessed to more than we had intended to, but there was no way to bite the words back, to unsay them. We looked at one another not knowing what to say next.

"I think I'll read until bedtime," I said and left them. I was feeling fluttery again, and I could feel my insides were melting. I yearned to go somewhere quiet with Marina and hug her and apologise, and be hugged

[Anonymous No.]

Later, that night, I was thinking about Marina, about her bosom. I didn't want to be like her, but my bosom was like two little cones with sore pink tips. I would have liked a proper B-cup bosom. I felt very sorry that I had messed things up: it was hard to understand my former mood. I didn't think that I was spiteful normally; and the annoying thing was that I wanted to ask so many questions, but didn't because I was scared of showing my ignorance. I wasn't sure about what to make of Marion's mum's advice about not doing too much of it. I was lying on my side, and under the bed covers my fingers were gathering my nightie in little tucks, my arms staying quite still. "Perhaps it won't do me any harm if I don't do it too often, and it might help my bust to develop," I thought.

[Anonymous No.]

I woke up to the angled bars of gold and felt the old voluptuous pleasure of rising into consciousness from innocent dreams. I was free of all restraint: damned by my oath-breaking I was free to frig as much as I liked because Hell was absolute: nothing I could do could make it any worse so I could do whatever I liked. I felt like frigging, and I was frigging when the Rising bell rang.

The others got up as usual but I would not get up until I had completed my exercise.

"Are you all right? Should I call Matron?"

Marina asked, and then realising whispered: "Golly, don't get caught or you'll be for it." I seized my pleasure and weak-legged got out of bed and dressed myself.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815431

If you're going to copypasta spam a thread, at least sage in the process.

[Anonymous No.]

But it wasn't a question of what I wanted any more. It was the conspiracy of hand and quim that demanded the touching. I swore before Christ and all His angels that I wouldn't touch myself again; but my fingers and quim had sworn no oath and would not be bound by mine: they were ravenous for each other. They managed the matter discreetly — I'm sure that even the closest scrutiny could not have made out the cycle of my hand beneath the sheet — and my soul was transported on the breaking wave of pleasure — such self-extinguishing intensity of bliss; and afterwards self-ravished, heart pounding, sweating, sighing in satiation, the guilt, the state of sin overwhelmed me: I had sworn and broken the oath at the very same moment, and now I was damned. I lay a long time in the darkness on my back. I folded my hands across my breast as they would fold them when they put me in my coffin, and imagined Hell. After a while, recognizing for the first time that I, my very own self, was going to die, I was dazzled by the blaze of my own mortality, and groaned aloud and had to look away.

[Anonymous No.]

For a while, after I disclosed her secret, Marina was too shy to frig in bed before the Rising bell. Most mornings I woke early and whiled away the time, in pleasure, waiting for the bell. And then when I was lying on my side, facing towards Marina's bed, one Summer morning, discreet, beginning the sequence of devotions that would punctuate my day, I saw her stir, look drowsily towards my bed, turn over on her left side — and so thrilled I wanted to sing, cry out, to gather up all my strength and halloo at the top of my voice with happiness, I watched her right arm moving, almost imperceptibly, linked, it seemed, telepathically with mine; and I willed it to be my fingers at her quim, hers in mine. And though she seemed not to know it, we shared the ecstasy together.

On the back of the photograph:

From Marina to Meg, with all my love.
xxxxxxxxXXXXXXX June 1954.

[Anonymous No.]

In the weeks that followed I spent most of my free time alone in the two places in school where there was any privacy, the lavatories, and the chapel, and there I spent hours, in solitary ecstasy, experimenting with myself, hard and soft, quick and slow, plumbing, at first with tentative fingers, the limits of my quim.

Sometimes I would leave my knickers off and spend the day smiling enigmatically, sitting demurely, with my hands folded in my lap. Somehow my whole body had become sensitive: aware of the slightest brushing of a sleeve against my arm, a cat's-paw breeze in my hair; and by that time the slightest movement, the tensing of one finger of the hand resting in my lap was enough to dislodge the pebble that dislodged others in the fall, cascading into one more variation on the theme of bliss.

The days were dreams of pleasure, but at night I would awake to Hell. At first I simply lay, in the coffin posture, sweating in horror, but then one night, sore and satiated though I was, I frigged until I came, in defiance.

[Anonymous No.]

I have a story about my ex-friend
He believed he was the centre of the universe. He said he was going to be a film director He said he was 'realistic' enough to expect that he'd probably end up directing for tv . He wrote putrid, cliched scripts. In general a horrible person. He was 18 when I last saw him and about to change his surname by deed poll to 'Ledger' Yes, he loved The Dark Knight

He told me a story about this kid called Tom that was arrogant towards him and his friends in junior school (for non britfags, age 8-11). My ex-friend took a massive disliking to this person, to the point that in all his scripts he would write, the main person would be called Tom. Fucking pretentious twat.

[Anonymous No.]

My first lover was very experienced. The times him and I have had were wonderful and I learned a great many things. My second lover was a complete and total newb. I became addicted. The teaching of different methods, the teaching of how to have sex, the teaching of how to just go nuts, became an addiction. In some scenarios people would say I should become a domm, but I don't enjoy the pain, just the teaching and the control. I haven't made any virgins eat ciggarette butts, or whipped them, or done anything like that. I just made them learn. Learn how to please, and it feels wonderful.

My favorite quote is from the movie kids, "Virgins, I love em!". Albiet that the kid in that movie was a complete shithead. Also for the record I am disease free, I got nothing, didn't catch anything from my first lover, and since then I have been with nothing but virgins. I have been tested. Many times. Just in case. I'm clean.

How many virgins you might ask? At this point 58. Now that I'm at 23, well, pickings are getting somewhat slim. I mean you can't go for the under 18 year old virgins(unless you're a teacher I guess) and not be called a pedofile. So I go for only those that are of age 18 and above. I have many things to teach and teach them I do. I roll through myspace, okcupid, as well as other sites waiting for my next person to teach.

I just want to give, and as they learn, receive in kind. I have only had one man who has ever had any other lover but me. As for the virgins, I teach them, hang with them a bit, and set them on their way. Some have confessed love. I let them down easy and again, sent them on their way.

I snipe virgins. I hunt them, and make them mine for a time. Am I a predator?

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815416
Sounds a bit like me, and I probably would have done the same or worse (since it was over a period of time). I'm just extremely self-protective and I get pissed as hell even when small shit happens, though I don't show it.

I'm perfectly calm on the internet, though. I can really give less of a fuck.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815167
That sounds like such BS that even I have trouble believing it. And I believe in witches and ask a vampire anything threads on /x/.

[Anonymous No.]

Stop posting already. /jp/ is bad enough as it is.

[Anonymous No.]

Back when we used to sleep around, we really got to know the city. Heading for a party, we'd throw into our leather bag the contact lens case, wetting solution, diaphragm or packet of Enovid, clean underwear, and money for cab fare home. Who knew where we'd spend the night? Who cared? If a guy was cute, funny, articulate, and had his own place—or at least his own room—we took a gamble. Morningside Heights, Greenwich Village, or the areas below Houston that didn't yet have names all harbored rumpled beds, instant coffee, and men—boys, really—with fuzz on their cheeks, little aluminum-foil packets of hash in their pockets, and irrepressible penises calling our name.

[Anonymous No.]

But those were different times—the years before AIDS, before we understood the impact of herpes, human papilloma virus, and other insidious STDs. A guy who couldn't knock you up could still disappear without warning; a girl with a prescription for the Pill hadn't necessarily filled it. In some ways it was a brave new world, in others the same old shit: Men did the asking, and women had the right to refuse. A girl could make the first move, and might even get laid, but if it wasn't his idea in the first place, the guy was likely to wander off.

[Anonymous No.]

Ménages à trois (I've had exactly three) can be sublime, ridiculous fun—playful, giggling, shrieking, moaning, ambidextrous, octopus utopias. I've buried my previously straight face in a former rival's creamy, studded stubble, been boldly fisted by my best friend, and demonstrated my lapping, swirling gustatory technique on her boyfriend, to the concentrated glee of all. The sheer strangeness of the couplings and recouplings, the Möbius-strip madness of possibilities—her on him on me—it slides you in and out of time. Jealousy and possessiveness are unimaginable when pleasure is so multifariously available.

But enough about the zipless threesome. Ultimately it's a decadent pastime, the tequila buzz of a night or two. Far darker, far more perverse, far more consuming, is a more common French connection: the love triangle. You know you've done it: lunged for the same girl or guy as a friend, hooked up with your best friend's ex, looked longingly over your lover's shoulder at another couple, transfixed by their absorption in each other, trying to catch the other's eye. Who do you really want? Which one do you want to be?

[Anonymous No.]

I guess I was sort of bullied in elementary school but it ended once I went into ragemode and beat this guy up. The adrenaline and proposterone rush felt so good.

[Anonymous No.]

"Mimetic desire," my mother explained. "You want someone because someone else wants them, especially if that other person is close to you." I was only 15, staying up late nights flirting on the phone with my close friend Sarah's boyfriend Paul, while his best friend Matthew pined for me, sending smoldering glances across the schoolyard. My mother, the novelist, shed light on my histrionics with help from the literary theory of René Girard. Desire, he wrote, is best understood not as a subject-object relationship, but as a triangulation: subject-model-object. The model, of course, is also your rival for the object, who is also a subject with triangulated lusts of her own. Here's where things get brutal.

My own tangle unraveled in a series of moments that, years later, are still charged with heat. One autumn afternoon I found myself kissing Matthew in Paul's bedroom. Then, on a freezing December camping trip, under a brittle gibbous moon, I silently suckled Paul's fingers, pressed against him as Sarah slept next to us in their two-man tent. And most vividly, one night while the adults drank cocktails below, the four of us lay in Sarah's bedroom, lights off, playing a game of Truth. Matthew's fingers wandered across my belly, his breath was on my neck, but my hand trailed down off Sarah's canopy bed to find Paul's in the dark.

Eventually, it had to come undone: the friendships ruined, the romances both tiresome, drawn-out sulks. But Matthew, prince of petulance, still wanted my virginity, and he knew just how to get it: by breaking Paul's confidence to tell me exactly how our ex-friends had given it up to each other—the stolen condoms, the stolen hour, even the words they spoke when the deed was done. It was a tease, a challenge, and a feat of triangulation I can never forget.

[Anonymous No.]

The first time I saw the brother he was walking slowly down the hall. This seemed to be his trademark. When I shared my thoughts with the sistas, they all looked at me like, Girl, you have got to be kidding!

"What?" I, laughing, asked. "He has dreads, he speaks with intelligence, he can read, and he writes for a major publisher. He has a job; he's an artist, a musical genius. So what if he walks kind of slow, and talks in a way that only a career ex-con could understand? Uh-oh, he's married, isn't he?"

[Anonymous No.]

He was my mentor (on the low), he shared his thoughts (some of them), I shared my food (some of it). He invited me to hear his band; I went every chance I got. I took on his mannerisms, started dressing like him, spitting information I didn't know was inside of me; I had mad knowledge. I didn't realize how serious my transformation was becoming.

"Damn, girl, you look and act just like . . . " I started laughing. I guess I do kinda, sorta. . . . I was reading his books, his stories, listening to his music, and there would be times I'd just sit and contemplate life . . . just like I'd seen him do. I even respected his wifey, yo, she was mad cool, a talent all by herself and she had this brother . . . she got serious props.

I came to realize it wasn't gonna happen. I was much too intimidated to let him know how I really felt, and he was married. So I got married, and moved on.

I saw the brother the other day; I found out he's divorced. Yo, my heart still beats faster, and my mind's always thinking of things to say to keep him talking.

[Anonymous No.]

I was 19, in my first year of art school, drifting from one genius muse to the next. Brad was a tall, slim, ethereal mess with a razor-thin goatee, a penchant for Basquiat and Artaud, and the attitude of a cool gangster.

We waited on the deserted subway-station platform, glancing at each other until he nervously broke the ice and asked me what I was carrying. "It's a video camera," I replied. We talked about art. He told me he was a poet and suggested we work together, scratching his number onto a torn piece of cardboard with a fountain pen. Three weeks later I phoned him.

[Anonymous No.]

"I was expecting your call today," he said. I was overcome. That night I took him to a gallery opening and asked him to help me direct a student play. He stared into my eyes with an inescapable, sexually ambiguous boyish charm.

He wrote me letters for months, even though we were together all the time. He named us "the Official Hooligans." We turned the play from an episode of Beverly Hills 90210 into an avant-garde experiment, the main character bathing in offal as she descended into madness. Meanwhile, his lingering stares slowly progressed to brushing his hand against mine, moving his leg closer to mine under the table.

After the closing-night party, we lay under the summer stars in a hammock. In a moment of silence I leaned over and kissed his cheek. He turned his face and met my lips with his and we kissed softly. He moved his hand up over my chest to my cheek. I slid my hand down over his taut stomach and into his loose boxer shorts. We made love for the first time.

The next morning as he left he said, "I'm probably going to be quite distant now." I never saw him again.

[Anonymous No.]

I was the bully in both elementary and middle school but the tables turned when I began going to highschool. There was a large imbalance of children I did not know as most of my middleschool peers were going elsewhere for secondary schooling. I failed to establish myself in a position of social power in freshman year for multiple reasons; the short answer was that there was already semblance of social order amongst the others and they were reluctant to merge with any of us.

Basically I was part of the super-group of social leftovers. For the first year and a half I was picked on occasionally. Nothing direct and I wasn't targeted specifically. The bullying was very vague in that anyone who wasn't immediate friends with the "cool" group got fucked with in one way or another. A few worse, a few hardly at all. I had to of been somewhere in between.

Long story short, I found 4chan during the summer of my sophmore year and began the quick decline into complete social isolation. No one bothered me after grade 11, as I was rarely around and didn't give the slightest fuck. I think I may have unknowingly "bullied" a few in my last two years... By then I was an overall prick anyways. I wasn't part of a group or anything while doing it, don't get the wrong idea. Some kids were just loud, stupid and childish and frankly deserved whatever I put them down for.

[Anonymous No.]

Kiki doesn't look like the kind of girl who'll do anything, anywhere, anytime. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who will leave a gushing note for her celebrity crush and receive a call from her within an hour. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who will have sex anywhere—while she's driving, on a plane, in many a bar's bathroom. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who will jump up and follow a woman into the bathroom at Time Café to see if she is, in fact, Natalie Merchant. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who will have a threesome with you and the boy you like, even though she's really into girls. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who will participate in a contest that involves rubbing her breasts up and down along a huge block of ice. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who, at the drop of a hat, will say, Yes, I'll be in your friend's porn movie. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who will ask you to choke her, demand that you spank her, beg you to scratch your nails, hard, down her back. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who will get drunk and press you up against the bathroom wall at your high school reunion, then flirt with your classmates. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who will follow her heart, wherever it leads, no matter how crazy or outrageous or reckless. The best thing about her is that she doesn't look like she will do any of these things, but she will do them all, and always be ready for more.

[Anonymous No.]

I went to see him in Chicago two years later. We had Greek dinner with my family—fleshy overcooked lamb and deep-fried cheese. He wanted pasta. We sat close and uneasy. I looked at him with a fixed grin and glassy eyes. He charmed my little girl cousins but not my Greek uncle. After dinner we dropped the family off and walked to a police bar.

The locals were sauced. A cop danced on the bar. A woman walked toward us with a stutter, tipping her martini glass. He pretended we were married. I went along with it, even slipped my gold ring from my right hand to left. We stayed until the dancing cop was slumped on the bar.

We walked back to my aunt's house, his arm hugging my shoulder. Everyone was asleep. He took off my clunking boots. We lay on the leather sofa cringing from the sound two bodies make against leather. His arm snaked around my waist, his head on my chest. His mouth parted in sleepy gasps, my heart pounding in what-the-fuck. We moved against each other for warmth and for wondering what happened. We lay still. He grew heavy. I grew tired of his weight. I rolled to the floor with my head on his lap.

He brought me closer, lifted my arms to his shoulders, my body to his. Tired and looking for a fit, I moved my legs to his waist. We grazed face to face but thought better of it. We fell back asleep breathing what used to be until 4:30 became too late for napping and too late for us.

I walked him to the door and didn't kiss his cheek, knowing the dinner we talked about having would turn into a phone call of sorry and a mouthful of not mine.

[Anonymous No.]

I was bullied often in elementary school and a little bit in middle school. Once high school came around no one cared what other people were doing. Everyone just thought I was a quiet, but funny, person.

[Anonymous No.]

I had been looking forward to this moment for years. Ever since I lost my virginity—at 16, on the floor of a college dorm—this had become my sexual Holy Grail. The calves balanced against my collarbones belonged to a girl I was falling in love with. She was smart, silly, sexy, and loving, with big lips and a perfect ass. For the moment, she was below me, perched on the sofa's edge, asking me to give it to her harder. Her lips were moist and slightly parted in that way of hers. Breasts bounced in syncopation with my every thrust. "So how did it feel?" she asked afterward, during our post-coital recap.

"It was amazing," I said.

"Really? Better than regular sex?"

I looked at her. Something in me dropped. "What do you mean?"

"You were just in my ass. Didn't you realize?"

"Uhh . . . " Great. Nice work. Biggest watershed in my sexual career, the culmination of a decade's worth of masturbatory fantasies, and I missed it. All those years of ogling ripe peaches gift-wrapped in denim, thinking nasty thoughts. Thousands of women bending over, reaching for the bottom shelf, leaning, arching, just beckoning to be penetrated from the rear. And finally, when the moment arrives, I seize it, and yet somehow miss it. Had I assumed that anal sex would have to be served up doggy-style? Had I been distracted by how she seemed to like it harder than usual? Was it some strange anatomical gift she possessed, to be equally penetrable in both orifices?

[Anonymous No.]

I found out that an integral part of anal sex is knowing that you're having it. Even something as distinctly carnal as sodomy takes place predominantly in your head.

[Anonymous No.]

From the back he looked like a woman—full hips, even a little bit of cellulite. If it is possible for a man to be Rubenesque, he was. Because he was terribly self-conscious about his weight, I never told him that he was not my first fat boyfriend. He was certainly the fattest. People cringed when they saw him walking down the aisle of airplanes: "Please, don't sit next to me." When I was with him, they looked at me as if to say, "Look, it's King Kong and Fay Wray." What was it? He was the opposite of agile. In fact, in bed, we were limited to two positions in which his tummy didn't come between us: me on top and me with my heels on his shoulders. But our limited menu was more than made up for by the fact that I found the contrast of his gruffness with the vulnerability of his pale, quivering flesh absolutely irresistible. His presence was almost entirely alien: something other than the human body, both more and less earthly. He did stand-up comedy in his spare time, and when I went to see him once, he did a bit about chubby chasers. At home we got into a huge fight. "I can't believe that you would insinuate that I'm a—whatever you call it, a chubby chaser."

Over the course of our relationship, he lost about 70 pounds. At his lowest point, we broke up. A few months after we had pulled the plug, we had a go-over-it dinner; he ran his fork over his entrée, a simple green salad. The last time I saw him was the cab ride home, when he put his arm around me and said tenderly, "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even know what a chubby chaser was." "Confession," I said, squeezing a handful of flesh on his belly, which I loved, and which, in spite of his weight loss, was still pillowy and spilled over the waistband of his pants. "I knew what that was. Even before."

[Anonymous No.]

We skipped the Grand Canyon 'cause it cost 10 bucks to park (then spent the money in a frenzy at Pizza Hut), so it wasn't like we were being extravagant or anything. But it was to be our first time (and my first, period), so we booked a room at the Luxor in Las Vegas on the first night of our first cross-country road trip—hilarious, we both agreed—and raced each other into the closet-sized marble shower to heat things up. This was good: tender and hot and soft and giddy and soapy and hard.

Then to thick white towels, furtive half-laughs, the closet-sized bed—and considerably less hardness. "Nerves," she sighed warmly. "A fucking goddamn cliché," I hissed. Take two: certainly wet, slightly firm, increasingly tetchy. So we took an intermission, walking down the Strip giggling—she a study in ease, me an easy study—then pausing for $27 French toast. Like a damn Disney dad, this is what I remember now.

Checkout was at 11. We tried again at dawn's early light, and it was good again: slow and meaningful and, surprisingly, nothing like the particular Ginuwine song I'd expected. Then the phone rang; no way we're answering that shit. Then a knock at the door; we'll reuse the stupid towels. Then banging on the door connecting to the adjacent room, where three security guards were preparing to bust it down because I checked us out on the TV and it's already past 11 and this is Vegas and I guess only dead people try to lose their virginity before noon on a beautiful day at the end of summer. Hilarious, we both agreed.

[Anonymous No.]

forgive english, i am Russia.

i come to study Mechanical Engineering at American university. i am here little time and i am very hard stress. i am gay also and this very difficult for me, i am very religion person. i never act to be gay with other men before. but after i am in america 6 weeks i am my friend together he is gay also. He was show me American video game and then we are kiss.

We sex together. I never before now am tell my mother about gay because i am very shame. As i fuck this American boy it is very good to me but also i am feel so guilty. I feel extreme guilty as I begin orgasm. I feel so guilty that I pick up my telephone and call Mother in Russia. I awaken her. It too late for stopping so I am cumming sex. I am very upset and guilty and crying, so I yell her, "I AM CUM FROM SEX" (in Russia). She say what? I say "I AM CUM FROM SEX" and she say you boy, do not marry American girl, and I say "NO I AM CUM FROM SEX WITH MAN, I AM IN ASS, I CUM IN ASS" and my mother very angry me. She not get scared though.

I hang up phone and am very embarrass. My friend also he is very embarrass. I am guilt and feel very stupid. I wonder, why do I gay with man? But I continue because when it spurt it feel very good in American ass.

[Anonymous No.]

Woah...........

It's like the guys is trying to be as cancerous as suigin spamming this.

I guess I can admire the fact that you love /jp/ so much you're willing to spend all this time spamming but you're causing more harm than you think.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815261
kakoi

[Anonymous No.]

Yeah how did that work out for you OP? You fucking loser hahaha..hah...ha.......

[Anonymous No.]

Some of those kopipe were pretty good.

[Anonymous No.]

what are some of the ways you've combated the normie thread recently?

I threw a brand new normiephone off a cliff into the pacific ocean

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815623,4
sorry I meant thread not thread

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815623,5
threat

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815623,5
>>6815623,6
fuck

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815623,4
>>6815623,5
>>6815623,6

Sent from my iPhone 5S.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815623,8
it was a galaxy S5 actually

[Anonymous No.]

Aeka's route was stupid as fuck if you were actually bullied. It's like how some subhuman normal envisions bullying to be like.

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815167
>>settle out of court with two of them receive $200,000
>>The other two don't want to settle and their families are forced to pay $250,000
>>The parents of one is forced to sell their home to pay for it

>blacks kept down 'by the man'
>able to afford $100k
>own houses
holy fuck greentext in 2011 wasn't convincing at all

[Anonymous No.]

>>6815623,11
it was a funny joke way back then before the spergs took it seriously