Sun Oct 25 2020

Good morning. It’s 7:32AM and I woke up about 15 minutes ago. I had a couple sales overnight, one of which was a cardd that I listed just yesterday.

Sex sells!

I am pleased when I get cards like this, because I know it’s going to sell quickly. This is an uncommon (UC) card. I sold this one for $8 which is $1 higher than I sell most uncommon cards for. I usually add an additional $1 for cards which feature bikini babes, or are really cute.

This card is the first I have seen which features a g-string bikini. So sexy! I got a little turned on the first time I saw this card!

Thongs are my fetish. They’re basically the hottest underwear one could wear. Do you know how fetishes are created? I have heard that fetishes develop as children through traumatic events. So for me, the traumatic events I can think of which involved underwear were when I would play with my sister’s barbies. One time my mom caught me playing with a Barbie’s bikini. I dressing and undressing the Barbie, and closely inspecting the tiny clothing. I became scared and ashamed and I quickly set the tiny bikini down.

My mom said something like, “it’s okay to see underwear if it’s not on a person” or something like that. At the time, I don’t think it helped me feel any better about being caught, but that moment stuck with me.

I think religion amplified my feelings of shame revolving underwear. I was raised Mormon by parents who were very serious about it. In sunday school, I was repeatedly taught to dress modestly, and avoid wearing extreme clothing.

I considered thongs to be extreme clothing. In my mind, they became a forbidden fruit that was immensely attractive.

As I went through middle and high school, the rare sighting of a girl’s g-string equated to the highest form of ecstasy. One glance and the image would be burnt into my mind for the rest of the week. I’d go fap crazy, imagining raiding the girl’s panty drawer, and rubbing their soft undies against the base of my penis until I came.

I was always too shy to buy thongs in-person. Eventually I found how easy it was to buy thongs online, and from that moment on, I amassed a huge collections of these fetish wear.

I was so ashamed to have them. I took great care in hiding them so that my mom wouldn’t happen upon them as I did my laundry. Eventually, I slipped up and my mom did discover one, and must have thrown it in the trash.

Slowly, my secret quit being so secret. When I lived in Eugene, I had a roommate who discovered my stash one day, and thought it was the funniest thing. He found a box in my closet which was stuffed with thongs of all types. Women’s thongs, men’s thongs, it didn’t matter. Either one would satisfy my sexual desire.

I would buy a new thong every few weeks. For me, thongs were better than porn. I didn’t need porn to get off, I just needed to slip into a tight thong that threaded through my ass cheeks and pressed up against my perinium. The better it hugged my nether bits, the harder I would get.

When I first started collecting, I was young and stupid. I was so afraid of being caught, that I wouldn’t wash my thongs after wearing them. Being in the wash meant that they would be away from my person. They would be unguarded and possibly found by someone else. I’m disgusted to say it, but that dresser drawer became a real stinky place. I would open the drawer and my nose and eyes would instantly be assaulted with a foul odor.

Eventually I said enough is enough. I trashed most of what I had and discreetly washed my favorites by placing them inside thigh pockets of cargo pants.

More recently, the appeal of thongs has diminished. My lifestyle which involves sitting at my desk for long ours has resulted in me developing an itchy skin condition in my rectal area. Thongs don’t feel as good as they once did. Wearing them for short durations are tolerable, but all day is out of the question.

The appeal that thongs had as a forbidden clothing item is subdued as well. I now know that there are other men who appreciate thongs similarly to me. It’s not even necessarily a homosexual thing like I first thought– butts just have lots of nerve endings which can make for a good time!

Then there’s the secret aspect which gave the activity of wearing g-strings an extra charm. It’s not a secret anymore. My mom has found my sexy underwear in the laundry several times. As a reminder, my mom does not do my laundry. I do my laundry, but there have been times when I forgot about my laundry in the washer, and she moved my clothes over to the dryer so she could start a load of her own.

She never says anything about it. I get it. It’s an uncomfortable thing to talk about. Why talk about it at all if there’s no need? I’m just grateful that she doesn’t throw away my property anymore.

This feels strange to write about. Not writing about my sexual fetishes, but bringing my mom into the equation. It’s not like I want her to find my g-strings in the washing machine. I have become very good about being prompt about moving my laundry from washer to dryer, and yet she’ll still get involved somehow.

There was a frustrating incident a few weeks ago where through no fault of my own, someone cut in line and started their own load of laundry before I had finished mine, revealing three of my TxM thongs which were previously my secret.

Frustrating indeed. I wrote about it at length in another post.

Anyway, the point I was wanting to get to was that talking about my sexual fetish seems to lessen it’s power. It becomes less of a fetish, and more of a baggage. Eh, maybe baggage is too stronk of a word. Maybe it just gets downgraded from fetish to kink.

My whole reason for auto-publishing my journal entries was to build confidence in myself. I have these thoughts and behaviors, and I want to talk about them. I want to be at a place where I don’t have to hide. I want to be genuine, unique and open about who I am. I want to surround myself with people who not only accept me, but think similarly and find me interesting. I don’t have that right now, and it sucks.

I feel lonely 6 out of 7 days of the week. I think I used to be unaware about the loneliness I felt. I think I shoehorned myself into relationships where I would feel accepted, but the person I was exposing in those relationships was a false persona.

I’m shedding that false persona, and it feels wonderful as I let it go. At the same time, it feels incredibly scary to start over. I feel like I don’t have a friend in the world who accepts me and loves my true personality.

Maybe I’m overthinking it. I seem to come back to this issue of my sexuality, and I mistake my sexuality for being my true personality. There is likely a strong connection between the two, but the two are not the same.

It’s not like every friend I have needs to be aware of my sexuality. It’s not like I want that, either. I have more thinking to do on this. Maybe I can explore this a little further in my next journal entry.

For now, I’m going to wrap this up. I’m thinking of going outside and grabbing a snow shovel. I want to get some exercise, and clear a path to my parent’s basement door so I can do laundry later.

But before that, I think it’s time for some breakfast.

But before that, I think it’s time for some gratitude!

But before that… affirmations!

but before… no there’s nothing before that you fuckhead! 😛

63. I choose to let the past go and move on to the future.
64. Today, I will be courageous.
65. I release all fear from my mind.

I’m grateful for the introspective reflection that I do when I write in my journal. It’s so therapeutic and so necessary for my personal growth!

I’m grateful for this peaceful time. Relatively peaceful. Every now and then, I hear of a riot going on. I haven’t personally witnessed any of it. My town and neighborhood are doing okay and I’m so grateful for that.

I’m grateful for my pomodoro timer. It has truly been a blessing to discover it, and incorporate the work/break paradigm into my life.

Opportunity, Excelsior, and G-Strings!

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