Freedom does not fear isolation. You are free if you are able to withdraw from others, seeking not their care, their celebrity, their charm, their companionship, their company, their compassion, their concern, their conversation, their curiosity. Surely, freedom must always be balanced with, weighed against, responsibility, but your responsibilities have been conscientiously, methodically, scrupulously eliminated, rendering you free to pursue your only commitment, your only obsession, your only passion – porn.

Except in the context of the porn to which you listen, the porn you watch, the porn you write in virtual environments, realising sexual fulfilment in concealment and invention, rather than in honesty and reality, you have no need, no want for, quotidian social connection, interaction, interruption. You are free if in silence and in solitude, you find serenity rather than loneliness in masturbating, rubbing, stroking, bringing yourself to the verge of orgasm, ejaculation, then backing off. Hour after hour, day after day, edging, submitting, surrendering, then denying, refusing.

If you cannot live alone, be alone, stimulate yourself – always alone, to relinquish self-control, then retain it – you were born a slave to another. There are only two tragedies in the life of a porn addict – not getting want you want, and getting it. As I seek always the extreme – the dirty, nasty, filthy – though I have always been socially anti-social, with only one goal in any and every social encounter – sucking cock, swallowing cum, licking and tonguing yummy buttholes – availing of any and every ejaculation and elimination of men – I have grown to prefer consensual, voluntary slavery, sex and toilet.

We choose our teachers; they do not choose us. I chose my my father, especially, my mother, too, to guide me towards a destiny I was born to fulfil. As their only daughterson, an undeniable sissy, all I wanted was to be a faggot, then a slut, then a whore. I have never regretted that decision. Clearly, it has lead me where I wanted to be, where I had no choice but to be.

As my parent's only daughterson, with three normal boy brothers, I always wanted sisters, girls with whom I could be a girl, the girl I wanted to be. My consolation in never being, fully, the girl I wanted to be, was that my parents both took complete advantage of my naturally submissive nature as a born sissy faggot.

My father, a closeted homosexual, nurtured my innate sissyqueer behaviours, desires, needs, wants. From my mother's breasts, nursing her milk, as a baby, I went directly to my father's cock, sucking it, for its much more luscious cream, his cum. After years of preparation, years of begging for it, he fucked me, full insertion, his balls slapping against the cheeks of my sissy butt, on my seventh birthday.

My mother knew about my father and me. She encouraged it. Even before my father fucked me for real, not just the head of his big cock, while my brothers were out doing boy things, she would suck and fuck other men in front of me, inviting me to clean her up, to clean up her men, after sex. After my seventh birthday, she persuaded her men to fuck me, too. Needless to convey, I was delighted.