http://gurochan.net/dis Live RSS feed for http://gurochan.net/dis en'; http://gurochan.net/dis/res/11037.html#11040 Would that be considered asexual or something else?

]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/11033.html#11039
I don't understand this. What exactly did you do and what happened at the doctor?

"Another time, I tried to sever that little..thingy on my cock that connects the tip to the underside of the shaft. This one was because I very grossly misinterpreted a picture."

You tried to cut your frenulum? With what?


Self surgery should be avoided.

]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/11037.html#11038
I don't know what I'd call myself. I'll go with bisexual for the timebeing.

]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/11037.html http://gurochan.net/dis/res/10564.html ) linked me to the AVEN page ( http://www.asexuality.org/home/ ).

I've been struggling with trying to pin down exactly what my sexuality was for years, now. This page has helped me a great deal. I've not come to DEFINITE conclusions, yet, but for the time-being I'm going with calling myself a polyamorous-pansexual romantic-asexual.

Yes, all of that.

Now, as for the point of this thread. I'd like to know more about the asexuals on Guro, since I already know that they exist on here.

I'd just like to have a nice, friendly discussion with those of like mind. I haven't yet joined any discussions on AVEN - I wanted to start with those I already knew had similar interests.

I'll start off: I'm a /f/reak with /g/ tendencies. I do enjoy masturbation, as well as making my partner feel sexual pleasure. How about you?

]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/10653.html#11036 >>36
With a description like that, I'm almost tempted to try some of that shit. Haha. Oops, there goes my intellectual kink...

]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/11033.html#11035 Where's the discussion part? Are we just supposed to talk about how "insane" the OP is?

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]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/11033.html
Don't ask me why, because I dont know, but around 8 or 10 years old, I for some reason thought that I had in the past been able to split apart my balls by squeezing on them, and theyd reform. Kinda like mercury or something.

Well, I didnt actually succeed. Did get the weirdest doctor visit of my life though.

Im kinda an idiot. Because there are more. Like one time, I got a jar of sulfuric acid (Again dont ask me how, I have no idea) and tried to melt htings with it. Was dissapoitned. So I put it into a plastic cup, and poured pepsi in after. Again, complete dissapointment. So I picked it up.

It got exciting fast. Ive never seen a cup melt that fast. still have this two long, slightly dark scars across my hand. Oh, and I somehow lost the rest of the sulfuric acid.

Another time, I tried to sever that little..thingy on my cock that connects the tip to the underside of the shaft. This one was because I very grossly misinterpreted a picture.

And another time, I for whatever reason, accidently put my left hand in near boiling water. so now the fingernails are incredibly thing until half way down.

Oh and then there was the time I stole a speculum from my doctor's office. And used it TO BE FAIR! I was there because I had forgotten that giant coiled headphone cords are dangerous; i yank on it, it flew up and the jack slammed into my eye. I had to wear an eye patch for a week.

At this point, I basically assume I cant be killed by conventional weapons. Its what all the information suggests!

:D But I am completely insane, as you can tell. But every last word of this was absolutely true. And that is why I love gurochan. Also because my delightful aspergers led to me making this gigantic overly specific list of /s/ categorization... *Cough*..My friends call me "the only person on the internet who actually has aspergers." Which I think is supposed to be a compliment!

]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/10533.html#11032 >>8
Nevermind, found it. Saw II. I saw it in a high school computer class (we had a cool teacher) and I got so turned on by that one scene I had to leave the room for a minute. I excused myself as being scared, though.

]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/10653.html#11031
I have fantasies of driving a woman insane through combination of hitachi magic wands, sex machines and drugs. All types of drugs. I'm VERY pro-drug, not only sexually but intellectually. ANYTHING that changes your state of mind, be it drugs, meditation, severe pain or pleasure, I believe is very useful in developing one's own consciousness and inner self. As sad as it is, I do not believe the human mind can really be true to itself under the influence of peer pressure, social expectations, cultural norms, chemical imbalances, instinctual dissonance with higher intellect and logic, and all these other obstacles and barriers that fill our complicated world. I believe that drugs obliterate these barriers, and for a few hours you are closer to being yourself, or at least showcasing a PART of yourself that wouldn't otherwise be apparent to you. So being high on something can definately be an inner learning experience. It doesn't hurt that sex is 10 times better on it, either.

]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/10537.html#11030 >>29

I've never really met a straight girl who was anything but vanilla, so I wouldn't know in that category, but I know one bi and one lesbian who I'm pretty sure are both complete dom with no switch. But I digress, this is a bit off topic.

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]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/8400.html#11028
--

Only one girl has returned from Blackfoot Ranch. She's completely paralyzed, and able only to feel her environment. We outsiders cannot communicate with the sixteen year old, even by touch, because she cannot respond. Her name is Amber Smith-Raynes, from Colorado, and she's an enormous ethical dilemma. Her mind is healthy, but her body will hold her prisoner for as long as she lives.

The source of her predicament is an evil device nestled in her vagina. Remove this small, vibrating device, and she'll be freed to live her life unhindered, all five senses returned to her. She'll be young, healthy, attractive, held back only by psychological trauma. But remove the device, and every pain receptor in her body will fire in unison for as long as she lives. Doctors have found no way to disarm the hideous vibrator. She'll be alone with it for as long as she lives, trapped in an unresponsive body, isolated with her thoughts, unable to escape the slow dissolution of her identity.

Unless I agree to switch places with her. That's the note she arrived with. I'm no older than her, no saner than her, no better equipped to deal with her predicament. But her family is offering my family many millions of dollars if I perform the switch. All my brothers and sisters will go to school and live in luxury, free to pursue their dreams. My dad will receive the heart medication he needs to live. Unlike Amber, I've never been imprisoned at Blackfoot, I'm not immortal, death will some day put me out of my misery, should I take on her burden. Imagine the feats she'll achieve with her endless time on earth. The wisdom she'll accrue, the influence she'll garner. She may know from experience how to shut down Blackfoot Ranch, all the other victims could emerge from that dark hellhole, freed finally for rehabilitation.

I cannot morally refuse.

Today is the big day, butterflies churn in my stomach. I lie nude on the operating table, next to Amber, my pussy spread by forceps. I cannot help but lubricate in the excitement of the moment, my pretty pussy drools onto the table. They've shaved me for my big day, there can be no complications. I moan, a mixture of fear and arousal.

They withdraw the evil, brown device with a strict time limit. Unless the vibrator is buried in one of our pussies by the end of five minutes, we'll both succumb to the pain trap, and our lives will be forfeit. They've strapped me firmly to the table, I cannot back out. My decision has been made. Soon I'll be removed from the world, alone with my vibrator, left to wait for death. I'll go insane within weeks, complete social isolation takes a heavy toll on the human mind.

I begin to panic. I'm not ready. I don't want to do this. I scream into my gag, pulling helplessly on my tight restraints. My naked legs are spread wide and strapped in place, I can't even close my pussy. They hold the vibrator over me.

"Any last words?"

This is a joke. They won't remove my ballgag, and I'm clearly panicking anyway. One of the doctors ruffles my hair, like I'm his boyish little daughter. Everyone laughs.

"Good job, kid-o. Hang in there."

I moan with dread, squeezing the forceps with my pussy lips. They dangle the vibrator over me, I flail wildly against my restraints, shaking my head desperately. I'm sobbing hysterically, much to their amusement. Amidst my struggles, they slip the vibrator into my gaping pussy, before my horrified eyes.

The world goes dark, their voices fall silent. I can no longer smell the cleaning solution on the floor, nor taste the gag in my mouth. I am isolated. Just me and my vibrator. I cum quickly, the first of many, many orgasms ahead of me. Nobody on the outside will detect these orgasms, they're for me and for me alone to endure. I cannot wiggle to ease the pleasure, I cannot take a break from this overstimulation. I can only lie here for the rest of my life, descending further and further into madness, into an orgasmic hell.

I'm trapped here. This decision is irrevocable. I cannot beg them to remove the vibrator, to free me. I cannot change my mind. They don't even plan on removing my ballgag, someone said it looks cute in my mouth. I can't lick the ball, my tongue is paralyzed. In a way, I'm just the newest prisoner of Blackfoot Ranch.

I'm already lonely. Help me.

]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/8400.html#11027
]]> http://gurochan.net/dis/res/8400.html#11026
Blackfoot ranch, the place is called. There is no farm, there are no livestock. Just a small oak shack, leaning to the side, windows dark and dusty, porch rotting.

The closest I ever got was on January 12, 2004.

I saw the place from a mile off, through binoculars. I was alone, and I knew to venture no further. I could see the Fairbrooks girl, hanging noosed from the front gate, naked and bound. The noose clearly looped around her neck, its knot pulling up behind her left ear, fibers visibly constricting her neck. During the three hours of my stake-out, she never went still. The girl jerked and wiggled, bucking her legs, swaying to and fro. Her feet hovered several feet off the ground, there was no escape for the poor girl. And yet her struggles persisted.

Why she never succumbed, I cannot say.

But others have ventured further, and have told me their stories. Jake Marson from the Cherokee Motel pulled me close one night, his haggard eyes narrowed by alcohol. TWO WEEKS, he said. Two weeks in the bushes, lying nearly still, rifle by his side. He lived off trailix and water from his hideout right at the top of the hill, looking down on the ranch. The year was 1979, his daughter's best friend had gone missing. He never saw the ranch owners, but he saw many something else.

This was day four, deep in the morning. Red mist spilled from the valleys, rays cut across the landscape. He'd risen early to urinate, and was now on watch for his first shift of the day. He saw movement below, in the grey of the dawn. Something stumbled. He peered through his binoculars, and slowly his eyes made sense of what they saw.

She was no more than eighteen, her body still slender and firm in its youth. She was naked, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, proud little breasts erect in the cold. She seemed unstable, and as she turned his way, he saw her face.

Sewn. Completely sewn up. Mouth sewn, eyes sewn. Ears plugged. Her eyebrows were drawn up in desperation, sewn lips wobbling with sealed emotion. She stumbled because she had no feet, and no hands. He heard rustling nearby, and he ducked away into his shelter. When he looked up again she'd vanished. Drag-marks led to the storm door, below which the Blackfoot dungeon presumable spiraled down, down into the earth.

Even with her orifices sewn, he'd recognized her. The girl was Shirley Graham, abducted in 1941, aged sixteen at the time. She hadn't aged.

He kept watch with renewed vigilance after that morning, and a week later his vigilance paid off. He saw his daughter's friend. At first he couldn't believe the shape he saw below was a human girl. The object was roughly beach-ball sized, and spherical. Its surface was lumpy, but nothing protruded. Only after the thing rolled closer, tugged by some unseen force, could he understand what he saw.

Her arms and legs had been cut off, and her limbless torso folded back. Stacy's spine arched until the back of her head lay on her pretty butt, forming a compact ball of human agony. A gleaming chain emerged from her anus to disappear down her mouth, its thick links bulging in her throat. He could only assume the chain continued all the way through her intestines and stomach, threading the poor girl all the way through. Her protruding ribs swelled in and out with each desperate, helpless breath, until the same unseen force tugged her little body back behind the house.

Only later did he realize she'd been on display, for him.

I've heard other stories. Martha from the post office got her daughter's pussy in the mail. Darla Stinson, a young reporter from Chicago, walked into the shack while her boyfriend looked on from afar. Sarah Tanaka hung crucified out front through most of 2001. Twenty middle school girls disappeared into the hills during a school camping trip. A young local teen surrendered herself to the ranch as a form of suicide in 2008. All are presumably still alive, trapped deep underground, naked and alone, some gruesomely modified, some forever denied breath, some subjected to tortures too creative to imagine.

All who venture there fail to return, and so the mystery endures.

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