“So, what did they do to bring you down after playing,” he had asked. I’d only met him online recently, this new man that I had found interesting. It had been several weeks since my last experience with an older man, the first older man I had chosen to be with in real life. That had gone differently than I had expected. He had used me hard and all but raped me. But then, he tossed me out and I had felt so fucking bad afterward. I just hated myself, felt wrong, and just seriously questioned everything about me. Self-worth, identity, I felt like abandoned garbage. I had often felt bad after some online roleplays, especially the violent or intense ones, but it was also over quick. I would wake up and I’d feel ok. The sugar high of the play was followed by a drop. I knew that. This had felt more intense, deeper, and I had struggled to cope with it.

Thankfully, though I didn’t feel better in a day, after a couple weeks I settled back into my old routines. I existed only for school and my parents during the day. Then, for a brief time most nights, I was bad online. I started roleplaying again, camming. But it felt empty. I wanted it for real and even though it was dangerous, I started craving something real again. I thought about contacting the older man that had raped me but decided against it. He had clearly cared nothing for me and that made him risky. I needed more than that. I didn’t know what, but I needed to be used.

I created a new craigslist profile and started hunting online for older men. Online had directed me to older, but it was honestly already an ingrained kink. My father had seen to that. Boys my age were ok, but they weren’t who I saw in my fantasies. I used all the right words to get attention. “Younger than 20”, “inexperienced”, “new to this”, “still in school”. Those words fished the people I wanted attention from. Needed from. Most, of course, asked if I was eighteen or legal. Sixteen was legal here. Of course, I was still 15. I whittled the responses quickly to those who weren’t too old (under fifty) and that seemed interesting. I contacted a few, emailing them back and forth. One was a complete misogynist, so I ruled him out immediately (yes, I know the irony here). One seemed cold. He wanted to hurt me but gave off serial killer vibes. He was probably just awkward, but I didn’t want to be crazy.

The last. The last was him. Jack. We chatted a few times, exchanging our details. He was hesitant about my age. Not because he thought I was too young, just risky. When he found out I was nearing sixteen, he felt better, and it was clear to both of us that things were moving in the right direction. I verified some pics for him and he did the same. Then, one night while messaging, we started to play. He had me teasing my nipples, rubbing my clit. I was wet, soaked, nothing new to me but it all felt good. Having a normal conversation except I was playing with myself under his direction. It felt good. And then he had asked about it.

“So, what did they do to bring you down after playing?” Jack asked. I hadn’t understood what he meant, fingering myself slowly as I leaned up, confused.

“I mean, guys usually talk down to me a lot online as part of the play, some after too but not most,” I answered.

“Keep rubbing, but don’t cum. Understand?” he told me. I said “Yes Sir” as I followed his direction. “What I mean is, after they’ve used you, played hard with you, how did they bring you back to being yourself?”

I had been confused. I’d had some ask me if I was ok after, but bringing me down to myself? I had no idea about that. I told him I didn’t understand, and he asked me something simple.

“Do you ever feel bad after play?”

“Yes,” I told him. I told him some of the times I had crashed after. I told him about the guy who wanted me to kill myself. I told him about the man from several weeks ago.

“And none of them gave you aftercare? Stroked your hair and said thank you? That you were a good girl?” I told him no, not really. Except for some of the nice Daddies. They had. But overall no. That led to a long conversation about Sub Drop, a bit about mental health, and the like. That was the moment I decided I was gonna fuck him. I told him I wanted to meet and even gave him my real phone number. Stupid, perhaps. But I wanted to be honest.

So, we made plans, and a week later he met me at McDonald’s. I had to walk there and was nervous, but when he came in, I knew I had made the right choice. He was built but not huge, with a full beard, just looking very much like a rugged country man. We chatted outside for a bit, but while he seemed more than patient, my teen self very much was not. I got in his truck (another very stupid action) and we drove off, to his home 30 minutes away. On the way there, we talked, but he also took control. He took my hand and told me to unzip him. I did, and slowly stroked him on the way down. On occasion he’d touch my chest, massaging me, telling me to spread my legs.