‘’You look burnt out, love,’’ my uni lecturer said to me many years ago in a private heart-to-heart, ‘’I think a gap year would be ideal for you to take some time out for the uni work.’’
Little did she know, I was handling the uni work fine; it was my encroaching porn addiction and late-night Gooning sessions that were turning me into an exhausted, red-eyed mess. Still, a gap year sounded fun to a 19-year-old Catherine!
Her words would trigger an adventure that would see me resorting to some genuinely feral and primal forms of Gooning and a prime example of what happens when a sordid little whore like me is denied porn for more than 24 hours. Now, prepare for my confession.
Table of Contents
Where it all Went Wrong
The year was rapidly approaching the 2010s, and on a student’s budget, I planned an eight-week summer trip across Latin America. Bear in mind, this was an era before smartphones allowed us to have porn at the push of a button.
The solution? A hard drive pre-loaded with filth that would allow me to Goon on the road. It was a solution that sadly wasn’t watertight. On a bus between Medellin and Cartagena in Colombia, I reached my final destination to find that one of my bags had been pinched en route.
Fuck the clothes and the souvenirs, I had them in my carry-on bag. The heartbreak hit when I realized that my porn wallet had been stolen, too. What followed was weeks dry of porn. It seems hard to imagine now, and it wasn’t even that long ago, but finding smut in the remote corners of a foreign land was a fuckin’ nightmare.
”It wasn’t porn, but the smell of cock sweat and pussy grool was more than enough to make my slit wail!”
I’m not afraid to admit that it was like going cold turkey. I was irritable, shaking, and genuinely ravenous for the dopamine rush of hardcore filth, and it was impossible to find. I could find some on my laptop, but most of the hostels I stayed in either had no Wi-Fi or it was far too slow.
Ironically, it would be those very hostels that would produce an impromptu source of feral goon fuel. Now, allow me to spill the lube on precisely what I mean!
Overheard Sex in Backpacker Hostels
Compared to what I’m like today, I was an awkward bitch as a student. I preferred my own company to that of socializing with others, all of which changed when I got my ASD diagnosis and was finally able to navigate the neurotypical world. The latter of which I cover in perverse detail in my infamous Little Black Book, which you can read here.
While I’d love to say I was getting railed in every hostel bed I slept in, I’d be lying. At that age, I was far more obsessed with porn, although that would begin to shift dramatically later on in the trip, as I’ll explain shortly.
The same can’t be said for others, though. I’d hear them in almost every hostel I stayed at. They’d put a towel around their bunk and fuck quietly, gradually getting louder as the passion took hold. Initially, I was envious as my porn-ravenous cunt craved cock relentlessly. In the end, I desperately began using their moans as Goon Fuel.
I’d listen intently to the sounds of overheard sex from the sloppiness of a spit-greased cock slamming into a juicy cunt to the moans of an 18-year-old German girl whose cervix was getting pumelled by a northern English lad’s quivering fuck rod.
As they fucked, I’d rub my cunt and bite my fist, milking the tension from my porn-starved twat and flooding the cheap hostel bedsheets. Later on in my trip, I would edge myself much closer to the action, as you’ll soon find out.
Huffing Dirty Underwear in the Communal Toilet
In one particular hostel, my dorm had a communal bathroom with a lockable door for like twelve people. As I sat on the toilet and listened to the streams of my golden 19-year-old piss hit the toilet bowl, I could feel my hunger for porn grow. I began rubbing my clit and trying to remember all of the dopamine-laced smut I’d consumed over the years when, suddenly, I saw it.
Now, when you’re on the road for months, you have to be ingenious about your underwear. Often, a quick wash in the sink is the go-to for those conscious of saving space in their backpack, but in this bathroom, the hostel had a unique system whereby you could throw your dirty underwear into a mesh bag with your name and bed number, and they would be washed and returned to you.
I was in such a hunger for porn that my body reacted before my brain knew what I was doing. Prizing open some of the bags, I pulled out dirty boxers and panties, held them to my face, and huffed in their scent while fingering and rubbing my cunt to the brink of ecstasy.
It wasn’t porn, but the smell of cock sweat and pussy grool was more than enough to make my slit wail! As I’d gently return the used underwear to their original laundry bag, I couldn’t help but imagine who they belonged to.
”Pushing those sticky cocks into the back of my throat until my upper lip was engulfed in a stranger’s pubic bush was a particular highlight as, fuck me, that’s where the bulk of the dick sweat and cunt grool gets caught up!”
Like, were the petite pink panties with white trails of female ejaculate from that blonde 19-year-old Swedish backpacker with a body that was made for BBC? Did I huff the stale scent of cunt of the short-haired hippy MILF who was raw fucking 18+ men half her age every night? Or were the boxers from the 60-year-old man three times my age and whose cock had probably plowed more twats than I could even count?
It didn’t matter. All of them got me off.
Social Awkwardness Overcome With a Faux Language Barrier
I’m a pansexual but, growing up in the Catholic area of Belfast, I had to overcome a lot of taboos. One of which was my hunger for cunt, which persisted as much as my craving for cock. I was taught to repress my lust for other women at every turn, but, naturally, repression can only hold it back for so long.
At 19, repressed and autistic as fuck, the idea of approaching women for sex was out of the question. But with time, my autistic mind came up with an ingenious way to get my hands on what I wanted, albeit second-hand.
Remember the couples who would fuck in the hostel beds around me? Well, after a while, I would hold back my edge and listen for the vinegar strokes when it all came to a sticky ending. Then, listening for the guy to head to the toilet and wash his fuck rod, I’d slip off and follow him.
Before he could do the deed and send the cunt juices into the abyss of the shower’s plughole, I would slide in and approach, often in the middle of the night. Whether he spoke English or not, I would feign that I couldn’t speak his language but used sign language to beg to suck his cock.
Men being men, and with most of them being a very virile age of between 18 and 25, few ever said no to a second round. I’d drop to my knees in the hostel showers and revoltingly suck the increasingly stale cunt juice of another woman into the back of my throat while finger fucking myself until I went cross-eyed and moaned into an orgasm with cock in my throat.
Pushing those sticky cocks into the back of my throat until my upper lip was engulfed in a stranger’s pubic bush was a particular highlight as, fuck me, that’s where the bulk of the dick sweat and cunt grool gets caught up!
The Ingenuity of a Porn-Addicted Whore is Not to be Underestimated
The humiliation was glorious, and it became a much-needed source of Goon Fuel when the porn arsenal had well and truly run dry. To round off? Never underestimate the ingenuity of a porn-hungry whore and what she’ll do to get her fix of smut!
