I don’t know why so many of my entries seem to center around numbers - I’m not a numbers kind of guy. Nevertheless:

Ten.

I’m getting bred by another man in ten minutes from now, ten minutes from this moment. That’s enough time to put my whole life into a weird perspective that leads up to me being a hollow vessel for another man’s lust.

Ten.

Ten toes that splay and curl with his penetrations; when he forces me to an anal orgasm In missionary I can see my own big toes draw under and inward in involuntary response, as though they weren’t mine, but his - which, of course, they are.

Ten.

Viagra is dispensed in doseage measurements of 10mg.

Ten.

The cock length that somehow almost everyone claims to have taken, in spite of their rarity (I, however, absolutely have. It was not a comfortable fuck. I took an 11 that was much better.)

Ten.

The number of times the man who is about to fuck me has cunted me like a piece of fuck meat and inseminated me deeply with his seed, into places where it fuses with my being and colonizes me like all the invaders who ever entered Britain, and whose essence remains yet today. How many men am I an amalgam of now? How many multiples of Ten? Not multiples - orders of magnitude.

How much of me that was original remains? If I am a vessel, my inner walls are coated thickly now with layer on layer of deposits, densely packed and each resonant of the man who left it - whether any actual molecular trace remains or whether the residuum is in my mind matters not at all; his entry into me is indelible.

This man almost here has flooded me so many times I have truly lost count. I have taken s great deal of his semen into my body.

Ten.

The number of letters in CUMDUMP FAG, SLUT FOR MEN and WHORE ME OUT. I have been whored out, and would eagerly accept the opportunity again. If I found a man who wished to do it, I would let him traffic me for his bank. Ten bucks a fuck? Ten cents?

Ten.

The number I need to count to when I say such things to myself, because part of me means them in deadly earnest.

And now he’s here. My ten are up, and I am fuckmeat now.