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I’m lying belly down, ass up, on a queen bed in a hotel room in Louisville on a Monday night. A 30-year-old guy just left after fucking my ass in very competent style for a man calling himself a Versatile Bottom. I said as much to him before he left. He came hard inside me; I can tell by the way their bodies move and by the sounds they make when their climax is strong. His load had volume, too, because some of it spilled out onto the bed cover even though he shot buried deep inside my cunt. I never actually saw his cock, as he wanted anonymity, but I felt its size. I knew it was above average at least because he tried to double-penetrate me with my large dildo, and I couldn’t quite accommodate him. When he fucked me himself, I felt every plunge, every thrust, all attempting to meet his natural mandate to fill the vessel of my flesh with his own. There was a time, it seems like years ago now, when such a coupling as he just gave me would have filled me with a lasting sense of completion that would have lingered for weeks, if not months. Now, however, that man’s excellent fuck has not only failed to fill the void within me, it seems to have made me even more hollow. Clearly, this is not the way sex is supposed to be. This has all the characteristics of an addiction - needing more and more of the thing to get the same effect, until at last it no longer has any effect at all. Worse, the thing may begin paradoxically to generate the very need it was intended to meet. I cannot seem to get enough cock anymore; my sense of self-value, at least from a sexual perspective, is now bound to my ability to provide satisfaction to other men in transitory and, of themselves, hollow encounters, and as the physical imprint of each one becomes less and less lasting, so much moreso does the psychological imprint become more and more ephemeral. In a sense, it’s as though all those cocks are indeed reaming me out on the inside. I don’t know how to reverse this. I only know that I need more cock, and soon I will need it in quantities I cannot reasonably expect to obtain. I already harbor thoughts of placing myself in situations where I could fall prey to cruel, evil men, simply out of the hope that their chosen form of abuse would coincide with my need. My rational mind recognizes that I must find a way to quell the hollow hunger of my flesh before it consumes me completely, but right now, the hunger is very, very strong. A man is coming to fuck me. I hope he fucks me brutally, without mercy, for a long time - perhaps that will fill the hollow just a bit... at least, until he’s finished, and I’m hollow again.