Happy Friday everyone! I am very excited to present the first installment in our new series Anonymous Sex Stories.

For the launch of it, I present a real story about what happens in and out of the bedroom during an all day jerk off session. It really makes you think about what’s happening on your block, in your building, in your city and in the world at the exact same time as you’re giving and receiving pleasure.

Don’t forget to submit your own real anonymous sex story to Hidreambabypress@gmail.com

You can find the guidelines here.

I hope you enjoy it! Have a great weekend.

-Matt Starr

I was Gooning All Night While My Neighbor Died

by Anonymous

It was my fifth day of gooning on the internet and I was reaching a point of delirium. I was heart broken and my compulsive mind was clinging to a gay sex website that reminded me, almost fondly, of the old chat rooms I used to haunt. There, I could spend hours trading nudes with meth heads and artistic types at a quick, ever-satisfying clip. But my dick was rubbed raw and I felt a perpetual, literal thirst. The party would soon have to end. But not until I had my final fix.

So I found some gorgeous torso and I introduced myself.

Hey

Hey

Pics?

[cock]

[cock]

Hot - face?

[Face]

[Face]

He looked like a wind swept Hasan Piker — buff, beachy, austere, and dumb. He was a sort of divine tier of hot guy. I wanted him to lie on me like a weighted blanket until I sunk into the mattress, and then the earth. I wanted him to put his dumb guy fingers in my mouth and pry it open like a surgeon. I told him how horny I was, that I was so hard now I could feel my dick breaking through my pants.

Show me.

The website was on my computer. I realized that I could open up PhotoBooth, position my computer camera towards my crotch and capture a well lit photo in under 10 seconds, and send it directly to him in less time. I did so, thoughtlessly.

Dam.

Good, I thought. He’s pleased with me.

The next many hours were a psychedelic fever dream. I don’t remember how many times I came. 3? 4? He couldn’t get enough of my photos. My cum-stained body. My asshole puckered up towards my camera as I straddled my pillow. At one point I even pulled out my small, vibrating dildo, positioning it inside me, and sent him a subtle and sensuous portrait of my sideways body, the small head of the vibrator peaking out from my cheeks.

We texted more. We talked about renting a hotel room, seeing how filthy we could make it. We talked about how long we’d go. How many rounds. I had no thoughts. I felt biological. Like an amoeba — a microbe with a giant leaking cock. Nothing could shake me from my mission to please my anonymous himbo.

Not even: the blaring sirens and cars fog-horning past my window.

Not even: the sudden flood of red light washing out my bedroom.

Not even: the sounds of yelps and general hubbub outside.

Nothing, until I came one final, exhausted time. I sent him a pleased, but tired photo of a small splattering of cum across my belly.

That’s all I have for the night, I wrote.

Goodnight sexy talk soon xx

I closed my computer. I slothed over to the window to peak and saw my street filled with fire trucks, cop cars and ambulances. I couldn’t see what they were tending to, but I could sense the swirl of chaos.

I went back to my computer and typed “Fires near me.” After some confused searching I found a forum of local New Yorkers who listen to the emergency scanner for fires. The top post was titled with my direct cross streets: “All hands. Fire on the 3rd floor of brownstone. Mixed occupancy. Person trapped in 3rd floor bedroom.” Some time later, a new report: “One fatality.”

I looked back on the street. It must have been the brownstone around the corner, just out of my eyesight. I saw gurneys. I saw people milling about, worried, tending.

Someone … died?

What had I been doing the last 3 hours, while my neighbor burnt to death mere feet away from me? Sending this anonymous jock sexually escalating nudes?

I felt guilty, but also numb, because what should I glean from this bizarre happenstance?

In New York City, contradictory nearby occurrences happen every day. A baby is born on the 5th floor and an elderly widow silently passes below. Dogs shit on the carpet next door and a couple throws chairs at each other above. There’s not much wisdom to be learned from the fact of these close happenings, but there is an awe to them.

I goon; my neighbor dies; and life moves on.

Well, for me, I suppose.

Out of habit, I opened back the sex website to see if my man had wished me sweet dreams. To my confusion, I couldn’t find our conversation. I reloaded. I clicked around. Still. Nothing.

This anti-social homo blocked me after getting his fix. He didn’t want to go to the hotel with me. He didn’t want to turn those clean white sheets into sweaty, yellow rags. He didn’t want to kiss me tenderly while he pumped like an angry brute inside me. He didn’t want to wake up in the sweaty morning together. He didn’t want to fall in love. He didn’t want to even make me his sex toy. He simply was done.

It hurt. I didn’t realize it, but I had imagined a small future between this ass hole and my ass hole, and now I couldn’t even beg him. Couldn’t even debase myself for him. He was whisked away from my digital world. Erased. I was mourning. Grieving. Bereft. Before it hit me that my heart break was a bit insensitive.

Someone did just die after all.

But I was blocked by this sex pest. So we all have our struggles.

If you enjoyed this story, share it with your friends and don’t forget to submit your own to Hidreambabypress@gmail.com

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Until next time xoxo

-Matt Starr