A year ago I gave up my realistic silicon dildo over the fear that I was becoming too addicted...
I had a really good, realistic silicon dildo. Owning one was problematic: thinking about how to hide it and who might find it and what they would think of me if I were to die suddenly. Still, I loved it and kept it for a long time. A year ago we had a female house guest for a week. The evening she left, I went right to the hiding place--even though my wife was home--took it to my study, locked the door, and stripped naked. I played with my dick to get hard, then knelt over it and slowly worked it into my ass. I absolutely loved and craved the feeling of it going in me and being as far up me as I could get it. I played for a long time, savoring the feeling of it pushing up against my insides; taking it out and putting it back in again to feel the sensation of it challenging my hole and then sliding into me. I couldn't get enough and didn't want to stop. When I couldn't delay any longer, I stroked my cock and came. In the middle of the night, I woke up with a very disquieting feeling of being addicted to it. I'd had this thought before, but this night it was stronger. Before I could lose my resolve, I went upstairs and brought it from its hiding place, took it to the kitchen where I pulled out a kitchen knife and cutting board and chopped it into a hundred pieces so that I couldn't change my mind. The next day I disposed of it in the trash. Recently I've been having a lot of thoughts and memories about the guy who fucked me when we masturbated together as teenagers. I recall those scenes so vividly; first sexual experiences. After him I never did it again, but I would love to relive it just once or twice. That was what my realistic silicon dildo was for, and I miss it.
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