/shota/ - shota

>>577
i know this feel

>>579
we need to establish shotalabs so we can work on producing means of making shota fun a reality without breaking existing laws

>>576
I did :D

>i was shota
>i was putting stuffs in my butt all the time
>all i dreamed off was begin played with, and have put some "weird" stuffs in my butt
>now because of no one wanted to do that with me. i got complex and am asexual
;-;

Shota refers to 2D drawn art.
Saying "I was a shota" is a sign of delusion and that you can't separate fantasy from reality, and is also the reason why people think you're all pedophiles.

/thread

>>576

I just love it when I save previous posts I made because I think I might need them again and can just copy/paste.


I've often wished that someone had made child porn with me and maybe some of the boys I had sexual experiences with growing up. Those are some of the most sexually fulfilling memories of my life, and I don't even have so much as a photograph of any of them, even clothed. There is no evidence of any of those things ever happening, and with it having been nearly 20 years ago now… the memories are so cloudy. I've often realized that there is no difference — no difference at all — between those memories and any variety of well-constructed erotic fantasies I might have. Such an important part of my life, in many ways THE most important part, and it's as if it didn't happen at all. Just memories: flawed, incomplete, every single day wasting away, being altered by flawed biology instead of being saved in cold pixels. It's a huge part of my identity to think of myself as a little boy, and yet… I can't even remember what I looked like in the mirror when I was around 10. My smooth skin, cute face, tiny genitals. The oldest nude photos I have in family albums are candid shots of myself as a toddler. When I was older, I can't even REMEMBER what I looked like! You don't understand how frustrating that is. I know that I was pretty, of course, as boys tend to be, but beyond that is just haze and representational symbols constructed based on nothing more than was I now merely consider probable. I just wish I had one photograph, just one. So I could remember myself; so I could remember what I was; so I could remember the boy I lost my virginity with; so I could remember the boy before that who showed me so many things.

Time hunts us all down through our lives, until we're too slow and broken to escape it anymore. It might happen when out bodies break, it might happens when our minds do. For me, it already did. Time killed me, put me into some distasteful, rotten old body, and is now speeding away into the distance, farther and farther, laughing at me, holding the preserved, still-beautiful corpse of the boy I was. The worst part, of course, is that I can't see it clearly anymore. It's too far away; my eyes are too weak.

I've forgotten what I looked like, and there aren't any pictures.