This semi-fictitious narrative was written over the course of the month of November, throughout which I remained chaste.

No Nut November 2019

November 1
Feeling fine. Might eat a five-egg omelette

November 10
Rather than nutting, I took to doing manual labor. All day all week, I worked until my muscles ached as much as my needy genitals. I hammered my hand twice during.

The first time was an accident.

This pain... It reminded me that there are still sensations besides sexual pleasure and orgasm. I will cook myself a hearty meal and go to bed early. Tomorrow I will plan out busy work so at to avoid having having free time -- my greatest enemy. It's as they say, idle hands are the devil's plaything.

November 14
Why must I toil on further? Perhaps it is my ego that drives me. Can I prove a match for my lowly carnal desires? That is what I keep asking myself. I'm not one to break the sacred bond of the honor code, nor am I one to be bested by such a simple challenge. Perhaps, I just need a break from porn, which I have grown dependent on to give me a dopamine rush at the end of every day so I don't kill myself. Or perhaps there is another driving force.

Deep in my subconscious I know that my life has been stripped of all but the most basic surface-level experiences, and I must release all of these pent-up feelings in short bursts — orgasms — again and again and again to keep myself in the real world. By the by, the love-hate relationship with my own physical form comes to mind. I can't depart from this mortal coil, but I despise the bones that prop me up. The muscles that wrap around them and the loathsome skin holding it together. I only wish I could detach my self from this fleshy apparatus I am forced to call my own and drift off into the cosmic nothingness as merely an idea. No longer would I face the hellish torture of being alive, of interacting with people who are so far beneath me, who I am so completely detached from, of waking up and going to sleep and all the horrible activities in between.

November 20
My body is no longer a playground to explore and entertain myself, not for another ten days. Deprived of the pleasures of the flesh, I took to wandering about the labyrinthine chamber of my mind for relief. It was a sobering experience. But let me not get ahead of myself in this recount of my unbridled obscenities. I lay down in bed, and retreated into my mind's eye. I was in the empty void of my imagination. Here a thought appeared: If I was to be stripped of the joy of physical sensation, then I could withdraw to this place and live out my deepest, most perverted fantasies in peace. Yes, a blank canvas for my colorful imagination to fill. But what did I fill it with? Well, I let my imagination carry me. I was merely along for the ride.

My brain quickly went to work. Night time. Urban area. Prime location. I already knew what was to come. A person is running -- desperate, in tears. Another follows. It is me. A predator and its prey. I, watching myself, tackle this person to the ground. A series of wicked acts follow, enacted on this poor individual. Death swiftly follows. And then the scene replays from the beginning. Over and over, I watch myself forcing myself upon this person before killing them. Each time it becomes more heinous, but the basic scenario is always the same. Playing again and again in my head. First strangers, faces I make up, then acquaintances, friends. My mind eventually moves towards... relatives. Cousins. Family members. Everyone. Old. Young. Real. Fictional. Acts of savagery being thrusted upon anybody and everybody I can imagine over and over. I jolted up out of my trance, back arched, and then straightened, as I sat up. I wiped sweat from my face and lay down again. Such vile sin to pour forth from my own imagination. My body is no longer a playground. And neither, now, is my mind. Another crevice of my unwell psyche to be boarded up and hopefully forgotten.

November 26
I have nothing left of myself. I've taken to wrapping a thick cloth around my waist and groin. I do not eat. I do not sleep. I drink water and lie supine on the ground. I pulled up the carpets because the bristles stimulated my skin too much. I have white noise blaring at all times to avoid thinking too much. Pray for me.

November 30
NNN Day 30: or in Roman numerals, XXX. How fitting, considering what I'm about to do, if you catch my drift. The stroke of midnight will bring other strokes as well, if you catch my drift. My patience, finally, will pay off. Everything that challenged my will, everyone who mocked and scorned me, they are forgotten. Nothing matters. Not the pain. Not the intense aching in my genitals. Not my throbbing prostate (though that will matter later, if you catch my drift). Not my shattered psyche or my tattered flesh. Not the constant headaches because my blood had nowhere else to go anymore. Not the other day when my forehead started spontaneously bleeding and upon closer inspection it seemed that, rather than from a wound, my pores were simply opening up and blood was pouring forth. Not the hunger I endured to have clean bowels when I go ham on my throbbing prostate. All that matters is the now. I have more porn saved up for this moment than I know what to do with. That's the expression anyway. But I know exactly what I'll do with it -- MASTURBATE!!!,! AHAHHAAHAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH IM COOOOOOOOOOOOMIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Update: As the Yin has its Yang, so too does the greatest nut have the greatest post-nut depression. Despair fills my soul.