Ever since puberty, I’ve been an extremely impulsive and intense woman.
As a teenager, I was naturally burning with desire, anxious and fervent.
My growth story is about gradually accepting myself, reconciling with the fact that even though I’m a girl, my sexual drive is off the charts.
From the very beginning, my physiological instincts were ridiculously strong and caused me much distress. For instance, at just seven years old, I figured out how to masturbate on my own, without any guidance, and since then, I did it “daily.” ➡️ Starting at seven, a monster took control of my body.
In middle school, I finally accessed the internet through classmates. But without a computer or phone, I had to ask my male deskmate to copy some harmless anime erotica onto my USB drive or read the electronic version of “Story of O” transferred via Bluetooth from my best friend. ➡️ A magnificent and luxurious awakening: “Story of O.”
At that time, I was like gunpowder, ready to ignite at the slightest spark.
My best friend didn’t warn me not to read “Story of O” at school. She probably didn’t expect that someone could sit upright on a hard bench during recess, reading a French BDSM classic without moving, and actually reach orgasm.
Even these “mild” electronic tidbits were enough for my starved self to devour voraciously.
In the face of resource scarcity, I developed a “super memory” skill. My male deskmate once secretly brought a poorly printed erotic novel. I begged to borrow it for two hours during lunch break but had to return it by the afternoon.
In those two short hours, I hid under the covers, simultaneously using willpower to suppress my arousal and employing “quantum speed reading” to scan through the text. I wanted to leisurely enjoy the scenes, but time didn’t allow, and I didn’t have a free hand.
By the end of the lunch break, I was flushed and my eyes were bloodshot. I returned the forbidden book on time, having mentally photocopied the important scenes. Every subsequent lunch break, I would “digest” those memorized scenes, slowly savoring them for half a year.
This bizarre “superbrain” training laid a crucial foundation for my high school humanities exams, where I ranked among the top forty in the province.
Due to my hyperactive physiology, which even worried me, I mistakenly joined a girls’ celibacy group, enduring a month of “the more I abstained, the more I desired” mental torment before giving up the futile struggle. ➡️ After 28 days of abstinence, I became a wreck.
As a naturally gifted and “explosive” girl, one day I found myself experiencing “burnout.”
02
The first time I experienced “burnout,” I was still just masturbating, ignorant of real-life sexual encounters.
It was a boring holiday, and I had some unusual insomnia. Masturbation usually helped me sleep, but I was impatient, so if it didn’t work once, I tried again.
It’s like playing sports—when you’re in the zone, you don’t want to stop, hitting the mark every time. For girls, masturbation also has a “zone.” Finding the right angle is like skipping stones; with the right touch, you can achieve multiple orgasms in one go.
Feeling smug didn’t last long as a wave of soreness hit my lower back. It felt like my spinal fluid was drained, leaving a void from my lower abdomen to my kidneys.
For the first time, I distinctly felt where my kidneys were—two thin, weak things in my lower back, weaker than my ex’s night-time peeing.
Feeling any organ is a bad sign. When you’re truly comfortable and healthy, you shouldn’t feel any organ’s location or presence—only when your stomach hurts do you know where it is, only when you can’t hold your urine do you know where your bladder is—
Only when you have kidney deficiency do you know where your kidneys are.
I think kidney supplement ads on TV aren’t vivid enough. The middle-aged men in the ads only show embarrassment and guilt, without even dark circles. But true deficiency is despair! The camera should show me—a young girl, clutching her groin, curled up on the bed, surrounded by crumpled tissues, spiritless, worrying about her future vitality, eyes full of confused emptiness and sorrow.
The sore and numb feeling lasted about an hour, and for the entire following week, I didn’t dare entertain any dirty thoughts; otherwise, my lower abdomen to my kidneys would feel weak and sore.
So, girls can have kidney deficiency too. (It’s okay if you don’t masturbate more than ten times a day, but who in their right mind would do it over ten times like I did?!)
03
I don’t think gender limits talent, but I must admit that boys have a natural advantage in finding resources.
Since middle school, I’ve had to ask male classmates for advice using the most primitive methods, jotting down URLs they could recite by heart in a mysterious notebook, and sneaking to my home computer on weekends to type them in, but nine times out of ten, I was too late, finding only 404 errors.
So, when I finally managed to watch a professional kinky film smoothly, it was much more exciting than regular stuff! Meat is different after all—braised pork knuckle beats boiled chicken breast any day. I approached this “cyber feast” with the same spirit as those dime-store novels, savoring it in ten-minute segments each day, afraid of running out of material.
But braised pork knuckle has its downsides too—you can’t eat it every meal, it’s too greasy and indigestible!
The first time I watched those explicit scenes, I was still in a highly excitable state, ready to ignite at any moment.
But without better resources, I ended up watching that film over and over for a month.
With repeated viewings, the same scenes began to lose their appeal. The greasy knuckle started to upset my stomach. Despite the high visual stimulation of various scenes of tormenting the actresses, the essence of it was still pain.
When the brain is extremely aroused, it overproduces hormones to mask the pain, leaving only the raw ecstasy.
But once the overstimulation stops, the nausea and pain return.
I vividly remember a scene where the submissive was pressed into a puddle of filth, utterly humiliating.
I also vividly remember that the first time I watched this scene, my brain went into overdrive—can they really play like this?! My brain didn’t have time to distinguish whether I liked it or not, simply overwhelmed by the visual shock.
Reflecting on it later, this reflexive response to extreme stimuli might be a form of “electronic early sexual stimulation.”
But after a month, having almost worn out that film, I continued mechanically in front of the screen.
Classic scenes are classic for a reason. Once again, I experienced an unconscious physiological tremor at the filth scene. But right after trembling, I felt a cliff-like drop into intense nausea.
Post-orgasm clarity? I get it; I was genuinely disgusted! I rushed out, clutching the toilet, dry heaving.
I felt sorry for the actress, realizing how heartless I was, abandoning her after the climax. Initially, the scene excited me immensely, but once the adrenaline and dopamine stopped, I felt deep empathy for her.
After the dry heaving incident, I became highly resistant to extreme content for a long time. Just seeing a castle at the start would make me shiver.
This is probably modern-day “Lord Ye’s love of dragons.”
When there were no resources, I would shout every day: Where’s the master, the whip, the red-bottomed ass?
But when the resources arrived, I was terrified: I can’t stand to watch another frame after climaxing; it’s too painful for the actress!
04
The adolescent “burnout” incidents were somewhat self-inflicted. I overdid it, surpassing healthy physiological limits.
When I first discovered I was “burned out,” I was anxious, fearing I had overplayed and caused irreversible sexual dysfunction.
Luckily, my kidneys were more resilient than I thought. After a period of weakness, their function and energy gradually returned to normal.
Coincidentally, a reader messaged asking if watching too much porn or masturbating too frequently could lead to kidney deficiency or sexual dysfunction, expressing anxiety about becoming sexually indifferent.
Based on my experience, unless there’s a significant physiological change or psychological trauma, it’s unlikely for a naturally lustful person to suddenly become indifferent.
More commonly, it’s the body warning us: Hey, you’ve overdone it! Can’t you do something productive?
Like overindulging in food, recovery isn’t hard. Abstaining for a while, like how undigested food gets slowly processed, the body will restore its desires and elasticity.
(I’m not advocating extreme abstinence, but moderate control and ample rest are necessary.)
As a timid adolescent, I often fantasized about an unrestrained sex life once I became independent.
But once I lived alone, forget about shaking the bed; I was too lazy to continue if I lacked an extra pillow.
In my youth, I never realized that independence comes with a price.
Drifting in a big city = an efficient birth control method;
Working = human mental chemical castration;
Only then did I start understanding the true essence of “burnout.”
Burnout and indifference are different. Indifference is a self-consistent physiological state, like not liking chocolate. Although it might mean missing out on some sweetness, it doesn’t affect the intake of essential nutrients and healthy growth;
Burnout is a decline in physiological function, a degeneration where the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, craving delicacies but unable to digest them, wanting to rise but failing.
Wang Xiaobo said, “Life is a process of slowly being
hammered, as people age day by day, their aspirations fade until they become like cattle beaten into submission.”
I only understood “cattle beaten into submission” after watching a short video: it means castration.
Now, the guy I could only phone sex with abroad is lying next to me, but all I want is a kiss, a gentle touch, a little shiver, then turn off the lights, cover ourselves with blankets, and sleep.
05
Gynecologist blogger “Sixth Floor” explained that female “burnout” means the lower body can’t sufficiently engorge with blood, leading to unpreparedness for sex, which can cause pain.
A flood of arousal? Impossible. Playing with a dead battery, unwilling to move, is the reality.
I’m 26 this year, but I find it all too troublesome. Life is exhausting enough; I’m too lazy to get aroused. I hope humans evolve to have sex without needing to undress.
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