16 years ago, when I was twenty, I already thought. what I know about sex, men and their physiological features everything. But once she got into conversation with a young man of about thirty, and not in a restaurant or some club, but in a savings bank. He invited me home, and although I did not strive for intimacy with him, but without knowing why myself, submitting, I went to him. What happened at his home was something completely beyond. He fucked me from noon to 20.00 hours with several breathing spots not more than half an hour each, when he brought me coffee and cakes, so that I would come to my senses. What he got up with me is impossible to convey, I had a feeling that I turned into a rag, a washcloth, once even completely disconnected.

He transferred me from one position to another absolutely unceremoniously, turned him around, threw him like some kind of dummy, like an inflatable one, which one can not ask how she feels, and I obediently carried out all his commands. I had already experienced all the possible number of orgasms, but he continued hammering me with his jackhammer and it seemed to me that this would never stop. At some point, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the opened cabinet door and did not recognize myself - I was all in sweat, my hair was disheveled and stuck to my face, and in my eyes - horror and despair. When he finished, he allowed me to recover a little, quickly take a shower, during which I had time to cry quietly, and politely put out the door with a box of chocolates and the number of my telephone number written on it. For several days I lived under the impression of this execution, and then I called him, asked plaintively to visit and did not even take offense at his laugh in the tube. Several times we, i.e. he, repeated the same program. Then our meetings stopped - it seems that he found a friend of life, with whom I once met on the street, or even got married. I recalled him, wanted to experience everything again and involuntarily despised men with normal, “average” sexuality.

And three years later I married a man who turned out to be, as it turned out shortly before our wedding, from the same series as the hero of my story, but not so merciless and with a sincere heartfelt feeling towards me. Intimate relations with him became almost continuous excesses, interrupted by pregnancy periods, until four years ago I made a promise with him two days a week not to touch me. He can sleep for three hours and actively go about his business, completely without yawning.

I think it's about genes. that is, through generations of transmitted natural properties of man; I understood this when I learned some details about my husband's father. Here it is.