(X-rated) May 1 2023, Woods Hole Hostel to Pearis Cemetery Parking:
I woke up to Pusher secretly touching himself. I didn’t know what it was about men secretly masturbating next to me, but it got me off to the point of being dripping wet. I wanted to be the one to jerk them off in the morning, so the fact that they were being sneaky just triggered something in my mind. I secretly masturbated beside him, my pussy drenched with my own cum.
When we made it downstairs, Pusher and I ate breakfast, then hiked out with our bellies warm and full. I found it very attractive that he genuinely enjoyed providing for me. Even when we were in Bland, he had gotten me orajel from the gas station along with snacks for movie time. He had paid for all of the rooms and meals, never once holding an expectation for me to pay. He said it would go against his instinct as a man if it were the other way around.
My plan today was to hike to the HWY where I had left off and to hitch back south to visit Voodoo. He had been working at Boots Off while I was away and planned to be there until Trail Days. Nobody could understand why I was going back to him and most everyone told me we would burst into flames. I felt they were right, but I wanted to open up that can of worms. I knew what was coming, yet the inspiration still guided me to him.
While Pusher and I were hiking, he expressed that he started thinking about quitting the AT, feeling as if he wasn’t going to make it. He felt he had to choose between hiking alone and getting the trail done versus being around people he loved and enjoying as much of it as he could.
“Well, just don’t overthink it,” I suggested.
He laughed and said, “Oh, you have no idea. Out of all people, you can’t tell me ‘not’ to overthink. I’m the definition of an over thinker.”
“You could choose differently,” I invited, “I have sad stories, too. I was apparently depressed, suicidal, always overthinking, however I realized it was a victim mentality.”
He appeared to get really triggered when I said that, but I stood by it.
“You can choose to take a breath and relax or you could choose to follow your thoughts that lead you nowhere and then complain about your life being shitty as if that thought is going to solve anything,” I said.
“I’m just trying to find happiness and I haven’t been succeeding,” he said.
“Well, you can’t find happiness in the world, that’s for sure,” I said.
“I mean, there have been times when I’ve been really happy in this world, so I don’t think that’s true.”
“Yeah, but the happiness you experience in this world is so fleeting and minuscule in comparison to what God has in store for you.”
He took a breath and I could feel the way he received my words.
“You’re very special, Goda,” he stopped walking, turned around to look into my eyes and said, “I want to kiss you right now.”
I let him, even though I felt long gone from him, already.
“God, this sucks that you’re leaving me,” he voiced.
I felt truly annoyed in that moment, but I just let him have the perception. We parted at Pearis Cemetery where I had left off and got a hitch by the first car that drove by. It was a local guy named Sean who dropped me off right in the center of town.
From there, I hitched my way towards Damascus. I got picked up by several different folks, one of which was a married couple.
They were really adamant about having me stay the night at their place, promising, “We won’t butcher you up into tiny little pieces and feed you to the dogs.”
Although convincing, they won me over when he said, “We just want to adopt you for a day or two. We will feed you deer meat, let you bathe in our bathtub and make you a home cooked meal of your choosing.”
We exchanged information and I let them know I would be visiting them in a couple of days when I hitched back north.
He dropped me off at my next spot and said, “Now, don’t you be afraid to call us.”
The last guy that gave me a ride was a sweet older gentleman named Earl. He appeared to have a calm energy about him and a simple way of living. He was married for 11 years and his wife just died last year at the age of 70. He took it for what it was and had appreciation for the time he got to share with the love of his life.
He was on his way back home from the grocery store to cook himself a steak dinner. He invited me over to join him. I felt tempted, but was more driven to go see Voodoo, so I declined. He took me straight to the Boots Off parking lot and I thanked him for bringing me out of his way.
“So what if I eat 20 mins later,” he says, “I stopped being so rigid with my life a long time ago.”
Voodoo rolled up in the parking lot about an hour later and we hugged each other, holding each other close. It seemed I had missed him immensely. I inhaled the musky scent of his pheromones, addicted to him like my very own personal drug. Shortly after, he led me to his tent and for the rest of the night, he became accidentally distracted from completing the work he had to do at Boots Off.
Our time together felt more dramatic and our energy felt off. There was anxiety, fear and sadness in the air. I could tell the end was near. It seemed we were still going to have sex, so he asked for my honesty about everything before we followed through. I opened up to him about being with other people while we were apart, including Pusher. Still, he tied me up tight and fucked me with so much anger expressing through his system.
When he first slid his cock inside of me, he said, “Fucking disgusting. Now I’m fucking all the nasty guys that put their dicks in you, too.”
I didn’t seem to get as wet, despite his anger and frustration normally turning me on. I just felt as if I was in so much pain and as though everything in my mind was so chaotic that I didn’t know how to relax into the moment. As soon as he shot his load of cum onto me, he grabbed his phone and laid down on the other side of the tent. I broke down crying right in that moment. I felt so alone and used up. Even when it came to just fucking someone, I looked forward to the cuddles and affection afterwards, so receiving blatant distance appeared to absolutely crush me.
I put my hands to my head and wept uncontrollably, admitting to Voodoo how sad I felt and how much mental pain I was experiencing. He scooted to me and held me in his arms while he caressed me. I hated that it had to come to that point for him to hold me, and even when he did, it felt like a false safety blanket. It felt like I was being so loved by him after comparing it to feeling so unnoticed.
“Why are you so good to me even when you know I’m no good for you?” I asked.
“Because,” he said, “I could sense the pain you have been going through and I don’t want to add to it. You’re already hurting yourself enough as it is.”
I just felt so sad. I felt as if I was looking for love in all the wrong places, mistaken in my identity, searching for freedom through another—idolizing.
Overall, we had decided it would be best if we continued on our journey in separate ways. It felt easier for both of us, or at least more logical. Regardless, I was ready to slow down again in my mind. I was ready to be with God and to be relieved of the burdens I had been carrying—it had nothing to do with him, but everything to do with me. I didn’t want to hurt myself as I had been, and by hurting myself, I meant intentionally hurting others through the games I played, because really, the only person I was playing was myself.
I woke up to Pusher secretly touching himself. I didn’t know what it was about men secretly masturbating next to me, but it got me off to the point of being dripping wet. I wanted to be the one to jerk them off in the morning, so the fact that they were being sneaky just triggered something in my mind. I secretly masturbated beside him, my pussy drenched with my own cum.
When we made it downstairs, Pusher and I ate breakfast, then hiked out with our bellies warm and full. I found it very attractive that he genuinely enjoyed providing for me. Even when we were in Bland, he had gotten me orajel from the gas station along with snacks for movie time. He had paid for all of the rooms and meals, never once holding an expectation for me to pay. He said it would go against his instinct as a man if it were the other way around.
My plan today was to hike to the HWY where I had left off and to hitch back south to visit Voodoo. He had been working at Boots Off while I was away and planned to be there until Trail Days. Nobody could understand why I was going back to him and most everyone told me we would burst into flames. I felt they were right, but I wanted to open up that can of worms. I knew what was coming, yet the inspiration still guided me to him.
While Pusher and I were hiking, he expressed that he started thinking about quitting the AT, feeling as if he wasn’t going to make it. He felt he had to choose between hiking alone and getting the trail done versus being around people he loved and enjoying as much of it as he could.
“Well, just don’t overthink it,” I suggested.
He laughed and said, “Oh, you have no idea. Out of all people, you can’t tell me ‘not’ to overthink. I’m the definition of an over thinker.”
“You could choose differently,” I invited, “I have sad stories, too. I was apparently depressed, suicidal, always overthinking, however I realized it was a victim mentality.”
He appeared to get really triggered when I said that, but I stood by it.
“You can choose to take a breath and relax or you could choose to follow your thoughts that lead you nowhere and then complain about your life being shitty as if that thought is going to solve anything,” I said.
“I’m just trying to find happiness and I haven’t been succeeding,” he said.
“Well, you can’t find happiness in the world, that’s for sure,” I said.
“I mean, there have been times when I’ve been really happy in this world, so I don’t think that’s true.”
“Yeah, but the happiness you experience in this world is so fleeting and minuscule in comparison to what God has in store for you.”
He took a breath and I could feel the way he received my words.
“You’re very special, Goda,” he stopped walking, turned around to look into my eyes and said, “I want to kiss you right now.”
I let him, even though I felt long gone from him, already.
“God, this sucks that you’re leaving me,” he voiced.
I felt truly annoyed in that moment, but I just let him have the perception. We parted at Pearis Cemetery where I had left off and got a hitch by the first car that drove by. It was a local guy named Sean who dropped me off right in the center of town.
From there, I hitched my way towards Damascus. I got picked up by several different folks, one of which was a married couple.
They were really adamant about having me stay the night at their place, promising, “We won’t butcher you up into tiny little pieces and feed you to the dogs.”
Although convincing, they won me over when he said, “We just want to adopt you for a day or two. We will feed you deer meat, let you bathe in our bathtub and make you a home cooked meal of your choosing.”
We exchanged information and I let them know I would be visiting them in a couple of days when I hitched back north.
He dropped me off at my next spot and said, “Now, don’t you be afraid to call us.”
The last guy that gave me a ride was a sweet older gentleman named Earl. He appeared to have a calm energy about him and a simple way of living. He was married for 11 years and his wife just died last year at the age of 70. He took it for what it was and had appreciation for the time he got to share with the love of his life.
He was on his way back home from the grocery store to cook himself a steak dinner. He invited me over to join him. I felt tempted, but was more driven to go see Voodoo, so I declined. He took me straight to the Boots Off parking lot and I thanked him for bringing me out of his way.
“So what if I eat 20 mins later,” he says, “I stopped being so rigid with my life a long time ago.”
Voodoo rolled up in the parking lot about an hour later and we hugged each other, holding each other close. It seemed I had missed him immensely. I inhaled the musky scent of his pheromones, addicted to him like my very own personal drug. Shortly after, he led me to his tent and for the rest of the night, he became accidentally distracted from completing the work he had to do at Boots Off.
Our time together felt more dramatic and our energy felt off. There was anxiety, fear and sadness in the air. I could tell the end was near. It seemed we were still going to have sex, so he asked for my honesty about everything before we followed through. I opened up to him about being with other people while we were apart, including Pusher. Still, he tied me up tight and fucked me with so much anger expressing through his system.
When he first slid his cock inside of me, he said, “Fucking disgusting. Now I’m fucking all the nasty guys that put their dicks in you, too.”
I didn’t seem to get as wet, despite his anger and frustration normally turning me on. I just felt as if I was in so much pain and as though everything in my mind was so chaotic that I didn’t know how to relax into the moment. As soon as he shot his load of cum onto me, he grabbed his phone and laid down on the other side of the tent. I broke down crying right in that moment. I felt so alone and used up. Even when it came to just fucking someone, I looked forward to the cuddles and affection afterwards, so receiving blatant distance appeared to absolutely crush me.
I put my hands to my head and wept uncontrollably, admitting to Voodoo how sad I felt and how much mental pain I was experiencing. He scooted to me and held me in his arms while he caressed me. I hated that it had to come to that point for him to hold me, and even when he did, it felt like a false safety blanket. It felt like I was being so loved by him after comparing it to feeling so unnoticed.
“Why are you so good to me even when you know I’m no good for you?” I asked.
“Because,” he said, “I could sense the pain you have been going through and I don’t want to add to it. You’re already hurting yourself enough as it is.”
I just felt so sad. I felt as if I was looking for love in all the wrong places, mistaken in my identity, searching for freedom through another—idolizing.
Overall, we had decided it would be best if we continued on our journey in separate ways. It felt easier for both of us, or at least more logical. Regardless, I was ready to slow down again in my mind. I was ready to be with God and to be relieved of the burdens I had been carrying—it had nothing to do with him, but everything to do with me. I didn’t want to hurt myself as I had been, and by hurting myself, I meant intentionally hurting others through the games I played, because really, the only person I was playing was myself.
