Sexy Psych Ward Boy

So it’s kind of a funny story. I really kinda like this guy from the psych ward. We’ll call him James. Let’s start at the beginning…
High school never ends. Even in the psych ward cafeteria there’s anxiety about who to sit with for lunch. My first few meals I sat alone. I was used to being alone. At that point I had been on restrictions at my sober living that kept me isolated from the community for about 5 weeks already. I was used to feeling like an outcast. <That sounds really emo but they don’t call me “Emo Emily” because I’m rational and have perspective> 
Then one day after some chit chat in group about mutual acquaintances, James sat with me at lunch. It wasn’t a big deal and I wasn’t over the moon about him quite yet but I thought he was funny, cute, and smart so it was kinda nice to have his company. 
After that I don’t really know what happened but we became tight. In the psych ward time moves slow so people move fast. We spend about 15 hrs or so everyday trapped in a bubble with gates and alarms. If you so choose you can get pretty close to the other crazies. That’s what happened with me and James. I was genuine with him and not afraid of my weirdness or flaws. And, if I do say so myself, I’m funny as fuck and so is he. 
I didn’t really know what to think of him and our weird little friendship at first. I felt so insecure about my appearance and personality that I didn’t think anyone could like me for more than just the “fat friend”. So I assumed it was just platonic between me and James. “Maybe if I was thinner…”
One afternoon I was laying in bed and he came upon me, snuck in my room for a long enough second to steal a kiss and for me to flash him. He tasted like taffy. 
Next day i wrapped my lips around James’ cock long enough to realize he’s huge and my deepthroating reputation was on the line. Didn’t finish but it was still kinda hot. 
Thee rest of the story is we were hot and heavy intermittently- as much as the psych ward would allow. 
Then I left. I didn’t think he would call me. He said he doesn’t do that. I was afraid to tell him I wanted him to call me. 
It was beautiful for awhile until I became ugly. My depression has consumed me and made it hard to use the phone in general. But I’m posting this and then calling him. Because he’s worth it. And I deserve it too. 

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I am a survivor 

Hello, my imaginary internet friends and following. I’m back. Just had another stint in the mental hospital: a place where everybody knows my name. 
I was self harming and disassociating due to a recent uncovered sexual trauma. That is real stuff. Most of the time I like to make light of my issues, avoid them, or just use self deprecating humor and prose. Not this time. Sexual abuse and the consequences of it are real. 
I was abused this last year from men who thought I had it coming. Even I thought I had it coming for putting myself in those situations. There were times during this period of abuse I wasn’t sure if I was going to live to tell the tale. Well. Here I am. And it wasn’t my fault. No one deserves abuse no matter what the circumstances are. 
I’m not proud writing this, but it needs to be said. This is my story:
I was 23 years old and got caught up in Seeking Arrangements: a sugar daddy website. I had about 30 days of sobriety then; I was coming off a brief alcohol binge. In a new sober living and being micromanaged to an extent that felt like I was losing my power of choice in any area of my life and some of my dignity. They were treating me like a case that needed to be handled, not a young woman that is more complex than a black and white insurance policy to my father that I will not act out. 
Take away my perceived power and I will find ways to get it back. In this case, my money was being doled out to me $20 a day- no exceptions. What is an upper middle class white girl to do? I grew up getting what I wanted and being able to manipulate my father into doing my bidding with almost anything. I always say “I get what I want”. 
As you folks know, I also suffer from mental illness and personality disorders. I’m impulsive which comes with the territory of being a textbook borderline case. I was also newly sober. I’d like to think this played a part in my choices that came next. 
Sex meant nothing to me at the time. I meant nothing to me at the time. Letting men pay me to play with me didn’t sound like a bad idea. 
I got caught up in the world of sugar daddies and sugar babies. I learned the lingo and procedures. I did what I had to do to get that money. And I got a lot of it. And it was mine; no one knew about it and I could spend it without my treatment team saying “boo”
I thought I was empowering myself, but in truth I was degrading myself to new levels I never had before. 
Men would degrade me and hurt me and torture me and scare me. And they still expected me to orgasm somehow. Or to at least fake it. I would count to 10 in my head over and over again until it was over. I detached but didn’t escape from the physical and sexual trauma. 
One could see this as a grey area of sexual abuse if they wanted to. Saying I asked for it or had it coming. NO ONE, absolutely NO ONE, is asking for sexual abuse and traumas. 
That’s my story. It’s ugly and can be perceived as shaming, but I am a survivor and have a story to tell. You can think it was my fault or whatever and today I have the strength to say “fuck you” to the haters. 
But I didn’t leave unscathed. This trauma is the reason I started self harming. I also started having fugue states and not knowing reality from my dreams and nightmares. 
That’s why I sought help from the mental hospital. I wanted to be physically safe and tweak my meds. 
There ya go. Not my most poignant prose but it’s my story.