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The joys of male virginity

Friday, January 8th, 2010

I have a confession to make. I am a male virgin and fiercely proud of it; in my childhood, I early recognized the vile, wicked character of the mentally sick female and took an oath of perpetual celibacy. Many days as a child, I would lie awake at night wishing that I were a priest or monk in some faraway Buddhist monastery. The sight of a woman has always filled me with mortal terror; when any of those frigid creatures ever tried to invade my personal space, I would scream bloody murder at the top of my lungs. I can say with pride that I have never slept with a woman, dated a woman, lusted after a woman, touched a woman, called a woman, kissed a woman or fantasized about a woman in my brief 28 years of human existence. As a matter of fact, I have never once polluted my body with any sexual act whatsoever; the perverted and sick practice of idle sexual fantasizing and masturbation fills my soul with the greatest of horrors. Neither will I indulge in such savage, barbaric practices in the future, as the conservation of my vital fluid/retention of my masculine essence is more precious than physical defilement with females. Because any physical contact with the repulsive female drains a man’s life force, it is necessary that they be avoided at all costs; thus, by means of a natural aversion to females, one’s redemption from the world of matter can be finally sought.

There is nothing which makes me happier than the knowledge of my virginity; there is nothing more sensual or alive than the knowledge that I am pure forever. It is my virginity which sustains me and separates me from disease, criminal lust, hypersexual negroes and mestizos, as well as other brute beasts of the field.

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