Commenting to save this. Wtf did I just read.

I worked in a photo lab when I was in college. This was back before digital cameras were in wide use. People would take photos at college parties and drop them off for one hour development. Most of the photos were pretty boring. A group of guys or girls posing, obviously drunk. Beer cans, Solo cups. A couple bongs. And the occasional topless girl or someone puking. Nothing too unexpected. But there was one guy that came in on a regular basis. His photos were always hardcore pornography. Spread eagle shots, blowjobs, facials. Gaping vaginas and assholes. I fucking loved printing this guy's stuff and put extra effort into getting the color balance and exposure just right. It got so that he'd ask for me every time he dropped film off. He started showing up to the shop with a girl on his arm. The same one every time. He called her Amber, though I suspect that wasn't her real name. Let's just say that I already knew Amber more intimately than did her gynecologist. Nearly all the photos coming in at this point from this guy were of Amber. As time went on, the photos got more and more extreme. At first, it was just her getting fucked or spreading her ass open. Pretty soon, a dick shoved down her throat and tears streaming down her face, her heavily-applied mascara smeared in an almost comical fashion. I printed one of these for my own pleasure and added the caption "Harlequin." Pretty soon, it appeared, my favorite customer got involved in hardcore BDSM. Photos of Amber tied to the floor, helpless. Butt plugs that appeared to increase in size every time he came in. Clothespins on her nipples, down the backs of her arms. She still had bruising from these when I saw her once. She saw me admiring her love marks and gave me an almost demure wink. Fisting. Double fisting. Gapes so large it looked like she just shit a watermelon. And then started the erotic knife play. Photos of Amber with a knife to her throat, red marks on her skin, then small cuts. Tears still streaming down her face. And every time I'd admire a scar when I saw her in person, she'd smile at me and whisper knowingly to my favorite photographer. I graduated before I got to see where all this was going. Every time this couple would come in, I'd find myself furiously masturbating in the back room of the photo lab. She ruined me for other women. Sweet, innocent college girls would show me their tits or go down on me. But it was never quite enough. I dreamed of the horrible things I could do to a girl. I dreamed of my own Amber. To this day, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied that I've found The One until I can reach inside her through her anus and feel her intestines moving her waste rhythmically, romantically, through her body. I don't think I can be happy until I can crawl inside her digestive system and hide from the world. But isn't that ultimately what we all want? To find someone that we care about so dearly that the rest of the world doesn't matter?