Forbidden Confession: VertiGOING to Wreck Your Whole Identity, Babe

Forbidden Confession: VertiGOING to Wreck Your Whole Identity, Babe

@adamstoybox

Some nights make you question everything. Others confirm what you already knew. And then there are nights like this—where you’re turned on and horrified at the same time, left wondering what could have been… and what almost was.


It was late. Vertigo after-hours late. The kind of night where the only people left were the ones who had nowhere else to go—or didn’t want to go home. The bass was thick, the air hazy with sweat, and the energy? Just reckless enough to make bad decisions feel like good ones.

I was deep into the crowd, my blonde hair damp, my shirt hanging on by a thread, when I felt him. Big. Muscular. Middle Eastern. The type of guy who spends half his day spotting boys at the gym, telling them to go deeper, but swears he’s straight because he “only trains men.” Sir, be serious.

And yet, here he was, grinding against me like he had something to prove.


He had that straight-boy-in-a-club energy—you know the type: too cocky, too confident, and way too into testing the waters. The kind who “doesn’t usually do this” but somehow knows exactly how to grab your ass in a way that makes your knees weak.

His hands found my waist first, fingers pressing in like he was claiming territory. I let him pull me closer, felt the heat of his body, the way he exhaled like he was trying so hard not to like this.

Then, right against my ear, rough, shaky, and just drunk enough to be dangerous:

“You’re the first boy I’ve ever wanted to fuck.”

And baby, I felt my entire world tilt.

Flattered? Absolutely. Disgusted? A little. Turned on? Tragically, yes. Horrified? Most of all. My body reacted before my brain could, my stomach tightening, my cock stirring, my pulse hammering.

I wanted him to prove it.

I wanted to run.

Instead, I let him hold me there, his hands gripping my ass like a lifeline, his girlfriend somewhere nearby, aimlessly circling the dancefloor like a bimbo chicken with no idea her man was seconds away from rearranging my guts in the bathroom.

I almost let it happen.


I could already picture it: the bathroom stall door slamming shut, his big hands pinning me against the wall, his body finally giving in to everything it had been suppressing. The way he’d groan when he finally slid inside, growl into my neck, whisper something that would keep him up at night for the rest of his life.

But there was something else, too. A hesitation. A flicker of something needier beneath all that bravado.

For all his dominance, for all his talk, I could tell he wanted to be the one pinned down just as badly.

Maybe not tonight.

Maybe not here.

But the thought of him on all fours, back arched, face buried in his own forearm as I broke him in? That was almost too much.


He hesitated. Jaw clenched. Body tense. Like the weight of what he was about to do had just slammed into him harder than he was about to slam into me.

He wasn’t ready. Not yet.

So I left him there, hard, confused, still staring at me like I had just unraveled his entire personality in under five minutes.


Later that night, back in my bed, stroking myself to the memory, I thought about how close I had been to letting him wreck me.

Or maybe, just maybe, how close I had been to wrecking him.

His girlfriend would still be wandering the dancefloor, oblivious.

And if I had let him?

I think he would have thanked me for it.

Or better yet…

I think he still will.


Ever had a moment where you were this close to something filthy? Drop your anonymous confessions below. We won’t judge. We might feature it. 😉

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