My (now) ex girlfriend cheated on me 4 times in our long distance relationship. She confessed this in a silly letter:
Dear Robert, I have to break up with you. The distance between us is too far. I also have to confess I cheated on you 4 times since you have left and that isn't right for either of is. Sorry. Please return my picture to me? Thanks, Nadja.
Admitted, I felt like shit for a while, but I really wanted to come out on top in this issue, so I went to all my mates & friends and collected all pictures I could get; sisters, girlfriends, aunts, cousins. I stuck the ones of the pretty ladies, together with hers, in an envelop. 57 pictures. I sent a note with it:
I am sorry, but I can't remember who you are. Please take the right picture out and send the rest back. Ciao. Robert.
I (w/27) must confess that I have a small supporting role in a German television series. Now and then it happens that somebody recognizes me on the street, never mind that my part is so small that they don't know my name or can't quite remember the series. Then, mostly they say something like "I know you from somewhere," or "aren't you on TV?" When it's a male accompanied by girlfriend or wife I respond without fail "sorry, I only do porn movies."
I (m/26) am the head of the programming department and manage two subordinates at a company that produces radiology information systems. The atmosphere in the company (12 people including the boss) is very relaxed. The ideal workplace! Now for what's on my mind: I have remote access to all of our customer's servers. My mother called me and told me that she went to the doctor with suspected breast cancer. She called many radiologists, but the earliest available appointment wasn't for three weeks! I didn't hesitate and put her down in appointment books and the waiting lists for the best radiologists with the best equipment. I changed everything by hand in the database tables so that it didn't look suspicious. At 8:00 am the next day, my mother got her results, and two days later she had chemotherapy. People always told her that she was lucky to have gotten an appointment so quickly because otherwise they might not have gotten a handle on the disease. I'm not ashamed because I helped someone close to me, but my conscience is plagued by the thought that maybe someone else would still be alive today if they had gotten that appointment instead of my mother.
I hate my parents, although I love them for being my parents and all, they did not molest me in any kind and offered me the best they had so I guess this rant is rather ungrateful. That's the thing, they are just simple minded who flew with the wind innocently, way too innocent and just are being stupid. They just suck plain and simple. My mom doesn't understand anything to life and is afraid of everything that occurs, she's definitely the weakest person I know. My father is somewhat better, he is a good man but he is so stubborn that it keeps him in his loneliness and complete refusal of evolution of life.
What I am angry about is that they just kept on making mistakes all throughout my education and I had to make me entirely myself.
When I was fat and bullied, they told me I'd lose fat when I'd grow up and did nothing else. When I tried to lose weight by not eating for 10 days straight my nurse of a mom didn't do anything against it. When my mom found out that I smoked, she proposed to buy me cigarettes so I'd not waste money on it (nobody smokes in the entire family). When I smoked pot in front of them they did nothing about it either. DAMN IT WHAT KIND OF PARENT ARE YOU?
Now I don't smoke pot anymore and I have a rather decent life but I continuously had to fight the traits I have inherited from them in order to be the person I want to be. I have not made a single step in life without failing considerably and now I am afraid to progress because I know that I will bite the dust.
They make themselves look like fools to everyone, particularly me. They do not have any notion of appearance (I'm picky or materialistic at all but they not really dressing like hobos) to the point that I am embarrassed to hang out with them.
My mom doesn't know how to cook, doesn't have any sense of style and cannot work her way around a house at all (ironing, sewing, cleaning). She does it somehow but a 5th grader would do better. My father never taught me anything significant and we never had any father-son bond of any kind (doing sports, fishing, road trips, sex talk and so on). They never supported any decision I made, always been like "sure, if that's what you want". That led me to make terribly wrong choices so many times. I could be glad that they had this attitude rather than opposing to everything but a little common sense would have gone a long way.
So there I am, have been a loser all my life and fighting recurring depression because of all that, and also for hating my parents. Forced autosuggestion has helped me to achieve good things but deep inside I know that I will never be able to achieve anything great because of these genetics barriers and it tears me apart from my dreams.
One of the reasons why I want to have kids is that I never want to make the same mistakes and I want to smash them across the face when they make mistakes and love them limitless righteously and truly make them superheroes of the new generation. My kids are going to rock that earth so bad you'll be sick of hearing about them in the news.
So yeah, I hate my parents and I have to put up with their boring crap every time I am in contact with them even though I live across the globe from them and it makes me hurl. I only do it because I feel the duty of being a son but it makes me sick.
When I was about 8, I tried to poison my stepfather. My stepfather had always treated me very badly, I was often hit and my mother continued to stick by him. After a while I developed such a hatred for him that I decided to get rid of him. I had once heard somewhere that too much salt can kill a person, so I came up with a plan: I would poison my stepfather with salt. Every meal time I mixed in some salt with his food. So that I wouldn't be apparent, I just took less salt. At the time I thought that it would take longer but that it would work all the same. He mostly didn't notice and only complained a few times that the food was too salted. I followed through for a few weeks, but when he was still as fit as a fiddle, I gave up. I only regret that I was too stupid to do it right.
Okay, so this isn't really a sin (is it?). But basically I'm pretty sure I may have accidentally fell in love with a girl I've never spoken too. I'm still a teenager, and she looked roughly the same age, and trying to tell yourself you're not a lesbian as you stand there undeniably attracted to a female stranger is tough. She wasn't typically pretty; short-cropped brown hair, brown eyes, quite tall and thin, dressed in a blazer and drain pipe jeans. To make it geekier she was reading a Graham Greene novel. We were both waiting outside a Doctor Who film set as well. So, basically, I feel bad that I was attracted, bad that I haven't told anyone I'm a lesbian, and bad for not going up to her.
Man, our neighbors two houses down are getting on my nerves in a major way! It has just barely gotten warm again, and they're already putting on garden parties that last into the night. There's no getting any sleep; with the wind just right, the smoke from their burnt sausages on the grill wafts into the bedroom and hangs there all night long. But the worst is, they are such loud a-holes. Neighbors complained, but that only helped temporarily. I have now acquired a strong water pump and downloaded rolling thunder noises from the internet. You know what happened next: last Friday, I turned on the pump, positioned the hose and turned on the thunder with my big loudspeaker. The drunk broads started to scream and everybody ran inside. You could still hear them, but it was muffled. A couple of days later, I met the neighbor in front of the house and he said, thank goodness it rained, we needed it, the ground was fart-dry. I'll let a little time go by, and, if they get loud again, I'm going to play weather god. I beg forgiveness and indulgence.
When my wife and myself went to bed last week we started to touch each other under the blankets, kissing and hugging. I was getting really horny and thought she was feeling the same as this was clearly sexually tinted. In that same moment she says to me: I'm not interested in making love, all I want is for you to hold me. "What?" was my immediate response.
Of course she had to sue the magic words: "You just don't understand the emotional needs of a woman." I gave in and no sex was to be had that night. The next day, my wife and I went window-shopping in the city center. She tried 3 very pretty and very expensive dresses in one of the local shops. When she couldn't decide, I told her to take all 3. She looked at me like she was seeing cows fly, but, motivated by my understanding words she stated she would than also need a pair of new shoes, which unfortunately would cost around 200 Euro. "No problem, of course" was my response.
When we passed by the jewelers department she went in and came back with a gold and diamond bracelet. You guys should have seen her. She was deliriously happy. She probably thought I was off my chuck, but she didn't care. I must have ruined her whole psychological understanding of the male when I said yes again. She was almost sexually aroused at this stage. With her prettiest smile she said: "Let's go to the check out." I had real trouble not to laugh when I said to her: "Sorry Honey, but I think I have changed my mind, I don't want to buy all this stuff after all. She turned pale at this, and even another shade paler when I added: "All I want right now is being hugged." When she was almost exploding with rage and hatred I added, as the final strike: "You really don't understand the financial needs of a man, don't you?"
When I was six, my father died of cancer and we, my mother, my two sisters and I, had to make it on our own. It wasn't easy to start with, but life went on and it was good. That is, until my mother met another man; I had just turned eight. He was a carpenter and, as often happened in his line of work, had two fingers missing on each hand. That did not make a trust-inspiring impression on a kid at the first meeting. I was afraid of him and very standoffish. It may seem like it's childishly naïve or mean to let oneself by upset by such things, but fairly soon it turned out that the first impression hadn't been wrong. His external appearance wasn't nearly as hateful as his interior. He was married, and, because his wife had money, he didn't want a divorce (thank God). But he wanted my mother anyway, and so she gave in to a three-way. To top it all, he was a terrible despot, saw himself as the head of the family and always took the seat at the head of the table as if rightfully his. That this presumption could hurt him sometime apparently never dawned on him.
There were a lot of arguments with my older sisters, with a lot of shouting and even some physical stuff. I never said anything about it. I was a quiet child who had not emerged from himself yet, in part to avoid stress, of course. Because of the way I acted, I was "good child" as far as he was concerned; one evening he opined that I should call finally call him "Pop". But I refused, and told him, in these exact words: "You can kiss my ass." An expression that I never used, but felt it was justified under the circumstances. He started yelling instantly and my mother actually took his side, so I had to go to my room.
That's when the hate started. I was only eight years old but felt pure hatred in my heart. So I decided he would be punished. Really punished. In our kitchen we had as seating a padded corner bench; there was always a small box stuffed with toothpicks on the table. Revenge would be easy, since I knew that the fat carpenter, without looking, would let himself fall onto the seat. My mother was fixing supper; I pretended to play with the toothpicks, but took one and stuck in the middle of the corner seat's padding, exactly on the hated guy's spot. I put the other toothpicks back in the box, went to my room and waited. My mother called us to the evening meal; I stayed in my room, listening. There was a fairly loud crack, followed instantly by a roaring yell. As you might expect from a kid, I had wanted the toothpick to stab him right in his butthole. But it missed. He had drilled a hole into his right testicle instead. He bled a lot, and my mother called the emergency medic.
He swore a blue streak and immediately accused me, but he couldn't do anything because of the pain. My two sisters couldn't wipe the grins off their faces anymore, and from that day on I was their hero. The right testicle was removed in the hospital.
I never saw this man again. I know it wasn't the right thing to do but, to this day, I'm not sorry about it. He deserved it. I never again in my life was violent or caused any other human being harm; but I'm convinced to this day that he was a bad person, and I'm glad that as s child of eight I found a way to let him know what I thought of him.
Stimulation and lustful thoughts have occurred, and I am so sorry for my sins. I always wish I could take things back but there is no way to do so, and I hope that God can forgive me because I wanted to do confession now, and there is no way of me being able to get to a church at this point, and time.
I find cleaning up, washing dishes, etc., completely boring. So I always imagine the following scenario; I am a popular assassination expert and I just broke in to an unknown apartment. In reality it's actually mine. My team consists of other more or less humorous, imaginary assassins and together we just killed someone. By cleaning and vacuuming, I am trying to hide our tracks. My imaginary colleagues always make fun of my obsession and tell me that I could simply get rid of the murder weapon because sooner or later someone will notice that the victim is dead. And then I have internal dialogues with the guys and say that because I keep my work clean, I am the top, best-paid assassin. My apartment has never been as clean as now with this hellish imaginary story. I recently bought new shoes for winter and feel like a professional killer when I vacuum. I hereby confess that I made a game out of murder when I cleaned up.
I was preparing lunch when I (w/27) got extremely horny. Since neither my partner nor anything else suitable was readily available, I used the cucumber. I was planning to dispose of it immediately when my partner called that he was bringing his mum (a real dragon of a mother in law) for lunch. Side dish was cucumber salad. Correct. With THAT cucumber. My self-control was extremely challenged trying not to laugh during lunch. I couldn't hide it completely, so my partner asked me later what was going on. I told him the whole story while suffering from a conniption that brought tears to my eyes. Thankfully he took it humorously. I'd love to tell the whole world.
I work as a waiter in a restaurant and in order to keep track of who ordered what and has to pay at large tables (8 to 20 people), I write everything on a separate piece of paper for each guest. And since I don’t know their names, I always come up with names like blockhead, horse face, Gucci slut, bar slut, and more.