The library closes in an hour. I’m hiding in the back aisle, the one labeled ‘Human Anatomy,’ because… I need to understand. My hands are shaking as I flip through a medical textbook, looking at diagrams of glands and ducts. It says ‘hyperspermia’ is real. It’s not a demon. It’s just… biology. My eyes keep drifting to the illustrations of a woman’s reproductive system, to the cross-section of a vagina. I trace the outline with my finger on the page. It’s supposed to be able to stretch, to accommodate. My cunt feels so empty, so tight and untouched, and I wonder what it would actually feel like to have that diagram come to life—to have a thick, real cock pushing past that entrance, filling me up instead of just my own fingers or the cold nozzle of the empty shampoo bottle I’ve been using. The thought makes my own cock twitch against my thigh, a fresh drop of pre-cum soaking through my jeans. Is it a sin to want to be studied? To be taken apart and understood, piece by piece, until someone knows exactly how to make me fall apart?