I’m from a certain era, born in 1989. Brazilian, first user of a computer in the year of 2003. It took me 14 years to be able to navigate the internet. I remember going to Bruno’s home, decades of friendship and playing music together, when we were very young, and saying, after he asked me what I wanted to know, and I was next to my new girlfriend: “can you search for Asia Carrera?” He asked, confused: “you want me to go into Asia Carrera’s website?” and I said “Yeah…” That was the beginning of a story that gets kind of pervy, but the point is that I had plans of leaving home and living with her, abandoning my family, whose values were very Christian and they even took me to Church. In my First Communion, I had to read the Bible every Saturday morning and come to Church on Sunday. I passed the drug selling points, completely unaware of the dangers and activities, because I just knew there was a school there, and another that was on the square’s way which my grandpa took me to when he was about 70 years old. I decided I didn’t wanna be grabbed by the neck when I played too many videogames and didn’t listen to the call for lunch. I wanted something else, like listening to Iron Maiden and not Nelson Golçalves.

And that’s how I started blogging, many years later, when I was in the fourth year of college, I think. But it’s not about the music. It could be, if I wanted to spend time describing how music shaped my life and made me fluctuate through moments, sometimes in desperate tears, sometimes in thrill and intensity, others just passing the time, taking the subway and banging my fingers on the steel bars. I did that in college too, every staircase I could find. And I didn’t talk much. I played the drums, that started all the way back in 2004, thanks to Olívia, who incentivized me. And she went to nearly every rehearsal. Until it got busy. I was so lucky to have found a girlfriend, but my school friend said: “yeah, but she’s fat, you know”. And I thought it was a shitty thing to say, but having been enamoured by a girl who was super skinny, I wonder if she did that on purpose. That girl described, one day, the shape of her public hair. She drew it on a piece of paper. And I was like, happy. But I should’ve been malicious enough to smirk. I wasn’t. I just thought: “thanks for sharing”, and laughed in shame. I was 13.

At 9, though, I was already sucking cock. Not because I wanted to, but because I was forced, at school. I didn’t tell a soul. My memory is fainting from the pills. Maybe I did tell Olívia. And she just dealt with that. I don’t know if she formed the concepts in her head: “bullied, impaired, abused”. I just had a lazy eye, it was nothing. She held my hand every single day. I smelled her hair conditioner like it was the most expensive perfume I’d ever smell. It was the sweat on our hands and the remaining of the hair conditioner. And it smelled like some kind of chemistry. I wasn’t thinking “where did she put those fingers?” I wasn’t like that. I was just a guy… who heard, once: “do you know what this smell is? It’s the smell of pussy!” at a basketball court. I was, again, 13. And people were like: “did you hear that? Danielle thinks Ivo’s a hottie!” Her being one of those future Instagram models. And this girl, sharing a seat with me in the class, and me being like “damn, her ass really is big”. One day, I saw her at the beach. And I flexed my abs. And then I saw her at the mall, dating an older Black guy. She was from Bahia. Talked funny. The girl who said Olívia was fat bullied me because of my taste in music. Like the group of richer friends she hanged with. They knew everything about the trends. One day she said: “Oh you like metal? Name 10 metal bands!” And I struggled. I think even today I would. I don’t have to prove this sort of thing. And eventually she hurt me with her nails, badly, squeezing them on my arm until I bled. But Olívia was more accepting. She wanted to introduce me to U2. So one day, we listened to “Bad”. And my brother was laying in the bed next to us, ruining the moment. That was before they kissed, and I had to do the same on the next day, because I was the one hanging out every day. Embracing. Holding hands forever, everywhere. Listening to music. Stealing stuff. Drinking vodka.

I told the story of what happened when I joined her high school on my Substack. Some boys were camming all day, and the fact that someone else showed up in the feed didn’t please them. They had to attack me. And my friend. For real. With bottles. The director intervened, but much later. The police didn’t even see it, as far as I know. But they were older. And they were in her class, not mine. My class was terrible. I saw those people and I didn’t know what to do, but after 3 years, I had a few people I could start a conversation with, very tentatively. My hangout was with the older classes. And then, the other groups in the same year. And there were too many people to even remember. The blonde redhead. Stephanie, in the first year. The girls my girlfriend didn’t like, which mounted in numbers.

And in college, it wasn’t different. Each had a nickname. So we studied, and we worked, and we got through so much. Wasps next to the window, one pack of spaghetti for the weekend, bread with olive oil stolen from the students’ restaurant, lice, getting lost, falling down, missing texts, missing buses, making our way through the packed bus with the bags and everything. For years, we barely had any money. All social assistance. Until I found a real job. And things started to change. I met a girl on the internet, also — just a coincidence.

This girl was Suzan, and she lived in The Netherlands. She liked Japanese culture and fashion; I played Japanese rock. We were a match. But I didn’t know what I was doing. One day, Olívia’s brother was being made fun of for accessing the website tasty pussy dot com, another I was showing this girl the furniture in my own girlfriend’s home. What’s more embarrassing? But Suzan thought I was just showing her around, she didn’t interrupt me. And then I went home, and continued the conversation there. Here, where I am, just not in this room. I remember this vividly: I had shown her a video from “I feel myself dot com”. It was a lap dance with two girls. She said “finally a guy who knows my taste”. I read this as an invite. And so, later, after 2 hours or so, I said: “this shirt looks really good on you.” And she said thanks. But I was taken by the devil. I said: “if you could just pull it down a little bit…” And she didn’t take it seriously, or she was challenging me: “are you asking me to show my tits?” and I said: “Yeah…” But then she did. And I was in my dad’s room. My girlfriend was asleep in her home, or waking up. I must have complimented her… the pink nipples, the tenderness of her firm and curvy shapes. She was a small girl, so that was something to be proud of. I barely noticed it, but I must have said: “do you wanna see me too?” or maybe she asked. I did so. And we spent some time playing, she showed a little more, laid down in bed, and said: “I’m gonna cum…” and started crying, while I moaned and came with her.

That moment was a crucial part of my life. And it’s why I wanted to contextualize: I was a weird kid. I didn’t like home. I had difficulty socializing. My girlfriend had her own way of doing things, her own circle and everything, her own family. I had abandoned mine, and I needed something back but I didn’t know what it was. Until Suzan came. And I said: “I love you.” She got up, scared: “What did you just say to me?” and I replied, shyly: “I said I love you.” And think I meant that the stuff was good, she was really hot, thanks for the show, we’ll talk more later if we get the chance, bye bitch. But no. I was romantic. In fact, Suzan was the first girl I approached in my life. Like that. And it worked. And the words escaped my mouth so quickly. Olívia made me lean in. Brought me closer and entangled. But then I realized I had a problem. How would I explain this to her? We were, truth be told, 7 years into our relationship in deep faithfulness. But what on Earth would I have to say? I’d cheated on her. But in my mind, and in reality, something entirely different was going on. Two people met online, things happen. We let it. Did Olivia let it? She’s make sure that wasn’t the case much later, when she saw a sexy picture, but she said it was okay for me to talk to people online. I figured I could keep going. And I told her the things Suzan told me about The Netherlands. For a while, this happened. 6 months or so. Suzan told me she had an abusive father, slutty friends and weirdos lurking around. But she had a good social life. Everything seemed fun from her perspective. My perspective was a creamy pink dildo — which would not be the only one.

Olívia got a call one day. It was Suzan. She said: “Who’s this? WHO’S THIS?” And hung up. I was scared. And she told me: “You’re gonna have to choose. It’s either me or her.” I wonder if you think this is cringe yet. I fucked her brains out on that day, the same day I broke up with Suzan, and I was probably a mess from the urge to find a solution for the whole situation, but also chronically horny; so I fucked her hard — so much the condom broke. We had, no further comments, a terrible abortion. And I say “we” because I could be the dad of a 13 year old right now. The same year when I started to hear those things I’m narrating in the beginning of this blog entry.

A few months later, I lost my grandpa. He was 84, and had a heart attack. Olívia was at the funeral. Suzan… replied to an email saying: “be careful, cause your grandma could be next”. I’ll never forget that.

But I kept my curiosity alive. If it had been so interesting with this girl, why not try meeting other people? I saw myself adding randoms on Skype, going on early days Omegle, and then I met Rachael. She introduced me to Pornhub. Metal chick, tatooed on her chest with a word that means “dear” in German. Big tits. Chubby. Does it matter? I saw her Pornhub, but we didn’t interact much, except we were friends on Facebook. And Skype. But the idea of camming was wrong to me. Even though I searched for it. And then one day, Hannah showed up. She said: “if you want to see more of me, go to Gifyo, I’m on there every day”. It was the beginning of a downhill process, talking to minors… except I had met Lanta and she forgot to tell me her age.

On Gifyo, I met many people. The unforgettable one was Julie. Me and her were just special. We had such a connection. She always listened to me. She had stuff to share and I was mesmerized by the sound of her voice. I partly didn’t even listen. I could just say: “can you meow to me?” and I bet she would, because she was sucking on her own tits and slapping them. Bending over, thrusting the pussy and making juicy noises that drove me crazy. Tasting. And I came over, and over, and over. Of course there was Melissa, the Pornhub girl who dedicated a blog to me and probably made me internet famous, putting my name for everyone to see, and then posting more porn: “Do you like cream?” And we stopped doing stuff, but at this point, Olívia knew what I was doing online and she found herself a guy. A very open minded guy, who happened to be my best friend at work. She and him began dating. Well, not quite: there was a party at this girl’s house, one girl made mojitos, the other played A Perfect Circle on the TV, and then we all laid down. She started to cuddle my hair. I felt extremely turned on. And Daniel was right beside us. But then Talita started to pass out. Ravena went to give her a wholeass shower, because she was vomiting on herself. I go knock to see if everything’s fine, I turn my back, and Olívia and Daniel and rage kissing. That was not the only thing I saw, we had two threesomes and one day I saw them fucking in front of me and recoiled in the under bed and started to cry. Not that it matters. I was wrong, wasn’t I?

But Julie also had an abusive father. Just like Olívia. Two alcoholics, one who’d had cancer. And so smoking was an issue. I started to have a thing for the receptionist. We hung out, Olívia was with Daniel, and I was trying to get to stay with Natália. And it just never happened. Until one day, smoking weed, she asked: “I know you try to see if you can kiss me, right?” and I said: “No, I’ve never tried that.” It was true, but when I heard she was thinking about quitting, I had a crisis and started to cry in the bathroom at work.

My conversations later came after me and Olívia broke up. I was supposed to be the coordinator of the school. I got fired. Came in there under the influence, the new boss got a complaint. I saw my life begin to crumble life domino pieces put together. First, my work. Then, my academic studies. Then, my relationship. Then, my home. Then, my band. Then, I was kicked out of home, an episode I tried to illustrate in one of my short stories. I eventually got back, but that was 10 years ago, after a girl I managed to find — or rather, who managed to find me — stayed with me for a year, a little less. The day was humbling, slightly humiliating tasks, and pills. And TV.

I came to Omegle again, and I found this girl, this feisty little beast, Emma. We spent 7 years in and out of a relationship, and today she claims I groomed her into virtual sex and threatens me with police involvement on the case if I call her any names, which she surely deserves. But that’s because, honestly, Emma had a a thing for being called names, and I was kinda soft with her — she wasn’t with herself. And that made for great camming, but a terrible relationship, with no conversation.

So there you have it, this is where I am. That is, details taken out, details randomly added, lots of people unmentioned, what happened. What matters to know is that there are conversations we’re not having. And these stories reveal a lot of them. The bigger message though is that sometimes, we never forget the words they say to us. Like, for example: “It’s over.”