I had crossed this forest every weekday for over a year, but today something felt off, the shadows of the trees seemed darker and swallowed every shre...d of light. There was no noises, birds were silent, no cars heard in the distance, even the twigs I stepped on snapped seemed to be muffled, and worst of all an unsettling, cold breeze blew in the wood.I shivered and picked up my pace as my paranoia gnawed at me, I felt foolish for acting like a child and unsettled as the woods were a stranger to. So tall, so confident, such full lips and that platinum hair ... but this being Facebook and seeing she was married, how could I get her attention without being the creepy guy who told her she was so fucking sexy I was leaking a little pre-cum into my boxer briefs?Seeing that Shelly's profile popped up because we knew mutual people -- turns out family friends knew her -- I decided not to overthink this. I got my cock to calm down and sent her a message pointing out our mutual. I wonder if this experiment would be easier if I wasn’t writing about it.Difficult Rating: 4Day 7The hardest part about not masturbating on Day 7 was whenever I talked to a women , I had to censure myself from saying, “I want to put my penis inside you.”I felt in profound physical pain, not just in or near my penis and testes, but in and around my entire stomach and gut. In a moment of weakness, I considered giving up.“A week of not masturbating is an achievement!” Penis said to Brain. “If. ”“God dammit, kid. I said you can’t see forty-seven. What fucking number do you see? Don’t give me any shit,” he barked.I was getting apprehensive, so I closed my eyes hoping that when I opened them I wouldn’t see forty-seven again. I knew he had the power to immediately grade me as “Good to Go to Viet Nam”. My heart was pounding as I opened my eyes. Fuck.“Well, kid, what’s the fucking number?”“Forty-seven?”“No, you little shit. The number is either forty-four or seventy-seven, not forty-seven..