🤦 CORRECTED MY MISTAKE 🙇‍♂️ I read my friend's latest story, and as a man, I also want to take the initiative to share my story with you. Not that I'm proud of my behavior or anything, but I'm carrying around guilt, and I want to express myself. My story begins like this: I'm my parents' middle child, and people often say that middle children are always the most vulnerable. Financially, things were going well at home, which meant my brother, sister, and I were incredibly spoiled. My brother was already living alone at 18 and had everything because he was also a good kid and had graduated. I was only 15, I did well in school, and after I graduated, I could live separately if I wanted. My sister wouldn't go anywhere because she was a baby and couldn't live without Mom and Dad. My brother and I have a good relationship, and I often stayed over at his place, unless I didn't have a rehearsal or something. He taught me a lot, took me out more often, and before I was 16, I'd slept with more than 10 Cuban/Dominican girls. My brother taught me the street hustle, and I loved it. I wasn't exactly a wer'ede, but don't look for me, and I was always in the mood for a fight. My circle of friends also consisted entirely of guys who, like me, thought being tough was awesome. So we acted tough, especially when we saw women. I admit: I was terribly pretentious, and because I knew I was a pretty boy, I was always successful. My parents continued to look after me until I graduated at 19, and I had to work. I was allowed to work in my father's company, but I refused and started working somewhere else. I loved hanging out, and I was never home when I got home from work or had a day off. Chilling, women, s*x, friends, and money were my life. My parents talked to me about my lifestyle, but I figured I was already grown up, so I could do whatever I wanted. They thought I should get out, and they arranged it, so within a year I was left alone. Party after party!!! The years passed, and I was already 23, and I was enjoying myself. I often spent time with my parents, because I couldn't cook, and every weekend I took my dirty laundry to my mother. She complained, but she knew I couldn't do it, so she happily obliged. If I tried to give her money, she'd scold me. One day I was visiting my parents again, and my father pointed out a few work things to me on his phone. Suddenly, a message came in from a guy named Peter 2: "Okay, honey, call me😘" I choked and asked, startled, "Dad, are you okay?" My father quickly pulled me outside and called my mother that we were going to the store. My heart was pounding, because I don't think Dad and Mr. Peter are having anything, do I? We got into his car, and as we drove out of the yard, he started talking: "Peter 2" isn't the Mr. Peter I know. This second Peter is a kind of country sweetheart of his, who worked as a cleaner for them. She was desperately looking for a place to rent, and he was going to help her. My mother didn't know anything, and she'd rather not know anything. "How old is she?" I asked him. "25," he said. I burst out laughing, because my father is in his early fifties and has a side chick who's 25? "Gold digger," I immediately thought. I asked for a photo, and when he pointed it out, I immediately changed my mind: a spangly, beautiful Maroon woman was looking at me seriously from my father's phone. I started asking him questions and realized they hadn't had s*x yet because they didn't have a chance. It seems like she doesn't really want him either, but she's keeping him for work and money. Even better! I have to drill this! Sorry, Dad. We went into the store but didn't know what to buy. We just bought some things, and on the way home we talked about Rachel, my father's sweetheart. I then asked him what he was going to do about renting a house, because I had a cunning plan in mind. He was going to rent a house for her, but I suggested renting a room for her at a low price, so he could come and see her at my house without arousing my mother's suspicion. My father thought that was a great idea and promised to contact Rachel. Not long after, I got a message from her. She told me she had gotten my number from my father. We talked about the necessary matters, and I simply gave her a rent because I didn't even need the money. I had other plans. She agreed, even though we had to share the kitchen. I don't cook, so yeah. I paid someone to clean and decorate a room because it had to be furnished. After a few days, she moved in with me, and it wouldn't be long before she ended up in my bed. After that, she could leave again. That's what I thought. She never gave me the chance to be rude to her; she was too polite. She called me "sir," and "u." Even though she's two years older than me. I said