I didn’t mean to lie at first.
When my small group leader asked if anyone wanted to join a 21-day fast, I raised my hand without thinking. It felt like the right thing to do. Everyone else was signing up for different kinds of fasts—some from food, some from social media, some from entertainment. I wanted to look committed. I wanted to look serious about my faith.
So I said I was fasting too.
I just didn’t say from what.
Technically, I am on a fast. It’s just not the kind they think it is.
I’m on a cum diet.
How It Started
It began as a joke in my own head.
I had been hooking up with two different guys from church—one from my small group and one from another congregation. Both of them liked finishing in my mouth. One night, after swallowing for the second time that week, I caught myself thinking:
I haven’t really eaten much today… but I’ve still taken something in.
That thought should have made me feel disgusted with myself. Instead, it made me wet.
So I leaned into it.
I started tracking it. I started treating it like a discipline. Every time I swallowed, I told myself I was “staying faithful” to my fast. Every time I let someone finish down my throat instead of eating a full meal, I felt like I was choosing the “narrow road.”
It was completely twisted.
And I loved it.
The Rules I Made for Myself
I started creating little spiritual-sounding rules around it:
- I only swallow. Spitting feels like wasting what I’ve been given.
- I try to take at least one load every day (sometimes more on weekends).
- I don’t eat heavy meals on days when I know I’m going to be used—it feels cleaner that way.
- I pray afterward. Not for forgiveness, exactly. More like… gratitude.
I even started referring to it in my own mind as “my fast.” When my small group would talk about what they were giving up, I would nod and say vague things like “It’s been really stretching” or “God is teaching me a lot about surrender.”
They thought I was talking about self-control.
I was talking about how good it feels to have my throat used as a receptacle.
Why I Keep Doing It
At this point, it’s not even just about the sex anymore.
There’s something deeply satisfying about carrying this secret. While my small group talks about the spiritual benefits of fasting, I’m walking around with someone else’s cum still warm in my stomach. While they’re praying about self-denial, I’m actively seeking out the next man who wants to empty himself into me.
It feels like the most honest thing I’ve done in a long time.
I’m not performing righteousness. I’m not pretending to be more disciplined than I am. I’m just… consuming. Quietly. Regularly. And with a strange sense of purpose.
Some days I even feel a twisted kind of pride about it. Like I’m more committed to my “fast” than most of them are to theirs. They break their fasts with snacks and scrolling. I break mine by letting someone fuck my face until I can’t speak properly afterward.
I’ve Stopped Feeling Guilty About the Lie
I used to feel bad about misleading my small group.
I don’t anymore.
Because in a strange way, I am fasting. I’m fasting from the version of Christianity that made me believe I had to perform purity in order to be acceptable. I’m fasting from the pressure to look like I have self-control when what I actually have is an appetite.
This cum diet might be the most consistent spiritual practice I’ve had in years.
It requires discipline. It requires showing up. It requires opening myself up and receiving. And unlike most of the spiritual disciplines I’ve tried, this one actually changes me.
It makes me quieter. More submissive. More aware of what I’m willing to take into my body—and what I’m willing to keep there.
Final Truth:
I still go to small group every week.
I still nod when people talk about their fasts. I still say “I’m doing okay” when they ask how mine is going.
But what I don’t say is this:
I’m not giving anything up.
I’m just choosing what I want to take in.
And right now, that happens to be cum.
More often than food.
More often than I pray.
And more consistently than I’ve ever committed to anything else in my Christian life.