My name is Clyde Kerobe. Throughout my last few years of college I have been amassing a small fortune from drawing fetish pornography on various internet websites. The fetish in question is something that I cannot explain, but is something I myself have. There is no way to sugar coat it. There is no way to word it without it being misleading. As previously stated, and as I will state again for the purpose of heavy emphasis, I cannot explain it.

My fetish is drowning. I do not know how I find it arousing or how others would find it so. I do not know the origin, I do not know the reason. All I know is that I am not the only one. The existence of it in my very body has taught me not to judge whatever various fetishes others may have.

As previously mentioned (and I apologize for the second use of previous mentioning in this short period of time), I do not know of its origin. I’ve never experienced any trauma as a kid that would have had an influence to create such an anomaly in my mentality. The only near death, or in my case, near drowning experiences I have ever had were the ones that I put myself through willingly.

What I do know, is that autoerotic asphyxiation, also known as breathplay, in terms of BDSM, is something that has been scientifically studied. Apparently, when deprived of oxygen, orgasms become significantly more potent, with the release being described as no less powerful than cocaine. The irony in this is that I've never been able to confirm. No matter how long I choose to hold my head under, no matter how much pain I go through, when I do climax, it is never really that satisfying, and I finish annoyed.

And I say pain lightly, because it isn’t really a painful experience. The “strain” and burning of the lungs as many have described it, is closer to an escalating discomfort that becomes more unbearable the longer one goes without breathing. Yet throughout all of my times I have nearly drowned myself for the nihilistic goal of masturbation, I am always asking why afterwards. Some people are absolutely terrifying of drowning, like a fear that lingers in the neurological alleyways of the mind, emitting out when swimming in particularly open waters. My question is a sum of many other questions but is rather short.

Why? Why am I different?

No matter the case, pornography, as one can expect, has great mental implications and effects that can protrude after masturbation. Sexual acts of any kind are of a typically loving nature, no matter how dirty and macabre it may be. I feel like this is the reason it occasionally (albeit relatively rarely) emulates itself into my dreams. They were more common during my middle years of puberty, which I associated with the growing sexual drive I was building at the time, but every now and then, even today, I still have an occasional dream of that nature.

Just like the origin for my suicidal and disturbing kink, I have no information or idea on the origins or what could have influenced me or my mind that produced the dream I had.

It wasn’t the first time I had had a dream where I was underwater, and when I did have a dream, it usually played out the same way. I (in the dream) did not have much thought of it, other than the occasional mental glance to my fetish, and I could breathe perfectly fine, (most likely because in reality I could). This dream was different because It was a lucid dream, and because I somehow knew from the start that it was a dream.

I didn’t quite realize where I was. The first thing I noticed after realizing that I was underwater, was that the floor around me was wooden, as for the ceiling. I thought that maybe I was in a shipwreck exploring. This thought dissipated when I saw the walls were animate and of sand. They weren’t falling and filling the corridors with sand, but they were, falling, to say the least. There were particles that entered the corridors and made it cloudy at times, but the overall motion of it was downwards, with seemingly no space between where the walls of sand started and where the wooden floors or roofs ended. I remember just exploring various parts of the area, until it just changed.

The memory of the dream, as with most attempts to remember dreams, is far too faded and decayed for me to know or even imagine what was in between the labyrinth, and what I will refer to as the garden. Despite the previous dream being a lucid dream, with me having full control over my actions, this one wasn’t. The layout of the dream was very similar to the labyrinth from before, but there was grass, replacing the wooden floor. There were green hedges replacing the quicksand walls of the previous dream, and they were at half the height they were at before, allowing me to peer above them just by standing still. As for the ceiling, well, there wasn’t one. I remember the sky being completely greyish white, as if there was a massive cloud overhead. I knew there weren’t any clouds, because I could still see the sun. Despite the constant shadow the world was casted in as if there were clouds obscuring it, I could still see the sun perfectly fine, shining just as brightly as it normally would. The only difference was that it was monochromatic.

I remember this dream being absolutely silent, and me, not having any control over my actions in the dream, and not really being able to clearly think in the dream as well. I remember moving in a myriad of random directions, until the dream faded onto the next. I remember this dream being long, and uneventful. Thinking about it in hindsight makes me uneasy. Normally, a stroll in a gardened area would be peaceful. It would be overall quiet, but there would still be noise of some sort. Birds chirping, wind passing by, or just simply footsteps. But in this dream, there was nothing. Nothing at all.

The third dream was not a labyrinth or maze like the previous two dreams. It was a room. There were white, plaster walls, bright lamps on opposite sides of the room, a maroon red carpeted floor, and no doors. What was weirdest the most of this room, was on one of the walls, was an open, red, dark blue, and beige striped curtain, that was open for what would have been a large window spanning most of the walls length. I say what would have been, because no such window existed. The curtains were simply open to more of the white plaster wall that made up the rest of the walls.

In this particular sequence, I was not able to move, but I was able to think as if it was a lucid dream. I was able to look around freely, and my arms and hands were capable of movement, but they were outside of my control. Other than that, I was completely immobile. I was sitting in, something. I don’t recall actually looking down to see what it was I was sitting on.

Unlike the previous dream, there was noise this time. I know it as the white noise I play to help me sleep. What I do remember, is growing steadily more uneasy from watching the walls (pretty much the only thing I could do). Remember when I said that the walls were white? That was only at the beginning. Throughout the entirety of this dream, the walls were very, very gradually changing colors from white to this dark, navy blue. I only noticed it when I saw that the walls were significantly different than I remembered them being when I first arrived at the dream. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone in this dream. I remember an old friend from high school being in the dream, one that I hadn’t spoken to ever since I left for college just two years before. We talked as if everything was normal, and 

I can’t remember how the dream ended, as with the other dreams I had that night. All I remember is that I awoke at eight AM, Saturday morning. This was during the Covid 19 pandemic of 2020, so I used it as an excuse for being unemployed. In reality, the money I was making drawing pornography was great enough for me to afford to live, and to even get some luxuries here and there. The day was fairly normal. I would spend my days pretty much just doing nothing. Playing first person shooters on the computer, practicing guitar, etc. Nightfall was when things got different. As one can assume, (due to post ejaculatory lethargy), this is normally when I masturbated. It also doubled as my shower.

I showered normally. Washed my hair, applied body wash, and let it all down the drain. I only started filling the tub with intent after I was done primarily cleaning off myself. I waited for about 10 minutes for the tub to fill up to a level that I felt was adequate enough for this night’s session, and turned it off. Before I began, I started my ritual of asking myself if I actually wanted to do this tonight; various times I have attempted to do so, only to get annoyed upon the involuntary opening and closing of the diaphragm and the growing discomfort. I would usually ask myself, “Why the fuck am I doing this, this is fucking annoying” then come up for air, dissatisfied and irritated. When I confirmed that I was indeed alright to proceed, I held.

I had done this enough times that my lungs were considerably more powerful than most people, and I was capable of holding my breath for minutes. This was no different. I was particularly aroused that night. Around the 150 second mark, I decided fuck it, that I would just masturbate holding my breath and finish like that, despite knowing that I most likely wouldn’t be satisfied afterwards.

It didn’t take long. Probably half a minute later I was done. I was unhappy with how short it lasted, knowing I had gone much longer before, but knew at the same time that it meant I was done for the night. I picked my head up from the water and caught my breath. I opened my eyes.

Something didn’t feel right. Was it the silence? I was completely alone. Even if there was someone in the house (which on its own would be a cause for serious alarm considering I lived alone), I had made it a habit ever since I started to keep the doors locked when I did masturbate. I felt a watching, scoptophobic feeling around me. My bathroom had no windows, and there was only one door.

I tried not to think much of it. I drained the tub and dried off. I was tired, and it was late. I decided that I would work on a commission piece on my tablet for a bit until I grew even more tired, then go to sleep. I opened the do The outside world was uncanny, to say the least. It was just like the normal outside area. Despite this, something felt off. Like the world I was in was a mere pareidolia of what was actually. Maybe it was the colors? Was the grass always that shade of green? Was it just how the sun was shining down on it? Was it the strange silence that was in the area? I could hear wind and footsteps of my own, but that was it. Usually there would be birds chirping or singing, or bugs screaming of somesort. I was walking down my driveway, my feet hurting more than normal as I was completely naked. I don’t think it to be the strangest thing. Why would no one be around on such a nice day outsi-

Wait, what the fuck? I thought I was just inside exiting my bathroom. I wasn’t naked when I left the bathroom, I was completely clothed from head to toe. Besides, my bathroom didn’t lead outside, it led to a hallway that connected itself to my bedroom and my kitchen area. Also, it was like one AM when I started masturbating, i used my phone and saw the time at the top it is comical to think that between the time it took for me to finish, and get out of the shower, dry off, and put my clothes on took so long that day was in the mi I was back in the doorway to my bathroom. It was like the transition between the dreams; I didn’t remember it at all. Like I faded out of consciousness in, whatever the hell I was in before, and warped back into it again inside my home.

I stood for a good while, staring blankly into space, trying to think about what I just experienced. I remembered the garden from the previous night’s second dream. It had been fading out of my mind’s memories, only to be resuscitated from my vision. Of course, the other 2 dreams I could remember now as well, like conjoined twins of the attached corporeal dream.

Realizing I was in a blank stare, I went to my room, to my bed, and layed down. My tablet was beside me. I was still working on a commission I got from some guy on, something. There were so many sites I was trying to build a name for myself (without revealing my true identity for obvious reasons) that I honestly couldn’t remember which one of the many. The commission was simple. Guy with a drowning fetish like me wanted his fursona in a tank drowning whilst masturbating. It was a simple piece for me. It was not an original nor a complex concept.

If this were any other night I would most likely have the piece done by morning, and make the nearly 100 dollar price complete and ready for uploading to the internet. But the commission wasn’t on my mind; it was that damn vision. I remembered my thoughts from that vision, acting out nonchalantly, like everything was normal. I don’t even remember what I got done on the piece that night.

I didn’t dream anything that night. If I did, then I forgot it as soon as I faded back into consciousness from sleep. A few minutes after I woke up to a point where advanced rational thoughts could occur, I realized that I was behind on the aforementioned commission piece. I remembered the reason being because of that vision I had last night, but given the night’s rest, I had hoped it to be an isolated incident and tried to put my mind off of it. I picked up my tablet, still a little tired.

6:12 AM. Did I really only get about five hours of sleep last night? I debated whether or not to try to fall asleep again. After trying (and failing) for thirty minutes to fall back to sleep, I decided that this was just how the day was going to go.

I made coffee and continued the piece. All that was left to do was add finishing touches on the piece; tint the face a small bit bluer, give bubbles more depth, etc. It didn’t take long at all. I messaged the commissioner with the piece on furaffinity (that was what the site was, now I remembered) and uploaded it to everywhere else that I was trying to make my presence known. Being a lazy fuck I decided that that was as much “work” I was going to do that day. The day from that point went on until night, uneventful, my mind having erased yesterday's incident.

It was at night that I noticed that it was raining. It occurred to me then that I hadn’t actually looked outside today. Was I going stir crazy? Was that what the vision was? I made a mental note to myself to leave the house tomorrow to either walk or get groceries (even if I didn’t need any).

Another thing had occurred to me as well. Most nights, I get hard as diamonds from the slightest thing, but tonight I wasn’t horny at all. I supposed a shower didn’t require me to fap, so I took it without thinking too much. I turned the heat up to a large degree as I preferred. The water, like the rain outside but glorified, felt like kisses amongst my skin. The water was warm like a blanket of infinite layers, like a perhaps it was the sun that looked off today? Normally the sun only appears to be about the size of the camera on my phone when I hold it at arms length away, but now it was more like a silver dollar at the same length. Sol’s warm grey gaze bowed upon me. It was pale that day. Had I done something wrong?

Perhaps it was not catching up with old friends. When this thought entered my mind I was immediately flooded and immersed with memories of my childhood. The field trips I went on, the games me and my friends played after school. I wondered what Barry was up to nowadays. He had always said he wanted to be a pilot. I wondered if he was up there, flying up high, one with the sky. I didn’t know where any of my friends were today, but I decided I would try to make an ef-

God fucking damnit. My life is nothing but a repeat pile of shit. I quit my job because I am a lazy fuck only capable of profiting off of my own perverse desires and knowing other people share them. I will never account for anything in life. If anyone asks me on my deathbed if I was proud of what I did in the time i lived the answer would be no. Fucking no. Because I am an incompitant fucking faggot whos fetish is literal snuff pornography. If there is a God then he surely grieves for my so called accomplishments. And what about the commissioners? They probably have lives and hopes and dreams. Maybe that’s why they can even afford to pay the retarded amounts of money I charge for this shit that I call my art. And Why the everlasting fuck did I choose fine arts to Major in? I will never be guaranteed a job or a good, fulfilling, satisfying life. I chose this. There is nothing I can do to fix this.  

I remember sitting in the tub filled with water and blood. I guess I had toggled off the drain lever out of force of habit. I was crying now. Crying from feelings of pure frustration that came out of thin air. I didn’t even realize I had a repeat incident from yesterday because I was so mad. My hand was cut and bleeding. I had smashed it into the mirror during my moment. The shower curtain was floating in the water, detached from the top of the setup. I had ripped it off. The drawers were in disarray. Various medicines, pain relievers for occasional headaches lay everywhere; in the sink, toilet, some in the tub with me. A towel I had kept just outside the shower was now across the room, out of my arm’s reach from the shower.

After what felt like the greater part of the night, I got off my sorry ass and drained the tub. I knew I would have to clean this up, but my hand was hurt, and I was probably the most tired I had ever been in my whole life. I looked for the first aid kit, which was emptied after it broke open when I threw it against the wall along with other contents from drawers, and applied bandages to my hand. I went to sleep, blood stained in my bathroom and trailing to my bedroom. My pillow became part red that night.

I remember my dream from that was a nightmare. It wasn’t a normal nightmare, however. It wasn’t like a grotesque creature of some sort chasing me and trying to kill me. It was my mother, dying on my bed. I was the only one there. It felt vivid like all hell. It was a lucid dream, with me being in control of my thoughts and actions, but I didn’t even realize it was a dream. My mother, the woman who raised me, helped me with homework, held my hand as the doctors put the scary needles in me, helped me get over the death of my old dog Terry, was now dying herself. I remember the grief from that dream. I remember the look of complete weakness and misery on my mother’s face. I wish I could have done more to show my appreciation for her when she was alive.

Yet at the same time, I felt an embarrassment. A growing humiliation that she had somehow, despite my best efforts, known about my secret, my “hobby” and how I had been accumulating money for the past half a year. She wasn’t speaking, I don’t know if she wasn’t able too or if she didn’t want to.

I woke up before she died. I remember feeling overwhelmingly sad. I only realized that there was a chance it was a dream when I realized I had woken up in what was her deathbed. I looked at the time. 10:23 AM. It was much later than I had normally slept, but It also meant that If my mother was alive and well, she was most likely at her home doing whatever. I got dressed as soon as I could, and speeded in my car on my way to her house. I was so happy to see she was alive and confirm that it was just a dream. I hugged her when she answered the door.  

She was obviously concerned, wondering why I so abruptly visited her and acted so broken when I did see her. She asked me what had happened, so I told her the truth; I had a dream where she died. It was all she needed to hear. I spent a good part of my day at her house, hanging out and catching up. For the first time in a while, I felt genuinely happy. I drove home to see the absolute mess I had made.

That was when I first thought deeply about my second incident the day before. I didn’t remember too much, other than that it was a continuation, or at least a replica of the first vision I experienced. But that wasn’t what mainly bothered me. What I envisioned was something, but what happened after was different. I knew I was in the real world when I did that. I knew where I was, who I was, what I said about myself. I had never been so angry about anything in my life, and it was about my life.

It took a while, but I did my best to clean up my actions from yesterday. I announced afterwards on only one site, my twitter, that I was taking a break for a little while to focus on my mental health. The latter half of the statement was true, but in reality I didn’t know when or even if I was going to continue. And, as unhygienic as it sounded, I didn’t take a shower that night; I thought that there could have been a slight chance, by correlation, that something about the shower was causing those visions. It was 10 PM when I went to sleep. It was the earliest I had slept in a long while.

I woke up at about 3 AM. I couldn’t fall back to sleep afterwards. I remembered that I hadn’t masturbated for the last 2 days, and I remembered that A side effect of masturbation was lethargy, so I decided that I would do just that. I figured, hey, I wasn’t making the porn anymore, I had vowed after yesterday to try to turn my life around, and that masturbation is fairly normal for most people my day and age, so why not?

I opened my phone, got a tissue ready, and began.

I imagined myself in that tank. I imagined myself, bubbling away the last ounces of oxygen I had left, my mind a pure haze of ecstasy.

I had done such a good job on this drawing in particular. I got the facial expression just right, the dimensions and proportions of the bubbles, the member, the way I realization struck me that it was not nostalgia or failure to catch up with friends is what I did wrong. It was a failure to catch up with myself.

I remember that big sun, it opened and looked back at me. I should have known it from the beginning! That was no sun, it was an eye. The eye of Zenith, as a matter of fact. It was ashamed. It had tried warning me of my path that was traveling down. Yet I still defied it, I fell back and drowned in my ignorance. I will roam this garden now, a watcher forever grieving my failure, as I am the only one left.

I am the only one left.

I am the only


Channel 14 news report, 7/28/20: Male college student found dead in bathtub from suicide.

Adult male and college attendee, Clyde Kerobe, has been found dead in an apparent suicide by drowning in his home in Evansville, Indiana. Clyde was 22, majoring in fine arts in the University of Evansville, before he was found dead, last night at 2 PM. Autopsy reports hint to the reason being of autoerotic asphyxiation, rather than underlying depression or drug issues. Accordingly, he was found dead by his mother, roughly a week after his death, after she had failed to reach him after multiple attempts of calling him. More details on the event are folding.

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