(part of) the story of Alt

i told him from the moment we met - that i'd never love him as much as he wanted. he maintained that he did not care. i found out that i did. that was the beginning of the end and that was 2 years in. we were doomed. he, was an optimist. or maybe he just wanted me that bad or thought that i was that special. i remember when he told me he thought we were meant to be together, my heart sank. i swore i would never say that to someone. isn't that terrible?

the truth is, i'm paranoid. as fuck. i should probably be medicated for it or whatever the only way i'm taking "pills" is if they're needed to keep me alive, right. so far, my paranoia hasn't killed me. it's made me nervous as hell, delusional at times and difficult to be around - i divorced my husband because i thought he deserved to have a life. he was miserable. he stopped fucking me. that's how goddammed miserable i made him. then i felt bad and was angry because i'd find lube in the shower and he knew.. he knew i would always fuck him. i never turned him down. and he would rather rub his fucking dick in the shower. so, i told him he needed to move out. he cried. i felt guilty. he stayed. a month passed. October 2009 my dog started getting sick. i was in denial about it. i'd had her since 1997. i wasn't ready for her to die. you never are. my heart was breaking for it. not for my marriage. i was sick over having to euthanize my girl, my friend. but i knew she was hurting and i couldn't bear to let her suffer. so i didn't. i told him he needed to move out. he did. 1 week later - i had her put to rest and he spent every night with me, holding me while i was in hysterics and then really scary silences that would last for days. the pendulum was swinging at a very high arch. he would eat my cunt while i cried just to take my mind out of it for a while and then fuck me. my god. i have never had better sex than when i was fucking my ex. ex sex... i could feel the change in him. he was starting to hate me. he fucked me like he hated me. he fucked me so hard that i would spot after. but i was hungry for more. always more. i moved to an apartment. the divorce was slowly progressing. he came over every night and i'd leave the door unlocked for him and lie on my bed naked, curled on my side and i'd get wet when i would hear him unbuckling his belt... sliding it out of the loops... i wanted him to beat me. i wanted him to make me sorry. but he never did. he just savagely ate my cunt, would fuck me for a few minutes and then shove his cock in my face (when i told him to, of course... little sub sub...) until i shook and came on his face... then he'd fuck me until my cunt was almost dry. he knew how to fuck. i knew how to fuck him. (i didn't know how to fuck the surrogate - i just let him rape me.) this went on until one day - he came over and told me he'd fucked someone else - right after the last time we were together, then he left. i wasn't mad. i was disappointed that he wasn't going to come over and fuck me anymore.

the divorce was finalized. he cried. again. then he met his new girlfriend 2 weeks after. i was just in a weird place. i was in a depression because of my dog. my paranoia got worse. i spent a lot of time playing Sims 2. i had no television (still don't), i was too cheap to pay for internet, i was too afraid to go out and meet anyone, and i was busy getting fucked up and shaving my head.

i moved. again. roommate - forced socialization. the truth is, i wanted to get the fuck on with my life. so i had a look see for people here and there. first one - John, in his late thirties, British guy, very smart - wanted me - wanted to collar me. turns out he's married and she doesn't know. no. after that... there seemed to be a flood of married men, vying for my attention. NO! then i met Randy. wow. i kinda fell for him. he was separated. (i've been there) he taught me things... taught me to enjoy things that i did not like... cunt spanking. things end badly. then. Chris. i met Chris not long after Randy. i wasn't ready for him then. i dashed. 9 months later Chris is back. i fall. hard this time. oh man. but the paranoia, the self doubt... coupled with his own things.

shit just..

when it was good, it was great.

then it just wasn't.

what a disappointment.

so there. caught up. trying not to nurse that break too much.

however. i have to use inspiration as it's given to me. if i need to write about all this - then i need to write about all this. the truth is. i don't like that Chris got to me like he did. i don't like that he had that much power over me, even though i willingly gave it to him. it just fuels my paranoia.

we are like the two pushing sides of a magnet, you can force them together but they will always fly apart again.

of sound and memory

the sound of a needle on a record, the distinct pop and crackle out of the speakers, the warmth of it - because that's what it is, if ever a sound was warm, it would be the sound of vinyl being touched by a diamond.

for all the things my parents did to shelter me. their precious. their baby.

i found my way to being broken anyway.

sometimes. it's just meant to be.

i was made for this.

clarity

amazing:

how quickly things can be sorted out - when they aren't avoided but actually addressed - thought over... learned from... discarded or kept.

the resolve it takes to face the day, because this all started when i woke up this morning with a nasty feeling in my heart. i wonder how many people have cried naked, while curled up on the bathroom floor, because they just can't make it to the shower. it's not a pretty site down there with the dog hair fluffing around mucus infused sobs... i've hit rock bottom my friend. i have fucking sunk to the depths of hell. what the fuck is my next move? because this shit - isn't what anyone would call functioning. this is certifiable baby. it's like having the choice - right or left - up or down - sideways - but BITCH, YOU'VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING!!! because this shit - isn't working.

somehow.

i make it off of the bathroom floor. i don't care that my face is covered in snot and dog hair. but out of morbid curiosity, i make myself look in the mirror. and what i see... breaks my heart. i'm witnessing a stranger in the mirror and oh my god, she's in pain. what do i do for a person in pain? i try to comfort them. that really should be a moral obligation. it's not what makes the difference between a nice person and a mean person - this is the difference between good and bad. if i can walk away from that, i'm not a good person. the right thing to do, is to comfort myself. somehow, a warm shower doesn't feel like a chore, but something that i need to feel better. i'm viewing myself from a detached perspective, i'm now just taking care of myself. gently brushing the dog hair away from my mouth, softly dabbing the tears away from my eyes. trying to smile. nope. too much. fuck it. hot shower. rinsing cares away - i am not. but being clean makes me feel more human, so this will likely work. there are periods, of course - when i merge back into myself and am overcome. but i manage to stay upright. this is an improvement. be proud. once clean, it's time to address myself in the mirror once more.

how the fuck am i going to explain my eyes being blood shot and the skin around them being nearly chapped?

that's right. it's too late to call in sick and i'm not sick anyway. by the way. happy birthday. i have my whole life ahead of me - what will i do with it... for the next 365 days? how about longer? what the fuck do i want?

leave me alone.

fuck you.

i've just had my heart broken.

this is how you get better. you pick yourself up and make your next move.

i'm going to be happy. i am going to function.. i can be me. just me. that's all. no one else. not what others think i should be or the expectations i'm so fucking eager to fulfill for someone, just so they'll love me. nope. just me. not your harem of girls. not your daughter. not your sister. not your lover. not your anything. just me. fragile. fucked up. but not broken, not anymore. once i realized i was broken, i began to mend.

it took a lot for me to share all of those things. all of those faces. aspects. fucking crazy shitty thoughts. big ones. bad ones. dark motherfuckers. nightmares that i lived through. it took a lot out of me. but once i was emptied of those horrible things - not emptied - they're still there, but it's as if they've been compressed, squished down to smaller less noticeable chunks that i can kick around from time to time - instead of being crushed by the boulders that they once were. once room is made - better things can be brought in.

let it go. move on. quit trying to untie the fucking knot.

i am pieced back together. because this is all old hat anyway, it's like putting together a puzzle that i've put together so many times that i can do it by feel, in the darkest of dark because sometimes, there is no light, where i am.

you don't want to read this

it was 9 years ago - this week - in fact that i first tried it... i met up with a questionable character, who's identity shall remain, thankfully, partially unknown - even to me. i'd rather not know who he really was, some things are better off not being known. i know his first name - the real one - was Anthony because i saw his state issued i.d., but i can't remember his last name anymore - those few weeks are all a blur and like i said, this happened 9 years ago.

it all started online. story of my life. i started talking to this man from portland. in true fashion, i spoke up about some things - i let things go, so easily some times and some times that's a mistake and some times, it isn't. this happened to be one of the former. a big one - that just kept getting bigger. it's amazing how trouble inflates itself like a balloon - filling and filling until it finally bursts. Anthony was more like a chain of balloons, filling with caustic fluids and every now and again - they'd burst open and this scary stuff would come out. i was too wild in my grief to worry about my own safety until about a month after - when it subsided and i was left to wonder what i was thinking. another out of body, out of mind experience. somehow, i've wandered off track here - but i'm not lost, because it's all relative.

it all started with a dream, really. so ignore the first sentence of that last paragraph.. it all started with a dream about a man, a tall, thin man named Andy or Andrew. i think the dream was brought about by loneliness, my mind creates happiness for me in my dreams, when my reality is devoid of it. i needed hope. so my mind created a dream and created a man, whom i would be obsessed with finding... to this day, really. i wonder if i will find him or if it really was "just a dream" even though it didn't feel like it.

i am standing in a room - full of people - a family gathering. my arm is around the waist of a very tall, thin man - i look up at him and smile and for the life of me - i feel the warmth of the sun glow on my face when he looks back at me.

Andy isn't in this story - unfortunately.

i made the mistake of sharing my dream with Anthony, who said his name was Andy.

part of me needed the escape meeting Anthony provided. it was a mess and i was useless anyway or so i thought. i get wild in my sorrow and i was deep in it, had been for a year... this new event added to the misery, i was done. for 3 weeks - i slept in hotel rooms or in my car or i drove home and collapsed on my bed for 12 hours - only to be up and out and escaping again. not sober, not myself... drawing pictures in the sand at the beach... composing poetry, that was brilliant and wasted and forgotten. getting so up there high, that i couldn't see my toes - unable to come down. at points, convinced that i was nothing. nothing except eye balls and fingernails and i simply needed to be held - an unusual need for me. episodes of South Park playing on the television - i made myself sick watching the one that the gerbil gets lost in a man's intestines and a weird sort of hobbit tale unfolds - to this day - i can't watch that episode without feeling gorge rise in my throat. a Leave It To Beaver marathon - i hate television on a good day, Anthony was torturing me with it.

the first time we had sex, was unimpressive. he exploded upon entry - nothing like a 20 second ride from a man that's sporting an Oscar Mayer weiner in his pants. needless to say, i wasn't fond of the idea of a repeat visit - considering the lack of foreplay involved. part of me slipped into a very aggressive state, i didn't give a fuck already and this piece of shit started coming out with truths... he'd served time in jail... which turned into actual prison. i was so out of it though, i couldn't be arsed to cut ties. i was hooked on being out of it. i didn't want to have sex with him again and wasn't afraid to tell him no, even though he badgered me for it - i refused. he would masturbate in my car with melon scented lotion. every.single.time. he got into my car - he would masturbate with that fucking lotion and then leave a tissue with cum and lotion wadded up in the cup holder. he gave new meaning to the word useless cunt. he didn't accept responsibility for anything that he did. and yet... there i was. hanging out with him. it doesn't speak well of my intellect or judgment. nothing in those 3 weeks speaks well of me. we were staying at a room on the coast, i watched the sunset out the window, i was naked - the sun was on fire over the ocean - it was the most beautiful thing i'd ever seen. there were people on the beach, looking up at me - my chest and face aglow with the setting sun, i waived at them. he was watching me from the bed and called me over. i swam through the air - thick - but weightless... and sank onto the bed. one of those bodiless moments - not against the idea of anything. he wanted to get off, of course. i lied and said i was out of condoms, so he resorted to jacking off - big surprise - but no melon lotion this time, he had to use spit - because i won't put a cock in my mouth unless it can make my cheeks bulge. he wanted to play with my tits - so i lay on the bed - he was on his knees next to me - over me - pumping his tiny man meat furiously - i was trying not to laugh. then he asked me what no other man, had ever asked me before... he asked me to finger fuck his ass. so i did. first one finger... then two... then... three... and he's grinding on them, like it's the best fucking thing on the planet, his hips moving back and forth and moaning like a bitch... and i'm thinking, he took it up the ass in prison and he loved it. this is wild, i add my pinky... i'm a thumb away from fisting him. he came... all over my tits. i was disgusted and turned on - it was terrible.

but i do believe. in that moment. he fell in love with me.

fool.

(part of) the story of Alt

i can't stop cutting my hair. i'm bothered by it and i refuse to let someone cut it. i don't know why. every morning i look in the mirror and i hold up bits of it... examining, feeling... the texture of my hair. those bits feel dry and hollow. so i cut them off. i worry things. i worry my hair. i worry my soul. i sigh a lot. i dream a lot. i write a lot. i think a lot. i'm good with details. (like looking through a microscope at things - that light) my seeing. that's me in my writing, the devil in the details. (i no longer wonder if i'm odd, i know that i am) that's how i am in life, looking at things through a microscope. i get so tired of concentrating... everything. which is one of the reasons i'm a sadomasochist. i get to let go of the concentration and just live in the moment of pain. when i felt the needle go through my right nipple, outside to inside... i came in my panties and i cried out in ecstasy. (my piercer enjoys me) things get so.. tight. and focused with me. pain and fucking; bring me clarity. pleasure is so very close to pain anyway. when i climax, it feels almost like a charlie horse cramp in my uterus - but goddammit if it isn't the best fucking cramp i've ever had. pain is like that except normally, we associate it with "bad" things being hurt and i'm talking superficially, because most of the "hurt" in BDSM is superficial, even if the bruises look "nasty" sometimes. who's to say he can't grab me around the throat and squeeze while he says he loves me? who's to decide that we shouldn't use metal or teeth on our nipples and clits and cocks... (oh my) what's the fear about? i've let it go or i do. but shit gets rocked so easily with me, because i get so... concentrated. focused on the details, taking it in - so i can use it to amuse myself. i get bored easily. but i like doing nothing. the contradictions never end. it's frustrating that i can't be one way or one thing all the time. i'm not stable. who is? i don't want to be like them, i like being me. finally. i'm not focused now. i'm teetering on the brink of a brain explosion. i'm very shattered. i feel like i've been through a shitstorm and don't know if i've seen the other side of it or if this is the eye of the storm of shit. because i'd like to get back to doing nothing again. being mean. impressing people for odd reasons. and getting bored as fuck again. sometimes i feel like i can't wait for my life to begin. i realized that i've been feeling/hoping to feel that all of my life. and i wonder what i'm doing wrong. why i haven't got there yet. (living) and i feel like it could end any time now. i could blink out and be gone. i don't mean metaphorically. if this were my last night on earth - say this were my last hour in fact.
i would.

[start from the beginning]

truth

i do NOT want to go to work right now. i have so much fucking shit on my mind. i'm completely distracted and i'm already late for work and i haven't eaten yet today.

this is a combination for disaster.

i'm not headed for a break down, i feel like i'm headed for a cosmic explosion. and a few things will happen.

it will be terrible.

it will be life changing.

and it will be fucking wonderful.

how can things that have that combination of elements be an awesome experience? because it means i'm fucking living, alive, breathing, making, creating and being. i am existing. i am plugged in. i am engaged in thought. there's mutual goings on, tuning in... listening... aching...

i am not alone.

it's happening - regardless of whether i get in my car and drive to work.

it's happening - no matter what my next move is.

it's happening - no matter what their next moves are.

it's happening - because i'm having these thoughts and that is making them have these thoughts. or perhaps, they were having them already.

it's happening.

and that feeling of utter control/helplessness - is outstanding.

luminescence divine (erotica)

i went to dinner tonight. alone. i like dining alone, it makes people think i'm mysterious... i look mysterious and dark. it's my glowing pale skin (luminescence divine) it's my raven hair, my lined green eyes, my dark lashes, the piercings, the tattoos, the way i dress, the way i move. it's a dig vibe i put out, i know and i don't mean that in a egotistical sense, i'm a very humble person - but i know that i vibrate with... goodies.

(i didn't look at her) this little blonde girl, felt it. i could sense her excitement. she was like a fangirl of my very own, but i didn't do anything to warrant such fan-ish behavior other than be my "mysterious" self. with my tatted up arms, dramatic makeup, light/darkness.. and the well placed metal in my face. she... hit on me. swooned at me.... threw her little petite blonde self at me. this manifested terribly in a very awkward approach, a timid wave and this amazingly cute smile when i graced her with my gaze.

"i just love your tattoo - it's so pretty." her teeth are so white.

"thanks." a quick smile from me, damn my dimples and curly hair. and i'm back to writing some notes furiously into my phone. she kind of... backs away, wanting to say more (i've got amazing peripheral vision) but simply bows her head and takes the nearest possible space in line of site - choosing a place at the bar - to drive home that she wasn't waiting for anyone but me. (i happened to be at a table, i could be waiting) i'm not. my dinner comes shortly after and she is pretending to read her book and watching me. i've put my phone away and have opened up "Out of Africa" by Dinesen - not because i want to look literary, i could give a fuck less, it's a great story. i prefer to read while i eat if i'm eating alone. actually most of my time is spent in some way either reading or writing - i like the chance it gives me to reside inside my own space. readers get it - people who don't enjoy reading - don't get it. i'm absorbed in the plains of Africa, and my rice and bean dish - but i'm perfectly aware of miss blonde twitchy panties at the bar... eye fucking me. it's sweet. and i have to admit. i like it. i cease to be straight. i'm just human with no gender identity. i didn't feel like a woman or a man - just raw and sexual. she is nice and sweet and i want to pinch her, slap her and make her scream with pleasure. i want to taste her and kiss her hard. ruin her makeup, pull her hair, make her cry and then tell her how pretty she is. i shut my book, tuck it back into my bag. the farm in the Ngong Hills will wait, i'm finished with my supper and i have somewhere to be. i bus my table, grab my bag and head for the door. i hear this shuffling from the bar and then this frantic click click clicking behind me, i actually roll my eyes, i open the door to walk out. she clears her throat in the most precious way.

"umm.. you forgot your sweater." those super white teeth again, she's some cute little college kid. she has no idea what she'd be getting herself into. she still has it, clutched to her bosom. i reach out, twist my finger around the knit and pull it slowly through her loosening arms.

"thanks." and there they are, those dimples, my teeth framed with magenta stain, the ring in my lip catches the light and is such a nice contrast to the softness of my lips. her eyes are telling me all this, she's like an open book. i wink and disappear into the night. i feel her, watching me go.

i got my nipples pierced after dinner. it hurt, so deliciously, i flooded my panties and moaned. my piercer, whom i've known since i was 18 - he's done all of my piercings and i have a few (now i have two more) he laughed and said "oh my, i thought i was going to have to call my girlfriend and tell her i cheated on her. you little pain junkie." he was proud of me for almost climaxing on his table. i'm a bit in.... space right now, lifted in ecstasy. it's best if i don't move - because when i do, i gasp and come, just a little. and i'm still thinking about my little match girl at the cafe.

grocery shopping after was interesting. i didn't realize how much my tits jiggle when i walk, (i must be fun to watch.) but the little tiny bit of friction was driving me insane; i kept licking my lips, like a whore, crossing my legs and sighing in the store. it was fucking amazing. people looked at me. it's always fun - how nice some men get when they want to fuck you. it's even more fun when they get nasty when they really want to fuck you. they want to rape you. they want to know they can do anything. they want to hurt you.
like my nipples which are now being held at a very erect position for the duration of my having 14 gauge steel bars running through them. they are - now being raped - permanently.

that thought brought new pain to my right nipple - it's throbbing and a fucking delight. this pain is so different for me, because it's such a........ good pain. it's a sexy pain. some chicks get off on having whip cream licked off of them - i prefer having needles shoved through some of my sensitive bits. i'm sick with it, this level of "turned on" this heightened sense of ache, agony, ecstasy - it's torture all it's own. it's like the pre-orgasm tension built up to a tight frenzy, that bit of dark matter just waiting to explode/implode and envelope the fucking universe - my universe. and just when i think it can't get any better.. any tighter.. any sweeter.. it just builds up another level.

i wonder what the little blonde girl would like. i bet i don't care. i'd give her what i wanted to give her and i'd make her love it. it's not that difficult - when that's all they want.
i bet she'll be back next week - with her book, at the bar.
~
say i saw her again - my little match girl, it's funny what i've turned her into already.
i gave her my phone number, she started texting me almost immediately. (i thought i lacked a basic ability to control myself - how wrong was i?) she's already talking about the first time we met - like we've been together any sort of time to be reminiscing. whatever, i'm letting her be who she has to be with me. letting her lose herself in whatever degree she wants to, i'm her confessor now, she just.. tells me things. how she grew up, what she's doing now - she's studying at the local university (big surprise, living in a college town will get you college kids) - she's so... much. she's adorable, i won't deny that i like the way she smiles and the way she moves and i like that she brings out this predator in me, that i knew existed before, but hadn't really let out of the box.

last night she called me - out of the blue, it was 1 o'clock in the morning. it wasn't a bad thing, i wasn't sleeping - it was just random.

"what's up?"

"hey..." sigh

(i maintain radio silence, she called me.)

"so, i just miss the sound of your voice. tell me a story."

"i'm writing stories right now."

"what are you writing? read it to me?"

"i don't do that."

"not even for me?"

"i just don't do that."

"are you writing about me?"

"not this time."

"would you let me read it if you did?"

"yes."

"that night at the café, were you making notes on your phone?" she lets out this almost rapturous breath.

"you know, if i told you all my secrets, you wouldn't want me so much, there would be no mystery left to untangle - why are you trying to ruin this for yourself Alice?" my breathing is so quiet, i know that if i don't speak that she'll wonder if i hung up. i can see her looking down at her iPhone and then putting it back up to her ear.

"that's not true." she almost whined.

"i know, i'm being mean. you'll never figure me out because i keep changing. so... just go with it. i like you sad and pathetic and into me. i like the mystery that you've built in your head about me. i'm going to let you think whatever you want to think about me, because i'm sure your imagination can make me far more interesting than i actually am."

"i don't understand."

"i know. listen. come over now."

"really?"

"yeah, really. you miss the way i sound and i miss the way you taste - get your little blonde cunt over here and sit on my face."

i disconnect the call.

she's unsure of herself, but she's fearless. she reminds me of me, when i was her age and i'm overcome with this sudden worry that i'm going to ruin her.

she's over in due time - we live on opposite ends of the city, but this late at night, a trip through town isn't a huge deal. i'm sitting on the couch, watching Despicable Me when i hear her knuckles softly tapping at my chamber door. i turn off the television, no need for her to know my nerdiness. i peep out at her, i love looking at people through the peep hole, sometimes i'm quiet on my approach, so they don't know they're being looked at. and others, i don't guard my footfalls - they know i'm looking but they don't know why i'm not opening up. i do the latter. i watch for for thirty seconds and her face does this thing. this cute little flutter of disappointment and a little bit of anguish - over being so openly rejected - just washes over her face. i wait a few more seconds, she raises her hand, to knock again - (considering) i slide the bolt back and open the door. her face lights up, she's like a pathetic puppy.

"come here, you." i reach out and grab her by the scarf, pulling her in. i wrap my arms around her - she's so tiny. i realize with a pang that this is something i'll probably never feel. i'm not a giant woman, but at 5'10" i don't spend a good deal of time around people that make me feel small. she's the kind of woman i could wad up into a ball, if i wanted. it's that little surge of power, of overtaking - that thread of thought that my mind snatches on to, like a dog catching a frisbee in mid air and fucking runs with it. i pull her scarf from her neck, push her fluffy down vest off of her shoulders and onto the floor, i grab her silky looking night shirt by the neck and i pull, hard, jerking it down until it gives, tearing. the sound is somewhat satisfying and drives me into a bit of a frenzy, i push her up against the wall in the entryway - the front door is still open, she's half naked and moaning in ecstasy. my fingers work the drawstring on her pants loose, i bite her lips a little too hard and push her back by the shoulders, slapping her across the face, i yank down her pants, she's not wearing any panties, i'm on my knees, pulling one of her legs over my shoulder, lapping at her cunt like a wild thing. slurping and biting... devouring her. she's got her hands in my hair, she tastes like honey. i open my mouth wide and suck all of her into my mouth, knowing what it feels like, my own starts to pulse with pleasure.

then i stop.

i stand up.

i close the door.

i look at her.

she's a hot mess. barely holding herself up, her eyes are half closed, she's rubbing her firm little tits. every thing about her is small and firm. i step into her once more, not quite touching her, she looks up at me, wanting to close the distance, i put my hand out and run my fingernail up her stomach - leaving a little white trail that turns red from the pressure i apply. i stop at the center of her chest... then trace around one perky little tit, then the other, her nipples strain, so full of blood and feeling and aching to be touched. i turn palm inward now, soft and trace the slopes of her breast up to her neck, my hand easily circling her throat.

i squeeze.

isn't it funny? when we meet people, how they remind us of others? or bring out desires we may have for someone we know and secretly want - to be confronted with them, with their reactions - in the form of another human being - separate, but the same - it goes along with Déjà vu and doppelgängers. we apply certain actions/reactions to them, simply because they are familiar to us in some distinct (or subtle) way.
i'm choking sweet little blonde Alice now - not only because she is a dainty thing that makes me feel powerful, but because she is familiar to me. and i hate that familiarity. it makes me feel like she's sank into me somehow - started to create her own little hollow and i don't want her to. i don't want to like her, i just want to hurt her. her reaction shows that my emotions are well hidden, she turns the appropriate shade of red, lightly knocks her fist against my arm - to tap out. her mouth open, her face tilted up to me, i cover her mouth with my own and breathe into her and kiss her. she responds with youthful hunger, licking her scent from my lips. i straighten up and look down at her.

"get down on your knees." she obliges immediately - do i have a dog? "follow me, leave your clothes." i walk into the living room and sit on he couch - waiting to see what she will do. i'm seated very casually, it's my way of being, my posture tends to give away how i'm feeling, if i feel uptight and uncomfortable, i usually sit on edge, ready to stand - to fight or flight. if i feel comfortable, i tend to sit legs akimbo. i sit this way now.
she waited by the door until i had a seat, then she slowly and somewhat seductively crawled toward me, i watched from the corner of my eye, i don't feel like indulging confidence. she comes round to my right knee and stops, angled toward me, her head bowed, her shaggy blonde locks falling in front of her face. i'm staring at her openly now, her chest rising and falling deeply, she's trying to slow her heart down. her hands are in her lap - postured otherwise perfectly on her knees. a very pretty submissive pose. i roll my eyes and sigh.
"what's on your mind Alice?" she glances at her clothes near the door. then back down to her lap. "look at me." she looks up at me, her cheeks flushing. i do believe she's used to being ravaged when she's naked - not made to talk.

"may i put some clothes on?"

"no."

"if we're not going to..." she trails off to a whisper.

"if we're not going to what?"

"go to your room?" she suggests.

"if i wanted to be in my room, guess where i'd be right now Alice?"

"in your room."

"that's right. what's on your mind Alice?"

"i want to be yours."

"i know."

"can i be yours?"

"i don't think you know what you're asking Alice."

"i want to be yours."

"look at you; can i put clothes on... can i be yours..." i stop myself short of an actual insult. "do you know what i do Alice? do you know who i am? who do you think i am?"

"i'm sorry, i just - i thought if we were going to just talk, i could."

"you're sorry, you thought you could?"

"you're not being fair."

"you're not here to be treated fairly. why are you here Alice?"

"because i miss you.."

"why are you here, you stupid little cunt?"

she's lets out this beautifully rapturous sigh, closing her eyes. i imagine her cunt dripping onto her legs.

"you're a fucking whore Alice - that's why you're here."

"yes...." the word melting off of her tongue.

"what do you expect from this Alice? be honest."

"should i call you something? ma'am? or..."

i simply stare at her, waiting for an answer.

"i don't know. i want to find out."

[right answer]

[i want to skip all the pleasantries with you and get you trussed up like a Christmas goose and in an uncomfortable position on my bed - elevated for my comfort, of course. this is exactly how it is. bound - tied - trapped, not gagged. i like to hear you whimper and moan and beg while i whip your sopping wet cunt with a wide brown leather belt. i haven't broken a sweat, but each grunt, each whimper, each soft moan - ending in a cry of over-stimulation from you, drives me to a new level of desire. i can't tell if you're crying out in ecstasy or agony and i simply cease to care. i am this - i am effort.
i have you open to me, your body, your mind, my will is in you - but i don't have a will. i'm just breathing, wanting, shaking, hurting and soaking your screams up. drinking them in with my ears. i land one more blow, squarely on your throbbing cunt, your juices splattering on to your thighs. i take the belt, fold it in half and shove it into your mouth.]

"remember how this tastes." i bark at her, hoarse - as if i had been the one screaming. "you will love this flavor, if you don't already."

the tears freely run from her eyes, falling into her ears - the one reason i hate crying while laying down, my ears always get wet. i look at her face, studying its stress and agony - it's fluid, changing - she doesn't know how beautiful she is right this second in her not knowing what to feel or how to feel it. her confusion is palatable.

"it's terrible, isn't it Alice." i brush the hair from her sweaty brow, gently and take the belt from her teeth. "to know someone, who gives you such pleasure and fear and such comfort." i trace my fingers down her face, between her breasts, i softly kiss her lips.

"it's chaos." she whispers.

"it gets better." i whisper back.

the doorbell sounds.

she's looking at me, studying me, eye-fucking me again. she's a little fucking rape-slut. she reminds me of me.
the doorbell sounds again.

"persistent. stay here." i wink at her and i wander out of the bedroom. i don't bother checking the peep hole, i know who it is, i open the door.

"Andy."

"ma'am." he smiles.

"don't give me that shit." i open my arms and he wraps himself around me. "come in." i invite him in and lead him to the bedroom.

"what's this about?" he asks.

"let's just get the "easy one" out of the way, shall we?" i start undressing Andy, he doesn't protest. i know she is watching from her place on the bed, not saying a word - being the good little whore she is, i know she won't.

he's already out of his shirt, i'm working on his belt - i love the sound a buckle makes and the subsequent sound of a belt coming through belt loops. he takes the belt from me and puts it around my neck, pulling me to him, then he tilts my face to his, looking into my eyes.

"are you all right?"

"of course i'm all right, why wouldn't i be all right?" i stand on my tip toes to kiss his lips, he regards me for a moment, then leans in and kisses me so deeply, that my head spins. he pulls the belt tight around my neck and i gasp for air.

"i've always loved your feedback..." he growls in my ear, as he kisses my neck and bare shoulder. he grabs my breasts and i openly cry out, my nipples still sore because of the piercings. "new?" he chuckles lightly.
i flick open the button of his jeans with my thumb and slide my hand down, not surprised to feel that he's ready - i unzip his jeans and sink to my knees taking them with me, his generously sized cock jutting like a weapon. this no longer feels fluid and easy for me, it feels trying - awkward, but before i can protest, he's pulling me forward by the belt that's still looped around my neck, saying "say "aaah" for daddy." i glare up at him, but open my mouth and he's in, deep, painful, throat fucking me for all i'm worth or all i'm not worth. he's hard and invasive - none of the soft-firm of the female form, it's the contrast between men and women that opens up so many things for so many people. in this one instance, it both opens and closes me. i go from ceasing to care about Alice to not caring about myself. i am this - i am a vessel.

there are many things about sexual stimulation that are unknown - it doesn't all amount to friction and fucking - a lot of it is a trick to the mind. Andy came fast and hard down my throat, not because he fucked himself to climax, but because of the thought: i have my cock in her throat... in her throat! - it's triumphant, it's powerful. i know the moment he goes - he pulls taught on the belt and quivers, his muscles all straining with full power for a fraction, then release. men are fascinating creatures.

"holy fuck, i need a drink - want anything?" Andy wanders out of the room, his cock cradled in his hand.

"ice water." i shout after him and then mumble. "you motherfucker..."

i'm sitting naked on the floor of my room, my legs crossed under me, i slide to the edge of the bed and peer up at Alice... my eyes level with the edge, she has her face turned toward me, a single tear slides down her cheek, she says nothing.

"are you scared?" i ask her, knowing that she is.

"why are you doing this?" she whispers.

"because i want to." i whisper back. "look at you... i'd love to keep you like this forever, put you in my closet when i'm not using you..." i see her shiver, i know she's flooding herself.

Andy presses the glass of ice water to my neck, i reach up and take it without looking at him, he tenderly rests his hand on my shoulder, i drain the glass and hand it to him, he takes it and then folds himself onto the floor beside me, wrapping his arms around me, nuzzling my neck - generally making a pest out of himself. some men, after the come - they want to sleep, some men - they want to cuddle, Andy - he always wants to go for two and make me go for a million in the process. Alice watches him cuddle me, caress me, nibble my ears, suck my neck - all the things i never let her do. i'd never allowed her to give me affection, i'd never allowed her to please me. and this was a whole new torture, watching him get to do all the things she wasn't yet allowed to do. she's torn, it's obvious on her open book face - just as obvious as she was in the café the first day we met; eye-fucking me from her seat at the bar and her chasing me down to give me back my "sweater" which wasn't a sweater at all - it was a thermal, a long john top - a total butch shirt. she squirted in her panties for the chance to do something for me. what she didn't know, was that i had left it on purpose. (i don't believe in coincidences, perhaps one day - she will stop believing in them as well) she's torn between envy and pleasure. i turn my face away from her and kiss Andy deeply, sucking his tongue into my mouth, biting his lips, the way i kiss her, i kiss him - so she knows she's not special. i break away from Andy and slap him hard across the face - he grins, a little bit of blood on his lip.

"you fucking bitch."

"fuck you Andy." i hiss. i stand up, his face now level with my midsection. "shall we?" i don't wait for an answer, i walk over to my toy chest and select a nice suede flogger, red and black, the red straps slightly thinner than the black and set on the inside - if wielded correctly - it delivers a delicious amount of sting and thud both.

"ah... you're in one of those moods." he smiles. and turns his back to me leaning his hands against the dresser, legs apart.

"i love that you're a sadomasochist." i whisper, too softly for him to hear. i begin to flog him, light strokes at first, finding my rhythm - single Florentine - keeping my shoulders loose, my body open - it's fun to watch, it's fun to do, it's fun to have done. after 20 minutes - i'm breathing heavily, not from exertion, but because i get off on doing it. i start sounding like a Russian tennis player, little gasps and grunts of pleasure. Andy's ass, thighs and back are bright red and hot. i drop the flogger and dive to the floor, licking his hot flesh, biting, kissing. he turns, his cock dripping with precum - he bends and grabs me by the wrists, hauling me off of the floor. i hear Alice moan, watching me get manhandled after the contrast of seeing me flog him. he's all over me, all around me - making me feel small and unsafe. he's squeezing my flesh, bending and sucking my sore, itching nipples - pulling the barbells lightly between his teeth. his hand is between my legs, rubbing me - he looks odd - looking at the outside of things, a large man, bending to get at me, eager. his hardness in contrast of me. i'm soft, with curves. he's a man made of angles. his nose, his body, his cock. every bit of him hard, jutting, imposing, even his hands - which openly covet my flesh, pinching, exploring, rubbing and squeezing the juices out of me like a fist squeezing a peach - his whole hand covers it and he grabs. it always feels like revenge. he's behind me, rubbing me, trying to mold me, break me down - shape me into something i'm not - something i'm never going to be. he pushes me forward onto my stomach, onto the bed next to Alice, sweet Alice - she's still staring at me, silent - her quiet, beautiful tears. i close my eyes for a moment, when i feel his tongue licking me - exploring. his tongue moist and firm, probing my ass, opening me up and licking me out, he shoves my legs open and works his mouth all the way down to my clit next to the mattress. he's urging me up at the hips, his hands under me lifting - patiently, but not. i oblidge, leaving my face against the mattress, my ass up in the air, presenting like a good bitch - he licks me for my efforts and i moan, my mouth hanging open. "lean back, just a little bit darling." he says so sweetly, i pull my legs further under me - i know exactly where he wants me. i feel his stubble brush against my vulva and i squirt involuntarily, i hear him chuckle, then he's silent - except for his kissing, slurping and sucking. i feel his fingers start to explore the parts his mouth isn't. his thumb finds it's way into my anus and he makes it pulse in time with my clit - soon i'm riding his face like i'd ride his cock, moaning in complete bliss. i close the distance between Alice - my lips meet hers and a tidal wave crashes over me - i'm gone.

"i wish i had more to give to you." it wasn't a lie, i gave all that i could. he always walked away - no matter how many times i relived it in my sleep, it never differed from what had happened in life. there was no other way for it to end. someone always leaves.

i'm not gone. things like that don't end us. even if we feel they should, both for good and bad reasons. who wouldn't want to die right after climaxing? what a way to go out! who doesn't want to die when their heart is shattered into a million tiny pieces? what's the point.

i feel that with everything, there is a turning point. shit gets real or goes away. there's always an explosion beforehand. sometimes they're rather anticlimactic. sometimes they blow your mind.

i'm narrating in metaphors and wispy things that make no sense - i'm starting to question reality, just a little bendy bit here and it all started with this story.

it gives me goosebumps.

i've put off ending it because i literally don't know how it ends. i figured out recently why it began though. it was a mixture of things, very complex and very simple. i met a woman at a café, she complimented my tattoo, very shyly and sweetly. she sat at the bar - i sat at a table. i was in her line of site. she kept staring at me. not "gawking" but you know how people stare when they want to catch your eye? yes. it was like that. but she didn't catch my eye. i knew she was staring and pathetic and adorable. and it made me feel like wrecking her. i left my thermal at my table when i got up, it had been tied around my waist - when she visited the toilets, i simply untied it, so that when i stood up to leave, it was left in the seat. poor her for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. i was going through some personal bullshit and when i do that - i tend to get very sadistic and extremely predatory which is the complete and fucking utter opposite of what i had been.
the true and terrible part of it is this. when i'm in this state of mind, this way of being. i am a force and that force is attractive. i'm not fluffing myself. it's called confidence and when you're a predator, you fucking ooze it out of your pores.

the little things of the world pick right up on it.

i feel like i've unlocked new parts of my brain and now that i have them open... the thought of locking them again.. well, it's just not an option.

my wrath is unleashed upon the world.

her world. it's the only world that matters to her.

and now, i'm fucking with it.

it works because it's unknown and exciting.

is there a more exquisite feeling than that after climax? does anyone ever get a sense of foreboding after they come? no. that's why it's so perfect, your mind is flooded with these really cool chemicals and everything is all right, at least for now. this is where i am - floating - sitting on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, my mind somewhere in the atmosphere, my skin is no longer on fire, simply aglow, the little leavings of heat. i don't want to open my eyes - this wellbeing never lasts. shame too, i work so hard to get here.
i feel them watching me.

"Andy, this is Alice, she's the dumb slut who wants to be mine."

"really..."

"she's said it twice."

"interesting... what do you have planned for her?"

i open my eyes, he's regarding her rather thoughtfully - i'm suddenly very glad that he's here. "well, quite a few things actually, but i want to start by shocking her cunt and end with you fucking her. i think i want a baby." i look at Alice; a faceless cunt, lying there, trussed up, - her sopping wet cunt, pink and winking for the world to see. her knees nearly drawn to her elbows, spread open - i plan to spread her further with some really neat clamps. i turn my attention back to Andy. "would you mind getting the TENS unit out of the closet? top shelf, to the left..." i admire his reddened backside when he stretches up to retrieve said "tool box" and decide to regale my captive audience with a story.

"i remember when Andy and i first met... remember that Andy?" i continue, not waiting for a response, but notice he halts with his back turned to me, his shoulders going slightly toward his ears. "he begged me.... called me every day for a week before i relented... mistress... peg me... own me... dominate me... i'll do anything... we had fun, didn't we Andy..." he turns then, i smile fondly, he regards me with a look of rage and embarrassment. my cheeks flush with a little wave of jealousy that he's worried what Alice thinks of him - even though i want him to fuck her - humans are complex. i clear my throat and continue, my eyes never leaving his. "he didn't talk to me for a month, it was worth it. by the end of our first night together, he was a shaking mess... i turned a 6'3" 200 pound former United States Marine - into a quivering mess.... it was beautiful. i was so jacked up and wet by the end and he never touched me... he just took everything i did and thanked me for it." i feel a lump rise in my throat and put my hand up to my face, self conscious. i hear Alice yelp from her place on the mattress as i'm shoved backward onto the bed, he hooks his arms under my knees and shoves his cock inside, he begins fucking me and growling, his face not his own. i clench my teeth and slowly run my hands up his sides, around to his chest and i savagely twist his nipples.

"Andy... are you raping me?"

his eyes clear a little and his pace slows... slows... then stops, his cock halfway in. he looks me in my eyes, considering.

i wrap my arms up around his shoulders, pulling myself close to him and purr in his ear "rape me Andy... but you won't leave me quivering with fear... i love it." my mind is swirling, i'd started telling our story with mirth and ended with choked admiration which he mistook for something else and shit got real. i feel the tension in his shoulders release slightly as he looks into my eyes and sees they're a few shades brighter green and moist with tears. i feel one roll down my cheek, perfect timing - he licks it up.

"i do think you're wrong... i think you're already quivering on the inside." he starts fucking me again, slowly, the rage out of him.

"no." i say in a very offhand way. "you're wrong. you're everything i imagined you would be and more, because you do things that i never expect and it works because i get bored... very easily." i bounce my hips up and down to emphasize and i smash my open mouth onto his.

[people care less about the truth and more about how it's presented to them.]

my body feels languid... it's came hard already - cumming again is easy after the first one is out of the way (that's how i work... the opposite of most men) like Andy... oh... Andy, he's cum down my throat already, so he's hard and he's got to work for his next one, but he decides to make me work for it instead, he flips us over - i'm on top of him now... in his lap... riding his cock. he runs his nails up my thighs, around my hips, scratching... leaving marks, like the ones i'd left on little alice... he's just as hungry for me, as i am for her. he wants to own me. but he can't. but that doesn't stop the want, it never does. can't - has no meaning in terms of desire. he rakes his nails down my back, ending at the small of it - pinching hard, making me arch forward. my tits, he devours, gnawing at my nipples... my poor pierced, not fully healed nipples. i dig my nails into his shoulders as a warning, then rip his head back by the hair and shove my tongue down his throat, biting along the way. i pull back for air and he's chanting at me... "fuck me, whore... you filthy cunt... you greedy greedy slut." i bounce up and down, on my knees, riding him high, he slips his hand down between my legs and starts keeping time with my clit, rubbing it.. my mouth hangs open, i'm panting in his face, deep breaths, deep full breaths that i hold and release... hold and release... he pulls me forward again and kisses my open mouth, pinching my clit hard. my cunt starts doing this magical dance of spasms, clamping down and releasing, milking his cock... encouraging it to join in the fun... it does... i feel Andy's warm spunk shoot up into me and add to the mess inside.

he holds me close, his forehead resting on mine - always forcing his intimacy on me. his sweat lingering with mine. his fluids... mixing with my own. i think... as i feel his cock shrinking out of me... as he's holding me so close... mixing even our oxygen... no. i know. he's in love with me. truly... madly... deeply... kind of love. every song on the radio seems to fit.. kind of love. i feel a little bit of shame for it and a little claustrophobic.

"Sarah... i..."

"Andy...."

"yeah?"

"do you know how much it pisses me off when i buy plain bagels at the bakery and they taste faintly of fruit..."

"Sarah."

"...because they're either boiled or baked or share a space with the blueberry ones. it's infuriating..."

"Sarah."

"...if i wanted a blueberry bagel, i would buy one. i want my plain bagels to taste like.. well, plain, i don't like eating blueberries with turkey or ham. it's not nice." the word nice ends in a squeak of surprise as he pinches my inner thigh.

"focus."

"fuck you."

"why do you have to get nasty?"

"Andy. don't make me hurt you."

"Sarah. i don't want to talk about bagels.. i.."

"just let it be. quit worrying it all the time."

"you're the one that worries. you always worry about people falling in love with you. why?!" he shouts the last of it in my face, pulling me forward.

"because love gets possessive. love angles things. love changes things. morphs... shapes... hollows me out, to fill me up with something else. i'm not fond of it's misery when it ends. i cry for love, but it never cries for me." his cock has slithered its way out of me, it feels like a wet sponge nestled against me. i feel ridiculous having this conversation exposed, naked, vulnerable - his eyes almost coolly resting on me - he feels the change - thinking he may have the upper hand. i feel his grip on my upper arms, his hands shaking, nervous - wanting to shake sense into me - make me see that he'd do anything for me, anything in the world - except retreat.

"why do you have this... weird need to control me?"

"i don't see it as weird." he smiles.

my whole body shivers...

i feel derailed.

"i'm really uncomfortable having this conversation right now."

"it's an intimate conversation - we've just been intimate, what's a better time than this?"

"eh... i don't know." i look over at Alice, her eyes are dry, she has somewhat of a serene look on her face, i smile at her - she smiles back.

"what's up?" he grins, seeing my averted smile and thinking it shy.

"maybe when i don't have a guest to entertain." i look back at him and he's looking at me, an oddly familiar flicker of disappointment passes his face and is gone again, he forces a smile and swallows before continuing in very gentle tones, taking me further into his arms.

"Babe... it's just you and me." i feel his arms tense up, expecting me to bolt.

"what are you talking about Andy, she's right there! i introduced you to her earlier. this is Alice." i reach for her on the bed and she reaches for me with her eyes, still not saying a word. "you said hello to her Andy."

"i didn't say hello to her Sarah, she doesn't exist."

"she's right here!" i stretch for her again, his arms constrict around me, as if he could hold on tight enough he could keep me whole. my fingers come within an inch of her foot before Andy has me hauled over to the other side of the bed.

"Alice doesn't exist." he's got me pinned - looming over me - trying to lock eyes with me, but i keep looking to my right at her. she mouths it's OK and smiles. i look up at him, finally. meeting his blue eyes as if for the first time, i see concern there, love, affection - i see it all - in the windows of his soul and for a fraction of a moment i believe him. i have clarity of everything, i'm plugged in. [i hear her sigh..]

"you need to go." i smile, trying to reassure him, trying to make him comfortable enough to leave.

"Sarah, i'm not leaving, you're not well."

"don't be silly, i'm fine." his eyes are probing the depths of mine, looking for a confirmation. "there's no one there." i laugh and look over to my right again, at Alice trussed up, propped against the pillows. "just you and me...." i smile and look up at him. "i just want to take a shower and go to bed, it's probably near 4 in the morning, i don't want you to sleep over." i paused and then add quickly. "i have to work in the afternoon, i just want to get a decent 8 beforehand."

he just shakes his head at me. "i'll run you a bath, i'm staying." he lifts off of me and pulls me up into his arms. "you seemed so convinced." he whispers into my hair and kisses my temple.

"i'm alright." i fight the urge to push away, i don't want to freak him out. "just, go run the bath, i'll be there in a minute."

"no, i don't think that's a good idea." i let him lead me out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, he sits me on the toilet and turns to the bathtub, adjusting the temperature, holding his hand under the tap. he's three, maybe four feet away from me. i stand, he turns and looks up at me. "what are you doing babe? do you need something?" he's sitting on the side of the tub, running his hand through the water. i bolt through the open door and down the hallway toward the bedroom, i hear him curse as his foot slips on the bathmat, but he doesn't go down - i reach the bedroom door and push it open...

she's gone.

[so here it is for you - laid bare, cut open. i feel ground up, as fine as glass under foot - like there's nothing left of me but the words that i can't seem to give a voice to.]

(part of) the story of Alt

♫♪would you touch me?♫♪

hey you

something about lefties. unsure if you meant politically or someone who is predominantly left handed.

i'm starting to suspect that i may be an "aspie" i tend to be a very precise person. i like even numbers, i am antisocial - (for reasons i will explain in a bit) but somehow imprecise - and slobbish. mess pisses me off, but i will get myself in a rut over cleaning.

i'm the same with sex. i'm a no boundaries kind of woman. add the fact that i tend to be very trusting and naive to the mix, i have hooked up with some really rotten bastards. but i enjoy the hell out sex and become obsessed and methodical about obtaining it any way i possibly can when i'm in a "relationship." this is why i'm a commitment phobe at this point. and through being so - have become antisocial.

and

i am also antisocial, because i get overstimulated by people, very easily. right now, as i sit here writing this - i'm back from a fetish party. fetish parties are very... fluid and tactile. people tend to touch and get cuddly or "hitty" and i tend to attract both sorts of attention - i have no idea why. i think it may be my love of bastards. really, just assholes. this was different, the man who literally hit on me was a sadistic nerd.. we talked about comics and then he beat me with a rolled up yoga mat. he didn't ask if it was ok, he just grabbed it and started beating me with it. not in a nice way - if there is a nice way to hit someone, these were hard blows, all along my back and bottom. he had a hold of my left arm while he did it, holding me put. he did it until i gasped and asked very politely - for him to stop.

i have a thing for nerds and mean nerds.. sadistic nerds, even better. fucking pricks. it's the smart ones. always, always. if they're smart and have a penchant for abuse - (sigh) that's a long fucking story.

i'm being imprecise right now. but.. in a very precise way - because if you'll notice there is a theme here.

over stimulation

sex

antisocial behavior to deal with the addiction to the aforementioned activities.

because i lack a very basic ability to control myself. which brings me back to the original portion of this discussion of my possibly being an "aspie" - suddenly, this is making a lot more sense - my fucking "weirdness". i have no fucking clue what i'm talking about. i've only read 2 books on asperger's syndrome and have a friend that i call "D" that i've known for 4 years. we used to have really inappropriate conversations at really really inappropriate times. he's not the only one i've done this with - he's just the one i fell in love with. and never felt "weird" about it. my honesty scares most people. not "D" he once told me that if we could put both of our hearts together - we'd have the perfect heart. because mine skips beats and his beats extra sometimes. it was a very literal comment but the way he said it made me love him - it was sweet. i used to want "D" he broke my heart. i wanted him to rape me. he is very unwilling to compromise his rules though. because i think if he did, he'd be a freak, like me. i get with a partner and i am relentless, i want every touch, every intimacy to turn into fucking. i'm a nympho, just for him. and it wears them down... you'd think it wouldn't get old, but it does. sex addicts are difficult to live with. and i want it. all the time. all. the. time.

it doesn't matter if i'm menstruating - which for some people is a no no. no go. no show. "i don't want to see the red river flowing or the red tide coming in." i'm all about it. fuck me harder, fill me up with cum, we will turn the sheets red. the blood spatter alone is divine. it's beautiful to look like you've fucked someone to death. and the smell. all that stuff mixed together. cum and blood and sweat. it's brutality contained.

it doesn't matter if i'm sick. i could have a snotty nose and be running a fever. i had the swine flu and pestered my partner to fuck me while i was running a 102 degree temperature. it was HOT SEX. (because yes, he relented) it was kind of "hard" not to, when i put his dick in my mouth.

this is what i mean by an inappropriate conversation - because this is a conversation that i would feel OK having with someone, anyone really. you, right now, for instance. i may not even get aroused in telling someone this, but they would and they'd take advantage of me.

i'm somewhat of the innocent whore. getting back to the no boundaries part. i'm so painfully all or nothing. this is a mix of the trust thing and the building trust thing (which surprisingly doesn't take that long with me and some people, even though it should) i look at trust as sharing intimacies with one another... if you share deep dark secrets with me, i will trust you. (and that makes me a fool) but a delicious fool because it makes me wet to think of someone taking advantage of me. there are so many bad.. bad.. men out there. so many sadistic nerds.. so many real rapists.. so many.. the world has so many.

i've run through so many. i've been relatively "lucky" though within the last few years, they've started to have a conscience about it. the monsters are less monstrous, it seems, slim pickings for the likes of this masochist. the thing that i find irritating, is the confusion about masochists being submissive. ummm.. no. i'm not submissive, i lack the control needed for that. you can't beat it into me, i like the beatings. i'm not going to be more submissive with beatings, i'm going to love you more. i'm going to tell you more. i'm going to shower you with attention - and if you reject me, i'll jump ship. like a rat. i have commitment problems and a sexual addiction. if i think i'm not going to get sex from you - forget it. "that's not very loyal" you say. neither is NOT fucking me. NOT fucking me isn't loyal at all. and i'm not submissive, so no, i won't shut my fucking mouth about it.

i lack a very basic ability to control myself.

so i normally avoid these situations.

♫♪hey you. with your ear against the wall, waiting for someone to call out. would you touch me.♫♪

please. won't you touch me?

cellar door (a mindfucked love letter)

Saturday, 22 October 2011

My love,

I wish you were here. I’m tired of this being all I have because it’s never enough. I tied myself up - I’m only angry with myself for getting so excited to talk with you again. Despite what you may think it’s rather annoying for me to want you so much. Always and always some more. It’s a real bitch to go through life not needing or wanting anyone and then getting slapped with it full force - this is how you effect me. I am so completely independent, painfully so, I never ask for help - ever - people have to insist on giving me help.

Except with you - I’m different - stripped down to the smallest and largest degree, my quick slow seducer. Exposed, enraptured - blown away and tied up. Every time you go away and come back, I think that I’ve gotten to a point where I don’t need you as much, you’ve been gone - yes, I think about you every day, miss you every day but I’m also trying to convince myself that I’m all right without you. Because I was all right before you. I should be again, right?

Then you come back and like the house of fucking cards that it is, it just blows down with the slight breeze caused by your opening the door. (my door.)

That door that you opened up.

It's been over a year now since I wrote Sex ist ein Schlacht - Liebe ist Krieg - you knew of its existence when it was born. It was a writing assignment for an idiot I trusted at the time but it was written about my first love. Why is this relevant? - he was my first love. I didn't lose my virginity to him, you know the story behind that (one of the many reasons I love you so much) but it was also written for you. It is relevant because it opened the door between us. What I felt, admitting it, putting myself out there is part of what brought us together. You know that I don't believe in chance - coincidences do happen, but I believe they are rare, kinda like anti-miracles. (Sex is a battle - Love is war) opened the door between us - I know the distance has been great, daunting even. but it opened a year ago.

I didn't know - but I knew, from that first conversation that you were someone I could enjoy and fall in love with. I wasn't ready for that knowledge. When I ran away the first time, it didn't hurt that bad - I felt like I was simply waking up from a good dream, there was some regret that I couldn't quite remember what it was about, a little bit of longing. I didn’t let myself get attached. Because I am independent - I don’t need anyone…

Fall gives way to winter and spring gives way to summer. You wanted to catch an angel. You said a few words. It was too familiar to have been one of those anti-miracles. Who are you now? Still someone I could enjoy and love... I still doubt that I’m ready. you have a reason though, on why I should be. I learn that you always have words.

Why you do want me?

(There is no why, I just do.)

*bursts into tears*

(You're beautiful)

I let myself be held for a while in the darkness that we always create when we’re together. It’s more than just my forgetting that feeling of being loved. I’ve never felt quite like this before - it feels like I am wearing my heart on the outside of my body. (exposed) I make for the door, it's not shut, but I want through and it keeps moving away from me, just out of reach, just out of reach - always a step or two ahead of me. You're watching me chase the door that's not really moving at all. (wondering why I am so afraid of you) It’s ridiculous funny, but after a while, it gets sad. There's no way for me to get back through the door without.. hurt. I do it anyway… caught the edge, pulling myself through - not shutting it, but timidly looking through the crack at you. Over the course of a month, it's back and forth between you and the door, it keeps swinging open quite wide, then slamming shut again. (skittish) I’d whisper deep dark secrets to you - then I'd shut you out again. My only consistency being my unpredictability. It was miserable, wasn't it? How I agonized over everything… My over thinking... Jumping to the worst possible conclusion and applying it to you. (because I never thought I’d get - what i have with you) it was like the door really, I assumed you'd start moving, as soon as I got close enough to you. And I’m so independent, I can’t need you. So I'd just whisper my secrets and hide again.

You always came looking for me.

Until you didn’t.

she's still not ready for this, she's screaming it at me, without screaming it at me.

(let's be friends. it will be good for us.)

I hear this sound, inside of myself - it sounds a lot like something breaking. I'm back through the doorway now, the door is shut and double bolted.

You never said (don't forget about me) you didn't have to.

Because I won't. I can't. (When someone who matters comes in through our doors, we’re never really the same without them.) It’s as if I’ve been altered, shaped to fit you and when you’re gone, I’m hollowed out.

You did come round again, once I started thinking you wouldn't.

(Do you think, if we tried again - We could avoid hitting the rocks?)

You didn’t want to be “friends”, any more than I did.

I agonize.

I miss you and I love you.

But I am afraid. Because with you - I’m different - stripped down to the smallest and largest degree, my quick slow seducer. Exposed, enraptured - blown away and tied up.

I have to choose - which is more important to me. Fearing my own peril… or you - which if I think about it logically - (I am not a very logical person. I have more courage than sense.) - I would realize that you want nothing but the best for me. (this isn’t a romance at all, it is more than that) I love you, but it’s more than that. I want to cover you in kisses and worship your cock, and surrender to your every whim. (but it's more than that) Devotion has its price and you pay it willingly. (because I still hide behind my door and look out at you)

There is always that part of me - that I am with everything else - I’m so independent. I don’t need. Because this is who I am with you - because this is just who I am. I'm not so different from anyone else - it's not difficult to read such exposure - but it is difficult to respond to it... what do you say to this? nudity.

Overexposure - underexposure (you do leave me alone) biting comments (always from me) “I don’t need you” attitude. It’s just that, do you know how much it takes? To bare my self this way? It’s easy to do with you, but it’s difficult for me. Make sense? It's that unexplainable, unreachable - (emotions, that are beyond emotions - that don't have words) that go along with it. It's an itch, an ache, a clusterfuck. But this is my past - All this chaotic distance - measured in miles not between our hearts - because I know yours is so close to mine, my love. But it's not my past - because it always comes back - this doubt of myself. (because I never thought I’d get - what i have with you)

I took a surrogate. I let someone use me. (Not because you didn’t want to; even when I revolt - you want and love me. Even when you go away - you want and love me.) It’s because I don’t need you - (except I do, I’m at odds about it.) I didn’t come. I couldn’t. He thought I was crying because I was afraid of him, he choked me (repeatedly and to the point of passing out), he slapped me hard, he threatened me - but I wasn’t afraid of him. I didn’t say “pineapple” - because I wasn’t afraid of the situation. I was afraid of denying my own existence. Torn. I was afraid of losing what I hold most dear, my center, my sun. (You)

You’ve built this wanting up to unbearable levels and I can hear you say; bear it just a little longer. Except you wouldn't say that - you'd say; bear it until I tell you to stop. You're so definite. You’re the boss, you call the shots. You're the captain, my captain. It’s poetic, this desire and you are more real to me than anyone I have ever known, more real to me than the surrogate who was flesh and blood and heat right next to me. You are as of yet - something so ethereal as pixels of light - yet you are my reality. Why fuck with it? I am a stubborn cunt. I am at odds with myself, with my desires, with you.

I love you. You know why.

You make me come the hardest.

I’d die for you because you’d never ask me to.

Now. I blame myself for your latest disappearance - I’ve earned it. The surrogate was just that little bit too much… too much.

(A week in solitary confinement for you my lovely passionate dove… my darkest darling… because…)
"one day, three autumns".

三一
秋日

I’ve had it coming.

I miss you. And I love that loving you sometimes feels like a punishment… it’s a sweet punishment… like I get to come and come and come and then you fuck me and I come again. My torturer, my sadist, my lover, my avenging angel, my hero, my center, my sun. You are the very frightening definition of my all.

It takes courage to put myself out there, to open myself up, write all this, confess it - it’s real - it’s raw - it’s gorgeous. I do it so willingly for you. I want you to write this way about me. This obsession, this stupid love letter writing business - I want it to be you. I know you’re capable. You prove it to me every god damned day - every fucking conversation - it’s why I fucking need you now - because you DO write me love letters every time you open your mouth, every time you write anything, but they’re only for me - you don’t let people drool over your words for me - they are for me and me alone. I do feel special. I come so hard for you. Why do I doubt myself? Why do I feel like you’re the door that will move away, when all you do is open your arms, and hold me.

All the stories - all the writing assignments all the things that I write now, are FOR you. That’s such a beautiful difference. I’m not writing it for you about someone else, I’m writing it for you and about you.

Because I want it to be you, I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.

Yours,
me

the surrogate

I went to use the toilet, left him in the kitchen with the roommate - an element of safety is always nice. I hear the masculine voices engaged in conversation from behind the door in the hall bathroom. I stare at my reflection; my green eyes staring back, the pink flush on the cheeks of my fair face and my lovely dark curly hair. I reach up and pull a curl down and watch it spring back. I then took a small lock in the back and held it up, soft between the fingers of my left hand, grabbed the sheers from the counter with my right and cut it halfway down - the shorter hair falling back to my scalp, I let the curls fall from my fingers, choking back a sob, you love my hair and I am sorry. “What am I doing?” I don’t answer myself, I shut off the light and head for the living room, it’s time to relax.

Forward. It’s twenty minutes in, he takes a phone call on the front porch - he’s out there, I can hear him, if I were rude I’d go to my bedroom and listen in from my open window, I can’t be bothered, I don’t give a shit who he’s talking to. After fifteen minutes, I open the door - he looks up at me, I smile. “Do you need to go, it’s cool if you need to go.” He puts his hand over the receiver. “I’ll just be a minute.” I close the front door behind me and stand in the living room. Mindlessly watching whatever movie is on - I forget, what was it Cradle to the Grave, Jet Li and whatshisface. I zone, not thinking of anything, slide back down onto the sofa, my legs akimbo, my black hoodie up around my face. I’m headed for the raw, I’m not there yet - but I can see it before me, waiting; its legs wide apart, idly fingering and stroking itself. I let out a sigh, he hears it when he walks back in.

Forward. He’s next to me now on the couch, holding my hand. Looking at my mitts. “You have small hands.” he says, turning my right one over, palm down and then palm up again, holding it in his own. I look down, bemused. “They’re not small.” I smirk, “nothing about me is small or delicate or brittle or breakable.” He leans forward and kisses the palm of my hand, his lips are warm and moist, I close my eyes and not for the first or for the last time - I want it to be you. Why can’t I live in the now? Why can’t I just experience this? I lose myself from the here, the now - I’m with you. Then he speaks and it’s not your voice I hear, the spell is broken again. He still has my hand. “They are small. You have small hands.” I withdraw my hand from his grasp and look at it, like I’m looking at it for the first time and oddly enough - it looks smaller than I had thought. My fingers seem stubby, but the palms of my hands still look large to me. “They’re large, for a lady’s hands, they are large.”

Forward. He’s in front of me now - when did he stand up? He takes my hands in his, I’m fluid now - liquid - flowing - I just go with it. He lifts them up, not trying to make me stand, just holding them out in front of me to see. “They’re small, get over it.” he brings them up over my head then and pins them to the couch with one of his own. “And now, you’re pinned.” he leans forward, pressing his knee into my crotch and kisses me softly on the lips. I let him. I can’t recall the last time I’ve been kissed like this. He pulls my lower lip into his mouth and sucks, very lightly, opening my mouth with his own. When my mouth opened, when I let it happen, it just happened… I kiss him back. I had forgotten what kissing someone who was good at kissing felt like. My eyes close, his lips soft, moist, his tongue warm - just enough spit to make it pleasant. I was so wrapped up in the kiss, I didn’t notice my hands were starting to tingle. I went to take a breath, a break to pull apart from him, as soon as I did - his lips moved from my own, to my neck and ears, sucking, biting, licking, kissing. Turning from gentle to very eager and hungry. (he’s going to eat me alive) his knee pushes into my crotch, the pressure is offensive, I can feel my cunt soaking my panties, my face flushes with indignant rage. (what am I doing!?) “I need to...” his mouth is on mine again, sucking my lips, my tongue, biting, just to hear me squeak. I break away from his mouth again with a gasp for air, he’s back to my neck - I think of all the marks I’m going to have there. “I need to…” his hand is at my throat, he’s choking me. My eyes are still closed, I gasp for air - it sounds tight and painful. He kisses my now open mouth, his tongue probing and licking the inside of my mouth - I know how that feels, the insides of lips of cheeks, like soft moist satin. He releases his grip and I shove him off of me. “I need to stand up.” I get off the couch, my knees quiver a bit. “Don’t run away.” he says to my back, his hands slip under my shirt, around my bare waist. “You’re so soft.” he lets his fingers glide over the skin above my hips, caressing and tickling.

Forward. We’re in my bedroom now. I’ve lit a candle, he’s lying on my bed looking up at me, I take off my bra - but leave my shirt on. He’s up again, standing behind me, his hands up my shirt, cupping my tits, then down my sides, he’s touching me everywhere. Every piece of flesh that sees the light, he touches and kisses and bites. All this stimulation, it’s like a bright spot on the mind - a place rubbed shiny. I’m forgetting to breathe, so that when I do breathe I’m light headed. I’m out of it, out of practice, I can’t even be aggressive. B. E. aggressive. He picks up on this, submissiveness and goes with it.

Forward. Always forward. I’m on the bed with him, my feet propped up on the rail - my shirt is gone, he’s doing a number on my tits, his hands have my hands pinned above my head - no problem. He gets this huge thrill of allowing me to move my arms up to a certain point and just slamming them back down on the mattress as if to say, you don’t matter. I’m starting to feel a little panicked, however I feel like I’ve an obligation at this point. Then he does it, I feel the rather savage bite and subsequent suck on the flesh of my left breast, oh fuck it hurts and I know I’ll have a bruise days from now - he, no doubt, wants me to think of him when I see it. I gasp from the intensity of the pain, my gut reaction to touch the place he harmed, but I can’t, I’m still pinned down and helpless - I sob instead. He hears it like a mating call and is back to my lips, kissing me again - his hands move away from mine, cupping my breast, then moving down my stomach to the button on my jeans, I let out a moan, my legs are already spread wide like a wanton whore. He flicks the button with his thumb - that easy and the zipper slowly opens, gently, building anticipation. He goes down the front, on top of my panties at first and laughs when he gets to my cunt.

“What a good little whore, fuck you’re so wet.” he shoves his tongue back in my mouth, pulls my panties aside and flicks my clit with the tip of his finger. “oh yes…” he flicks and rubs and I pant like a bitch in heat, my hips vibrating in time with his fingers. Except I can’t come - this isn’t my body betraying my mind, this is my mind betraying my body. I want to enjoy this, but I can’t. He’s warm and real and someone I can cling to for the time being - but I don’t want to, well, I want to, but I don’t. I’ve gotten this far in and now it feels wrong, it feels all wrong. But I’ve reached this point in the situation that I feel like I can’t stop him because he’s here and it’s not terrible, it’s just not what I want, I don’t want to come with him, I don’t want to come for him, I just want it to be over, I want this weird fascination he has with me to run its course already and to be done with it, to be done with him.

“I can’t come. But I want you to. Fuck me.”

“Oh, I think you can - we’re going to try.” he smiles, kisses me. “What’s your safe word?”

“I don’t have one.” I close my eyes.

“Think of one, tell me what it is.” his lips against my ear, kissing, nibbling, sucking.

“Pineapple.” I breathe. “Just fuck me.”

“You haven’t earned it yet.” his fingers still tirelessly rubbing my clit, moving back and forth almost as fast as a vibrator.

“Finger fuck me then.” I regret it as soon as I say it. He slides I don’t know how many of his long fingers inside of me, filling me, stroking me, invading me. He pulls his fingers out and starts yanking at my jeans, one, two, three tugs and they’re off. Then my panties are all but ripped from me. It wasn't until he got me completely bare and open that he began tearing me down in earnest. I resist as soon as I realize what is happening, but there's only so much resistance in a fractured mind. He puts me in a position of helplessness; he’s between my legs - a dick’s length away, so that my legs are propped up by his knees, he braces one of his arms down across my pelvis, his elbow jams into my right thigh and his fist wedges into my left thigh, I am completely unable to close my legs - his forearm applies this weird pressure to my pelvic mound. With his other hand, he finger fucks me and rubs my clit. Endless. Tireless. Unrelenting. He just keeps going, it doesn’t matter how I whine or beg or cry. He just keeps rubbing me, stimulating, trying to wring just one orgasm out of me.

“God.. you are a stubborn cunt.”

“Fuck you!” I spit. He slaps me hard across the face, his other hand still between my legs, squeezes and pinches. Every little bit of my flesh, he has either pinched or bit or sucked on, prodded me in some way. Marking me. The whole act starts getting to me. Who does he think he is? “No!” I squeak and twist. “Stop. Just stop. Just fuck me. I can’t come. Just fuck me.” at that he just leans forward, his cock pushing into me. “You mean this? You want this in you.” he fucks me hard, my tits bouncing up and down, he grabs my left nipple between his teeth and I cry out - it’s all too much, I can’t contain it. I feel a few tears roll down my cheek, I don’t want to wipe them away, I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that they’re there at all. He sees them anyway and slaps me again and he pulls out, starts to rub my clit again, bracing me open once more, still wanting me to come. This time I give up and sob at him. “I can’t, please stop, just fuck me.”

He growls at me and grabs my hips, turning me over, ass up - I have a moment of panic considering he might fuck me in the ass and I would take exception to it and use the safe word that I’ve already forgotten. He shoves inside me, unceremoniously, I feel his cock hit my cervix and I scream. He thinks it a scream of pleasure, he grabs me by the back of my hair and just slams into me over and over and over. I think to myself, at this rate he can’t last that long. I hate when I’m wrong. He’s fucking me so hard, my neck is creaking, my hair feels like it’s coming out by the roots, my mouth open, drool hanging off my bottom lip… a single… continuous tone escaping me… not quite a scream, not quite a moan, not quite anything but grief. My body just fails me, my knees give out and I sink slowly into the bed, he’s still inside me, fucking me, his hand at the back of my head, pushing my face into the pillow. “Oh, that's good.” he croons. He’s got me braced open from the back now, fucking me hard, his free hand pushing down my lower back, forcing my pelvis to tilt.

When I think I can’t take it anymore, he quivers and comes.

Forward. He’s gone. My room smells like sex. My body feels like it’s been pulverized, put through a grinder. I’ve got bruises on top of bruises. I’ve got bruises where I’ve never had bruises before. I hurt in places that just don’t have occasion to hurt. I have been worked. fucking. over.

for posterity's sake

it's weighing on me, crushing me.

it's overwhelming and i wish i could share it, but i can't.
(it's my own.)

i always wonder though, when it will run its course - when the tears will dry - when the wounds will heal.

the answer is never.
(i have so many.)

if there were a light that you could shine on it, on me - to show it, to see.
i think i'd be full of bites and sores and marks, whip lashes, raised bumps, bruises and scars.

sometimes i think i'm nothing but damage.

fractured

once upon a time, you told me that you loved me too. do you know how long i'd hold out to hear that again?

Forever.

why are you doing this?

Because I can.

i don't like that.

It doesn't matter what you like.

oh, well.. there you go.

Yes, there I go. This is why you act out. This is why you freak out. This is why you throw tantrums, run away - always coming back. This is why I don't get any real alone time anymore. You need me - I'm speaking nothing but truth here, you're the one in denial. So no - it really doesn't matter if you like the truth. You know deep down, in your very soul, your darling darkness, that little freak that isn't so little - that you will never leave. You can't imagine your life without me. You were this little lost thing and I found you, I made you alright with yourself and you know you can't go without now. I own you. Period.

end of discussion?

Obviously.


(i always want it to be you)

avalanche (erotica)

for you

Curled at your back, I reach out and touch you, just to reaffirm that you are real - that you are with me. Sleeping. I can't sleep. I watch you, in between closing my eyes and listening to your breathing - every now and then, a sigh. I lightly touch your back, t-shirt - (i am nude) the jersey cotton soft, I feel the warmth of your skin under, lean towards you, my face not an inch away from your shoulder, I close my eyes and inhale, detergent, fabric softener -clean laundry and a smell that is just you. I love you. I whisper. I softly kiss your shoulder and lay back on the pillow. Tender while you sleep, so innocent - no one sleeps as soundly as an apex predator. You turn in your slumber, on your back now - you sigh and groan.

I sit up, edge of the bed, restless and awake, it's always difficult for me to sleep. The dim light, I look over my shoulder, see your shape dark and warm, I shiver lightly - goosebumps and anticipation, resting my head in my hands. I'm overwhelmed, easily overcome with you, always so much, so big; the associations, the acceptance, the mutual affection, the fact that it just is. I feel your hand at the small of my back, offering sleepy comfort through simple touch - affirmation that we're here, finally. You say nothing, there's no need - words are of little consequence, if the need is there - it's not a need for words, just that contact. The tension in me drains a little, I don't know how you do it - it just slips away with you. I sigh, allowing it to go. Your hand strokes the small of my back lazily, stopping and starting again.

"Come here."

I turn, the light just enough to see your arm stretched out to me and your face angled toward me, your words so low I barely heard them - but I know that I did, I can feel you looking at me, waiting. I slide back into bed, resting my head on your chest, you arms wrap around me, your fingers finding the ringlets of my hair, petting softly, soothing, my eyes closing after a few long blinks. The rise and fall of your chest, the beat of your heart, the fact that I've found a place, in your arms, a place with you - I belong. I feel choked up and relieved, understood. The fact that you never hold on too tight - make that as figurative as you want it to be, it's the truth. What's between us is there because we've allowed it to grow - let go - nurtured. You twirl my hair around the fingers of your left hand, letting the ringlets fall, then gathering them up once more. I run my hand down your belly and then back up again, caressing you, tracing my fingers to your belly button, stopping just short of sexual. I want your cock in my mouth.

Whatever it is to you, however you have it broken up in your mind - fucking - raping - making love - using. For me, it will always be love. I hate that, it makes me feel on the weak end of things, vulnerable. That no matter what you think you're doing to me, I'll be making love to you. You're beautiful for me and to me. I find it to be a slight disadvantage, which is frustratingly honest. I can't help but feel that it is less of a disadvantage than it used to be. When I used to go bare in front of you - I mean naked in an emotional sense. Your reaction was "holy fuck" and then your best attempts at reassurance and most often resigning the fact that it was just a lot to deal with. Things have changed. Something in you gave way. Opened. It's quite lovely. Now when I go naked, you look at me, smile - sometimes sigh and your verbal reaction is "that's beautiful darling." Or one of the most care is applied - the one that made me stop, more than hearing my name, more soothing than "who's my girl?" - the simple and undeniable and achingly beautiful truth - "There’s nothing for you to worry about, alright?" I had nothing to say to that, no denying it, I just asked "how do I stop?" The answer is already in front of me. There isn't anything there for me to worry about. I am beautiful to you. That part in you that gave way at our coming back to one another - that trial of patience of just simply letting me love you - we found out one very big thing - you calm me the fuck down. You are rest for me, that soothing that I always need. It doesn't matter how hard it is, how violent, it's always love. The depths of it are infinitely impressive. I want your cock in my mouth. Fucking me, fucking my pretty face, my cute dimples - because you told me I'm beautiful when I laugh and smile. Beautiful when I cry, even when snot drips out of my nose - unbelievable that you can look at me and smile the way you do. I can tell how much you care - when I finally let myself see it.

I trace my fingers down past your belly button, after stopping three or four times, straight down your boxer shorts, completely out of myself, no shyness, holding your cock in my hand, kissing the tip, because my mouth followed my hands there, pulling your boxers down, my lips on you. So soft, my mouth - like moist velvet, my tongue - pressing you, sucking you in, right to the back of my throat. I hear you exhale, I imagine your eyes closing, your fist clenches my hair, opening and closing slowly - working to the back of my neck, a tight hold, not forcing, enjoying the feel as I take you in and out again, that pretty face, sucking your cock. Hungry for you, I moan, my voice low, vibrates you, adding a new sensation to the wet suction. Your breath catches - knowing this is love for me. Your grip stiffens a bit pushing my face down on your cock (this is love for me) this mouth is yours, this face is yours, this wet cunt, this tight asshole, this body is all yours and this is love for me, giving you the only thing that is truly my own to give, myself. (I love you) I swallow you in further, my throat spasms a bit, I fight off a heave and open my throat again. Giving you myself, giving you any pleasure I can give. I drink, I swallow - just as you let it go, bittersweet in your release, grip pulling my hair, even as I sink down further, taking in every last bit of you, my hands squeezing your thighs gently. Your cock quivers in my mouth, between my lips, tip at the back of my throat, pulses. My cunt dripping now, the tightness built in me from pleasuring you.

threadbare

lost, meandering through life - waiting. i don't know what for, for my life to start? for it to stop? for it to do something, other than what it does on a regular basis. breathe in. breathe out. work. eat. shit. come. sleep. none of it. alone - with my thoughts - i have a thin, weak grasp on reality, when i think. lofty goals in the clouds along with the sun in the sky or is it space that i need? away from everyone and everything. alone in the desert at 2 in the morning, i stop. look up at the stars and back at the moon it's choked with smoke from too many fires burning in my soul. it looks a lot like hell and a lot like home.