Can anyone out there answer a question for me?

This is an open invitation to anyone who wishes to respond. Anyone floating aimlessly about the internet please take a look and give me your best guess. I implore you to help me figure this out. I don’t condemn it I just want to understand it. Ok now for the question.

Why is it that certain guys are fascinated by putting their hands in your mouth when they are fucking you from behind? I have had and have seen this in quite of places. They use your mouth like leverage pulling you back on to them. One it hurts, two I find it repulsive *note the I* This is not to say there is anything wrong with it. Some women I know find it quite enjoyable. The problem is not that I condemn it (if you’ve read anything besides this particular post you know I have stranger kinks that that) but I don’t understand it.

Is it some form of control, humiliation, or other psychological need? Or is it that it happens accidentally. I know when I am cumming I can’t be sure where my feet are much less what I am clutching in my hand. I cum particularly hard most of the time, again not a bad thing.

ok I know I said one question but my mind tends to meander when I am writing and it meandered into a darker more volatile corner of my brain. Despite popular belief cum actually does not taste bad particularly if you pay attention to your “special friend’s” diet. Yes diet can change the taste guys stay away from the dairy if you want your beneficial friend to swallow your cum.

This brings me to the question: Why on earth would you cum on a girls face rather than inside her mouth particularly if she swallows?  I know the aesthetics to it. It is a strange form of art the way each arc makes a different pattern on a man or woman’s body. Definitely fascinating once in a while but not all the time. It is not particularly pleasant to wash cum out of my hair, my ears (don’t ask), my eyes, and inside my nose (again don’t ask how it happened because I will never tell a soul about ears and noses) Besides doesn’t cumming inside feel better rather than taking matters into your own hands (yeah yeah bad pun).

Ok one more question and I promise I will stop.

Am I missing something when I assume that guys know that pornography is on video with actors and actresses? It is not real. Well the sex is real but the acting isn’t. Actually some of the sex is real while others are more acting than fucking. The positions that they occasionally put both guys and girls in to fuck are all but physically impossible to maintain for any length of time. They don’t work, hurt like hell, and girls usually don’t appreciate being put in it. I am  not talking about BDSM just vanilla sex. I am also not going to bring up the number of people who are just bad at it because it could get me into trouble.

I see this in more women then men but there is more porn featuring women than me.  part of the reason why there are a lot of fucking scenes is because most people (not all) who are in videos can’t act. Don’t get me wrong I have seen really good acting in porn and really bad acting in porn but nothing in between.

Please take the time to answer these I really don’t understand them.

On a more sober note my Stepfather and the only father I ever knew died last week. He was at home with my mother and I and he was 86 years old. He was on hospice for an extended period of time…. again a topic for another post everything is way too raw right now. I am tired and sad, and happy all rolled up into one confused package.

lonely death

Strange sexual desires

I am redlining this for a reason. To all of my friends and family that may or may not be reading if you don’t like really strange and you don’t want to know things about me that are otherwise kept quiet. Come to think of it they should be kept quiet but I am going to put them here anyway. For anyone who reads this I have a question – is this too strange. Also I am on pretty much on a large amount of drugs that are supposed to make me sleep… Its quarter to four am here. Lot of good the sleep medication. All it did is make me thing about this and of course after the thought the crazy leaks out onto the page – well in this case the website.

Ok time for random strangeness.

I am a sexual creature by nature. I enjoy a vast variety of ways to play. Truth is despite my good catholic upbringing I love sex. Not just orgasm or the act itself but the sheer pleasure of being that close to someone. I will get there in a bit. First because this is rather odd – I enjoy watching gay men have sex specifically cumming and cumming hard. I don’t enjoy actually watching it. The part that I enjoy is hearing it. I am really not sure why. But it turns me on to no end which in the situation I am in is a very very bad thing. Not really bad just no viable release. Remember earlier when I said I love sex I meant to say I love sex with another person or a bunch of people. I love the type of sex where you have to count the feet and divide by two to see how many are participating. So I remain on edge and more than a little horny.

There is a bond that forms during sex. It isn’t permanent and may or may not exist after the act is completed. If that bond is there then good for you. If not move on, one night stands are not necessarily a bad thing and I have found myself saying goodbye right afterwards because I don’t want to see them in the morning… is this bad of me. Of course not I am a healthy adult with healthy desires or at least I hope they are.

As for me. I am searching for the one person who is willing to open their chest up for me and let me crawl in so that I never doubt that I am treasured. Not just loved but treasured. I want to lean up against his heart and feel it beating against my back while I count his ribs or the spots on his lungs to pass the time. I want to feel every bit of air stolen from me so that he can breath. I want to trace the lines of blood and bone with my fingers dipping it to it and hearing him gasp. I would be content in my cage made from flesh, bone, and muscle. Waiting. I want to be next to his heart so that I can run my hand along its ruby surface. Memorizing it.

Look closely it is a brilliant  photo
Look closely it is a brilliant photo

Please Excuse My Rant

I am extremely disappointed in a variety of things lately. It amazes me that things like depression, suicide, and agoraphobia are still miss understood. Recently I was dragged from my home, handcuffed (not the good kind of handcuffed) and thrown into a mental facility. All for saying something that I was actually feeling. It seems I am too fucked up to talk to someone professional about what I go through every day.

I spent 48 hours staring at puke brown walls and listening to other people’s problems. Basically I was the therapist and a patient. Considering the staffing and the fear of expressing actual feelings to them overrides the ability to get help. Once you are in everything that you say can and will be used against you to make you stay in a horrid situation longer. All of this from simply seeking help for an overwhelming situation. If my life was not bad enough before this it is horrid now. Everyone I care about now looks at me as if I am crazy which admittedly I am but most of the time I am functionally crazy.

I like things that most people don’t, I mix pleasure and pain readily. I enjoy strange things and have a really hard time controlling basic impulses. I love it all there are very few things that I won’t try. My life was screwed before and all this did was ruin my relationships with my friends and family. I know I am not making sense but remember when I said there are times to call the ambulance and there are times not to. Well calling the police and being taken to a hospital in handcuffs is enough to destroy your life.

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I Want – an ongoing story

Although writing is nothing new to me I only indulge in playing with fiction once in a while. Please please tell me what you think about the beginning I would really like a critique.

I wanted to say that it would be ok and that you were going to be just fine as I had so many times before. You looked so scared, sad, and alone. I wanted reach up and brush the hair out of your eyes. I knew it would only slip back down again but at least I could feel the silken strands between my fingers and I always loved that feeling.

I wanted to say that there was nothing to fear that it was safe, that you would be safe but looking in to those beautiful blue pools, whose black centers almost took over. They were wide and one could dive into one of those pools and wind up sinking into the inky darkness that was your pupil. The cerulean iris, just a ring around obsidian, you were scared.

I wanted to say not for me, never be scared for me, but I was too busy drowning to speak. Your strong arms grip me loosely as if I am made of thinly blown glass that would shatter in your hands.

I wanted to say don’t worry about breaking me, I was already shattered into a thousand pieces before heaven and hell and certainly before now. Something broken, something that cannot be put back together, no matter how much you try.

I wanted to say that I was still here, despite the fact that my arms fell limply to the side like broken tree limbs. Only your arm around me was keeping me from lying in the ever spread red pool underneath me. I vaguely wondered what it was my brain to tired to realize what it actually was.

I wanted to say I would be warm as long as you kept holding me. I would never get cold with you wrapped around me one arm around my back holding me up and the other cradled behind my head. You were desperately trying to evaluate the damage and still hold me close.

I wanted to say that I appreciated that just like I appreciate all that you do for me. I wanted to shake my head at that moment as my heart that normally beats only for you was no longer beating in time with yours. God how I wanted to close my eyes and turn my head if only to escape the pain in your eyes.

I wanted to say that none of this was your fault despite the fact that I knew you blamed yourself for it and would for a very long time. I wanted to hold you as close as you were holding me. Your tears sliding track across your dirt streaked face only to slide down mine as you rested your forehead against my forehead like we did when we were kids. To anyone outside it may have looked like we were both crying but for some reason I wasn’t.

I wanted to say I loved you

I wanted to say run as the thing that brought this all on crept up behind you. I wanted to scream it as it lowered its deadly horn and casually lined it up with your heart. I wanted to push you out of the way I wanted to do anything to stop this but…

Why Did You Kill Me

Why are you killing me? I really want to know. Since when is I love you code for I just want to use you to watch my house, dogs, my family, and oh by the way everyone hates you. It means bend you until you break into tiny glistening pieces so convoluted that they cannot be put back together again. Some of them just dust that is slipping away in the wind.

I thought you would protect me, keep me safe from harm, I thought I could bury myself inside you while you buried yourself inside me. That the connection went beyond the physical but you used my mind like you used my body raping both of them with regular frequency. I have been through true rape that did less damage than you managed just by your callousness, by not being there when I needed you most. You weren’t there to catch me when I fell and I fell so fucking hard that I shattered.

I remember you inside me, your heart beat against mine. You hold my hands in yours in a grip that would be painful had your body not been moving on mine in such a wickedly delicious way. You use my hands as leverage to create even more powerful thrusts pushing yourself into me further until it is almost too much almost unbearable. Almost… My hips arch to meet yours as my back straining to let you all the way in. Gripping and gasping as the excitement builds and coils until you explode. Looking up at you I remember seeing you shattered, blown apart, your eyes blown with lust and excitement. A shiver rocks your entire body and I feel it through mine. I am scared for a moment that the power is too much for you to handle. At that moment you are glowing and I could believe that you loved me absolutely and completely.

 

Holy Shit I Think I Figured it Out

Like the title says I think I might just have figured it out. Yes, this would seem simply to anyone but me but I realized that I gave everyone everything until I had nothing left. I can’t walk away from things right now because things are going to kill me, but it will kill my family first. It has already killed all of the relationships I have and there are several that are rapidly deteriorating. I tried to get some help and ended up sitting for two days in a room with a bunch of other people watching the paint peel off the walls.

To anyone out there who paints mental health facilities…. BABY SHIT BROWN IS HORRIBLE TO BEGIN WITH BUT STARING AT IT 24 HOURS A DAY WILL DRIVE A SANE PERSON MAD. The phrase “Maybe you will get some help,” or “I thought it would help you,” came out of people’s mouths multiple time during this. It was one of the most unhelpful things. It ruined my current relationship which was just getting back on track and convinced me that I can’t be in a relationship ever. Never going to get close to someone, sex is one thing but I have to learn not to show them who I actually am.

I can’t believe the only person I have let close to me now hates me because I am broken. Just a discarded toy that was played with too hard and snapped. No more winding up he wound me too tight and the spring broke. It hurts to have someone not wanting anything to do with you because you are sick and broken. They hurt you worse by trying to back away slowly than they do just getting angry and telling you to fuck off.

This hurts so incredibly bad but I made a decision when I was sick that I didn’t want him any more. Now all that can be done is to pick up my cloths and truck and never speak to him again. Then there is getting over him personally. Every time we think of something that we used to do or just hiding in his arms it kills more of me inside but that is just crushing the rest of the broken toy that I am.

He was angry with me – I was in full meltdown mode and he was angry with me. Why what was the reason for his anger – not protective instinct for me or being scared for me – but for him and his family and what they said about me. Oh well I will get over it or I won’t either way I won’t have feel used by him or but it is crushing me right now. Things were actually getting better between us and I could always say at least he would stand behind me. But I guess not.

Be with Someone
Be with someone who won’t stay mad at you,
Be with Someone who can’t stand not talking to you,
And be with someone who is afraid of losing you.

I thought I had found that person but I guess not.

An Amazing Thing – Almost Impossible to Believe

Not sure how this happens. There have been many times in writing this I have had to come out and tell you my lovely reader that I am insane. I am not sure how I got this way although I am sure I will figure it out someday. For now lets be content with just the fact that I recognize my insanity and am ok with it.

That being said – I tend to be up front and completely honest about exactly how off my rocker I am, this is a rocker with only one blade and the only way it is still up right is the fact that the blade is actually insanely sharp and has scarred its way into the wood, pushing into it allowing the planks to surround it and hold it tightly as it expands and contracts rocking gently into the groove its made. No imagery there what so ever. None I swear.

Just as I am blatantly honest about being crazy here I am the same way in the real world. I believe in warning people in advance that I am completely insane most of the time. It is unreal how many have come back to my after things went south and have said you know you’re crazy…. my response is always the same. “I told you I was crazy – more than a couple of steaks shy of a bushel (which is bad because steaks don’t come in a bushel) you didn’t believe me? Did you think I was lying about that?” Sheesh…why don’t they ever believe me when I tell them.

I once said that I felt so strongly that I wanted to be as close as possible to them. You know inside them… but that is for another post.

Roses, Thorns, and the Dark

I don’t remember coming here inside myself, wait, actually I do remember. I don’t want to remember but I do and I know why. I don’t worry about the strangeness of the thoughts in my head as I run my hand over the black bars of my cage. I belong here and in some ways it is the only place that I belong. My heart still flutters painfully in my chest although I distinctly remember ripping it out a time or two, Or was it ripped from me. I shake my head my shaggy never perfect hair falls around my shoulders in confusion as I remember the crackling pop of ribs as a hand stretches them apart to dig at the soft tissue underneath. It is a wonder I still draw breath. The strange feeling of my lung being pushed aside so that you could get to the most vital part of me. Your hands are warm as they grasp it, somehow I didn’t expect them to be warm. The tugging sensation makes me shiver as its connections are severed and you begin to withdraw. The sliding sensation is all pleasure and pain wrapped up like a Christmas gift, tied with a particularly visceral bow.

cry

Horrible Things Happening to Our Service Members

For those of you that don’t read me often I am normally absorbed with my own insanity and literal falling to pieces.

Today I actually have a reason to scream yell rant and use strong language

My father is a World War II VET. It absolutely disgusts me that the VA is uncooperative in getting him the most basic care.

As a highly decorated officer (by that I mean two purple hearts two silver stars, and two bronze stars among others) he was disabled during WWII. This stopped him from a prominent baseball career (he was being scouted by the Yankees when patriotic duty took over and he signed at 16 with his fathers permission). It also stopped him from doing a lot of things in his life. Not that he has not lived a full one and accomplished a lot.

I am so completely dismayed, disappointed, and disgusted that the VA (veteran’s affairs) office has seen it so easy to blow my father off. I called them 18 times with no response. Finally while calling their national number I finally got in touch with a patient advocate who hopefully call me back. As I said hopefully… I can’t believe that one of their oldest veterans is treated so badly.

He needs help. His family needs help and I can’t get them to return a freaking phone call. Grrr sorry I will stop ranting now… This is how we treat our proud service members.

Frustration

I am not sure if everyone is like this or if it is only me but I don’t deal with frustration very well. Allow me to rephrase – I don’t deal with frustration at all, waiting makes me feel as if I am being driven slowly insane by the most diabolical of demons. Most of the tears that I have shed have not been over sadness, joy, or even anger they have been because of frustration.

Like right now my hands twitch with it. It flows through me dancing down my spine and skipping as if it is having fun. It plays with me sending shock waves skipping across my ribs making my heart pound. I have been pacing my cage looking out across the sands watching them build the walls that they think I need. I am aware that my skin doesn’t seem to want to stay on. It slithers and crawls over muscle, bone, and sinew looking for a way to slide off and live on its own.

It pushes aside the darkness which I have become accustom to. Sending it back inside my duplicitous brain. I wonder vaguely if the architects are finished with their twisted spires and rooms that people never come out of. They don’t seem to be building anymore and I wonder if it is safe to go back the the dark pit I call my home. I try the cage door and find it locked. Looking out across the black sand landscape I try to see the one whom I once loved and the one whom I have lost. I wonder if he still lives despite the torture he has endured. There is no way for me to tell.

What I wouldn’t give to have that heart beat against my hand full of life and love. Somehow I think the same slithering things that got me. Parasites that stretch the fabric of reality in their grotesque bodies unnatural for the real world. I wonder vaguely if they will ever break through using my body as a transport device. They skitter along my bones and muscles as if they are restless and waiting to get out. Each day they take more from me and I wonder when they will envelope me causing my personality to die. They have already altered it beyond recognition. I watch the darkness move underneath my skin waiting for me to touch another and infect them so that they can escape the prison I keep them in.

I keep them close to my heart because I have long since started to view them as my darkness but I know they bite, scratch, and claw to infect another. When I touch someone they envelope him corrupting what he feels, who he loves, and any happiness he could bring. It always happens this way, I think this is why I stay away from people. I don’t want to see the my darkness penetrate them like an obscene lover. It fills them up and burrows its way into any cracks so that the person feels the fullness of their presence. Some people cum when they feel it others turn away, still others scream while it pushes too hard against their walls expanding them to the point of a perfect pain. The darkness is good at that. Good at making you feel all those feelings that are considered unnatural, taboo, but oh so good.