I just had a guy who I just met on a cruise who live a country away from me get upset because I would not have sex with him because 1 he’s drunk and 2 I don’t know him well enough…. What is up with that crap? Please comment because I really want to know.
Okay, I have to do this simply because I am extremely depressed, have no internet access here, and needed a happy goat. Mostly because happy goats make everyone feel better. So I went in search of one and this is what I found. To my surprise not one happy goat but TWO.
To my surprise I also found one seriously pissed off alpaca.
This is one of those nights where every fiber in my body is vibrating and I can think of nothing more fun than sinking to my knees in front of the nearest stranger. Filthy bathrooms in worn out clubs that look almost magical at night but sad and tired during the day. This is the time that I personify dangerous behaviors and need to take my energy, anger, and hatred out doing something fun and yes sucking a stranger off in a random bathroom is fun. It’s power and don’t let anyone ever tell you it isn’t. The way girl or guy looks at you when they know you are in control and that you are making them feel like indescribable incandescent pleasure in such a objectionable place.
There are some things that cannot be replaced by a safe, sane, alternative.
And for those of you who like such things.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
A unique look at what wanders around in the darkness that is my mind. All of the slithering, slick things that twist and curl their way around important parts, beautiful memories. Corrupting them making them into something as dark and twisted as themselves. Making the pain seem real and the hope nothing but desperation.
The darkness caresses anything that is good and beautiful in my life, wrapping around it like a rapist. Moving against it, sliding, and slipping into the crevices. Its liquid cold pulsing, growing to fit and push against the boundaries of the memory before filling it up and stretching its walls. Soaking it in slippery black before pulling back out again leaving the beauty tainted and dripping with viscous liquid.
My eyes slip closed and my head slips back with a soft thump against the concrete wall. I keep my eyes closed knowing all to well what I will see it is what my body feels right now. I want to open my mouth and say something, anything. I begin to make a sound and his large calloused hand clamps over my mouth sealing it. He leans in close to me, his breath warm against my ear and whisper “Don’t make a sound.” As if I could my mind reels the oxygen deprivation quickly becoming apparent. The bulge against my thigh grows a bit bigger as he rubs it against me. I shiver excitement and fear warring in my brain. I am certain that he can feel my heart pound through the thin t-shirt that I have on. The slowly moves off of my mouth and nose giving me a split second to gasp precious oxygen.
While I am still gasping for breath a forearm is slammed into my throat pinning me to the concrete wall behind me. The rough brick pushes painfully into my back and the forearm is crushing my ability to breath. The pressure of it keeps me pinned on the tips of my toes. If I don’t strain to touch the ground my feet would be off the floor and I would hang there in his grip choking. I feel him fumbling with something between us and realize suddenly that he is unbuckling his belt and trousers. His other hand reaches completely up under my skirt. I gasp as his rough fingers brush my over sensitive lips. He tilts his head up to look at me raising an eyebrow quizzically.
“Expecting someone?” He whispers so close to my ear that it is all I can do to not to lean into him. I shake my head my eyes going wide because I went without panties on a dare from a friend. His hand roams across my bare ass and gently caresses the folds of my lips, teasing me. I arch my back trying to get more contact between me and his had, my fear fading as quickly it began. He cupped his hand and slowly curled one finger against the most sensitive part of me. I turn my head away pushing my cheek against the brick at this violation and that my body is responding to it so enthusiastically. His newly freed cock twitches in excitement as it slides against my bare thigh. The silky and smooth skin makes me shudder in what could only be termed anticipation. I lean my head back pushing my body closer to that silken warmth. My eyes flutter closed as his fingers trace lazy circles around my clit making me want to scream, I barely notice a flash of sliver on the edge of my vision.