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.
Some of these are things I’ve said and others come from other people but they all basically fit me.
“I am a relatively simple person in a complex set of circumstances.”
“You are so pretty when you are broken”
“I was once asked if I was homicidal and the honest answer was no death is not nearly as pretty as suffering.”
” It feels like sex. It feels like really good, sweaty, animal, oh-good-god-do-that-again sex.”
“An unhappy, smaller-than-should-be-possible ball of Sam.”
“Here we are negotiating like proper psychopaths”
“You think the worst thing is to end up all alone. It’s not, it is ending up with people who make you feel all alone” (robin williams)
And now for those of you who like pretty pictures:
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.
In the past weeks I have tried to write honestly I have. Unfortunately everything seems to be coming out just wrong. It is like I can no longer use writing to articulate what is in my head and even the world inside me seems bleaker than normal. I can still see it, it is still there but I no longer live there. I am no longer a part of my own world. It is like looking through glass frosted over by wicked cold letting me see but not feel anything but a cold that not even my world contained. Anyone who is wondering about that world is welcome to read, more than a few posts contain glimpses of that world.
It’s like having a limb severed, being able to see it, but not feel it, not touch it. Not be a part of it. One wouldn’t expect it but it is quite painful actually. To not be in touch with something that has tortured me so beautifully, leaving me twisted and broken. It is much like not being able to touch the one that can twist you into a wonderfully broken thing and make your mind fly apart with the sheer ecstasy of it. Yeah you know who I mean. Only this is worse. That person is just a person, outside and at times replaceable. This is a part of me.
“Will it let me back in,” is the only question that I can ask because it is no longer my choice. They think that banishing the darkness with pharmaceuticals is the only way I will be free. What I don’t tell them is I like the darkness, enjoy it, it makes me whole, without it I am a ghost locked inside myself. I can’t feel, I can’t write, I can’t laugh, love, or breath. Stealing a part of me is something only a lover should do.
A hate has been rising up in me. It started as a slow burn that only twinged a little bit. You know the feeling when you see, do, or have done to you something that is only slightly unjust. It can be pried out of you with a kind word or happy thought. If it is not excised it continues to grow into a burning, a torturous heat with hard edge. It can still be cut from your heart by pure unadulterated lust and the wonderfully rough sex that comes with it. The kind of physical contact that leaves you sore and aching in the morning because you both have taken the hate out on each other and are better for it. This is the kind of fucking that most people only engage in once or twice and think that it is adventurous. The kind where the participants have no idea how close they’ve come to tearing each other apart.
It wandered into the territory of a bright flame as it grew. The hard edge to it becoming a bludgeon working further into my soul. Twisting into it like something wrong and painful. Although much harder to do because the edges of the heart are torn and bruised it can still be torn from the body, but only by using another as you are used in a visceral meeting of the two sexes. The kind of fucking that not many know and others think they’ve gone insane to engage in. The kind where you rip into the other person taking pain and pleasure instead of just giving it.
Then it turned to a roaring fire as it continued to grow. The edge to it is no longer hard but sharp as it shreds the heart piercing the soul before pulling out again only to ram back in. The only way to extinguish it is bloody and painful and kept quiet in the dark.
Finally the flames of the fire turned dark as it consumed me until it wasn’t a fire at all anymore just a burning hatred that echoes up from my eviscerated soul. A wealth of it pours off of me causing even the most oblivious of people to shy away. A darkness so deep and black that to rip it from me would tear apart what little is left. So entwined in what is me it would pull out my very soul. Still it burns deep inside leaving bladed teeth marks wherever it touches.
I don’t own Lucifer nor would I really ever want to… Angel, Morning Star, Prince of Darkness and all.
Lucifer sat staring out over the windswept rock. It was a time of peace for him even after he’d fallen. Breaking dawn had always been his favorite time of day and the rocky Irish coast his favorite place to be. There was something about the spectacular beautiful display of dawn over the staggering gray of the cliffs and the deadly swirling darkness below. This day he arrived here just before dawn a heavy mist clung to the rocky cliff hiding the sharp rocks and swirling water below. He waited peacefully for the dawn chorus to begin. As the first hint of sun hit the horizon he took a breath and began to sing.
“While the moon her watch is keeping,
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O’er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night “
He smiled adopting an Irish lilt to his voice as he sang watching the gray start to seep from the sky.
“Though I roam a minstrel lonely
All through the night
My true harp shall praise sing only
All through the night
Love’s young dream, alas, is over
Yet my strains of love shall hover
Near the presence of my lover
All through the night”
He closed his eyes enjoying the feeling of the soft breeze and sweet sound of the ocean below, rocking gently in an unheard rhythm.
The girl stared at him. He was the most stunning thing she’d ever seen. Soft black hair hung down just past his shoulders and was tied back with a black ribbon. He seemed to move with the song he sang his voice sending chills through her with its soft beauty. She watched his back expand as his chest rose when he began the next verse. Muscles rippled even through the linen shirt he wore.
“Hark, a solemn bell is ringing
Clear through the night
Thou, my love, art heavenward winging
Home through the night
Earthly dust from off thee shaken
Soul immortal shalt thou awaken
With thy last dim journey taken
Home through the night”
She hadn’t realized that she’d moved forward as he sang until she realized she was standing at the edge of the cliff beside where he was sitting. She reached out to touch his cheek to brush away the tear she saw there. Her hand hovered beside his face the strands of black hair that had escaped its tie sliding over it.
“You’re song is beautiful don’t stop singing,” she said quietly as he ended the last note. A soft peaceful smile played against his face.
“There is no more to sing,” She couldn’t help but think that his speaking voice shined as much as his singing voice. Her heart broke at its sound. His eyes still closed he turned toward her voice as she spoke. She wondered if his eyes were as beautiful as the rest of him. She was inexplicably drawn to him. She closed her eyes for a moment attempting to remember how she got there. Why she left her warm home before dawn because of the sound of his voice? She shook her head confused for a moment. He reached out and ran his thumb along her delicate cheek sighing softly as he did. A soft frown flickered over his features as he did the unthinkable. He opened his eyes and she screamed stumbling backward her foot catching on the edge of the cliff.
Lucifer drew in a breath as the catalog of her sins flooded his mind. She was ruined by the shepherd’s kisses and chose to lay with him before she’d been married. She’d done this willingly and over again. A sad smile crossed his lips as he watched the beautiful young girl fall still staring into the endless obsidian pool of his eyes. Only when she disappeared into the mist and the violent waves and rocks below did he close them. For a moment he’d forgotten it had been so long since he sang. He’d forgotten that only sinners could hear him sing and only sinners and demons would be drawn to the sound of his voice.
Tears slipped down his cheeks he’d only wanted a moment’s peace before the fight started. He’d only wanted to relax for just a moment after years in the cage. He sighed again stretching out his black wings. The shining feathers damp with the mist glittered. Strong muscles flexed as he prepared to take flight. The darkness of his position settled around him like a cloak as he took wing
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.