This girl is out for a while. I'm going to be out of town, visiting Stormy and my beautiful new nephew. I doubt I'll be able to access the internet-and I'll be there for nearly a week.
See you on Tuesday.
Laters

(I'd cry blood for you.)
Laters

?????.
?? ?????? ?????

Of them all, Russian is my favourite. I hope the text above shows up.

Lust and infatuation are often mistaken for love. Especially by me, in the past. Now...now I'll mistake love for lust and infatuation rather than risk losing my heart again.

But on the other hand, this is an EXTREME case of lust.
Laters

Je m'en vais chercher un grand peut-être.

Je ne parle pas francais.

Ich spreche nicht Deutsch.

Ya nye govraiyoo po-rooski.

Oh, wait. Yes, yes I do. Some. Not fluently, but not elementary, either.
Laters

He likes attention. I like paying it to him. Like an homage, a tribute, a show of respect and admiration. An offering. But...can one really OFFER if the sacrifice is the other's demand?
Laters

Sshhhh! I have a secret.

Tomorrow is easter. Yippee (note the sarcasm). But as long as Amethyst is happy, I don't care about the source of it. She's my joy. I need to get her new pictures up, though...fucking computer restricted bullshit.

I don't know what to say. About him. Other than that I want to feel his hands on me, pinching and twisting and touching with exquisite command. I want to feel his hands around my neck, cutting off my air. I want to feel his tongue in my mouth and show him just how fabulous I am with my (pierced) tongue. I want to email him with my work email-the only one I have regular access to-and give him my number and wait with baited breath, hoping he'll call. I get too attached, too involved. WAY too easily. It's just a sex thing...right? Whether it is or not, that's what I'll believe. I just haven't had a decent, dominating fuck in a while. And here I am, hiding under a blanket, hoping no one will notice me touching myself. Feel his teeth on my neck, his lips on my nipple, his cock in me. I want him to get hard thinking of me. I want to be bound and whipped and cut and beaten and hurt. It's kinda funny, though, talking about what *I* want. Because what I really want is for him to take pleasure from me. In whatever way he desires. And then hope his desires coincide with mine.

My name isn't Candi. It never was, but there are quite a few people who know me only by that facade. Some I have sucked, some I have fucked. Some I have been completely indifferent to. And this week I'm going back to an area that knows Candi. Knew Candi. The woman I am now...am I a woman? Or just a sick, twisted little girl, cleverly trying to pretend.

My brain is all over the place tonight. It's back on sex now. It's never really far away from it, but it's a hundred percent there at this moment. I was raped on the island. I hated it. It wasn't violent enough, not painful enough, not demeaning enough. That's fucked up. My rape was disappointing because he didn't hurt me. I have rape fantasies. (Can you rape the willing?) I walk down dark alleys alone at night. I park far away from the door in parking lots. I don't look in the back seat when I start driving. And every time, my heart beats rapidly-with fear, anticipation, hope? And every time nothing happens. And every time I wonder what I would have done if something had.

Oh! I bought my own car. Finally. All mine, no one else's. It's pretty and blue and a stick. I love driving manuals. Don't ask me why. All I know is that I do.

I'm going to stop now. Maybe find someone in the area to fuck tonight. Probably not.
Laters

Who wants to fuck?
I do! I do!!
Laters

*frown*
I have very limited internet access for a while. The power cord to my laptop broke and I've got to wait until next paycheck to get a new one. Those things are fucking expensive. And I don't get paid until the first. And THEN I'll be out of town. Visiting some old haunts, seeing Stormy and her new baby, taking a mini vacation. So, other than work where I can post but nothing else (including check email), I'm not going to be online much. Dammit. I was thinking of putting my work email here, but it's my real name. And workplace. And I'm not QUITE desperate or crazy or stupid enough to put that online.
I'm obsessed. He brings out something...twisted in me. Makes me hornier than I can remember being in a long time. Raven was too...submissive. Too much of a pussy for me. That's rather cruel, but also rather amusingly appropriate. I don't get that impression of this other.
I didn't WIN win, but I placed. Second out of about a dozen contestents. I'm pretty proud of myself. And my tattoo, and, of course, my daughter. Maybe I'll post a picture of my tattoo up here at some point. No one would see the one that's already posted-it's on my left breast, so it's usually covered up. Actually, it's always covered up. Except when it's not.
Okay, I've got to go. I have to work (again) tomorrow, and I should probably pretend to try and sleep before then.
All apologies for the sporadic posts.
Laters

Not much time as I'm heading out to the convention. I'm wearing a red halter that shows off the faerie tattoo on my back-and the globs of fat hanging down from my arms. I want him to find me. Pathetic, you know? Well, *I* know. True or not, thinking he might be in the area has me holding my breath, just wondering. I've got the entire house to myself for once-Amethyst and my parents are visiting Stormy and her new baby boy. It's filthy, a mess, a sty. I'm never here. But this weekend, this week...it's private. It's mine. I want to share...

I want to bleed for him.
Laters

I know that I can't view my blog from work, but I'm curious to see if I can post to it from work. (It has too many curse words and thus sets off the sensors.)
Laters

This is, like, the best new discovery EVER! Now whenever I get bored or annoyed or whatever, I can write all about it! I know, it doesn't take much to make me giddy over the little things. That's because I'm a sad and pathetic individual.
Anyway, I'm going to a convention this weekend. A tattoo convention. And I'm going to win. For "Most Realistic Portrait": Amethyst in my arm. Yes, there ARE some really good tattoos out there, but this one is FABULOUS. I've done a lot of looking around and I've never seen anything this amazing-plus she's such a beautiful little girl. How could I NOT win?
Now I think I'm going to go have a cigarette. Mmmm, nicotine.
Laters

He asked for a blow job. That's all he wanted, right? Yeah, right. But his definition of "blow job" wasn't terribly comparable with mine. He didn't let me suck him, wouldn't let me voluntarily use my tongue (and its piercing) to please him. What he did was fuck my mouth, pound his large prick into my throat, forcing me to swallow his size. I wasn't prepared. I didn't think I had much of a gag reflex, but what I did have he found. I threw up. On his prick, all over myself, all over everything. Did he stop? No, he just fucked all the harder. My discomfort did nothing but turn him on more. Then he came. In my mouth, on my face, all over me. Satiated, he stood up and turned towards the bathroom-and the shower. I still couldn't talk, and wouldn't have dared even if I could have. I just laid there in my own vomit, in his cum. What else could I do? I was still bound.
My fantasies are getting more bizarre lately. Can't imagine why. But I might have heard a rumor...

Anyway, there's a convention this weekend. A tattoo convention, in my area. And there's one contest I'm going to win hands down. Most realistic portrait. The one of Amethyst on my arm is amazing. I'm excited, it'll be fun. I just wish I didn't have to do it (and everything else, really) alone.
Laters

I have a new obsession. Well, an old obsession, a new focus. How pathetic am I to want so desperately to be owned? Raven opened this world to me...no. Raven gave this world definition for me. As long as I can remember I've referred to myself as "slightly masochistic". He made me realize just what "slightly" is for me-very extremely and intensely (though I suppose that's not exactly grammatically correct). And as long as I can remember I've wanted to take my husband's name (well, not MY husband, given the situation), because I wanted to BELONG. I want to be cherished and I want to obey-I even wanted my wedding ring to say "obey" and his "cherish" (again, not with my husband, with a hypothetical 'real' husband-or, at this point, Master). Desire like fire, burning through my veins...
On another note, I feel petulant. Juvenile and cranky. Some unknown bitch emails me with an address (brand new, I might add) created to imply she is now Raven's piggy bank. I want to fucking just go OFF. Tell her off, email him twice a day, write about nothing but him. See? Petulant. But I don't give a fuck. Ok, on some level I do because I want what's mine to remain mine-and he was MINE, though he deluded himself into believing it was otherwise. I want to be loved and remembered and pined for forever. Yes, I know it's unrealistic. I didn't say I EXPECTED it, just that I WANTED it. But for the past several months the only things I've been thinking about him are all the 'impotent-little-shit-of-a-man' things that he did (and can you tell how much I adore that phrase for describing him? so accurate!). And the only reason I've been even feigning interest is because I want my fucking money. The asshole owes me. I paid all the bills for a year. I fixed his goddamned truck, sold all my shit to keep him in gas and cigarettes just so he could let some drug dealer and his whore walk all over him. "I need to show them who I really am" indeed. Life-impotent little bastard. But the sex was fun. He wasn't quite impotent in that department. Well, not all the time. MOST of the time, but when it happened it was fun. Not good. Just fun. Painful. Yeah, in the bedroom he could dominate, be what I wanted and needed. Anyway, about the "threats" of legal action? Who was I "threatening"? Some crusty old hag who's more than welcome to my ex? Whatever. Besides, the legal shit wouldn't even involve Raven. All the documents are in his dad's name, which turns out to be a good thing because his dad actually HAS a job and MAKES some money which I can sue for. Can't bleed a stone-or a raven who's worth less than one. Okay, so thus ends my petulance. For now.
So onto other matters. I finally got my tattoo. Of Amethyst, my favourite picture of her and let me tell you it's PHENOMENAL. The guy did an amazing job. I'll get a picture of it once it's healed and put it up here somewhere.
Hmm...do I have anything else to say? Not really, no. Met with a "Dom" who wasn't really very dominating and who I won't be seeing again. Kind of a side note to everything, a footnote to the pages of my life.
And I don't want to go to work tomorrow. But, really, do I ever?
Laters

First of all godDAMN these stupid blog templates. Apparently my shit doesn't fit. Fuck it.

And now for the rest of it. An essay, he says? And expects me to comply? Shit. Oh, he knows I will...

Three days? Was it really that long? And how long has it been now? So many other things happening, so much work and life. I sit with my head down, humbly apologetic. Hoping he'll understand, hoping he'll forgive. Wondering if he knows how such a simple statement has changed my outlook. For though I have many many obligations in my world, he has now become a priority. I wonder if I even like that he's able to have such an effect on me. I wonder if I can ignore it, change it. I know I can't. And I know that if I could I wouldn't.

Not You
The fun hastily exits as I watch him fumble with the condom, fumble with his small prick. Sitting on the bed, I roll my eyes to the ceiling, curious if I'll see something more interesting there. Not surprisingly, I do. One speck, two specks, red speck, blue specks...is he STILL trying to put that thing on? U-G-L-Y, stupid song in my head. But we've talked about this sort of thing, he's been told, in graphic detail, what I like, how I am. So he knows, right? He should. Why am I still here? Bored now. Oh, he's ready. Well, I'm watching cartoons. (Don't just sit there like a moron, MAKE me stop.) "Have you ever been with a woman before?" Liar. I'll be the cherry-popping momma tonight. And now he's begging me. Begging ME to do what he wants me to do. Pathetic. (If I have a superior air, it's because I'm better than you.) Lay there, legs spread, stare at my fingernails. It's almost time to get them done again. ARE there red specks on the ceiling? I think I see blue...Yay, now he's finished. First actual pleasantry of the evening. No, I don't want to stay and talk. No, I don't want to hear about his routine, his problems, his OCD. Looks like I've got everything I need, door's just a step away. No, don't call me. "You're done."

Yours
Same situation? Or something different...how would you handle me? Apathy and insubordination? Never happen. Amusement and pity? Not tolerated. To submit, to yield, to give in completely...blessed dream. The more violent, the better. I could be your whore, your slave, your mistress, your whatever-you-want-me-to-be. You don't have to tell me what to do. Let me learn to anticipate your requests, your demands. Never ask. Expect me to obey. Own me. Call me yours.

What can I do for you, Sir?
Laters

Thank you, miss English...

"hello. i have debated emailing you for a few months now. i suppose i've finally decided it's time to say something, especially since you seem to still have trouble letting go.
i've read your emails and instant messages; i've seen your blog posts. you need to let Crow go. He is not going to move heaven and earth to be with you. He doesn't still love you, or whatever you think His feelings were/are. if you still have things in mccurtain county, why did you leave them there when you left? if you want them back, tell me what they are and i will get them. but quit emailing to and writing about Him. it's tedious and pathetic. and the threats of legal action? quite humorous, thank you.
that's about all i have to say for now."

/:-) Feel better now?
Laters

I am sleepy and this is a boring as hell post. Just like the boring as hell sex I just had. Some guys are just lame.
Goddammit.
Laters

Just another night alone.

There's a knife at my throat. My face is pressed so hard against the brick it's starting to bleed. My arm is bent so far up behind my back that one more milimeter will break it. I'm scared, terrified, worse than I thought possible. And against all reason I'm aroused. This fuck of a stranger has turned me on with his violence. My clit is throbbing with pressure and desire as my breath comes in short, spasmodic gasps. I can't see him. I can't hear him for the pounding of my heart in my ears. But I feel him. Such control-over himself, over me. I find myself hoping he has a big dick, hoping-and god what a sick fuck am I?-hoping that he'll rape me. I feel his breath against my cheek as he presses his body against mine. Flash of pain, seeing red when his teeth sink into my neck. He's trying to hurt me. He's succeeding. Who the hell IS this bastard? Only he's not alone. He can't be because the knife is still at my throat and I feel hands clumsily ripping my pants away. Finally free from them, a hand slips between my legs. And finds me wet and dripping. I'm thrown away from the wall to be struck so unbelievably hard in the face that I'm knocked to the ground. "Sick bitch," I hear whispered. I don't look up. I'm afraid of what I'll see. Now he's on top of me, pinning me down, using my own moisture to ready the smaller of my nether openings. I struggle, knowing it's in vain, trying anyway. Then he's in me, filling up my ass with his size and power. Shit, can it actually POSSIBLY be hurting this badly? I feel myself tear and notice him moving more easily due to the blood. Is it over yet? No. Despite my cries for mercy and brevity, it lasts forever. Left for dead, beaten, broken, bloody-is that to be my fate? Again, no. I'm turned around and look into the eyes of someone I know.

What the hell is wrong with me that I think these thoughts? I mean, shit, I'm practically coming all over myself-and will be in a few minutes when I break out the toys. Thinking about hurting and breaking and being forced. Hell. I want it SO badly. Why can't *I* have a sweet, caring romantic who's into inflicting unbearable amounts of pain?
Laters

And there's something wrong with my blog. Shit, I need to learn html. Or seduce someone who knows it. I'm sick of fucking with this stupid thing.
Laters

Deeper and deeper into this world of depravity...and oooh, how delicious it is. Fantasizing about it and reading about it and wishing for it...
I need a true, IRL experience. Not that bullshit with Raven, who was and is too much of a pussy to actually be a Dom. But something like...something like Jack, only more so. More often, at any rate. Ah, well.
Speaking of Raven, I've been investigating some legal options. Which I'm going to present him with next month when I'm in the area. As well as get some of my shit back. Goddammit, I've lost so much because of that impotent little shit of a man. And, really, that's complimentary for him.
Laters

Just once I'd like there to be more of us than them.

I fucking HATE living in the goddamned bible belt. Makes me want to scream on a regular basis. Or buy a high powered rifle and find a bell tower. Stupid people. How DARE they? I mean, it's bad enough that they use god as an excuse for their bigotry, prejudice, discrimination and ostricization, but THIS??? What the HELL?!? Stupid...fucking...cunts.

And on a side note, I'm hornier than hell and NEED to be beaten. Cut. Fucked. *sigh* Why me?
Laters