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
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
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