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
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
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