I have a very impressive tongue:


But guess where ELSE I got pierced!
Laters

Thief Of Me

There's a certain point in life, in EVERYONE'S life, when they are susceptible to change, or rather, when who they are isn't as yet set and therefore extremely impressionable.
When I met her, she was his sister. In such a short time she became my friend. And in time much shorter still, I fell in love with her. I was already in love with her, I suppose I could have said, but it doesn't matter. When I knew her, when I loved her, is when she stole me.
It started small, of course. A word, a phrase, an expression. Then she had all my words, as if she'd sifted them from my mind, from my mouth. So I was left speechless.
She had my love, but with that she was not satisfied. So she stole my heart. For what purpose? To use as her own. Before me she was incapable of loving, and I sincerely believe that.
Now she had my heart and my words, and was she satisfied? No. So she broke my soul, broke it and carefully gathered and pocketed the pieces, rearranged them and claimed them for herself. Still she was not done, and what had I left?
My masochism and my submission. These she ripped away forcibly, after already having left such visible scars.
She destroyed me.
(And the only definition I have left is "mother", the only definition she was incapable of taking away.)
Now...now all those who know her love her. They love her because of what she stole from me, what she never would have had if she'd never come across my path. They love her because they know nothing of who she is, they know not the thief, but only the image.
I know the thief. I know she behind the image. I know of her the things she dares not tell anyone else. Of course I know these things.
And I think to myself, when I'm being honest, I think, "She might not be a thief, you know. I mean, can you really steal what is freely given?"
And I think to myself, "I know all her secrets. I am the one who knows all her lies. So why am I the one who loves her still?"

Should have, could have, would have, maybe, and if. Plagues, all, plagues I cannot overcome.
Laters

Previously Animated

Have you ever seen one of those cartoons where the rabbit/person/creature thing is walking along and walks off an edge of a cliff? And until they look down, they're still just walking along. I feel like that.
Life up to a certain point was an uphill climb. I struggled, I tripped and stumbled, but I made it to the top. Or at least to a point that I thought was the top, and that was good enough for me. So I'm walking along, exploring the top of this mountain until someone steals the ground right out from underneath me, just takes away everything I'd built upon up to that point to use for her own. Initially, I was oblivious. I was flying high with no support. Until I saw the emptiness beneath me. So I fell. Every now and then I think I might regain my footing, might catch a ledge and claw my way back up. But every time I did, my fingers were crushed beneath the heel of someone else's boot. Now they're all broken, and I'm still falling.
Welcome to the abyss.
Laters

It wasn't always this way, you know. Once upon a time-not more than a year ago-he loved me. Or "He" loved me, whatever. I think, sometimes, that I know why he doesn't talk to me very often. Stupidity is probably ruling me right now, but I think he really did love me. Or does. I think he does. I think it hurts him to remember me, to think of me and Amethyst. To know what he lost. Sometimes I think these things and I want to remind him. But I don't. I don't call, I don't email, I don't IM. I'm past the bitterness, now. Well, every now and then there are flashes of it, admittedly. But for the most part, I'm just DONE. The only things I want from him now are my pictures. And my CDs, I just can't wrap my head around having totally lost something I attained on the island. And I've already lost so much due to him; I don't deserve to have to lose any more. A while ago, his new piggy bank emailed me. Said she'd send me those things. She seems to be a decent person, and all I can feel for her are pitty and hope that he'll be better to her. I can't imagine what he fills her head with about me, though. I'd be kind of amused to find out, I'm sure it's full of "psychos" and "bitches" and "don't listen to her, she wants revenge". Fuck revenge. I'm too far away from it now. God, I wish she hadn't emailed me. Wanting to know about him, and what the fuck could *I* tell her? "He was great for the first six to eight months or so before he turned to shit, and with you he has a job, so at least he won't be screwing you over the SAME way?" I wonder if she'll ever send me my things. I wonder if either of them feel any obligation to pay me back the money that he most certainly owes me. I doubt both things.
And I don't want to think about him anymore. I really wish I could get what I am owed so "done" can have a REAL meaning instead of the insanity that keeps getting brought up.
Goddamned world.
Laters

Life: The Original Instructions

Love freely.
Laugh often.
Hurt none.
Survive.

Well, that fucks me over. So what am I doing, if not living?
Laters

It Happens So Randomly

The first time my phone rang last night I ignored it. It was just the standard, generic ring, and I have specific ring tones for almost everyone. But when it rang again, I ran to answer it. Who knows?, I thought. I'm so glad I did.
It was Jack-"I was thinking about picking you up." Three months since I'd seen him, but the words were out of my mouth before my brain decided whether or not it wanted to rebel. "I'll be waiting outside."
It was just as it's always been, at first. I get into the car and his smell hits me. Immediately I want him. He kisses me and I feel awkward-it's been three months, I've forgotten how he likes it. But I'm still me and I really REALLY get involved in the whole kissing thing. After a few minutes we start to drive off and guess what happens? That's right, I'm down on his lap, his cock-OMG! his COCK!-in my mouth. How many times have we done this? Several. After a few nervous sucklings, I begin to remember how to treat this particular member. So I'm sucking away,and DAMNED if he isn't enjoying himself. A solid moan and a little squirm and I'm happier than a clam (though, on a side note, who said clams are happy and how do they know?).
All of a sudden BOOM!! I look up with a "What was that?". "Nothing, don't worry about it," holding my head in his lap as he moves onto a side road.
Okay, I don't stop. I do what pleases him. The car stops, and he moves my mouth to his to devour my mouth again. All of a sudden, he REACHES DOWN MY PANTS. He's ever done that before. He's fondled my breasts; he's touched and sucked me everywhere above the waist, but this is something new. His fingers reach target and through the thin veneer of my panties he gently rubs my clit. I can't tell you how badly I wanted him right then.
We make out for a good five, ten minutes and then break apart so he can check on his car. Tire blown. We must have hit something major, because part of the right front tire is practically shredded. I didn't think I was THAT distracting-I've never been before.
I think he's going to start the tire change process but he gets back in the car and takes down his pants. We're under a streetlight on a side road next to a fairly well traveled on, and he's taking down his pants. At this point, despite the rest of the evening, I'm determined to make him cum. He needs to let off a little tension. Kissing and sucking and licking and touching...when a whisper finds my ear-"I was going to fuck you tonight." Jesus H. fucking CHRIST! THAT'S why he was reaching down my pants. I've been wanting him for months, MONTHS, and never gotten so much as a hint of satisfaction, and now, it's being withdrawn even as it's offered. Goddamned tire.
So I suck him to completion, swallow a good mouthful, and help get his pants back from the floor. Time to change the tire. My clit is throbbing, ACHING, and I get to watch him change a worthless tire.
Then there are problems with the lug nuts not coming loose and the jack collapsing and he calls his father for help. That was...an interesting experience, watching them interact. Almost made him seem human rather than the god I see him as, some sort of demigod for an evening. But the tire gets fixed and he takes me home. Where we play some more in front of my house until we realize it's two in the morning and both of us have to work at the ass crack of dawn.
I hope he calls again soon. But I'll probably still be at his beck and call if he waits another three months. He just has that effect on me.
Laters

Without Malice
(Truth Observed)

Oh, he's so smooth, isn't he? With just enough knowledge to make him seem wise, just enough truth to make him seem honest, just enough contact to make him seem loving. But he's not. He's nothing.
This is what I've observed:
He states so passionately that he never lies that you believe him-until you find out just what he's been lying about. The other woman. With him, there's ALWAYS another woman. He's never content with what he has, and he's always got a backup plan. A someone else backup plan. And he'll lie about it to keep you content. The wheres and whens and hows and whys of contact with that other. And when you discover it, one little piece at a time, when you confront him, he always has his reasons, his rationales. And he looks at you so deeply and holds you so closely that you can't let him go, and even if you could, you don't want to. After that he takes pains to hide the evidence, telling you that he trusts you and giving you access to his accounts, emails, IMs. But he creates new ones for himself, for her, ones that you don't suspect and won't look for. So, for a while, you are content. Until the next piece makes itself known.
That's rambling and disconnected, I know. But he's a shit. He says he cares about you SO MUCH but he can't even keep his dick in his pants-or yours. Did he tell you about the girl? The suicide, the aftermath, the covenant? And did he tell you he hasn't told anyone about it in a long long time? Or possibly he told you he's never spoken of it; that's what he told me. Making you feel so CLOSE to him, so empathetic towards him. Does he tell you he loves you "more than you can ever know"? It's all a ploy. He needs you. Despite what he says, despite all the stories of his independence, he canNOT make it on his own. He needs your house, your money, your willingness to destroy yourself for him. I bought his tires to the tune of five hundred dollars. I fixed his car to the tune of nearly four hundred. I continually bought his gas, at about fifty bucks a tank. And he was never there. He'd run off with his "friends"-drug dealers and whores-then disappear for days on end and come back bloody with some story about being mugged for the rent and stabbing someone in the eye. Lies. Proven lies, and STILL he had a defense. Still he piled on the lies.
I think of all the things he did to me, all the shit he put me through, all the debt he incurred in my name...I think of all this and sometimes I still want him. Oh, I know why. Despite his almost constant near-impotence, when he screwed me it was FUN. Not good, not bad, but painful and, more than anything, fun. I'm glad I didn't stay with him because of the sex, though. Now *I* am the one making it on my own. And he...still an impotent little shit of a man.
I have so SO many more examples, but I need to go to work now.
Laters

There's my hair. It's about the best picture I could get in that light with my phone. There's more blue on the sides, but this gives you an idea. *I* like it, at any rate.
Laters

My God

The silence echoes; this is a holy place.
I kneel at your feet, the salt of my tears stinging my open wounds.
I worship at the alter of your body, freely offering blood and tears for your palette.
It is time to start the service: my whimpers are your humble prayers, my screams your reverent hymns.
The drum of the whip, the chain, the knife, the paddle, and your hand-oh, GOD your hand!-against my skin are the sermons, and my skin memorizes every one.
Soft rustle of denim and I'm fed my blessed sacrament.
Take me down to your temple; I'll go as low as you desire.
My body is my sacrifice; hurt me as you wish.
My Lord, my God.
I am yours.

It's been a long time since I've been to church.
Laters

Oh, and I now have blue streaks in my hair. I'll try to post a picture if I can get a decent one with my phone.
Laters

I'm considering getting a permanent collar. One of those with the one-way screws. No, I don't have a Master, and no, I don't think I ever really will. But...it's part of who I am, a big part. And even if Stormy doesn't understand that it's not just a bedroom thing (MOSTLY a bedroom thing, but not ENTIRELY), it's something I want to do. It's going to be expensive as hell, though, if I'm going to get something I'm not allergic to. Stupid metals.
Laters

On lying, or cheating:
"If there's no way for me to find out the truth, I'd rather not know."
I said that. Yes, I did. But I ALSO said: "There's always a way to find out the truth."
I guess that last part doesn't seem important when you're a lying whorebitch cunt from hell.
Laters

She dances. Her hair flies wild through the air, forcing it to move around and through the golden strands. Her feet drum out a rhythm that's hypnotic; all who come within ear shot stop to listen and to stare. The half heard, half imagined music races and slows, thrills and softens, explodes and dims, flowing along with her energy. Spin, step, back, left, jump, twirl, right...it's exhausting just following her with your eyes. As she writhes, she is the brush for the canvas of this dull, grey world. Colours stream from her fingertips in reds for her passions, purples for her joys, blues for her sorrows, greens for her envies, blacks for her hatreds, oranges for her betrayals, yellows for her hungers. She spreads shades never heard of for her dreams, hopes, fears, loves, desires, smiles, pains, angers, regrets...this is her world. She paints it with her fingers, with her toes, seemingly haphazard as she swirls. But the picture she paints is perfect, even for its flaws. Even for the rips and tears where others have intruded. Even for the cuts where others have deliberately destroyed.

Never. Stop. Dancing.
Laters

Just so my own brain can disseminate this information:

What is it about me that makes me so leavable? Or is it lovable? For as long as I've been dating, everyone that I've dated has fallen for me. And some of those I've just fucked. But in the end, they've all left. Well, more precisely I've left, but as a direct result of either being pushed away or allowed to leave. Anyway, as soon as I'm gone, they're with someone else. Immediately. Even if they haven't been with anyone else forever, even if they used to prefer to be single. So...what? I inspire commitment, just not to me? And to add to that, I remain alone for a long period of time. Right now it's looking like forever, and right now I don't really need to be anything but alone, but by the time I'm with anyone again,
the previous love is married or happily ever after in whatever way they find.

FUCK!!

This hurts my head. What the fucking shit-assed hell does this goddamned MEAN?

Oh, and the guy I'm fucking currently now has a colour: Denim. Because he's casual, somewhat comfortable depending on the circumstances, and ultimately disposable.
Laters

He said, "They love me because they can submit to me. You submit to me because you love me."
I remember what he said. I remember that he wanted me above all others. I remember the feel of his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, and his body pressed against me.
I remember my heart. I remember how it had been so shattered, and how he (at times) tried to help me fix it.
I remember being loved. Or FEELING loved. And I remember loving.
Yes, I remember loving, though I tried so hard to fight it, rebelled against it so ferociously.
I remember hiding my heart from him. And I remember him prying it loose from my desperate grasp and holding it with his own.
I don't want to forget. I just don't want to remember.
Laters

I'm going to visit Stormy this weekend. Day after tomorrow I'm leaving straight from work. I miss her and I want to see the baby. Only I'm driving south...
I won't continue that thought.
Laters

If the truth shall set you free, why does everyone lie? If a picture is worth a thousand words, why does everyone hide? If knowing you meant salvation, why would you keep your curtains closed?

You don't know me. I never drive away.
Laters

I lied when I was younger. I said I was a cynic. I said I had no hope. I lied. All I had was hope. All I ever have is hope. That's probably why I'm constantly in so much pain-all it ever does is betray me.
Laters

And as for my extended family, who can be seen in non singing roles in "Deliverance: the Musical", I can't even be bothered to have contempt for you. I delight in the fact that as much as I hate you, some of you hate each other more. You are all hypocrites. At least I have the decency to hate all of you consistently.

"Country cousins" is right. I shudder to think I'm related to some of those people.
Laters

I'm sitting in the middle of a darkened room, legs spread apart so I can sit backwards on the chair. The room is far from crowded, but there are a couple of people here. I came for the band.
I detect a subtle odor in the air around me and realize that it is the salty sweet scent of my arousal. I smile a little to myself, amused, and I wonder if anyone around me can smell it - and if they can if they know what it is. There's no one close, though, so I doubt it.
A voice breathing words in my ear and a hand on my neck startle me. The words are low, gentle and comforting, but beneath the niceties I detect an edge to them, reflecting a hardness and air of command that takes my breath away. I dare not look around, as the hand is applying a pressure to my neck that suggests its owner wants me as I am - looking forward, paying attention to the band. My mind reels; there's a band?!?
Yes, there's a band. My eyes see them and my ears cannot escape noticing their beat. But my body and mind are focused on that hand and on that voice. Deep and seductive and penetrating, I'm hypnotized. What are the words, what is that voice telling me? Whatever it is skips completely over conscious thought, burying itself somewhere in my chaotic psyche.
The hand withdraws and my body leans after it, longing for its touch again. The voice is growling in my ear, and this does reach my awareness: "No! Don't turn around."
Twenty minutes later I dare to look behind me. Of all the faces, which is my intimate stranger?

I thouroughly enjoyed the band tonight. Even sort of asked out the drummer. Happy Mother's Day to me.
Laters

I will kneel at your feet and call you "Master".

I will always obey your every command.

I will love and respect you.

I will be yours, completely.

Fuck it, I don't even know what I'm talking about. Raven's got a new whore, so quickly after he left me. Ruby's married. Stormy's got her new baby. My brothers are assholes. And I'm just here. HERE, not there, not anywhere else but HERE. No, I have no idea what I'm saying. I'm on overload. I dreamt of Raven the other night, Monday night?, and woke up in pain. Not erotic, fun pain, either. Heart wrenching, wound causing, world eating pain. I did so much for him. SO MUCH. I keep thinking about all that I did and all that I was...and all I can feel is this deep sense of betrayal. I tried so hard. I lost so much. I gave in to so many things. I can't sleep and I can't eat and I can't think. Times like this I wish I could be suicidal. Or even pretend to be. Why is it that the only ones who want me are losers, slobs, pigs, old men, and weirdos? And that's being complimentary. Maybe that's all I'm worth. I have nothing but contempt for my brothers. Right now I'm thinking particularly of my older brother. He dares to condemn ME for intruding upon HIS space?!? Fuck him. He does nothing...jesus christ, I don't want to get into this rant. I want to curl up in the arms of someone who loves me and know that I am safe and loved. And probably cry a lot, too. I almost drove down to visit Stormy this weekend instead of next.

I don't make a goddamned lick of sense, do I?
Laters

Who will

Aimez-moi toujours

???????? ???? ??????

Lieben Sie mich immer

?? ?? ??????

Ámeme siempre

?????????

Ame-me sempre


?? ???????? ?????

Amilo sempre

???

Houd altijd van me

?

No one.
Laters

I don't have much time as I've got to leave work right at seven tonight in order to get everything done that needs doing. But I had to write one thing:

I hurt. My heart is broken and breaking and I'm on the verge of tears.

Why?

That's a longer story than I have time for.
Laters

I really want to find the pictures from when I was young and beautiful and show them off here. Not that I mind showing off my babies.
Laters

He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me?

Many thoughts race through my mind as he exits the room. The first is noticing a slight chill. But that only makes sense as I'm naked and bound, kneeling, by the right side of the bed. He said he'd be right back. I believe him, of course I do. But I also wonder...will he? The thought stays with me as my mind wanders onto other things. The strength and tightness of my bonds, would they hold up to intense struggling, to a determined effort to escape? Not that I want to...but I test them anyway. I need to know I can. I want to know I can't. They're tight, strong, well and thoroughly knotted. It might take days to get out of them, if it's at all possible. My hands are in front of me and slightly elevated, tied together and strung to a bolt in the ceiling. Did he make this room for me? How many others have been in this position? Jealousy creeps over me and I decide that's not something I want to contemplate. So my mind takes me back to another time and another man. Different ropes have bound me, different hands have hurt me. A different voice telling me I am loved. That voice lying. Now I'm angry and hurt, thinking of the way back when, and I don't want to be this way when he comes back. But I'm crying. I want out, I want to leave, this will hurt too much, it always does. I won't love, I won't trust. How stupid and foolish am I for doing this? Now I'm struggling against the ropes that bind me, hands together, feet apart, on my knees. I want out. I want to go home where it's safe and familiar and where there is someone who loves me, someone I KNOW loves me, even if it is because she has no choice, even if it is only the accident of birth. He's gone and I'm twisting, turning, cutting the ropes into my wrists and ankles, desperate for liberation. Will he find me like this, tears running down my face, bleeding, trying to get free?

I want him back. I want him to walk in, take me in his arms and wipe away the tears-gently but firmly. Tell me he loves me. Tell me I'm his.

I stop struggling, just collapse against the ropes in defeat. There's nothing I can do about the blood, bright and red and painful against the white of the ropes. There's nothing I can do about the tears, salty and wet and soaking against the heat of my face.

Will he come back to find me here? Or has he gone already?

Having abandonment issues much?
Laters