To Serve Man

It's a cookbook!!

Okay, I WAS going to do this whole long post about submission and how and why I identify with it, but, honestly, I'm sleepy, and you just CAN'T compete with an opening line like this one. So g'night!
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The Phone Call

Men are easy. If a man's not thinking with his dick, he's acting directly on its behalf. But there are SOME men you expect to be different. Olive was one of those men for me. He said the sex was over, and I believed him. That wasn't going to stop me from trying to seduce him, but I didn't think I would succeed-much LESS that it would have been so easy. All I did was call him and tell him that he sucked because I was horny as hell and he was the only one convenient, and he invited me over. Specifically for sex. The sex was great, for being vanilla, very fulFILLING if you know what I mean. But I can't help feeling somewhat disappointed-he was supposed to be one of the GOOD ones. And he is, really, but it just goes to show you that there IS only one man in the world...
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In Heat

I like my sex rough and tumble, fierce, violent, hot and intense. But mostly, I like my sex. Right now would be good, actually. But instead, I think I'm going to masturbate for a while. Sounds like fun...
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Advice

The worst advice I've ever heard given is "Be who you are". Okay, maybe it's not the worst, but certainly the most useless. You ARE who you are. You can't BE anything else. You can ACT like someone or something else, but you don't turn into swine because you act like a pig, nor into a princess if you act like a snob.
That's me. I am who I am, and I can't be anything else. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it rocks, and sometimes it just IS. Right now it almost sucks because I'm actively female, but overall I guess I can't complain. Too much...
Anyway, I'm working all the fucking time anymore, over twelve hours of overtime a week. Hella kickass paycheck, but DAMNED I'm tired! If I ever forgive Amethyst, I might take her to Six Flags next Saturday. That's a BIG "if", at this point. But she's doing fine with taking her punishment-she doesn't like it, of course, but she accepts it and doesn't fight.
Well, it's off to bed for me, after a thouroughly useless and utterly boring post...
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Addendum

Not the first kiss, not the first fuck. Not even the first love. The first everything. Because, really, there is nothing else.
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Hiding

When there's too much pain or fear it is the human instinct to distance themselves from it. Human nature can be a bitch. Right now I'm not afraid. Actually, it's been a long time since I can remember being afraid. But pain...pain I know. Yes, I whine a lot; poor, pitiful me. Why the hell not? Maybe that's what's inside my head.
When I hurt, I hide. Human condition, and different people hide in different ways. I hide behind anger, I hide behind bitterness and viscious deeds, rage. I lash out, and typically do nothing but make things worse for myself. Or at least make it impossible to improve my circumstances; or if not improve, at least change. How do I want them to change, though? And what can I do to change them?
Side track, back on rail...
My pain fueled my anger and I struck out at the one I loved. Twice I let that happen. And twice I paid the price, losing what I loved. No, not twice. Thrice, three times a loser. Now two are gone forever, over me as easily as discarded jeans. On to a new pair, maybe a better fit. And these are a pair they're committed to, a woman to keep.
And the one...the one is where I am. The one I loved most, gave the most to. The one who hurt me the most, but that's always the story, isn't it? Now we sail on the same ship, watching the ones we loved find happiness in the arms of another. And why is that, I wonder. Why do the relationships fail for one reason or another for both of us, every time? Could it be that the only relationship for either of us was the one we both destroyed? The only one that could ever work because your first is your only, the one you compare everything else to and they all fall short. Now there will always be something, that one significant flaw in all our dealings with others, and the flaw itself doesn't matter, just that it's there. In one it will be the sex, in another the conversation, in a third the finances. But the real flaw is that it's not each other that we're with.
Maybe, though, it's just me. Maybe *I* am the fatal flaw. Maybe my gift is tainted, my love unpure.
So, maybe it's just me.
Again.
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Daddy

I took Amethyst to the State Fair today. My dad went along and so did a friend of mine and that new guy I've been mentioning. Which was annoying on SO many levels. The first of which being all the goddamned carnies trying to get "daddy" to win her a prize. Jesus H. Christ on a crutch. And half the time they didn't know which one of the three men with me was "daddy". Uh, NONE? And fck off?
Then there was the touchy-feely thing. I don't mind physical contact, but PDA in front of my kid? NO! I'm sorry, I'm NOT dating this guy, and I WON'T date this guy. I won't date ANY guy. I'm not going to bring another man into my daughter's life just to jerk him out again. It's not fair to her. Hell, it's not fair to ME, but what the hell do *I* count for? Anyway, the possessive touching got on my nerves. I don't belong to him. I don't belong to anyone. I don't belong anywhere...
Sidetrack, back on rail!
Okay, it was expensive as hell, and now I'm broke. Apparently so is he, because, as he pointed out, "i spent everything i had to be with u tonight and went from a full tank of gas to a 1/4 of a tank just to be with u". Yay? We all make choices.
Fck it, I'm pissy and tired and upset over losing my keys at the fair.
I'm going to bed.
Laters

Tonight I'm Honest

Well, in general, I'm honest all the time. But tonight I'm not being diplomatic about it. I am who I am, and this is unadulterated me. So if you're going to get your feelings hurt, stop reading. I'm not going to change.

I was supposed to go out (and then in) with that new guy tonight. We were going to do dinner, movie, probably his place and sex. That was the plan. But I've been working ten and twelve hour days all week and I'm fucking EXHAUSTED. Then his car practically broke down and I figured it was a sign saying "Not Tonight". But I was still hungry. So I called Denim to go with me to dinner. Well, to take me out to dinner. That's what guys do, they take girls out. As in they pay. I refuse to let chivalry die. Anyway, dinner was good and company was better, Denim and I always find things to talk about, and the conversations are meaningful and interesting. Not so with the other guy, but I'll get to him in a minute. So after dinner I drove him home. I really REALLY needed to use the restroom so I went inside to use his. Not that you'll be surprised, but some good advice when you're living with your parents: bury your cum stained underwear under your other clothes. (Not that MY parents would know what the hell was going on anyway.) That's right, he wouldn't take "no" for an answer. I kinda like that about him. The forcefullness, the aggression. Sometimes I seek that out...
Anyway, as for this other guy. I don't think I LIKE him like him. We have nothing to talk about, and I'm too arrogant about my intelligence to think too highly of his. Anyone who admits they're not as smart as I am, rather than try to give me a run for my money, well...I dunno. I'm still interested in the fuck. But I don't know if it's worth it to have nothing to talk about during the LONG phone conversations just for a screw. That and the drive's an hour long to get to his place. But I'm so dependent on external validation...who else will tell me I'm pretty?
Okay, so I'mma go sleepies now. On a side note, thank god for showers.
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Memories...

In this world you tried
not leaving me alone behind
There's no other way
I prayed to the gods let him stay
The memories ease the pain inside,
now I know why

Chorus:
All of my memories keep you near
In silent moments imagine you'd be here
All of my memories keep you near
Your silent whispers, silent tears

Made me promise I'd try
to find my way back in this life
I hope there is a way
to give me a sign you're ok
Reminds me again it's worth it all
so I can go home

Repeat chorus

Together in all these memories
I see your smile
All the memories I hold dear
Darling, you know I'll love you
'til the end of time

Repeat chorus

All of my memories....
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A Picture for You!

Absinthe...

I Miss You

And I love you and you don't even know who you are, do you?
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IQ Test

I have, perhaps, an exaggerated opinion of my own intelligence. Exaggerated or not, I believe I'm brilliant. I know I am, based on IQ tests alone. And I often think I'm better than others because of it. So I tend to be condescending to people who show obvious signs of stupidity. Which is easy to hide online. You can't hear tone of voice or see facial expression online. Among my pet peeves are people who confuse "your" and "you're", who use "u" or "ur" for "you" or "your/you're", who can't be bothered to spell out "to/too" or "for" (using "2" or "4"). Spelling is also a factor, but not as much of one since I try to allow for the fact that I'm so much smarter than everyone. I don't always make it. But I try. Sometimes.
I've been feeling somewhat weird lately. Horny as hell but not interested in screwing. Or just not accepting the presented opportunities. I'm so tired, all I can seem to do is sleep. All I want to do is sleep. Maybe I'll get back into the swing of things with work and consciousness and things will settle down. Then maybe I'll take advantage of that fuck I'm so curious about.
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20 Minutes

It's very difficult to masturbate in a car. At least for a girl, at least without taking off her pants. I wanted to orgasm, but didn't want to be too obvious. Just in case one of the people passing or being passed took an active interest. I was driving a stick, but that wasn't a problem since I was doing seventy and had it on cruise control. Unzip my pants, rub more than just a little bit, reach down a little further trying to get some of that natural lubrication up to my clit. All I ended up doing was hurting my wrist. And frustrating myself even worse than I already had been. But what the hell? It was a long ass drive and that failed attempt wasted a good twenty minutes.

Tonight was easier, lying on my bed. It'd be nice if I had a door, but I know noone wants to be an audience. I managed to cum, a small orgasm compared to what I can get with a toy as opposed to my fingers. I was reading your words and imagining you touching me. I'm sorry I missed you driving that night.
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The Spaces In Between

I could talk for hours about who I am and what I want. I have, actually. But it would never be enough. There are things that would never be said; not by deliberate omission, but because there are things I'm not aware of. Too many things about myself and what I want and need.
So, to know me, to be with me...
Only no one can read the spaces in between.
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The Taste of Lies

This is who I am. Here, you can see the kind of in-your-face honesty that leaves you raw and less than curious because there's too much already to know. Here is where I allow myself to be horny, bitter, vengeful, beautiful, ugly, sentimental, loving, and simply ME. There have been times when I hid from this because the truth was too honest to tell. Or maybe just too painful. Obviously, I don't write everything. Even here there are those things I haven't mentioned, those things so deeply buried even I don't know what will come to the surface should I dig out the memory. But, overall, this is me.
I used to say that I didn't care whether or not anyone was lying to me. I still say that. Only now it's because I don't believe a word anyone says. About anything. Because I once was fed a lie so big and foul that the taste has never left my mouth. You think words have no flavour, no scent? You'd be wrong. Some are so sickeningly sweet you can almost choke on them, and were these the ones I ate so greedily? These are the ones to be wary of, these are the ones with the bitter aftertaste that never leaves. Like eating brownies laced with quinine. And every brownie afterwards tastes wrong, slightly disgusting because you have to taste it through the quinine that still permeates your tongue. But you don't stop eating. Not everything is brownies and quinine. But nothing will taste the same ever again.
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To Be...

...bound, ankle and wrist, spread open and blindfolded.
...put on display.
...available to any and all.
...touched, caressed, whipped, beaten.
...possessed and given away.
...fucked, anonymously, many cocks and many men.
...kissed and pleasured by a woman.
...owned.

Interesting bits of fantasy.
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Susan Keller was Annabelle Lee

Or: Since It's Way Too Late for Reconciliation, How's a Little Revenge?

I told him once:
"Do you REALLY want to fight me? I cheat. And the name of THIS game is *I* win-you will end up not wanting me, hating me, and knowing you should never have insisted on this. Remember that I have ammunition that no one else has."
So here's a little story...
He met her when he was way too young, still in his formative years. Fourteen is that. She'd been abused, physically, sexually, mentally, emotionally. Her uncle, and it was violent. It made her masochistic, made her submissive, made her need the violence. So she taught him to be sadistic, taught him to dominate, taught him to be violent. How willing he was to be taught! And he loved her. And he called her his Annabelle Lee; they loved with a love that was more than love, he and his Annabelle Lee. She gave the most amazing blow jobs. And he was young and stupid, in a biker gang, the leader of the Unforgiven. So proud of themselves, so arrogant, so invincible. And the trouble they got themselves into was too often over their heads. Only this one time it got bad. Very bad. Bear with me, there's a point to this, and it comes back around to Susan/Annabelle. Anyway, his little club was running drugs. And this time they picked the wrong people to run to. Or from. Or whatever. One of them got himself kidnapped, and the gang had to go after him. Bullets flying, closed space, walking through fire to save a life very likely not worth saving. (Or maybe that's just my opinion about biker gangs.) Raven saved his holy friend. But he shouldn't have been there. They shouldn't have gone on this particular run. Because this was the day he and his Annabelle Lee were to have been married. He had promised her to be there, to wed. His word meant nothing. So the night he almost died, the night he should have been in his marriage bed, there was a party. Drinking and drugs and a bonfire; sex, bikes, and guns. A whole night of debauchery, in other words. Then came the morning. He woke up with her on his chest to the sound of a gun cocking. The gun in her hand. The gun she was going to use to kill herself. The gun he grabbed from her hand. "Why weren't you there?" was the topic of the conversation they had. Fifteen minutes of this conversation. Fifteen minutes until he slapped the gun into her hand and told her, "Just do it already; I'm sick of listening to you." And the holy friend ran towards them, and Susan Keller shot at him, and Annabelle Lee killed herself. A permanent solution to a temporary problem, according to Raven. He didn't have all the information, though. She was pregnant with his child. He skipped out on their wedding day; he abandoned his love and his child. Does it matter that he didn't know? Does it matter that he broke his word? Or does it only matter that his child and his love died on his chest, their blood on his lips, in his hair, in his clothes. The blood birthed the Covenant, his promise to his dead Susan and to himself. The Covenant so easily broken with me. And for the same reason, the breaking of his word, he lost again the same things: his love and his child, in me.
It's no wonder he married Misty when he impregnated her. It's no wonder they got divorced when the baby died mere hours after taking his first breath.
No, the man is not a mystery to me. I have his history.
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Celebration

Friday night, out with friends for my birthday. Food, drinks, more drinks, karaoke. A guy, even. Fun night, actually. I can't sing for shit, but the effort's gotta be worth SOMEthing...right? But there was drinking and dancing, and I LOVE to dance. I noticed the guy watching me while I danced. I just danced. Who cares what men think, right? He'd fuck me anyway, dancing aside. Men are like that. Say the right things, prove that you're willing, and you can get them in bed no matter what you look like, no matter how you dance. Personality? Eh, could take it or leave it, so far. Have to try the fuck, though. I get the impression that at least THAT might be interesting...
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Lullaby

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word,
And never mind that noise you heard.
It's just the beasts under your bed,
In your closet, and in your head!
Exit light! Enter night!
Take my hand
We're off to the never never land."

This is my daughter's new favourite bedtime song. Anyone else think she's going to grow up to be a serial killer?
That's my little AntiChrist!
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Giving Birth to the Antichrist

Wow, it was like no other experience in life. Physically, to say "excruciating pain" doesn't even beging to cover it. Ever passed a kidney stone or gotten kicked REALLY hard in the balls? Now combine those, multiply by a high power of ten and you'll have not even half the idea of how much it hurt. And then at the end it's like pushing out the biggest turd ever (to be horrifyingly graphic). At least that's what the pushing part was like: constipation. Mentally, it's intimidating. You're told all these stories of what could possibly go wrong and even if everything goes RIGHT you know you're then going to be faced with this little person that will be soley your responsibility for the rest of your life. Hell, that little person will BE your life. It's terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. Intellectually, you go through your life up to this point, your childhood. You think of all the things you hated about your parents, all the things you liked and you promise yourself that you won't turn into them and that you'll do it the 'right' way. Then you start floundering around trying to find the 'right' way. Emotionally, you wonder what it's going to be like, seeing the face of this...well, what up to this point has been a "thing" now becomes a person, a real, living being with her own personality and needs and independence from you. And then you look into that face that you've never even imagined could exist and wonder again-this time, though, you wonder how you could ever have doubted the existence of love at first sight, or the overwhelming power of that love. Even with all the people who were THERE with me, it was a singular experience that I somehow went through alone. I couldn't imagine being a man and not being able to look forward to that experience, not ever being able to have it. Penis envy? I don't think so.
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