The Stone Shelter

 

 

I've said elsewhere, when a little was lamenting that she felt that she was being too clingy, that there is no such thing as too clingy.

 

I take it back, there IS such a thing as a little kitten being TOO clingy!

 

I can cope with working with only one limb for being held onto.

 

Even when it's not exactly the most comfortable position, I can manage.

 

 

But, fucking ow!  Getting a claw stuck in my face while I'm trying to sleep qualifies as TOO clingy!

 

I'd like to blame Love.  I take the blame for the tiny little attention hound (aka Dogzilla).  But, she was the crazy cat lady who just had to rescue the three orphaned kittens (at two different times) that were too young to be off the tit.  Then she went and died despite my orders to the contrary and left me with these assholes.

Somewhere, Love is laughing her ass off.  But, she always did say "I swear I can't even get out of bed...

 

... without that other bitch taking my place and you being surrounded by pussy!"

 

Well played, Love.  Well played.  (She, I will note, was the funny one with a sense of humor.  But, then she had to be to put up with me.)

 

 

 

 

Ok, I'll be the first to admit that I can be pretty dark. It's difficult sometimes to look past everything happening, past what I don't have any more to see what I do.

I was diagnosed with Parkinson's with Central Pain Syndrome and Essential Tremors complications a decade ago. For those that may not know what this means, my brain is turning to tapioca in my skull, I vibrate like a nympho's favorite dildo on my bad days, and I live in pain. Each stroke of the keys on the keyboard feels like some bastard replaced the keys with needles heated in a furnace and hooked to electrical current.

On top of that joy, I watched, helpless, as my wife, my step-mother, and my father all died within nine months.  I live alone with a dog and three cats and don't see anyone face-to-face for days and even weeks at a time.

***shrug***

It's not a pissing contest. My pain is no better or worse to me than what someone else is feeling is to them. My point is that, yes, I understand how hard it is to see the light for the darkness some days.

But, here's the thing. We are not just the crude meat bag that we wear around every day. We are the heart, the mind, and the soul stuffed inside it.

And I can not be sorry for anything that I have been through. Not the mistakes. Not the pain. None of it. Because if I hadn't been through it, then I wouldn't be the me that is sitting here now. I would be something else.

Neither can I be sorry for what you have gone through. I can feel for your pains and sorrows. I can thrill at your pleasures and joys. But, to wish that you had experienced anything different than what you have would be to belittle the you that you survived as. The you that you are on your way to becoming tomorrow.

Diamonds are made from heat and pressure.

As I've looked around, I've seen people on either side of the slash lamenting. And that is to the good. We need to be able to vent sometimes. To purge those dark, negative energies before they poison our souls.

But, there is good, too. There is always good.  And you have it within you to be that good for someone.  Or to have someone be that good for you if you allow them.

Let me show you.

If it is your birthday and the missionary barrel comes, you can either be sad that the doll you wanted wasn't in it instead of the crutches that were. Or you can be glad that you don't need the crutches.

To the right ones;
You are beautiful enough.
You are smart enough.
You are funny enough.
You are kind enough.
You are unique enough.
Your smile is a drug to the right addict.
Your laugh is music to the right ears.

You are worth love and affection from the people worthy of yours.
You are more precious than a diamond to those worth valuing.
You are the most stunning of all God's creations to those that can see it.
You are worth more than any material wealth you could ever imagine to those worth valuing.

You are incredible.
You are awesome.
You are inspiring.
You are admirable.

You will never be too much to the ones meant to handle you.

You will always be enough to those meant to value you.

You are making a difference each and every day.

To the right people.

 

Any flaw that "they" find is not in you, except in that you allow their perception to color your own rather than people that have the eyes to really see you, the ears to really hear you, the open mind and heart to really understand you...

Life is only twenty percent what we make it. The other eighty percent is how we take it. So make yours a good day, and anyone else's you conveniently can. It may just be that today someone needs your shining light on their own dark path, Diamond Heart.

 

 

Challenge (should you choose to accept it); find one positive from the last twenty-four hours, no matter how big or small, and share.

 

Mine is easy.  You.  Yes, you that took the time to read all this down to this point.  The fact that you gave enough of a damn to find out what mad meanderings were mulling about in my myopic mind has brightened my day already.  The fact that someone as special as you found something worth reading about from No One of Consquence...

 

More than a few times, I've been asked if I can be trusted.  I don't even know what to say to that.  I mean, wouldn't an untrustworthy person say that they are?  The only way I know to prove trustworthiness is to give or be given enough rope to hang ourselves.

 

What a word.  Trust.  We talk about it all the time.  But, what the hell is it?  And how do we know when we are breaking it?  Or when they have broken ours?

 

(And since I can think of at least three people that will come after me loaded for bear if I so much as mention Maslow or the security level of the pyramid, I'm not gonna.)

 

Everybody has their own "thing" there, I think.  What causes their fragile trust to feel abused.  I don't know.  I don't pretend to know everything about anybody other than myself much less much of relevance to every single person I meet.  And I think I'm pretty simple and straightforward.  Maybe even too simple and straightforward.  I've got three big ones that I won't put up with from even just a friend without knocking them back down to "an acquaintance I used to know."  Three things that I give automatically and expect in return.

 

Lies are a thing for me.  I don't lie.  Some of that is probably my upbringing.  "Thou shalt not lie."  And then, of course, a father with a heavy hand that would make sure to punish lies more than the actual transgression I was trying to cover.  But, it's a little more than that, I think.  If I tell a lie to someone, then I have to try to remember what the hell the lie was I told to this person from that point on.  And then I have to figure out if this person is talking to that person.  And so I have to make sure I tell that person the same lie, in case they compare stories.  I don't have the time or inclination to worry with all that happy horseshit.  The truth is easier to remember.  And then I don't have to worry who tells who what.  Not to mention that I know if word gets back to me of something that I didn't say that the person who said it is a liar.

 

On the flip-side of the coin, I view lies told to me as an insult.  Not just to me as a person, but to my intelligence.  That I could figure out it was a lie.  Eventually.  I don't go looking.  I tend to take people at face value.  But, I remember pretty good.  And if something comes back around that gives the lie to something told to me, then I start evaluating.  Or if I see them lying to someone else, I start evaluating.  And I also start watching.  This becomes tiring.  If every time someone's mouth moves, I have to weigh each and every word for truth, then it's not going to be very long before I decide they just aren't worth the hassle.

 

Abandonment is a thing for me.  Maybe it started from being tossed aside like a used condom or tampon at birth.  Maybe it was my parents (I categorically refuse the term "adoptive parents" since they are my only parents) deciding I wasn't enough and bringing in another that everybody liked better.  Maybe it was all the various girlfriends/lovers/fiances/submissives over the years that left (I only broke with one out of all of them).  Maybe it was getting sick (Parkinson's) and watching everyone, friends and family, people I had been there for time and again pull away once I wasn't useful to them anymore.  But, even as something firmly on the capitalized side of the slash, if someone is not there when I need them because they are too busy with someone else, then why should I break my back to be there for them?  Why should I believe they will be if they never are?  Why should I continue to make them my priority when I am not ever theirs?  How can I count on them?

 

Don't get me wrong.  Shit happens.  Life happens.  Work comes before play.  Kids come before cum.  Duty before pleasure.  But, if I am an afterthought to everything every time, then that's just not going to cut it.  And walking away, saying "I'm done" means we're done.  And so is the damage.  Even if you come back the next day and try to say, "I didn't mean it" you've shown me that you are not steadfast.

 

Violence...  There is a difference, huge difference, between a playful tussle with bratty prey to get the blood pumping and lashing out with the full intent to harm me, whether it is physically or even just emotionally...  No.  I am not your masochist whipping toy.  At one point, I would have stuck with just physically.  But, I have learned, the hard way, that when someone knows your buttons and purposefully strikes them to cause harm...  No.  Just, no.

 

 

However, everybody has a bad day.  Everybody deserves a second chance.  "Turn the other cheek" and all that.  But, how many do you give? I've only got so many cheeks.  And if they hit me on both the top ones, they can kiss right between the bottom ones.  Each lie is a strike.  Each abandonment is a strike.  Lashing out with the intent to cause me harm (physically or emotionally) is an automatic two strikes.  Once they accumulate three strikes, they are out.  They are someone I used to know.  They can come back, but my trust has been shattered and they don't get what they had.  How can I trust you aren't lying if you have shown you will?  How can I trust you to stay if you have shown you won't?  How can I trust you not to try to hurt me if you already have?

 

This holds true for friends.  This holds true for lovers.  This holds true for submissives.  If I can't trust your honesty, that you will stand by me when I need to count on you, or that you will not attempt to do me harm, then what else matters?  Is there anything else to integrity that can support the loss of one or more of these three?

 

The rest... I don't know.  Telling tales outside of our confidence, for example, is kind of a grey area.  I don't really have any secrets or anything.  (Although I've learned the hard way [last August] to keep other people's secrets, even that I talk to them in private at all, much less what about.)  I've got stuff I don't talk about to just anybody, sure.  (Hard as it may be to believe.)  And I might be disappointed if someone told something to someone that I didn't think was any of their business.  But, I think that is a lot dependent on just how it is done.  If they do it to hurt me, then we fall back on rule three.  If they do it and don't tell the truth, then we fall back on rule one.  Intent can matter, perhaps.  But, the consequence of the action, the harm wrought is still the more important.  Not, however, the big three.  Intent matters not a whit there.  Lying to protect me is still lying.  Abandoning me to protect me is still abandoning me.

 

But, I don't know.  I admit I'm really a pretty simple fellow.  Perhaps even simplistic.  Maybe there are other things that break trust for other people.  And I've tried to be open and to honor those limits when I'm made aware of them, even if subconsciously I still slot them into one of my three for simplicity's sake.  Even when they tromp all over mine, I just walk away without tromping on theirs on my way out.  But, I don't see that as me abandoning them so much as salvaging myself from them abusing my trust.

 

Thoughts and comments are, as always, welcome.  Whether you think I am too harsh or that I missed something that you think is a major breach of trust that couldn't be covered by these three.  Even if you think I sound like a little candy-ass somewhere on the lower-cased side of the slash.  (You would be wrong, but I would love to hear reasoned, rational arguments.)

 

But, whatever row you feel you need to hoe, go out of your way to make yours (and your person's/people's) a good day.

 

 

Ain't life funny, eh?

One moment everything is...

the next another way.

“I can understand perfectly how the report of my illness got about, I have even heard on good authority that I was dead. James Ross Clemens, a cousin of mine, was seriously ill two or three weeks ago in London, but is well now. The report of my illness grew out of his illness. The report of my death was an exaggeration." ~ Samuel Clemens, May 31, 1897

 

 

Sooo... yeah.  Last Thursday night or Friday morning, I was sitting up and was actually typing out a little something when the internet went down.  I didn't think too much about it until I realized the television was quiet behind me also and reached over to pick up the phone to find no dial tone.

 

I have had something of a low level (and slightly ridiculous) war going on with my service provider since October of 2017 when my wife died and a friend took me down to take Love's death certificate and get the account changed over to my name.  And to get a paper bill sent to the house instead of an electronic one to her email (which I never had the password to).

 

In December, 2017 (right around Christmas), they cut off the internet and television, but left the phone on so I could call.  I called them and asked why.  They mentioned I hadn't paid the bill.  I asked them what bill?  That I hadn't received a bill.  They assured me they had sent it.  To the email.

 

I pointed out that not only had my father's wife died just twenty-two days after mine, and thus I didn't have a lot of attention for a bill that was never sent, but that I had specifically requested a paper bill be sent to the house and that the email be taken off since that was my wife's and I never had known her password.  The person was very commiserative but they could not turn it back on and until and unless I paid.  They quoted me a dollar amount, which sounded suspicious to me, even after they reversed all late fees and penalties.

 

Once we'd gotten that hurdle out of the way, I pressed for how much the monthly bill would be.  And was quoted half again the amount I had been quoted in the office.  We went over the itemized fees.  And I loaded up on Latin phrases (and some little knowledge of legal theory from a misspent semester covering a class (as instructor) for a group of paralegals) and ran over him for a good half hour with it.  Unfortunately, it was past the 30 day money back clause in the contract I'd signed.  (Which it wouldn't have been if they'd sent me the damn bill like I asked! [And, yes.  I did point that out.])

 

However, as stubborn as I can get about probably a great many more things than are really good for me, I recognized a proposition that I just wasn't going to win.  (Although, I noticed in later visits to the local office, they had carefully removed all the posters that were blatant false advertising and were now careful to explain the fees.)  I agreed to send the payment of the amount that he stated each month.  "But, I want a damn paper bill in the mail, damn it!"

 

They never sent me one.  Ten more times that I can prove (three in the local office, seven over the phone), I fought with them about the paper bill.  And each time, they assured me they had taken care of it.  And each month, it wasn't taken care of.

 

Now, I've been up (and down) the gravel road for awhile.  More than a little on my face.  So, I knew that eventually I was going to get hit with a rate increase.  That's just how it works.  Everything goes up in price eventually.  I knew it was coming.  But, I think I mentioned that I can get a little stubborn?

 

Well, they got to the point they wouldn't discuss my bill with me over the phone since I couldn't provide them the four digit code from my bill.  Of course, I didn't know my four digit code because they had never sent me a damn bill!  And we would go into another iteration of "Yes, sir.  I have fixed that now.  It will be out to you in the next billing cycle."  With my rejoinder of, "Bet you next month's bill it isn't."

 

And, because I am too stubborn for my own good sometimes... well, you can probably see where this is going.

 

So, yeah.  At some point they went up, and I didn't know.  So, each month the amount over what I sent was rolled over into a new month along with a ten dollar fee until it accrued enough that they shut me off.

 

So, I walked down to the local office.  Roughly about ten miles round trip.  I haven't had a vehicle in a decade.  According to ADA, I can technically still drive.  But, down in the fine print, it says if I have an accident, then I can be charged with a DUI.  Whether the accident can be proved to be attributed to my condition or not.  So, we basically gave away my motorcycle, my jeep, and the wife's car.

 

No, I didn't go begging a phone to call a ride, much less beg a ride directly.  Yes, pride is my besetting sin.  Shaddup unless you don't have one.

 

They told me that I hadn't paid my bill and until and unless I did they couldn't help me and refused to discuss it further.

 

Me being me, I said, "Betcha I did."  And limped across town to my bank to gather up my proof.

 

Me being me, I did find a way to have some fun along the way.  For reasons that escape me a home-free woman decided to take up with me and walked the several miles talking with me.  Sadly, I think I broke her heart when we got where I was going, and she professed undying love for me only to be told that my heart belongs to another.  But, such is love (and life), I suppose.  She seemed to take it sadly, but rather philosophically.  Although, perhaps that was the wad of money I pressed in her hand to go get something to eat.

 

Or it could have been the three husbands that she mentioned she was also going to feed with it.  Ah, well.  Such is life (and love).

 

It took rather longer than it should have at the bank.  And the days of my churning out a five minute mile are gone. So, rather than heading back to the office, I headed for home.  Yes, still afoot.  I already admitted that I am prideful and stubborn.  Let's not beat it into the ground.

 

My neighbor saw me doing my Frogger imitation across the highway, and once I got home gave me a proper dressing down for not cadging a ride from him.  He and I don't see eye to eye.  He feels like he owes me since I've given him money from time to time for his food truck business, or just because his family was having a lean time.  I don't figure he owes me a thing since I'm just being a good neighbor.  Much less to drive me around and sit and wait while I handle business that should have been handled nineteen months ago if they had just sent me a damn paper bill through the mail!

 

However, Willard is a Viet Nam vet that made it back with a trick knee and a hole in his foot as his only injuries.  And he had two buddies with him that were also vets.  So, when he chewed my ass, I said, "yes, sir.  If you can catch me leaving, then I'll accept the ride."

 

The wily old bastard posted sentries!

 

When I tried to sneak off for groceries on Saturday, not one or two, but three grandkids ran into his house and told on me while two more surrounded me to keep me from moving on!  And I don't know what he threatened them with, but they would absolutely not be bribed with candy.  Damn little meddling crumb snatchers.

 

I will grant this much.  Willard does know me too well by half.  The entire trip, he kept mentioning that the cable office wouldn't be open until Monday, so he would take me then.  But, he really didn't have to keep repeating it the entire trip to the store and back.  I got the point the first time.

 

Just out of pure contrariness, I borrowed his phone to call the company.  Not really to confirm the office wasn't open.  But, just because I wanted to get another jab in.

 

Sure enough, it still wasn't showing I wanted a paper bill.

 

After listening to me get transferred to three different departments and chewing ass, Willard was shaking his head and laughing.  "You remind me of an old drill sergeant I had."

 

"Then why don't you do as you're told?"  I shot back as I handed him his phone.

 

"Because I mustered out, son,"  Willard grinned back.  "Now get your ass back in there and don't come out unless Miss Daisy is with you until Monday."

 

Me being me, I did what he said.  The way I wanted to.

 

I didn't have internet, telephone, or television.  I do have a library of books, movies, music, and games I suppose I could have entertained myself with.  However, I decided to do some much needed cleaning.  So, that's how I spent Saturday and Sunday.  Throwing furniture around and slinging a forty pound shop vac I use in lieu of the usual Hoover or Dust Devil.  Dust bunnies?  Hell, a dust elephant came out from under the bed and trumpeted for a peanut.  But, that's the nice thing about using a more powerful shop vac for house cleaning.  Anything still there, you can put a collar on and feed up.

 

However, it's probably just as well wily Willard was sitting outside one door and my new neighbor sitting outside the other on Monday.  'Cause I probably wasn't in shape to make the walk and make it back after my exertions.  (In my defense, it had been awhile since I'd lifted the couch one handed to vacuum under it with the other.  [And it showed.]) 

 

Not to mention, I hadn't slept very well without the television to drown out the gunshots and sirens that aren't quite consistent enough to mark the hour.  I could probably have slept through them.  But, Daisy couldn't without the masking sounds.  And only a coma patient could sleep through Daisy Mae getting riled up.  The barking isn't so bad.  But, when a ninety pound mutt bounces on your gut, it's bound to get your attention.

 

Even with all my proof and careful plotting and planning, it took several hours.  Willard had to leave and pick up his youngest son and a couple of grandkids and was almost late to his Brazilian Jiu Jitsu belt test behind it.  Which is why I hate cadging rides from him.  

 

But, the battle still wasn't done.  They had decided for reasons known only to them that I needed new equipment.  And had wanted to send a technician out.  For a fee, of course.  Which I responded with a two word declarative exclamation that both began and ended with an "f."  I'm sorry.  But, some situations do abso-fucking-lutely require language Mama wouldn't have approved of!

 

I informed them in no uncertain terms that I used to teach computer repair, networking, small electronics repair amongst other things and no way no how were they going to charge me to send a techie out that I would then have to explain what he was doing wrong and then spend twice the time it should have taken because their training program was crap and the idiot they sent didn't know what to do when everything didn't work without calling the office.  (Yes.  In fact, that has happened each and every time they send someone out.  And each and every time, they are told to do exactly what I told them to, but wouldn't do until their phone told them to.)

 

And naturally, I had to borrow Willard's phone and call the office.  Not because I didn't know what to do.  But, because I needed them to do something from their end.  And had to argue with them for thirty minutes to get them to just fucking do it!  ***facepalm***

 

And, guess what?  They still didn't have it in the computer to send me a damn paper bill!

 

Well, the phone started working.  And almost immediately I got back to back calls wanting to sell me health insurance and burial insurance.  Fuckers.

 

Have you ever noticed there are days it just doesn't pay to chew through the padded restraints?

 

Monday night, yesterday, and last night were dedicated to rest and recovery with 90% or thereabouts spent variously sleeping, dozing, or just zoning out with some relaxation exercises to get muscles that didn't want to ease up to do so.

 

Any road, my point (as much as I ever have one) is that I'm alright.  Heaven doesn't want me and Hell knows I'll be new management so they keep losing my transfer paperwork.  Don't worry about me.

 

 

You know... I think I'll call the cable company and give them some crap about my damn paper bill through the mail!

 

But, any row you've got to hoe, make yours a good day and have a little fun along the way or what's the damn point?

 

 

 

 

I was poking around a little bit, as I have a tendency to do.  And a question (on another site) caught at my attention.  "How do you maintain dominance while going down on her?"

 

Uh.  Well, first off, check your vocabulary.

 

 

"Going down" does have connotations of sinking to your knees, I suppose.  And if you use those words in your own mind, then I can see how it might impact how you feel about what you are doing.  Make you feel subservient to the person you are "going down" on.  Or before.  Or whatever.

 

So, the first thing I would think would be to work on becoming a more cunning linguist.

 

I don't "go down on her."

 

I ravish her sweet treasure with my lips and tongue.

 

I feast upon the nectar of her delicate flower.

 

I tongue-lash her into moaning, writhing submission.

 

I explore her fully and completely at my leisure because it is my pleasure to do so.

 

And, it doesn't really matter if I'm doing it with her lying back on the bed with my arms beneath her knees and trapping her wrists to her sides with my strong hands, or with her back pressed to the wall with one knee over my shoulder, or if I place her over my face as I lie on my back...

 

See, dogs and cats have a basic personality discordance.  When a dog flips the cat on it's back, they figure the fight is over.  They have established their dominance.  But, for the cat, the fight has just begun as they are the most dangerous on their back as they fasten their teeth and front claws in and begin raking with their back claws at the tender underbelly.

 

It's the mindset.

 

And, frankly if I do have her over my face as I feast on her, she is not dominant to me.  Not when I know full well that I can, if the mood should strike me, press her up off me in the moment and turn her body as it would please me most as I continue to take my pleasure of her, and of her pleasure.  Perhaps even keeping her knees over my shoulders as I take her to the nearest wall and continue to partake of her delicate pleasure center from there.

 

I don't know.  I don't hold that my way is the only way.  I just think, for me, that my dominance of her, her submission to me, is in our minds and our hearts, no matter what position I might choose to enjoy her in.  Even if it is with me sinking slowly to my knees once I have her pressed against the inside of the safely closed front door when I can't wait until the bedroom to begin the ravishment of her body.

 

And perhaps... just perhaps... after three or so orgasms have been wrung from her with lips, teeth, and tongue, I might... just might... deign to remove my own pants and allow her to worship me with her sweet mouth.  If it suits my mood.

 

But, whichever path you choose, may you find sweet moonlight and gentle rain making it a more merry one.