Scribbles

It's supposed to feel that way. Wait and cry and feel it hurt. Endure the pain until I let it stop. I may allow it, eventually, but I decide when. If ever.
It is time now. Tighten everything. Twist everything. Force everything in deeper. Hold it in longer. Cry louder. Hurt harder.
Like it or don't, it doesn't matter. you don't matter. you are nothing.
I may stop it, I may not. Don't dare think of begging me to. I dont give a fuck what you want or need. you dont matter. you have no worth to me except when you are weak, crying, and shaking.
Welcome the pain. I will allow it.

Eyes down.
you may not look at them. you may know that they are my friends, family, strangers. I will allow it.
Head down.
you may feel all of their hands striking you. you may know that all of their eyes despise you. you may hear all of them laughing at you. I will allow it.
Face down.
you may enjoy all of them pissing and cumming on you, hitting you from all sides, running down into your hair, into your eyes. I will allow it.
Only I may fuck you. I own all your filthy holes. your mouth and your asshole and your rancid pussy. I will use them however I wish. The rest of you is disposable. Worth nothing. you deserve nothing. you are nothing. your world is all and only about one word:

"Sir."

"yes, Sir."
"i am worth nothing but what you make me, Sir"
"i beg you to please cause me pain, Sir."
"i may not stop until you allow it, Sir"
"i thank you for slapping my ugly face, Sir."
"i exist only for you to humiliate, degrade, hurt, and abuse until I am worthless, Sir."
"i thank you, Sir."
"i love you, Sir."

That's a good girl. I never ever give this gift to anyone else, but you are special to me. Your pain means I love you more than anyone else in the whole world.
In this moment, in this way, you matter and you are someone.
I will allow it.

(orig post 8/11/19)

So I forgot your name.
So I misplaced your phone number.
So I don't recall that first time.
I remember you!
And that's already more of a fuck than I give about people I don't like.

Tonight I'm going to roll myself up in several layers of used tin foil, seek refuge in a high wattage microwave oven set on Apocalypse for 1-2 minutes (cooking times may vary) and await the Rapture.
What are your plans?

(orig post 08/10/19)

Sometimes I just don't get it.

There was a time when I thought I did but maybe I was just fooling myself, or trying to.
Instead I found myself at or near the ledge, staring into that hellish, dark hole popularly known as What the Fuck?
Ignorantly, I figured that if my thing is cool here, and your thing is cool here, then armed with nothing better than a forged resume and hired references I should be able to score.
Blindly, I fumbled onward knowing not where I was going, but hoping to take in a few of the local hot-spots and tourist attractions along the way.
Noobishly, I thought I could easily find my willing counterpart by merely applying a few well-timed platitudes and age-worn cliches.
And on a few occasions I was even successful.
Alas, the fucking truth - nothing is how I expected it to be.
Even the Domliest Daddy is occasionally overtaken by a "Can you not see that I don't give a dry fuck about you and your underwhelming spinelessness and your stupid fucking toys right now?" attitude.
Even a powerful Master/Owner/Sir of adequate means may feel overburdened by all the extra mouths he has to fill and feed all the time.
Even the ugliest Sadist has a photogenic side.
But perhaps my favorites are the "friends." I place the word between quotation marks not because such actual people don't exist; They do, I have some here, and am proud to use that word when referring to them. No, I mean the ones who act the part when they (or she) need a platonic shoulder to cry on, or when they (or she) need a platonic ear to pour their (or her) woes into. The ones who too easily become play pals whenever they (or she) want to - but ONLY then, and fuck off my needs or desires or impulses any time else!
Some of us have people who are just friends in the traditional sense, and/or friends with whom there are those benefits we've all heard so much about, but with a mutual understanding of the roles and rules. That's cool. That I like.
And I thought I understood all the roles and rules. That I could expertly navigate the seas between the two types of friends. Seems I can't, and maybe that's because I'm the blind one. But it becomes more difficult when they (or she) repeatedly blur the lines that separate friend and benefit.
It is during those times when I most feel like I just don't get it.

(orig post 8/5/19)

By their nature, reasons are neither good nor bad, they are merely the ways we have of explaining this and that, whatnot and wherefore, to ourselves and others. By way of contrast, excuses are an altogether different species. They come in many varieties of color, personality, intention, size, shape, and plain ol' bullshit stank.
As I explain keep in mind that when I find myself struggling to find an insightful, universal analogy I call on my old faithful and true friend Porn. Porn has never failed me and I suspect it will not do so on this occasion.
So, let's just say I am enjoying myself some free, mid quality, amateur, home-made, webcam pornography. But wait - why am I watching at all??
The reason: I like boobs, I'm horny, I'm hard, I'm in front of my computer, I think I'm alone, it's unlikely that I would have any great appreciation for classic, tasteful though pretentious, pseudo-intellectual, foreign language art nouveau films, but none are on at 3:00am anyway so who gives a shit, the rest of the internet is boring and dumb, somehow my fist is already around my cock (when did that happen?) and finally - did I mention boobs?
The excuse: I'm addicted to it!
Nonsense. Shenanigans. The only people who claim weakness and brain chemistry and lack of restraint and the-devil-made-me-do-it and I'm addicted are the ones who get caught. You're not addicted, you're sloppy. Next time lock the damn door. Keep your voice down and your movements subtle. Pay for your own wifi instead of taking advantage of your naive, elderly neighbor who remembers way back when there were no such things as passwords or secret codes or any such security measures; an era when the world was a better place and people were fundamentally good and pure and honest.
And to those of you who pretend that you are better than Porn; those of you who feel that Porn is beneath you; those of you who insist that you wouldn't know Porn even if a pool boy, a pizza delivery guy, and a handyman snuck up from behind and gang banged you to the strains of weak, computer-generated, nondescript funk/muzac, I've got news for you - Even Atticus jerked off.
He didn't make excuses, he had his own reasons, he held his head high, and occasionally he went out to the woodshed, tightened his grip, and proceeded to take Herman to the Circus.
So next time you find yourself desperately trying to sell an excuse when an honest reason would be the more honorable route, think of Gregory Peck rubbing one out.
And, seriously, look it up. It was gonna be in the sequel.

 

(orig post 8/2/19)

prologue -
you knew what was needed, understood it, and said yes
none did invite or entice or anticipate
it overtook behind
to ask for the play, that was easy
something there, something small
you knew what was needed, understood it, and said yes

scene -
near to, it was new and begun
all the usual steps - too many usual steps
this way and again and further
as the stage grew
one word to end, none to remain
these few to change and were spoken
as the stage changed
unmarked you moved, danced across the page
those acts which denied the play
as your stage increased

curtain -
lines that thrilled
vibrant score and woven costume
but a different play
lights dimmed, seats emptied
tale ended, but -
somehow, you imagined it:
overwrought
under-produced
lines delivered wrongly
poor direction
laurels deadened mid-cast, but -
somehow you insisted that one bad actor closed it.
all of it
you were right
though you named the wrong player
on that stage, reading those lines, was you
not penned, though rewritten, for you
sent, delivered, but not accepted, by you
critique if you will, but review

(orig post 6/29/19)

And I didn't care for the look of it.
He resembled me so perfectly that not even a still lake, the innocent eyes of a baby, or even a damn mirror could distinguish one face from the other; mine and this ugly liar, and I dont like it.
We are me, but no longer need be.
The first steps down the road toward knowledge are the words "I do not know." Fortunately I already know who he is and what he means, I already recognize him in my reflection, I am all too intimately familiar with where this road takes us. And I insist that we find a way to navigate it.
Forgive me, wish me kind winds, and bid me farewell.
I was a hypocrite today and I didn't care for the look of it.
One of us has to go.

(orig post 7/3/19)

lashed together, as one and wide
mused by but not persuaded by petal and stem
oh, but to see there
below, subtle and captive by the hint, it exists
hungry, not in fact but taunt, denial and desire
oh, but to feel there
does this not suggest? does it not lift and unveil?
only the one, long as near as can be lighted, glisten though it may
at the last will have to do
and none left on which to stand
oh, but to stand there

(orig post 7/21/19)

Many have learned of being touched these ways
Nothing better to excite the skin and open the senses
Than a whisp, or a pain.
As tickle and torture alike, so be heightened and laid low in equal measure.
Not be explained, or demonstrated, or threatened
No,
For as the body reaches into the moment - to escape or to submit?
From or too, neither or both.
A brushing and a beating.
As one.

(orig post 7/12/19. Thank You to TicklishCaroline for reminding me of this one.)

If you claim yourself to be a proponent of sarcasm but somehow fail to recognize it, the blame should not be laid at the feet of the writer so much as the reader.
Overstatement (undertone, exaggeration, subtext, hyperbole, etc.) is the domain of sarcasm. That you were misled is not evidence of deception, but of just how widely you missed the fucking point!
Pull your head out of your ass, respond now, call this 800 number, and claim your free seat for Basics of Wiseass 101 at your local YMCA.
(Do not contact the Y, there is no such class, I was being sarcastic. Do you fucking get it now?!?)

(orig post 7/4/19)