UPDATE: awww, everyone go visit mellisa she did an amazing illustration of me. i'm stunned and very flattered.
ugh, i'm sick. blah. but other than that i'm good.
I guess it takes certain people to understand S/M and how one becomes to feel safe tied up and powerless. I for one thoroughly get it. Conservatives see things in black and white. Its nauseating. I HATE it.
So Im working on Homicidally Yours, more or less about S/M and what draws people to it.
HOW FUCKING FUNNY. DROP BOMBS AND KILL CHILDREN. IGNORE CATASTROPHIC DISASTERS AND LET PEOPLE DIE. Thats all fine, but no S/M.
Id rather be tied up and alone with someone I can trust in a dark room than in a world so violent and unpredictable and a government of pigs. Ya know?
Heres more Demonic.
This is from the viewpoint of Jenna, the masochist.
JENNA
I started abusing myself when I was twelve. Jack The Ripper had an astounding affect on me at that age. I used to set my bedroom up like I was in the movie. I had a fog machine and dim lighting like the kind that got tossed down dark alleys. Id slap my own hand over my mouth. I brought up my own screams and trapped my own screams. I threw myself to the bed and ripped my own shirt off. If anyone had been watching they would have thought I was possessed. Then I took a knife and cut myself eagerly from where my neck ended to a couple inches above my belly button. I stopped and dropped the knife and lied there, watching the blood decide where to go. I passed out shortly after and woke up to my mom screaming. She called the cops and told them someone broke in and attacked me. She asked me to describe my attacker to them. I came up with the perfect man extremely tall, officer, with blue eyes and blonde hair, you know, the type that looked like anything but what he was.
Abby, along with anyone else who had seen the five-inch deep slit on my body, thought I really was attacked by an intruder when I was a little girl. Abby thought it was the main cause for my depression. Abby thought she understood me when I said, I feel like I never got away. She thought the other day I was honestly afraid of that big dildo but I wasnt. I just liked to act afraid, it made the sex better. I couldnt tell her, though. I didnt think shed understand. She loved me because I was sweet and fragile. At least thats how she saw me. I somehow softened my exterior to appear like that, or something. Other people said I could get plastic surgery to get rid of my scar. They were the real laughable ones.
Most afternoons I preferred to be alone. I didnt like to fuck myself if I knew I had to work. It was completely mental all of it was. I convinced myself I was going to be kidnapped and taken away for the next twenty-four hours. My imagination unraveled at a rapid speed. Morbid images flashed in front of me. The more I hurt myself, the better. In most fantasies it always happened in winter. I was always snatched up and tossed into a van, handcuffed immediately then gagged with some foul smelling rag. The handcuffs were always cold and as tight around my ankles as could be. I always had red rings around them for the rest of the day; marking myself with my own carried out kidnapping. I imagined my arms stretched up over my head, wrists pinned down by the strongest hands in the world, and bound with scratchy rope. Sometimes I cut myself. That was my kidnappers way of branding me. Then my white panties were pulled down and I was violated in any way possible. I almost always came. After I came, I lied there and my body twitched with little ripples of orgasmic satisfaction; like an after-party of complete perversion. If I didnt come Id try again later in the afternoon. Id try harder, cut myself harder. The sex with Abby was okay, but she was too proud and sometimes too cautious. It was just like driving a badass car if you drive a badass car, you need to speed. The same was with sex. If youre with someone who liked to be abused, they should be abused. I guess Abby just didnt know what type of car she drove. That was my fault.
Goes out to cruise and to meet his connection
Hey You, Hey You
He never scores he just gets an infection
Hey You, Hey You
Dreams of a place with a better selection
Hey You, Hey You
ugh, i'm sick. blah. but other than that i'm good.
I guess it takes certain people to understand S/M and how one becomes to feel safe tied up and powerless. I for one thoroughly get it. Conservatives see things in black and white. Its nauseating. I HATE it.
So Im working on Homicidally Yours, more or less about S/M and what draws people to it.
HOW FUCKING FUNNY. DROP BOMBS AND KILL CHILDREN. IGNORE CATASTROPHIC DISASTERS AND LET PEOPLE DIE. Thats all fine, but no S/M.
Id rather be tied up and alone with someone I can trust in a dark room than in a world so violent and unpredictable and a government of pigs. Ya know?
Heres more Demonic.
This is from the viewpoint of Jenna, the masochist.
JENNA
I started abusing myself when I was twelve. Jack The Ripper had an astounding affect on me at that age. I used to set my bedroom up like I was in the movie. I had a fog machine and dim lighting like the kind that got tossed down dark alleys. Id slap my own hand over my mouth. I brought up my own screams and trapped my own screams. I threw myself to the bed and ripped my own shirt off. If anyone had been watching they would have thought I was possessed. Then I took a knife and cut myself eagerly from where my neck ended to a couple inches above my belly button. I stopped and dropped the knife and lied there, watching the blood decide where to go. I passed out shortly after and woke up to my mom screaming. She called the cops and told them someone broke in and attacked me. She asked me to describe my attacker to them. I came up with the perfect man extremely tall, officer, with blue eyes and blonde hair, you know, the type that looked like anything but what he was.
Abby, along with anyone else who had seen the five-inch deep slit on my body, thought I really was attacked by an intruder when I was a little girl. Abby thought it was the main cause for my depression. Abby thought she understood me when I said, I feel like I never got away. She thought the other day I was honestly afraid of that big dildo but I wasnt. I just liked to act afraid, it made the sex better. I couldnt tell her, though. I didnt think shed understand. She loved me because I was sweet and fragile. At least thats how she saw me. I somehow softened my exterior to appear like that, or something. Other people said I could get plastic surgery to get rid of my scar. They were the real laughable ones.
Most afternoons I preferred to be alone. I didnt like to fuck myself if I knew I had to work. It was completely mental all of it was. I convinced myself I was going to be kidnapped and taken away for the next twenty-four hours. My imagination unraveled at a rapid speed. Morbid images flashed in front of me. The more I hurt myself, the better. In most fantasies it always happened in winter. I was always snatched up and tossed into a van, handcuffed immediately then gagged with some foul smelling rag. The handcuffs were always cold and as tight around my ankles as could be. I always had red rings around them for the rest of the day; marking myself with my own carried out kidnapping. I imagined my arms stretched up over my head, wrists pinned down by the strongest hands in the world, and bound with scratchy rope. Sometimes I cut myself. That was my kidnappers way of branding me. Then my white panties were pulled down and I was violated in any way possible. I almost always came. After I came, I lied there and my body twitched with little ripples of orgasmic satisfaction; like an after-party of complete perversion. If I didnt come Id try again later in the afternoon. Id try harder, cut myself harder. The sex with Abby was okay, but she was too proud and sometimes too cautious. It was just like driving a badass car if you drive a badass car, you need to speed. The same was with sex. If youre with someone who liked to be abused, they should be abused. I guess Abby just didnt know what type of car she drove. That was my fault.
Goes out to cruise and to meet his connection
Hey You, Hey You
He never scores he just gets an infection
Hey You, Hey You
Dreams of a place with a better selection
Hey You, Hey You
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
go check my journal out, theres somethign in there you might like *crosses fingers* i hope!
Did you catch L & O??
Oh no, you are not watching the Top Model stuff. They tell 90 pound girls to lose weight! I saw it once! Then again I watched the new Martha show before L & O and LOVED it. I have always been a fan, dammit.
I am doing nothing as usual....I watched a weird punk documentary. Wanted to watch AmerPsych (I made sure to steal it from my last fuckass roommie) but it's already 2am.....maybe I should just read it instead now. Beddy......
What's in your world, turboluva???
Peas