Welcome to my little bubble. Here you will find opinions that change, fantasies, experiences and thoughts of a deviant vagabond. I'm working my shit out through this blog, be careful what you believe. Enjoy.
I dont' know why I insist on torturing myself over.... well, everything humanly possible, I think. Particularly, however, to do with relationships. As soon as I start to feel that love creeping in, it's instant time to start obsessing, questioning my worth, said lovers intentions, and everything in between. I really need to learn to take a step back, not be so needy and obsessive... Unfortunately, in my mind, it's this great torturous romantic ordeal that always backfires and then I get to say, "I knew it was too good to be true" or some bullshit, where in reality I fucked it up... Maybe I'm looking for someone who thinkings I'm awesome enough to be that patient with, or maybe I just really don't believe I deserve that sort of love and happiness, or maybe I'm terrified of falling that hard and then loosing that person. Abandonment issues. Self worth issues. It's confusing considering sometimes I convince myself that I AM awesome. Mostly I look in the mirror and I feel incomplete. Just very very incomplete. I can't wait to go home and ignore everyone. I feel like there's all these fingers looking to grope in on my heart and body and sometimes my mind, but I'd rather just put it all on lock down and tell the world to go fuck themselves....
This was supposed to be a place for secrets, but I suppose that'll have to wait for my typewriter and paper journal.
This feeling of love and the feeling of addiction sure feels an awful lot alike...
The rain from Hurricane Irene has finally hit where I am staying, and while I know it's a serious storm, I can't help but feel comforted in it's gentle noise. I'm reminded of my childhood, sharing an attic room with my sister, and the rain was always so loud, the thunder never scary. One time, when I was about 10 years old, we were driving somewhere, it was dark, and my mother pulled over because the rain storm was so bad. We had a hatch-back and she put the far back seats downs so we could lay and look out the window at the storm, explaining to us that we were safe because of the rubber tires, and that it was beautiful, and not to be afraid. I seem to feel I understood God in that moment... The greatness, the power, the fear, beauty... I think I associate all great things with these same collection of adjectives. God is in the rain. Water, as God, and cleansing and calming. I am a Cancer, a moon child, a water sign. I also, just to be clear, have my own understanding of what God is, but for lack of a better word, I still use it... Some people struggle with whether they believe in God, some struggle with whether God cares about them- I don't. I worry about whether or not God is proud of me.
When I was just about to turn 10, my mother moved my siblings and I to another town, about five hours from where I was born, and before we left, our Baptist church decided to rush us being "Saved". Accepting Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. The woman of the Church who lead us through this ritual saw that I was not emotional and questioned whether I was honest in my belief. Until this very moment of her questioning, I had no doubts at all, I mean, why should I? I was never exposed to anything else, and I just took it as truth, as a part of my life. When she did doubt me though, it suddenly occurred to me that there were other options out there, other ways to believe, and perhaps even, other Gods.
Thus began my questioning of what and who God was. A couple years later, I was introduced to Wicca. I began researching occult subjects. A few years into this searching, I stumbled upon BDSM.
The Sadist said to me yesterday something along the lines of that in our most masochistic and sadistic moments, we are closest to God. I argued that we were the most Human. He agreed.
Sometimes I curse finding BDSM, other times I revel in it. Right now, I accept it as part of who I am, and I refuse to flaunt it or hide it. But I certainly know I am a true child of God, and search every day to be better for a higher purpose. I believe that we all can go as high as we like, I just have a hard time seeing any roof or boundary I don't want to bust through and see to the other side.
I'm on fire again today and I want to eat everyone's soul, I'm fantasizing about the Sadist non stop, but I'm going to fuck the Painter later and I"m going to fuck him hard. His world is about to be turned the fuck upside down, I will work him into a frenzy he's never experienced. Why can't he be sadistic? It's a rare trait, and one I fucking covet. I'm having flash fantasies about slapping the Sadist in the face and watching his face harden and change in the way I know will happen, maybe I'll get one of those knowing smiles, the thoughts of what he will do to me once he has me bound up crossing through his pretty green eyes... I see him yanking me by the hair, I hear myself groan and smile, egging him on, he kisses me sweetly to compensate the torture he's about to lay on me. Throw me to the ground. Do I get back up? I get confused as to fight back or just let go, I want to do both so I laugh because I'm a bitch brat and start to stand, only to have him use his boot to knock me over, stepping on my face, looking down at me laughing as I now struggle to get away from him and god I don't even have the patience for these fantasies right now, let's skip to the part where he hits me in the face enough to placate me so he can throw me on my stomach, renching my arms behind my back... rope, rope is what I want, messy and harsh. - God I'm distracted, that first time he zip-tied my hands behind my back he spun me around and looked at me, naked, and smiled, pinching my nipples saying something about how he was instantly turned on, and so was I. He's tall, so tall, and manly, and scruffy and hot. Always with these small moments that I flash back to throughout the day...
I want him to put me in so much pain I can't think at all. I want it to be messy and rough and wild. Choke me, fuck me in the ass, hit me, whip me, cut me... He wants blood and tears and I want to give it to him, I want to be lost in him, screams behind a gag, shivering in anticipation, blindfolded, whimpering, begging for it to stop but ignored. Bruises and welts. Collar me and chain me to the floor. Rape me. Play piercings. Whips. Whips. WHIPS. Chains. Rope. Leather.
I am torturing myself because I can't fucking have any of this!
And as a side note, I'm such an amateur I don't even know what I really want. But I know I want to experiment with, like, all of it. Alright, maybe not all of it. Bitches be crazy. I just want him to push all my boundaries and limits.
Last week I found myself at the hands of a Sadist.
That sentence was supposed to go on, but something about that statement just causes me pause. Perhaps because I've been waiting for it for a long time, to experience that first hand, in person. The laugh is what gets me, when he took the clothespins from my nipples and then pulled on them, me moaning a scream behind my panties in my mouth, then yes, he laughed, and that just turned me on more.... God, my thoughts of him are so sparatic, I can't even write about it properly, though I sure as hell want to try. I think of him in moments- him sitting in a chair with his foot over my hair, my hands tied behind my back with zipties, my ankles bound the same, and I'm damp from the water he threw on me and exasperated from spanking and being thrown about, my brain in a buzz and he smokes a cigarette, looking at me he smiles a bit sardonically saying, "don't you looks so pretty down there." And I felt pretty, and full and content...
Though surprisingly unfulfilled. I have this thought that perhaps I let myself think my pain threshold is shallower than it is, thus left wanting more... Through the couple days I had with him I kept looking at him, thinking I could do this every day.. I could do this every day... and he says, "it's a fantasy" and it's not, it's not a fantasy because he exists, and I exist, and other people like us exist. Sometimes I am so frustrated by my masochistic desires, and all of this BDSM shit running around in my head, that I would forget it all if I could... and then I meet someone like this Sadist and I'm reminded why it enriches my life. It is fun. It's the most fun! It's adult play in the most obvious sense of the words.
Ugh, but I can't figure out to rebel, not to rebel, to be cocky or sweet, it seems to change in me, all depending on who I'm dealing with or what I'm doing, and with him, I'm unsure. I am naturally sweet to him, yeilding... but I see in both of us this love of banter and fighting, yet I can't seem to get to that point with him. I fear I'm not interesting enough, I fear him being bored of me.
And there are better choices for me than the Sadist but I can't fucking get him out of my head. Not that I have to make a choice. It's easy math, I know, cater to this sort of thing, and bam, stuck right in my brain. He left me in a breeze, barely seemed to care and I was left on the sidewalk, his cab rolling away, and I cried, though I wasn't sure why I was crying. I wanted to scream. This emotional roller coaster is never ending with me, and it's like he opened my pandora's box, and I was left scrambling to shove it all back inside, left only with memories and two zip-ties around my right wrist, enough to keep my masochism awake and in the forefront of my mind, but with no outlet to get it out.