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A thought occurred to me a moment (or so) ago.


I’m an Atheist.
Everywhere except in bed.
In bed my beliefs are locked away.
And “oh God!” is all I say.



I miss the hiss as my nails go up the back.

As my teeth go in the neck.

As my fingers wrap into hair and tug.

A little harder.

The blood.

The bruises.

The look of distressed ecstasy.

I miss the pounding.

The moaning.

The cries.

For more, harder, faster.

The scent of arousal.

The slick sweat between two bodies.

The hiss….

The kiss…

The fist…

The nails..

The skin…

The teeth…


The tongue…

The hair..

The hiss…

The kiss…

The fist…


Me wet.

Him slick.

The nails…

The fist…

The hiss…

Faster, harder…

The cries.

The finale.

The hiss.

Disclaimer: as of….10 minutes ago I deleted a majority of my postings. So, I apologize if now my blog sounds a little obsessive, but I have decided to take it in a different direction. I’ll tell you all more later…or maybe not.

I haven’t been on in what seems like ages and ages. I know. I apologize. Or maybe I don’t. Too much life has happened between then and now for me to honestly give a fuck about much of any god damn thing. I’ve come to realize that when I’m at my very worst is when I miss S the most. I have yet to find another human being that I can connect/relate with on that same amazing level that I had with him. The yin to my yang, the strawberry to my shortcake, if he was 1 and I was 1 and you subtracted 1 you’d get nothing, but together we were infinity.

I have someone else I can talk to. Sort of. He’s a ……friend. We’ll call him D. We went out of touch for a while for technological reasons, but we’re able to chat some here and there again. Problem is, I no longer push for that same level of trust and faith from another person. I don’t feel like anyone genuinely cares anymore. At least not about me. I’m currently living in a world where it seems as though my feelings no longer matter to anyone. I’m walking around on big, glass, shards of eggshells. It’s frustrating, irritating, painful, and frankly it just pisses me off most times. I have days where I just want to curl up in my bed and cry until I have to be taken to the hospital to be put on an IV for dehydration. I have days where I just want to be in a good, positive, uplifting mood. I have days where I just want to sit on the couch and not be bothered by a single soul. Of course none of these things happen and I have to suck it up and be a big girl and get on with the show. Because most days, it is just that, a show. A heart-wrenching, pain inducing, tear producing, piece of shit show called “life.” And once upon a time two drunk idiots got in the back of a Chevy conversion van and decided I needed a starring role in my own production of this off off off off off off off off offf offffffff broadway POS “LIFE: AS WRITTEN, DIRECTED, PRODUCED, FUNDED, AND STARRED IN BY KITTIE.” I’d like to say no animals got hurt in the making, but I kicked a bitch cat once when I was 13 and I’ve ran over a few frogs and rabbits in my time.

Sometimes I wonder why it couldn’t have just worked one of the 5 gajillion times I tried to off myself as a child. But then I remember that it’s because I was too fucking afraid of heights to actually jump a distance large enough to break my worthless fucking neck.

There I went, off topic again, ramble ramble. Poor little girl got raped by her cousin, abandoned by her father, emotionally abused by her mother,  and tried to kill herself. Well, boo fucking hoo. One out of every three right? Oh well. The worse part is that no one ever cared enough to get me help. At least not in time. And people don’t know what’s going on in my head. Except you guys. You poor poor suckers. Stop reading now, it’s not getting better. Ha ha. Was never good in the first place.

I miss S for his honesty. He was honest. Brutally when I needed it….when anyone needed it. Me, the socially acceptable version of him, and people still always liked him more. Isn’t that how it goes? They tolerated me for him. I’m barely tolerable anyways. He sometimes made me likeable. And I was his first “true” love. However dysfunctional it all was, we did love each other. In many different ways. The way friends love, and the way a brother and sister loves, the way lovers love, and the way you love someone who can just see straight into your soul and  know what you need, when you need it. Even if, no especially if, you don’t want it. He was brutal, in everything. His honesty, his compassion, his sympathy, his heart, his love. And he was brutally protective of me, of he and I, of all that encompassed us as an US or even just us as friends. It’s all so damn complicated. Life is shit right now. And I wish beyond all wishes that I could curl up in his lap, push my face into his neck, and just sob with his arms around me.

But, alas, I cannot. For I am a moron. The moron of morons. The bitch of bitches. The whore of whores. And, I dare say, the queen of horrible decisions.

Am I just wasting my time?
Just wasting my time when I tell you.
When I tell you everything.
Everything I never wanted you to know.
Words I’d never say before.
And you call them bullshit?
I delved inside myself.
I told you what I need.
I tried to give you control.
You’ve always wanted control.
And you ignore me?
You push aside my words.
Pretend like you don’t understand.
Say that you’ll do anything for me.
For my love.
And you continue to lie?
What have I done?
Am I just wasting my time?

Nuff sed 😉

How often.
How often in your day to day life do you think about me?
How often do you remember me?
How often do you wish it was my hand in yours?
My breath on your cheek?
My teeth in your neck?
My nails in your back?

How often?
How often are you in your car and that song, our song, comes on?
Do you change it?
Do you listen?
Do you laugh, smile, chuff, cry?
Do you remember the good times?
Or do you remember the bad?

How often?
How often do you talk about me?
Does she know?
Have you told her?
Have you been honest about how you felt?
About what we were?
About who we were together?
About your soul, being mine?

Does she know?
Does she know that you will forever compare her to me?
That she’ll never fill that spot where I will ALWAYS live?
Does she know she’s not me?
That she never will be?

Poor thing.
I believe that you probably believe you’re stronger than that.
That you’ve moved on and your life is yours now.
I believe that you believe your other half is still out there somewhere.
You may even believe she’s it.
Keep believing … because you are forever mine. Mind and body. If I only wanted I could twist you and manipulate you straight back to me. You’d be helpless against me.
You’ll always want me.



I was having a text message conversation with a friend of mine earlier and I sent her the above picture. I said that I would so own that shirt if my husband would let me have a girlfriend. She said she’d thought about finding a female maso but she likes boy parts better. Well, the final conclusion we came to is that we both like all bits, but we’re 100x pickier on girl bits than we are boy bits, thus making boy bits liked better. Make sense? Yes? No? Read on.
I like a guy to have a nice smile, a sparkle in his eyes when he flashes said smile in my direction, brunette, at least as tall as me (I’m not short), to have a good sense of humor, he has to be clean with good oral and physical hygeine, no drug use/abuse (includes pot and daily consumption of alcohol), and he can’t be a moron. (No sports flunkies allowed).
Now, in a woman…. well, let’s see. I don’t want her short, but not taller than me either. Still with the smile, and the eyes, and the brunette hair. I don’t want super short hair and if it’s semi short it has to be maintained. The messy look is sexy sometimes, but I do hair. Usually if it’s cut short, it’s cut in a specific style, and should be styled thustly. Otherwise, keep it long (and still maintained, as in clean). I’d want her breasts to be larger than mine (which isn’t difficult), and she couldn’t be as large or larger than me. That also means that if I lost weight, she’d lose weight, always staying smaller than me. I want a good sense of humor, intelligence, have at least some of the likes I do (again no tv sports), same thing about cleanliness, and the same thing about drugs. I tried to find a good example picture, but alas Google has failed me, seeing as my pov on what’s sexy and theirs differs widely. Oh, no under bite, no bulgy eyes (like the chick that plays June on Apartment 23), no super thin lips, and no clothes that would take too much time to get her out of (unless I’m looking for a challenge that day) 🙂
The reason for the pickyness is that, if I’m going to put up with the BS of having a girlfriend, it’s going to damn well be worth it. I had a girlfriend once before…. and I wish I could have tied her up, gagged her, and left her there. Not only was she a horrible person, but she also made me less than desireable. I don’t want that to happen ever again.
I almost forgot the most important part, she’d be my sub. Of course! If you’re dreaming, go big or go home right? :);)

I’d take this one.

I’ve always loved writing on people. Although I’ve never had someone to write on in the D/s way. But if I did…..

I need it. I want it, but I need it. I need to feel comfortable with myself. I don’t know how. I crave attention, but don’t want to be looked at. I lust for sex, but don’t want to be touched. Sometimes I can hardly touch myself through how I feel about me. What do I do? I don’t know how to fix it. Help!?  Ugh.
Ok, now that that’s off my chest, I didn’t actually touch the “new post” button to talk about my body…. at least not like that. I had a couple of dreams yesterday. Both had sexual undertones, and that is not typical for me. One was about someone I had only vaguely thought about in “that way” once or twice then shook it off. And now, I can’t shake it off.
I dreamt that he and I were at some kind of concert or convention (there were a lot of loud people an do don’t like being around a lot of loud people). He was the only person I saw there that I knew, and vice verse. So we started hanging out. When it was over we were still standing around just talking to each other. Somehow we got close, close enough that I could feel his breath on me, I could sense his desire, it gave me goose bumps and made me wet. Then, he kissed me, and it shook my world. Then I was in his car and it was moving, he held my hand and smiled at me. Then, he took me home, kissed me again, and left. So, all I could think about when I woke up was him. I’ve thought about him all fucking day long. Even with the other dream mixed in I’m still stuck on that one. I don’t know if it was the kiss. If it was the dirty, filthy, naughty things I wanted to do to him. Or the fact that no matter how bad I could ever want him, he would NEVER want me. I just don’t think I’m his type, and that kinda kills a small part of me. In the dream he seemed vulnerable, like he was afraid I wouldn’t like him, when in life it’s the opposite.
The other dream was about a friend of mine. One whom I have actually kissed before. I dreamt I went to his house with my children. His mom took my kids outside to show off her yard (they love nature), and my friend asked me if he could talk to me in his room. I didn’t think anything of it and followed him in. He shut the door behind me, threw me into the wall, and kissed me like he was mad. He grabbed me, threw me on the bed, and then I woke up. Wtf? Not fair! Of course, this is another situation that would be unlikely to happen. Only because I can only dream about another kiss from him. Literally. (Yes, I realize I said his mom took my kids outside. He does live with his parents, they are elderly).
I don’t know what to do with myself. I shouldn’t even be having these dreams in the first place, but a huge part of me wishes that maybe one, or both, would really happen…… Right Now.
Even though both dreams involved the other person being in control of me, I am still very much obsessed. I guess sometimes I want to be thrown around, bit, scratched, teased, licked, spanked, and fucked like I did something wrong. I want bruises that show I was done right.

I had an epiphany! The reason I miss S so fuckin much is that he listened. He actually LISTENED when I talked. No matter what fucked up, twisted, or inane shit came out of my mouth he listened. He cared, he remembered, he gave a fuck. And he talked to me. Not just bullshit, but TALKED. Like I was a real person, like I mattered. And I did matter. My opinion mattered. I could tell him anything and he could tell me anything. He trusted me. I miss being trusted, I miss being relied on. I miss having someone that wanted me for more than a fuck and a maid. With him I felt safe. In his lap all of my problems were solved. And if we had never been more than friends I could have kept him forever. I love him very much. Yes, love. I will always love him. They say all wounds heal. How long is it going to take? Because I don’t think I’ll ever find what I had with him ever again. And that’s why I cry. I miss him with EVERY fiber of my being. And there’s nothing to fix it. I cry. All the time, but have no one to cry to. No one whom I can tell all my woes. I miss him. I wish I could have him back, but I can’t. Ever.

He was my best friend. My confidant. In his lap I was safe, nothing could touch me. When my hand was in his there was no battle we could not fight and win together. He was my soul mate, and I was his. We filled every gap for each other, covered every flaw, made each other whole and perfect. His voice could make the darkest days full of sunlight just because I knew he was truly concerned. I ask myself almost every day, did I make the right decision? Some days it’s “yes,” and some days it’s “no.” But everyday, from the day I said we’re over until the day I die, will be another day without him. Without my everything. I don’t know that I will EVER find that again.