oh the memories!  Big sigh

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(STOP PICKING AT IT OR YOU’LL NEVER HEAL)

So clever He thought Himself…His 2 & 1/2 reason chirade…and then it began….the bleeding

I wonder…is she somewhere else as she rides His cock?  her arms locked and crossed tightly between shoulder blades with rough unforgiving Sissel.  female breath…labored due to the tightly framed breasts…she fights to keep up with her lungs need…balancing the growing need for permission to come

I listen to T/them through My apartment walls and remember.  I listen to her muffled moans and think…must be a panel gag.

I hear faint slaps and the  resulting muffled squeels…her pain pleasure…her pain His pleasure…

Feeling her heat…warm and moist…tightening around His shaft…explosion.

My bed cold except for the indentation where I lay (lie)

Broken rules with no ending…perhaps His lie was too perfect

But thanks for the memory
Of every touch a thrill
I’ve been through the mill
I’ve lived a lot and learned a lot
You loved me not and still
I miss you so much

Thanks for the memory
Of letters I destroyed
Books that we enjoyed
Tonight the way things look
I need a book by Sigmund Freud
How brainy he was

I know it’s a fallacy
That grown men never cry
Baby, that’s a lie
We had our bed of roses
But forgot that roses die
And thank you so much

Now….I think I’m done….

A former employer calls Me out of the blue this morning.  Just for the heck of it “to say hello and see what I’m up to” were His words.  Maybe that move out West isn’t too far away….

quote stolen from blueholiday’s “fetlife” profile

You might come here Sunday on a whim.
Say your life broke down. The last good kiss
you had was years ago. You walk these streets
laid out by the insane, past hotels
that didn’t last, bars that did, the tortured try
of local drivers to accelerate their lives.
Only churches are kept up. The jail
turned 70 this year. The only prisoner
is always in, not knowing what he’s done.

-Richard Hugo (excerpt from “Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg”)

Three gal pals eyed Him up upon His grand entrance into the bar.  One of the 3…the loudest…and the least (you get His meaning…right?) prepared her approach.

Drunk and sloppy (He hates that in a woman) 
What are you drinking?  Let me buy you a drink?

Ice tea thank you..(He isn’t interested by any means)  His head elsewhere…the wounded hunter. 
She introduces herself as His bartender notices His arm tatt and inquires.  Huh?  Nancy?  Oh, nice to meet you.  Come here often?  (oh Jesus)  Santa?
The tatt means Master/slave He educates the bartender lady…she eyes Him up…Nancy wants to buy you a drink Master Wounded Hunter..what’ll it be?

I really just want a steak… Oh hell I’ll have hemlock
Leave Me alone nancy…go sit with your old gal pals.  Casey (prettiest old gal pal with fake lips) spots a young man across the bar.  The Master Wounded Hunter overhears her comment.  “come here and sit between my legs…there’s plenty of room”

That one makes Him laugh!  Jesus…Santa?  I just want My steak please…I want it back. 
Hey nancy…I’m not interested…not now
Medium please…and His head is elsewhere.

It all seems so pathetic…good night ladies

Interesting what One finds when doing a search of His alter ego on google. I found old comments on blogs that I made years ago. (like the one above)  I found things that I KNOW  My close family wouldn’t approve of.  That something must be wrong with Me….Hell, I wonder this almost every day.

The comment above reminded Me of a time in My life where My biggest concern was in what mom was going to make for dinner that night.

I got done with work early today, and arrived to an empty apartment by mid afternoon.  I turned on the TV….found nothing of interest to watch.  I reheated Two pieces of leftover pizza.  I made Myself Two drinks…and midstream of drink #2 I started to feel

…I’ve affected family(s) and innocents in a negative way.  This is My doing…all of it so I could live a D/s  lifestyle that I feel I must have.  My mother once told Me:  “quit being so selfish”  (yes..parents stearn words effect even truck drivers)

I’m sure the alcohol is typing here tonite, but as I look out over the valley sitting here alone….

I hear jets overhead

I feel alone

I feel selfish

I wonder                am I?

Well no one told me about her, what could I do Well no one told me about her, though they all knew But it’s too late to say you’re sorry How would I know, why should I care Please don’t bother tryin’ to find her She’s not there
Well let me tell you ’bout the way she looked The way she’d act and the colour of her hair Her voice was soft and cool Her eyes were clear and bright But she’s not there
—— electric piano ——
But it’s too late to say you’re sorry How would I know, why should I care Please don’t bother tryin’ to find her She’s not there
Well let me tell you ’bout the way she looked The way she’d act and the colour of her hair Her voice was soft and cool Her eyes were clear and bright But she’s not there