I'm not a sex addict. Addicts are people with a problem - not to say I don't have a problem; I have plenty of problems. But addicts struggle with their problem and fail, struggle and fail. Some do pull themselves out of the practicing part of their addiction and maintain some semblance of an ordinary life with the badge that they dodged a bullet - or are hanging on by a very thin thread. But most just smoke a joint on the way to the shop, or overperfume to cover the liquor, or give head to strangers behind gas stations.
That's not me, I'm not an addict. I'm a junkie.
As a junkie you don't even try. You just dream.
As a junkie you watch your life get washed away every time the waves come crashing in on the rocks. You know you're along for the ride. The swells are just too powerful. You can flail, paddle, and kick as hard as you want, but all that water is so much bigger and heavier than you are, that it's like dogpaddling in a swimming pool - that's being carried down the highway on a giant flatbed truck.
Even the hermit crab can cling to the crags and weather it out between swells, then scuttle along on its way. But the slimy seaweed, it lives as long as it can while getting smashed against the rocks, until it finally washes ashore and dies without anyone giving a shit. It seems like a corny analogy to use, but only because it's so true. Homeless drug addicts sitting on the curb, you feel guilty about not giving them any change. But a smelly clump of kelp strewn across your sunset beach stroll, you will avoid that shit like the plague. It's hard to say when the long greenish brown strands of mysterious bulbs and whips actually ceased to live or whether they're even dead or alive. If they didn't die before washing ashore, they may as well have. Once it separates from its anchor on the sea floor and is adrift wherever the currents carry it, it is done for. It's only a matter of time. And it all ends up the same place: stinking, rotting, and in the way. The idea that anyone would even give it a chance - wash off the sand and mites, put it in the car, take it home and put it in... your nice clean swimming pool? - it's laughable. Unworkable. Yes, I'm talking about me,
the junkie.
.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
Family Ties
I wrote this in February:
Sometimes I can't tolerate my wife's family. Her mother came in the other day, and came upstairs. Eventually I went downstairs and felt a chilling breeze as I got halfway down. What a surprise: the front door was wide open. It's fuckin' winter! It's like, what are you, three years old? You're not even conscious of yourself or what you do? All your focus is on what's on the forefront of your mind? You just see something and grab it like an infant? It's this attitude that nothing exists but what they are interested in, right at that moment. Once they pass through that door, why even think about closing it any more? Can't see it any more, might as well not even be there! It's like an infant or a spider monkey with little greedy grabby hands.
We decided to get lunch from Subway, and her dad was the one picking it up. I ordered a soup. "What size?" asks my wife, on the phone with him. "Large." Large is like three and a half times the size of a small. Turns out the Subway he went to, only has small-sized soups. So he just got me a small, instead of thinking, "Gee, he wanted a large, and did NOT want a small; he clearly wanted to eat more than just a small one, so I ought to get two."
Some people are the exact same way, with conversations. You start to tell them something, and they interrupt and start telling you some anecdote that just popped into their head. They're showing you that they really didn't care what you were saying. Their desire was to tell you what THEY wanted to say, as soon as it popped into their head.
Lack of common courtesy. It's so unsophisticated and low class. It's as if people like that are one step above animals. No impulse control, no thought of what will happen next. I can't stand to be around them.
Sometimes I can't tolerate my wife's family. Her mother came in the other day, and came upstairs. Eventually I went downstairs and felt a chilling breeze as I got halfway down. What a surprise: the front door was wide open. It's fuckin' winter! It's like, what are you, three years old? You're not even conscious of yourself or what you do? All your focus is on what's on the forefront of your mind? You just see something and grab it like an infant? It's this attitude that nothing exists but what they are interested in, right at that moment. Once they pass through that door, why even think about closing it any more? Can't see it any more, might as well not even be there! It's like an infant or a spider monkey with little greedy grabby hands.
We decided to get lunch from Subway, and her dad was the one picking it up. I ordered a soup. "What size?" asks my wife, on the phone with him. "Large." Large is like three and a half times the size of a small. Turns out the Subway he went to, only has small-sized soups. So he just got me a small, instead of thinking, "Gee, he wanted a large, and did NOT want a small; he clearly wanted to eat more than just a small one, so I ought to get two."
Some people are the exact same way, with conversations. You start to tell them something, and they interrupt and start telling you some anecdote that just popped into their head. They're showing you that they really didn't care what you were saying. Their desire was to tell you what THEY wanted to say, as soon as it popped into their head.
Lack of common courtesy. It's so unsophisticated and low class. It's as if people like that are one step above animals. No impulse control, no thought of what will happen next. I can't stand to be around them.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Zen Flirting Part II
So, I had mentioned to my professional photographer friend, who is single and has a harelip (a cleft palate) and is kind of nerdy, that I talked to a chick walking her dog, the chick in my preceding entry, about photography and it turns out she's studying at the local big pro photography school. I told him to come by at 5:30 or so, and see whether we can catch her. I figured I could introduce them and just have fun seeing what happens. I definitely can't get anything going on with her since she knows where I live. Even if she were up for sex with a married guy and even if she were married herself and fine with it, she couldn't be trusted not to change her mind and come by and cause problems.
For two days at 5:30 we hung out on the curb in front of my house, messing with our photography equipment, hoping she'd come by. Then today we're talking and I look up, and in one of the cars driving by, is her, looking over at me, with her dog in the back seat. Fuck. Now I feel like a royal ass.
I made a DVD for my mother-in-law for her birthday. She wanted to be able to watch this one comedy bit on one of the late night talk shows. I found some clips on the internet and burned my first DVD with my new DVD burner.
First off, I waited until the last minute. If I hadn't, I could have made a much cooler menu, and printed out an insert for the plastic case; it would have been totally slick. That sucked. I was cursing myself and my ways the entire time I was making it.
The entire time I was browsing for the little clips I had found, every time I opened a movie file I found, I was worried it'd be an errant porn file. The wife was standing around huffing and puffing and sighing loudly because she's unable to leave the house without getting all agitated, as if it were the end of the world because we didn't leave earlier. It's that way every time she leaves the house. Anyway, each of the various programs you can use to acquire internet porn acts differently and may inadvertently save a file in a local spot. Like, say you use Internet Explorer to look at one particular site and you useRight-Click, then Save As. It may save the file to My Documents. Or it may save them to My Downloads depending on what you did last and so on. Considering I have over 500,000 pictures and movies on my computer (over 400,000 megabytes of files), all it takes is one. One file out of 500,000 is one two-millionth of a percent. That's a very small percentage. All it would take is one file, and instead of a goofy talk show segment, I'd click and it'd be some sort of perverted sex. I've found files floating around before, in plain view, in My Documents and the like. When you discover them a day or two after you downloaded them you think "Oh my God!" because the file was right out in the open. Whew, close call.
Anyway the DVD worked fine but when my mother-in-law went to play it, I was sweating bullets. The entire time it was playing all its little segments one after another, I was imagining a porn clip would suddenly pop up. I sat there realizing that I'd be so mortified that I'd never attend a family function again.
It really sucks. The entire time I'm sleeping, every night, I have nightmares that the wife is downstairs and I haven't properly gone through my hard-drive cleaning process, or have left Yahoo Messenger on (it's what I use to talk to girls), or haven't deleted some cookie enabling access into one of my Harry Tasker alter ego email accounts, and that any second the entire thing is going to come crashing down all around me. When I wake up in the morning and she's not in bed, I freak out, thinking that I'm going to come downstairs and find her gone, find a note explaining how she caught me. My heart is racing every day as I come downstairs, and half the time the house IS empty. She's off somewhere, but I panic, thinking, Is she at Gymboree? Or has she left? I call her and her cell phone is off. Fuck!! I notice the computer screen is dark. I wiggle the mouse to wake it up, praying she won't have my files or a chat dialogue splayed open for me to see, with a typed "I'm leaving you" letter open in Notepad.
Anyway this chick signed up for a paying account (like mine) on that BDSM/"alternative lifestyle"/kinky sex personals site I am registered at. She's very good looking, slim, and her profile was incredibly kinky, so right off the bat you think, A) she's fake; a guy getting his jollies or a troll trying to lure you into checking out "her" (his) pay site. Or B) she's bombarded with emails. All girls on those sites tell me they get tons of emails every day, just mass amounts. I had never seen her before so if she's new, she'll get even more email. I figured I didn't stand a chance in hell, especially because she seems, and says she is, so picky. I decided, what the hell, and sent her an email anyway. I tried pretty hard to make it just right, and included a couple pictures that were, I assume, totally different from the ones all the other guys send of themselves and their cocks. Sure enough, when we got home tonight, I checked and she had written back, falling all over herself. Piece of cake. I don't know how the hell I'm going to handle this though. I need to get a job so I can more-easily make up excuses as to where I was, and also I can call her - or my mistress, for that matter - here and there during the day or during the commute home. If you can only talk 8-5 then girls wonder whether you have someone else. If you can't even talk 8-5 they know something is really up.
Anyway the other reason I also need money is, remember that couple hundred thousand I made last year? It's gone, all of it, that quickly. I have no idea where it went. I sure as hell didn't spend it! Thank god I stashed a few grand in another account for backup's sake.
Anyway I don't even really want to see this new chick, or my mistress for that matter, and I only barely want to see the Domme, but what can I do? I'm pulled inexorably into the whirlpool. The same whirlpool you see when the filthy bath water goes down the drain.
.
For two days at 5:30 we hung out on the curb in front of my house, messing with our photography equipment, hoping she'd come by. Then today we're talking and I look up, and in one of the cars driving by, is her, looking over at me, with her dog in the back seat. Fuck. Now I feel like a royal ass.
~
I made a DVD for my mother-in-law for her birthday. She wanted to be able to watch this one comedy bit on one of the late night talk shows. I found some clips on the internet and burned my first DVD with my new DVD burner.
First off, I waited until the last minute. If I hadn't, I could have made a much cooler menu, and printed out an insert for the plastic case; it would have been totally slick. That sucked. I was cursing myself and my ways the entire time I was making it.
The entire time I was browsing for the little clips I had found, every time I opened a movie file I found, I was worried it'd be an errant porn file. The wife was standing around huffing and puffing and sighing loudly because she's unable to leave the house without getting all agitated, as if it were the end of the world because we didn't leave earlier. It's that way every time she leaves the house. Anyway, each of the various programs you can use to acquire internet porn acts differently and may inadvertently save a file in a local spot. Like, say you use Internet Explorer to look at one particular site and you useRight-Click, then Save As. It may save the file to My Documents. Or it may save them to My Downloads depending on what you did last and so on. Considering I have over 500,000 pictures and movies on my computer (over 400,000 megabytes of files), all it takes is one. One file out of 500,000 is one two-millionth of a percent. That's a very small percentage. All it would take is one file, and instead of a goofy talk show segment, I'd click and it'd be some sort of perverted sex. I've found files floating around before, in plain view, in My Documents and the like. When you discover them a day or two after you downloaded them you think "Oh my God!" because the file was right out in the open. Whew, close call.
Anyway the DVD worked fine but when my mother-in-law went to play it, I was sweating bullets. The entire time it was playing all its little segments one after another, I was imagining a porn clip would suddenly pop up. I sat there realizing that I'd be so mortified that I'd never attend a family function again.
It really sucks. The entire time I'm sleeping, every night, I have nightmares that the wife is downstairs and I haven't properly gone through my hard-drive cleaning process, or have left Yahoo Messenger on (it's what I use to talk to girls), or haven't deleted some cookie enabling access into one of my Harry Tasker alter ego email accounts, and that any second the entire thing is going to come crashing down all around me. When I wake up in the morning and she's not in bed, I freak out, thinking that I'm going to come downstairs and find her gone, find a note explaining how she caught me. My heart is racing every day as I come downstairs, and half the time the house IS empty. She's off somewhere, but I panic, thinking, Is she at Gymboree? Or has she left? I call her and her cell phone is off. Fuck!! I notice the computer screen is dark. I wiggle the mouse to wake it up, praying she won't have my files or a chat dialogue splayed open for me to see, with a typed "I'm leaving you" letter open in Notepad.
~
Anyway this chick signed up for a paying account (like mine) on that BDSM/"alternative lifestyle"/kinky sex personals site I am registered at. She's very good looking, slim, and her profile was incredibly kinky, so right off the bat you think, A) she's fake; a guy getting his jollies or a troll trying to lure you into checking out "her" (his) pay site. Or B) she's bombarded with emails. All girls on those sites tell me they get tons of emails every day, just mass amounts. I had never seen her before so if she's new, she'll get even more email. I figured I didn't stand a chance in hell, especially because she seems, and says she is, so picky. I decided, what the hell, and sent her an email anyway. I tried pretty hard to make it just right, and included a couple pictures that were, I assume, totally different from the ones all the other guys send of themselves and their cocks. Sure enough, when we got home tonight, I checked and she had written back, falling all over herself. Piece of cake. I don't know how the hell I'm going to handle this though. I need to get a job so I can more-easily make up excuses as to where I was, and also I can call her - or my mistress, for that matter - here and there during the day or during the commute home. If you can only talk 8-5 then girls wonder whether you have someone else. If you can't even talk 8-5 they know something is really up.
Anyway the other reason I also need money is, remember that couple hundred thousand I made last year? It's gone, all of it, that quickly. I have no idea where it went. I sure as hell didn't spend it! Thank god I stashed a few grand in another account for backup's sake.
Anyway I don't even really want to see this new chick, or my mistress for that matter, and I only barely want to see the Domme, but what can I do? I'm pulled inexorably into the whirlpool. The same whirlpool you see when the filthy bath water goes down the drain.
~
Anyway at my in-laws' tonight, my mother-in-law's brother came over. He molested my wife when she was 5 until she was about 8, not just sex, but sick, sadistic shit, like she'd lock herself in a closet to escape him and he'd come find her and break the lock and laugh. He also told her "this is your fault and if you tell anyone they won't love you any more," and so on. It really fucked her up. Finally when I came along, she felt confident enough to open up, and she told me about it. I told her to tell her family and so on, and heal. She told her parents and her grandmother - his mother - but they didn't do anything, and made excuses for him, and in fact, they still accept him and speak to him and permit him at family events. Unbelievable. Right after she finally told her family, she wrote him a letter explaining that what he did was wrong and that she was no longer scared of him, and that she realized he was the one who should be ashamed, not her. He started calling us, and hanging up if she didn't answer. If she did answer, he'd tell her nothing happened and it was her imagination, and so on. I told her that if she wanted, I'd make sure he never spoke to her again, but she said no, he's not even worth that. I totally disagree, but it's her choice.
This piece of shit is in his 40's and has never had a job. He lives with his mother, though I can't say "still lives with his mother" because he has moved out before and lived off his wife or his girlfriends. He's had kids by two or three different women at the same time, has been in and out of jail, is a total scammer, and faker, and attention whore, and liar. He tells his family he works for the CIA, or other such bullshit. They know it's all lies, and I'm sure even his children do too.
Speaking of his children, when they were little they used to laugh and be normal. But the past several years, ever since they were 5 or 6 years old, they constantly frown and look depressed and are very edgy and skittish. Something about them screams "sexual abuse." I can't believe my wife hasn't called Child Protective Services on him already but I guess she's too scared. I don't know where the kids live (they live with their moms) or I would do it myself and not tell anyone.
Anyway tonight he showed up at the birthday party for his sister, my mother-in-law. My infant daughter was there. As usual I didn't speak to him or even look at him. All these years my wife has always told me not to make a scene, but this time, I didn't care, and if he wanted to hold he or even just come see my daughter, I was waiting to tell him, "Oh no you don't. Don't even think about starting that shit with me." Being nosy, everyone would ask what I was talking about (after being in their family for 13 years, I know them pretty well). It wouldn't exactly be my place to announce "He molested ______" (my wife), so I would have simply said "He knows what I'm talking about." But he seemed to know better, or maybe he just didn't have a chance to hold the baby when I wasn't around.
Let me state for the record that I am against violence and would never assault another human being. I believe in protecting my daughter by keeping her safe at all times, not by physical violence to him or anyone else. I'm not threatening him here and if anything ever happens to him and I wind up in court, there are a lot of people he owes money to who I'm sure would beat him up or make him disappear, so I hope this journal doesn't seem like it implicates me. That said, the point I want to make is that he will never violate anybody in my family ever again, ever. Ever.
.
This piece of shit is in his 40's and has never had a job. He lives with his mother, though I can't say "still lives with his mother" because he has moved out before and lived off his wife or his girlfriends. He's had kids by two or three different women at the same time, has been in and out of jail, is a total scammer, and faker, and attention whore, and liar. He tells his family he works for the CIA, or other such bullshit. They know it's all lies, and I'm sure even his children do too.
Speaking of his children, when they were little they used to laugh and be normal. But the past several years, ever since they were 5 or 6 years old, they constantly frown and look depressed and are very edgy and skittish. Something about them screams "sexual abuse." I can't believe my wife hasn't called Child Protective Services on him already but I guess she's too scared. I don't know where the kids live (they live with their moms) or I would do it myself and not tell anyone.
Anyway tonight he showed up at the birthday party for his sister, my mother-in-law. My infant daughter was there. As usual I didn't speak to him or even look at him. All these years my wife has always told me not to make a scene, but this time, I didn't care, and if he wanted to hold he or even just come see my daughter, I was waiting to tell him, "Oh no you don't. Don't even think about starting that shit with me." Being nosy, everyone would ask what I was talking about (after being in their family for 13 years, I know them pretty well). It wouldn't exactly be my place to announce "He molested ______" (my wife), so I would have simply said "He knows what I'm talking about." But he seemed to know better, or maybe he just didn't have a chance to hold the baby when I wasn't around.
Let me state for the record that I am against violence and would never assault another human being. I believe in protecting my daughter by keeping her safe at all times, not by physical violence to him or anyone else. I'm not threatening him here and if anything ever happens to him and I wind up in court, there are a lot of people he owes money to who I'm sure would beat him up or make him disappear, so I hope this journal doesn't seem like it implicates me. That said, the point I want to make is that he will never violate anybody in my family ever again, ever. Ever.
.
.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Zen Flirting
It's crazy, whenever I have been desperate for female companionship, they can smell it and they stay away. I strike out, over and over again.
But now that I have basically no interest in sex for some reason - maybe I burned out my sex drive, I mean, I've had more orgasms than any normal person in five lifetimes - now, it's easier than ever to pick up girls.
The other afternoon I walked across the street to the blue public mailbox to mail something since the mailman comes by our house at 11 a.m., but picks up from the public mailbox at 5:30 p.m.
As I crossed the street back to our house, a woman walking her dog was walking down the sidewalk. I was headed right for her, so I called out, "I'm not intercepting you, I'm just walking to my house right there," I gestured. When I got up to her I asked her whether I could photograph her dog, as I was making a video for my daughter. We started bullshitting and I could tell I was pulling off being very charming and attractive. I don't know how, it just happened, partially because I was feeling confident and partially because I didn't care.
She asked me for my name, so I asked for hers.
Sure enough, the next day, she came by, exact same time, dressed up a litle bit, too. I was outside, too, to see it, only, it didn't go as smoothly as it could have, because, I was helping my wife unload groceries from the car. Oh well!
She turned off early and went straight back home, clearly disappointed. Dammit. I felt like I let her down, got her hopes up.
Today, of course, she did not walk her dog at all.
But now that I have basically no interest in sex for some reason - maybe I burned out my sex drive, I mean, I've had more orgasms than any normal person in five lifetimes - now, it's easier than ever to pick up girls.
The other afternoon I walked across the street to the blue public mailbox to mail something since the mailman comes by our house at 11 a.m., but picks up from the public mailbox at 5:30 p.m.
As I crossed the street back to our house, a woman walking her dog was walking down the sidewalk. I was headed right for her, so I called out, "I'm not intercepting you, I'm just walking to my house right there," I gestured. When I got up to her I asked her whether I could photograph her dog, as I was making a video for my daughter. We started bullshitting and I could tell I was pulling off being very charming and attractive. I don't know how, it just happened, partially because I was feeling confident and partially because I didn't care.
She asked me for my name, so I asked for hers.
Sure enough, the next day, she came by, exact same time, dressed up a litle bit, too. I was outside, too, to see it, only, it didn't go as smoothly as it could have, because, I was helping my wife unload groceries from the car. Oh well!
She turned off early and went straight back home, clearly disappointed. Dammit. I felt like I let her down, got her hopes up.
~
Today, of course, she did not walk her dog at all.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
The Sound of Muzak
Last night out for dinner at the Cheesecake Factory, something crept from my subconscious into my conscious: the Muzak in the background as 50 Cent's In Da Club. The whole world has gone mad.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Witness
A year ago, when my wife was pregnant we went to a baby education type class every Saturday, to learn whatever else we could. She's like a baby expert in the first place but a class couldn't hurt.
It was small had a handful of other couples there. One of them was this 20-something couple who looked Mexican but definitely born here, the fifth-generation kind who are as Americanized as any whiteboy.
The girl looked remarkably like my first real girlfriend. Huge brown eyes, tiny mouth, pert little nose, and lush lips, like a freshly cut fig. First g.f. had big boobs. This one had huge ones, I mean really huge. Like almost freakishly huge, but not. Easily these were DDD's or larger, and the girl was quite slim, too, wtf?
In class the husband was like me, class clown. When the classes finally wrapped up I told them we should exchange phone numbers and hang out, since our babies' due dates were so close. They agreed.
I thought it would be fun to make new friends since I love to be witty and charming, but really I was hoping to have sex with this girl. I felt bad about it but I also wanted her pretty badly. I fantasized about her a lot.
Fast forward to today. We have become much closer friends and we hang out once a week or once every two weeks. But strangely, I really don't want to fuck her that much any more. It turns out they belong to a particularly annoying religion, the one where they come around knocking on your door every weekend, so that's a big minus. It also turned out that she converted when they got married. She wasn't one before. And they got married because she got pregnant. And they got pregnant because, obviously, they had premarital sex.
Now, though, she's very straightlaced, I mean to the point of going crazy being this super prim and proper prude. A week ago when we were out to dinner, her husband mentioned how there were a couple frames in The Little Mermaid where the priest marrying them (I have no idea who the mermaid married) had a "woody." She was so worked up over this that after we left, she made him call me and apologize for talking about that. What the hell happened to the girl with big tits who has premarital sex?! Surely she is going overboard trying to show how super worshipful and holy she is, I mean, she's a new convert so she's got to make up for her previous couple-three decades' of not being a Witness. But Jesus Christ, lighten up. Get realistic, here.
Last night we went to hang out at Borders Books and maybe grab dinner with them. We ended up walking next door to T.J. Maxx, a place I had never been in before. Apparently it's some sort of bargain place that sells big name clothes and stuff. I found the exact belt I lost when I left it in the hotel I'd been at with my mistress. It was $14.99, half the price I originally paid for it at Macy's. I bought it, and another one I liked. I will be more careful this time.
What I noticed more than anything last night was that I no longer want to have sex with this woman. Oh, sure, if she fell onto my erect penis mouth-first I wouldn't mind, but I don't even fantasize about her any more, not the slightest bit. Part of it must be because my sex drive has suddenly taken a huge downturn this past year or so. But another part of it is that I know there is no hope of ever getting together with her casually. I used to hope she was the one who wasn't all brainwashed and religioused up. I fantasized that her straightlaced husband who was a virgin when they got together, was too uptight to satisfy her the way I would. And believe me, i would make sure I did. She'd love him, of course, but she'd want to meet with me for fun.
Now that I see there is no way in hell we're having casual sex, I have lost all interest in her, not that I've had much anyway this past year. I'm changing. It's interesting experiencing this all.
Really maybe I'm just becoming a more normal person. Finally.
.
It was small had a handful of other couples there. One of them was this 20-something couple who looked Mexican but definitely born here, the fifth-generation kind who are as Americanized as any whiteboy.
The girl looked remarkably like my first real girlfriend. Huge brown eyes, tiny mouth, pert little nose, and lush lips, like a freshly cut fig. First g.f. had big boobs. This one had huge ones, I mean really huge. Like almost freakishly huge, but not. Easily these were DDD's or larger, and the girl was quite slim, too, wtf?
In class the husband was like me, class clown. When the classes finally wrapped up I told them we should exchange phone numbers and hang out, since our babies' due dates were so close. They agreed.
I thought it would be fun to make new friends since I love to be witty and charming, but really I was hoping to have sex with this girl. I felt bad about it but I also wanted her pretty badly. I fantasized about her a lot.
~
Fast forward to today. We have become much closer friends and we hang out once a week or once every two weeks. But strangely, I really don't want to fuck her that much any more. It turns out they belong to a particularly annoying religion, the one where they come around knocking on your door every weekend, so that's a big minus. It also turned out that she converted when they got married. She wasn't one before. And they got married because she got pregnant. And they got pregnant because, obviously, they had premarital sex.
Now, though, she's very straightlaced, I mean to the point of going crazy being this super prim and proper prude. A week ago when we were out to dinner, her husband mentioned how there were a couple frames in The Little Mermaid where the priest marrying them (I have no idea who the mermaid married) had a "woody." She was so worked up over this that after we left, she made him call me and apologize for talking about that. What the hell happened to the girl with big tits who has premarital sex?! Surely she is going overboard trying to show how super worshipful and holy she is, I mean, she's a new convert so she's got to make up for her previous couple-three decades' of not being a Witness. But Jesus Christ, lighten up. Get realistic, here.
~
Last night we went to hang out at Borders Books and maybe grab dinner with them. We ended up walking next door to T.J. Maxx, a place I had never been in before. Apparently it's some sort of bargain place that sells big name clothes and stuff. I found the exact belt I lost when I left it in the hotel I'd been at with my mistress. It was $14.99, half the price I originally paid for it at Macy's. I bought it, and another one I liked. I will be more careful this time.
What I noticed more than anything last night was that I no longer want to have sex with this woman. Oh, sure, if she fell onto my erect penis mouth-first I wouldn't mind, but I don't even fantasize about her any more, not the slightest bit. Part of it must be because my sex drive has suddenly taken a huge downturn this past year or so. But another part of it is that I know there is no hope of ever getting together with her casually. I used to hope she was the one who wasn't all brainwashed and religioused up. I fantasized that her straightlaced husband who was a virgin when they got together, was too uptight to satisfy her the way I would. And believe me, i would make sure I did. She'd love him, of course, but she'd want to meet with me for fun.
Now that I see there is no way in hell we're having casual sex, I have lost all interest in her, not that I've had much anyway this past year. I'm changing. It's interesting experiencing this all.
Really maybe I'm just becoming a more normal person. Finally.
.
What It Is
You know what it is? I love women. Not just having sex with them or looking at them or falling in love with them. It's more than that. I just love them for being women. I love being around them. When I was a kid, I used to love hanging out with girls so much more than boys. The way they talked to me, related to me, were nice to me, the way they were, just everything about them attracted me. I always had friends who were girls and I felt closer to them.
If I had to pick anyone to be stuck on a desert isle with, it would undoubtedly be a woman. I can actually be better friends with a woman than I can a man. Somehow I can just love them more.
It's love.
That's why I flirt with women so much, and that's why I do whatever I can to attract them to me. I want them to be near me, be best friends with me, pay attention to me, let me pay attention to them...
That's why I'm always so afraid to wear my wedding ring: the "good" ones won't want to talk to me, and they'll shut me out. That means that even a potential friend of mine, someone I could love deeply, could be turning her back on me just because she saw the ring. That would hurt me. I can't have that. So I don't wear it a lot.
This is why some of the women I "prey" on are vulnerable. In my scope of women to flirt with, I include women I know I can get to love me because they are/were either abused, or are overweight, or are not super hot, or are older, and I know I can be unlike anyone they've ever met, and treat them like they've never dreamed, just being myself.
I am very different from most anyone you'll meet. I constantly say "Sure, why not?" and "So what?" rather than "No." I'm unendingly generous with money, affection, and romance when it comes to my women as well. As a result, I'm in some ways a dream date. I've taken women to Las Vegas for a spur-of-the-moment, extravagant weekend at their request; I am constantly bringing flowers; I never fail to open every door through which she will pass; I lavish compliments and affection; I write sappy love letters; I've taken women dancing in the rain with the car door open and stereo playing music so beautiful my heart feels like it's going to burst...
You know that crazy romantic planning stuff guys do when they are going to propose marriage, and they want to do something like have the waiter bring a special covered dish out, and under the dish instead of dessert, it's the ring, because the guy had it planned all along? Those guys got nothing on me. I'm constantly doing stuff like that, only I'm like James Bond, I'll go to astounding lengths to create this multi-layered illusion for the woman.
Hell, come to think of it, even when I was 22 I once produced wine glasses and chilled beverages when I knew a girl and I would end up parking near this pier at sunset. In fact, when I was 20, my girlfriend was in the shower with the shower curtain closed, and I peed in the toilet and then flushed. Of course, after you flush, the shower goes scalding hot for a moment, so before she could get burned I just grabbed her and snatched her out of there, shower curtain and all, ripping it off all its rings, literally sweeping her off her feet and into my arms. She thought it was romantic and chivalrous of me to not want her to get burned, but of course, the whole thing was staged.
It may sound like I'm bragging or being arrogant but I'm not. All of the above is a simple matter of fact. And I'm not bragging about it because in a way I'm ashamed of it. I take pride in being far better at romance than many, many people. But I feel horrible knowing I'm consciously doing it as a manipulation.
Still, I don't do it heartlessly. I do it out of love. Even if I don't love the woman romantically, I still feel so much compassion for her and love for her as a human being, and pity, that I want to make their dreams come true. I want them to see that they are a wonderful person. I want them to see that they are an attractive person. I want to improve their self-esteem. I want them to learn that there are guys who will treat them this way and that they shouldn't settle for being treated like crap.
You know those guys who put this whirlwind romance on a woman, and in a short time, convince her they are in love with her, put down payments on cars and houses with both their names on the lease, jewelry for her, etc., fly her to Vegas or S.F. or New York for the weekend, and then when his son happens to need $5,000 or $10,000, and the guy can't wire it to his boy because his own credit cards are all tied up because of some mix-up, the woman loans it to him? And then the guy, or should I say con artist, is gone? The jewelry and clothes he bought her is gone too, and so are the clothes bought for both of them, on her credit card. Anyway, that's me, only, I don't even take anything and I don't do it for the money. I want the love. For me and for them.
.
If I had to pick anyone to be stuck on a desert isle with, it would undoubtedly be a woman. I can actually be better friends with a woman than I can a man. Somehow I can just love them more.
It's love.
That's why I flirt with women so much, and that's why I do whatever I can to attract them to me. I want them to be near me, be best friends with me, pay attention to me, let me pay attention to them...
That's why I'm always so afraid to wear my wedding ring: the "good" ones won't want to talk to me, and they'll shut me out. That means that even a potential friend of mine, someone I could love deeply, could be turning her back on me just because she saw the ring. That would hurt me. I can't have that. So I don't wear it a lot.
This is why some of the women I "prey" on are vulnerable. In my scope of women to flirt with, I include women I know I can get to love me because they are/were either abused, or are overweight, or are not super hot, or are older, and I know I can be unlike anyone they've ever met, and treat them like they've never dreamed, just being myself.
I am very different from most anyone you'll meet. I constantly say "Sure, why not?" and "So what?" rather than "No." I'm unendingly generous with money, affection, and romance when it comes to my women as well. As a result, I'm in some ways a dream date. I've taken women to Las Vegas for a spur-of-the-moment, extravagant weekend at their request; I am constantly bringing flowers; I never fail to open every door through which she will pass; I lavish compliments and affection; I write sappy love letters; I've taken women dancing in the rain with the car door open and stereo playing music so beautiful my heart feels like it's going to burst...
You know that crazy romantic planning stuff guys do when they are going to propose marriage, and they want to do something like have the waiter bring a special covered dish out, and under the dish instead of dessert, it's the ring, because the guy had it planned all along? Those guys got nothing on me. I'm constantly doing stuff like that, only I'm like James Bond, I'll go to astounding lengths to create this multi-layered illusion for the woman.
Hell, come to think of it, even when I was 22 I once produced wine glasses and chilled beverages when I knew a girl and I would end up parking near this pier at sunset. In fact, when I was 20, my girlfriend was in the shower with the shower curtain closed, and I peed in the toilet and then flushed. Of course, after you flush, the shower goes scalding hot for a moment, so before she could get burned I just grabbed her and snatched her out of there, shower curtain and all, ripping it off all its rings, literally sweeping her off her feet and into my arms. She thought it was romantic and chivalrous of me to not want her to get burned, but of course, the whole thing was staged.
It may sound like I'm bragging or being arrogant but I'm not. All of the above is a simple matter of fact. And I'm not bragging about it because in a way I'm ashamed of it. I take pride in being far better at romance than many, many people. But I feel horrible knowing I'm consciously doing it as a manipulation.
Still, I don't do it heartlessly. I do it out of love. Even if I don't love the woman romantically, I still feel so much compassion for her and love for her as a human being, and pity, that I want to make their dreams come true. I want them to see that they are a wonderful person. I want them to see that they are an attractive person. I want to improve their self-esteem. I want them to learn that there are guys who will treat them this way and that they shouldn't settle for being treated like crap.
You know those guys who put this whirlwind romance on a woman, and in a short time, convince her they are in love with her, put down payments on cars and houses with both their names on the lease, jewelry for her, etc., fly her to Vegas or S.F. or New York for the weekend, and then when his son happens to need $5,000 or $10,000, and the guy can't wire it to his boy because his own credit cards are all tied up because of some mix-up, the woman loans it to him? And then the guy, or should I say con artist, is gone? The jewelry and clothes he bought her is gone too, and so are the clothes bought for both of them, on her credit card. Anyway, that's me, only, I don't even take anything and I don't do it for the money. I want the love. For me and for them.
.
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Tax
I have a really customized camcorder. I can't stand that "everything is in focus," hyperrealistic look that just screams "low buck," so I found a way to adapt lenses from film cameras onto it. It took a lot of parts, a lot of work, and a lot of fine tuning, but now that it is done it shoots footage that looks like it was shot on a high end moving film camera. For example, you can have a shot where a person's face is in focus but the background is very blurry, and whatever is closer to the lens than the person is, is out of focus. You see this a lot in movies and commercials.
The camcorder looks crazy, with this giant telephoto-lookin' lens sticking way out front.
I have a lot of fun with it. I film my daughter, the family, and anything interesting outside. I film inside businesses, on walks, driving around, whatever. To me it's worthwhile because the images are so much nicer than with a regular camcorder.
I also downloaded (illegally) vast amounts of software for movie editing, visual effects, image tuning, audio editing, and DVD menu creation.
This project has somewhat replaced porn for me.
Two of my friends have already said "This isn't a career move, though, right?" What the fuck is that supposed to mean? It's not like I made some bad home movies and want to be the next Scorsese. Hell, I haven't even showed these guys what I'd shot and edited so far. And why the fuck are friends being unsupportive?
My wife came home from shopping and driving around with her mother all day today, and started bitching right away. Then she turned it into one of my pet peeves: she asked me for help, and refused to tell me what for.
"Can you help me?"
"With what?"
"The baby has gotten food all over herself, all over me,"
"What do you want help with?"
"in my hair, on my clothes,"
"What do you want me to do??"
"on the floor, on HER clothes,"
"JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT ME TO HELP WITH!"
"Nevemind." (sigh)
Christ. Like I'm the asshole.
Anyway she handles our taxes and of course waited until the last minute to file. So, she told me to drive to the post office, as she says it should be open to midnight. When I get there, at 7:30 PM, it's closed. I return, and tell her I'll have to drive into L.A. to the main post office there (an hour away). She has a huge fit over this, and tells me to find a closer one that's open. I tell her, none are open past 8:00 PM except the main big one. She tells me to go check and then come tell her which one I'm going to. Me: I'm going to the fucking L.A. one and that's final!
At this point she says to just forget about filing taxes; send them in late. Now, mind you, I owe several thousand dollars this year. So, when I confront her about why on earth it would make sense to pay late, she says "Because I think this is just an excuse for you to stay out all night."
Whee, so much for new beginnings. I tell her, No, it's not, we need to file. Come WITH me if you want! Or YOU go drive there! Christ!! I actually DID want to stay home, or at least I had wanted to until she came home and started griping.
She tells me, "You better come straight home. Don't you dare come home late." Who the fuck are you to be giving me orders? Now I HAVE to stay out late, or I'll be obeying her. Christ almighty. What a fucking bitch. How about a simple "Please"? A "Will you please come straight home?" That's all that would have been necessary in the first place. And I don't even WANT to be out all night; I want to be home editing this footage I shot.
I got to the post office at 9 PM or so. While I was there, I saw a perfect opportunity to shoot footage. It was a madhouse. Cops everywhere, line of cars around the block, postal workers at the sidewalk with giant bins, collecting tax returns from people driving by.
I parked in the middle of street behind a parking enforcement cop car. This old guy was the parking enforcement cop so I knew I had a long time before he even noticed I was right in the middle of the street.
I grabbed my camcorder, put my camera bag full of lenses on my shoulder, and I hung this 7" LCD monitor I just bought, around my neck, sort of tilted up at my face so I could look down and see what my camera was seeing.
I shot some footage of cars, people dumping their tax returns into bins, cops, and some of the news vans from CBS, NBC, ABC, Fox, etc.; the ones with the microwave dish on top of a giant extendable pole sticking up sky high. This chick was in one of them, pretty cute, tan, dark eyes, slim face, with bleached hair. She looked maybe 35. She popped out and came over to me and asked me what my setup was, and who I worked for. I explained I was just filming stuff for fun. She asked what my camera was, and I explained, and demonstrated, on the little monitor. She was totally impressed. She invited me into the van and showed me her editing rig and all the equipment. She was still amazed at my camera. "A lens from Russia? You are amazing!" I felt like Han Solo. You know; the part where he says about The Millenium Falcon, "She may not look like much, kid, but she's got it where it counts. I've made a lot of special modifications myself..."
We shot the breeze for a couple hours at least. She thought I was 37-38. I'm 35, what the fuck?! I told her she was younger than I was, for sure. I knew she wasn't, but I also know the way into a woman's heart. You see, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. The way into a woman's panties is through her heart. And I wasn't wearing my wedding ring. I would have been, but I think I lost it the other day, and that is a story for another time.
Anyway she is 47. Amazing. She was very good looking, and did not look 47. Even her bod was in quite good shape. I did notice a couple of signs of old-ladydom: the skin pulled a bit tightly around the cranium, the pronounced eye sockets, the thin, sharp lips.
She was pretty interesting and has won some awards for her work, including an Emmy. I got her email address and her business card. I am sure I can make her fall for me after some dates but I pray nothing gets started.
When I was driving away I was halfway wondering why I'm so afraid to tell girls I'm married. I don't want them to not pay attention to me, and I think if it weren't for desperation on their part, I'd never get to talk to them.
The camcorder looks crazy, with this giant telephoto-lookin' lens sticking way out front.
I have a lot of fun with it. I film my daughter, the family, and anything interesting outside. I film inside businesses, on walks, driving around, whatever. To me it's worthwhile because the images are so much nicer than with a regular camcorder.
I also downloaded (illegally) vast amounts of software for movie editing, visual effects, image tuning, audio editing, and DVD menu creation.
This project has somewhat replaced porn for me.
Two of my friends have already said "This isn't a career move, though, right?" What the fuck is that supposed to mean? It's not like I made some bad home movies and want to be the next Scorsese. Hell, I haven't even showed these guys what I'd shot and edited so far. And why the fuck are friends being unsupportive?
~
My wife came home from shopping and driving around with her mother all day today, and started bitching right away. Then she turned it into one of my pet peeves: she asked me for help, and refused to tell me what for.
"Can you help me?"
"With what?"
"The baby has gotten food all over herself, all over me,"
"What do you want help with?"
"in my hair, on my clothes,"
"What do you want me to do??"
"on the floor, on HER clothes,"
"JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT ME TO HELP WITH!"
"Nevemind." (sigh)
Christ. Like I'm the asshole.
Anyway she handles our taxes and of course waited until the last minute to file. So, she told me to drive to the post office, as she says it should be open to midnight. When I get there, at 7:30 PM, it's closed. I return, and tell her I'll have to drive into L.A. to the main post office there (an hour away). She has a huge fit over this, and tells me to find a closer one that's open. I tell her, none are open past 8:00 PM except the main big one. She tells me to go check and then come tell her which one I'm going to. Me: I'm going to the fucking L.A. one and that's final!
At this point she says to just forget about filing taxes; send them in late. Now, mind you, I owe several thousand dollars this year. So, when I confront her about why on earth it would make sense to pay late, she says "Because I think this is just an excuse for you to stay out all night."
Whee, so much for new beginnings. I tell her, No, it's not, we need to file. Come WITH me if you want! Or YOU go drive there! Christ!! I actually DID want to stay home, or at least I had wanted to until she came home and started griping.
She tells me, "You better come straight home. Don't you dare come home late." Who the fuck are you to be giving me orders? Now I HAVE to stay out late, or I'll be obeying her. Christ almighty. What a fucking bitch. How about a simple "Please"? A "Will you please come straight home?" That's all that would have been necessary in the first place. And I don't even WANT to be out all night; I want to be home editing this footage I shot.
~
I got to the post office at 9 PM or so. While I was there, I saw a perfect opportunity to shoot footage. It was a madhouse. Cops everywhere, line of cars around the block, postal workers at the sidewalk with giant bins, collecting tax returns from people driving by.
I parked in the middle of street behind a parking enforcement cop car. This old guy was the parking enforcement cop so I knew I had a long time before he even noticed I was right in the middle of the street.
I grabbed my camcorder, put my camera bag full of lenses on my shoulder, and I hung this 7" LCD monitor I just bought, around my neck, sort of tilted up at my face so I could look down and see what my camera was seeing.
I shot some footage of cars, people dumping their tax returns into bins, cops, and some of the news vans from CBS, NBC, ABC, Fox, etc.; the ones with the microwave dish on top of a giant extendable pole sticking up sky high. This chick was in one of them, pretty cute, tan, dark eyes, slim face, with bleached hair. She looked maybe 35. She popped out and came over to me and asked me what my setup was, and who I worked for. I explained I was just filming stuff for fun. She asked what my camera was, and I explained, and demonstrated, on the little monitor. She was totally impressed. She invited me into the van and showed me her editing rig and all the equipment. She was still amazed at my camera. "A lens from Russia? You are amazing!" I felt like Han Solo. You know; the part where he says about The Millenium Falcon, "She may not look like much, kid, but she's got it where it counts. I've made a lot of special modifications myself..."
We shot the breeze for a couple hours at least. She thought I was 37-38. I'm 35, what the fuck?! I told her she was younger than I was, for sure. I knew she wasn't, but I also know the way into a woman's heart. You see, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. The way into a woman's panties is through her heart. And I wasn't wearing my wedding ring. I would have been, but I think I lost it the other day, and that is a story for another time.
Anyway she is 47. Amazing. She was very good looking, and did not look 47. Even her bod was in quite good shape. I did notice a couple of signs of old-ladydom: the skin pulled a bit tightly around the cranium, the pronounced eye sockets, the thin, sharp lips.
She was pretty interesting and has won some awards for her work, including an Emmy. I got her email address and her business card. I am sure I can make her fall for me after some dates but I pray nothing gets started.
When I was driving away I was halfway wondering why I'm so afraid to tell girls I'm married. I don't want them to not pay attention to me, and I think if it weren't for desperation on their part, I'd never get to talk to them.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Changes
Well, I haven't written for four or five days now. I've kind of wanted to, but I've just been busy, and, I haven't known where to start.
I kind of keep throwing myself into the fire. I get semi-clear of my mistress and then I kindle things up more than they've been in months. I start talking to the Domme often enough that the topic of coming down and hanging out or making out, comes up. Hard to avoid it, and if I do, she'll sense it.
Things are better with the wife in a big way. We actually get along all day every day now.
My sex drive is like totally MIA, too. I don't even rub one out in the shower any more like I used to my entire life, let alone two. I barely have the interest to surf for internet porn, but every now and then I get caught up in it. It's weird; as I said before, my motivation isn't even so much to have it or view it, it's to make sure I never want it but don't have it. In other words, half my motivation for downloading so much porn is to have it, "Just in case."
I broached the subject of getting some A.D.D. medication, to my wife. I'm going to go for it. Hell, we have full coverage insurance so it will be totally free. I'm also going to see about getting some anti-depressants. I'm scared they will really fuck me up, though. The human body is not simple enough that you can just take a happy pill. There are all sorts of complicated side effects to any drug like that, plus, your body and brain are always trying to regulate themselves back to zero. Your body gets used to things, so to speak, which is why, for example, heavy cocaine users sort of burn out the pleasure center in their brain. The serotonin uptake inhibiters get screwed up and adjust back to zero. Problem is, if you get off the drugs, you get depressed. If you stay on the drugs you feel nothing. That's what scares me about the anti-depressants.
I'm also scared the A.D.D. drugs will make me into a successful person. If they do I'm worried I'll be so pissed at myself for not taking them sooner, and for squandering the past couple decades of my life. But I'm also worried that if I don't take them, yeah I won't be bitter but I also won't be a success. And I'm a little worried that they might not work at all and I'm really just a big loser.
I guess a big thing on my mind is, I'm scared to let my mistress go. I'm jealous, so I don't want anyone else to have her, and I'm a softie, so I don't want to hurt her.
I kind of keep throwing myself into the fire. I get semi-clear of my mistress and then I kindle things up more than they've been in months. I start talking to the Domme often enough that the topic of coming down and hanging out or making out, comes up. Hard to avoid it, and if I do, she'll sense it.
Things are better with the wife in a big way. We actually get along all day every day now.
My sex drive is like totally MIA, too. I don't even rub one out in the shower any more like I used to my entire life, let alone two. I barely have the interest to surf for internet porn, but every now and then I get caught up in it. It's weird; as I said before, my motivation isn't even so much to have it or view it, it's to make sure I never want it but don't have it. In other words, half my motivation for downloading so much porn is to have it, "Just in case."
I broached the subject of getting some A.D.D. medication, to my wife. I'm going to go for it. Hell, we have full coverage insurance so it will be totally free. I'm also going to see about getting some anti-depressants. I'm scared they will really fuck me up, though. The human body is not simple enough that you can just take a happy pill. There are all sorts of complicated side effects to any drug like that, plus, your body and brain are always trying to regulate themselves back to zero. Your body gets used to things, so to speak, which is why, for example, heavy cocaine users sort of burn out the pleasure center in their brain. The serotonin uptake inhibiters get screwed up and adjust back to zero. Problem is, if you get off the drugs, you get depressed. If you stay on the drugs you feel nothing. That's what scares me about the anti-depressants.
I'm also scared the A.D.D. drugs will make me into a successful person. If they do I'm worried I'll be so pissed at myself for not taking them sooner, and for squandering the past couple decades of my life. But I'm also worried that if I don't take them, yeah I won't be bitter but I also won't be a success. And I'm a little worried that they might not work at all and I'm really just a big loser.
I guess a big thing on my mind is, I'm scared to let my mistress go. I'm jealous, so I don't want anyone else to have her, and I'm a softie, so I don't want to hurt her.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Part VIII of the Domme - Salvation
I don't have much time to write because the wife is upstairs. She'll go to sleep soon probably though.
I saw the Domme, and we really broke new ground in our friendship. She opened up in ways she hasn't to other guys, and I actually have learned a lot from her. I am not seeing her as a Domme and she is not seeing me as a sub or a boyfriend. Just friends.
Granted she is not without flaws and major eccentricities. But then, neither am I.
I also reunited with my mistress, who I basically shut out for a month with no explanation. Turned off cell phone, didn't check my messages, etc. I felt really bad about it. At first she said it was no longer the same between us and so on. But, come on. This is me we're talking about. I apologized and did my whole thing, and as I was driving her back to her car, she asked me to go to a motel with her. cha-CHING!! *Done*.
Now she has a cell phone and we're talking more than ever. Christ, what have I done? How the fuck am I supposed to be able to call her or take her calls when I'm home with the wife so much? Man what a hassle and big amount of work this is going to be. Sooner or later it has to end. I really fucked it up.
I also left my favorite hat in the hotel. The same hotel I left my belt in. Son Of A Fucking Bitch.
You know what, though? I'm happier than I have been in a long time. I'm not collecting porn that much any more, the past oh three days. I'll grab like, a gig a day, maybe 500-1000 files. Then again I've been busy. I guess it's only three days, too. Ha ha. I guess that shows me how I'm not that far from the compulsion after all.
Anyway I also believe I saved my marriage yesterday morning and that has me happier than anything. My wife and I finally talked about a bunch of stuff I have never aired over the entire 11 or 12 years we've been together. Not everything, certainly not about porn or dating and/or fucking other girls. But, it was a good conversation. I either had to open up and talk to her right then or we were going to get divorced. And I mean that literally.
But Jesus, now I'm back with my mistress and things are getting more intense with the Domme. I pray these two dalliances don't kill my marriage now that we finally got things back on track.
Anyway, will write more later.
I saw the Domme, and we really broke new ground in our friendship. She opened up in ways she hasn't to other guys, and I actually have learned a lot from her. I am not seeing her as a Domme and she is not seeing me as a sub or a boyfriend. Just friends.
Granted she is not without flaws and major eccentricities. But then, neither am I.
I also reunited with my mistress, who I basically shut out for a month with no explanation. Turned off cell phone, didn't check my messages, etc. I felt really bad about it. At first she said it was no longer the same between us and so on. But, come on. This is me we're talking about. I apologized and did my whole thing, and as I was driving her back to her car, she asked me to go to a motel with her. cha-CHING!! *Done*.
Now she has a cell phone and we're talking more than ever. Christ, what have I done? How the fuck am I supposed to be able to call her or take her calls when I'm home with the wife so much? Man what a hassle and big amount of work this is going to be. Sooner or later it has to end. I really fucked it up.
I also left my favorite hat in the hotel. The same hotel I left my belt in. Son Of A Fucking Bitch.
You know what, though? I'm happier than I have been in a long time. I'm not collecting porn that much any more, the past oh three days. I'll grab like, a gig a day, maybe 500-1000 files. Then again I've been busy. I guess it's only three days, too. Ha ha. I guess that shows me how I'm not that far from the compulsion after all.
Anyway I also believe I saved my marriage yesterday morning and that has me happier than anything. My wife and I finally talked about a bunch of stuff I have never aired over the entire 11 or 12 years we've been together. Not everything, certainly not about porn or dating and/or fucking other girls. But, it was a good conversation. I either had to open up and talk to her right then or we were going to get divorced. And I mean that literally.
But Jesus, now I'm back with my mistress and things are getting more intense with the Domme. I pray these two dalliances don't kill my marriage now that we finally got things back on track.
Anyway, will write more later.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Part VII of The Domme
Anyway, on that first time I hung out with the Domme, it was really a strange night for a variety of reasons. Online she is very beautiful and seems to be secure, proud, in control and in demand, taking no shit from anyone. In person I was able to see her for who she really is: a kind of a sad, quirky creature. When I'd be speaking to her she'd make quirky facial movements, almost like she was vamping. Eyes widening and narrowing, eyebrows moving up and down, lips pursing in a mou, lifting one shoulder... It was quite strange.
She gave me her address and number - I already had them both - but told me to meet her at a local bar, a block and a half from her house. I'm going to quote a part of one of my earlier entries about her:
Since I was late (see that earlier entry for details), she was just leaving the bar and I caught up with her on the sidewalk. Galumphing along on her giant monster shoes she was a tall, big girl, the kind that black guys are attracted to. Not fat, just, a scaled-up version of a small woman.
She was heading home and I asked whether her slave, who she said was a professor at a big college I won't name, would still be there. She said no, he'd be gone, so it was ok if we went to her house.
When we arrived, ironically it was the exact clifftop street at the beach where I had parked nine years earlier and dreamily made out with an earlier mistress, a beautiful half white, half Japanese girl with small breasts and a really big, shapely, round ass. Who I fell in love with, then fell out quickly, and whose heart I broke.
Inside her apartment was the smell of cleaning fluids and a handwritten note hanging from a nail above her bedroom door:
We went outside to look and sure enough, the parking lights were on. She explained that someone else had used it.
The 10 or 12 black candles in her low chandelier were crooked, and she asked me to straighten them since they were out of her reach, saying she'd have to punish her slave for that. I tried to figure out whether she had left the note, she had left the car lights on, and had installed the candles crooked since she wasn't tall enough to reach properly. I even mentioned it to her, my paranoia and disbelief. She thought no-one would go to all that length to fake having something. I thought she was wrong. I bet scam artists do it all the time. She thought it would be weird to go to all that trouble. I thought it would be weird to have a slave come clean your house.
We talked on the couch, or I did most of the talking, this time. In the middle of it she climbed on me and rubbed her body on me, and told me to keep talking.
Eventually we ended up in bed, just hugging and nuzzling, not kissing. I had meant to leave earlier but ended up leaving at something like 4:30 a.m. I knew that if I drove 80 mph the entire way home without incident, I might just barely beat my father-in-law to my house. He was going to come over to pick up a tool I had borrowed.
If I didn't come over he'd know I wasn't there; he would never think I somehow got up early and left the house before he got there.
If I were really late, the wife might beat me home and I'd have to do some seriously skillful maneuvering to get out of that one.
I raced home for two hours, terrified out of my wits. Even the car's exhaust system ticking away for a half hour - an eternity - would be a dead giveaway that I had been out.
.
She gave me her address and number - I already had them both - but told me to meet her at a local bar, a block and a half from her house. I'm going to quote a part of one of my earlier entries about her:
She was going to meet me at a bar instead of her house, even though she already gave me her address and phone number- which I already had because I had done a bunch of research on her on the internet. She said she had a slave, an older man, coming to clean her house, and that she hated to be around for the cleaning process. I was thinking, Big Lie, her house is messy and she's covering for it and sort of showing off how powerful she is and how much she has going on.
Since I was late (see that earlier entry for details), she was just leaving the bar and I caught up with her on the sidewalk. Galumphing along on her giant monster shoes she was a tall, big girl, the kind that black guys are attracted to. Not fat, just, a scaled-up version of a small woman.
She was heading home and I asked whether her slave, who she said was a professor at a big college I won't name, would still be there. She said no, he'd be gone, so it was ok if we went to her house.
When we arrived, ironically it was the exact clifftop street at the beach where I had parked nine years earlier and dreamily made out with an earlier mistress, a beautiful half white, half Japanese girl with small breasts and a really big, shapely, round ass. Who I fell in love with, then fell out quickly, and whose heart I broke.
Inside her apartment was the smell of cleaning fluids and a handwritten note hanging from a nail above her bedroom door:
NOTE MISTRESS
YOUR LIGHTS ARE ON
IN YOUR CAR
YOUR LIGHTS ARE ON
IN YOUR CAR
We went outside to look and sure enough, the parking lights were on. She explained that someone else had used it.
The 10 or 12 black candles in her low chandelier were crooked, and she asked me to straighten them since they were out of her reach, saying she'd have to punish her slave for that. I tried to figure out whether she had left the note, she had left the car lights on, and had installed the candles crooked since she wasn't tall enough to reach properly. I even mentioned it to her, my paranoia and disbelief. She thought no-one would go to all that length to fake having something. I thought she was wrong. I bet scam artists do it all the time. She thought it would be weird to go to all that trouble. I thought it would be weird to have a slave come clean your house.
We talked on the couch, or I did most of the talking, this time. In the middle of it she climbed on me and rubbed her body on me, and told me to keep talking.
Eventually we ended up in bed, just hugging and nuzzling, not kissing. I had meant to leave earlier but ended up leaving at something like 4:30 a.m. I knew that if I drove 80 mph the entire way home without incident, I might just barely beat my father-in-law to my house. He was going to come over to pick up a tool I had borrowed.
If I didn't come over he'd know I wasn't there; he would never think I somehow got up early and left the house before he got there.
If I were really late, the wife might beat me home and I'd have to do some seriously skillful maneuvering to get out of that one.
I raced home for two hours, terrified out of my wits. Even the car's exhaust system ticking away for a half hour - an eternity - would be a dead giveaway that I had been out.
.
Part VI of The Domme
It's had to write on here. When I do have the inspiration, my wife is around, being dour and annoying. By the time it's late, I'm tired and chances are I'm distracted. So, almost every time I write something long, I have to force myself.
Most of the time when it comes to my wife I am terrified. When I went to see the Domme the other night, I had to delete all my cell phone messages in case my wife called my voice mail. My mistress has my real cell phone number and knows not to call. However I let my Harry Tasker cell phone lapse as I have avoided my mistress for one or two months; I can't tell - time has sort of all run together lately, and has run by me. So, I had to listen to and delete twenty messages chronicling the time in which I've neglected her and denied her the opportunity to contact me. Since there were so many messages, I worried that while I was with the Domme, my mistress would leave another message and my wife might hear it. Or that my wife would get let off work early that night, and come home to find me gone. Or that I would be in a car accident, even a fender-bender, and an insurance or police report would show that I was two hours away in a scenic seaside town at 1 a.m. Or that my date, the Domme, would leave a hair on the seat, or a hickey on my neck.
Today for example I had stayed up til 6 a.m., and when I woke up at noon the wife wasn't back yet. I was worried she had found some evidence of my mistress or the Domme or some other girl or my blog or my porn stash, and had left me.
After that, I hung out with a friend of mine whose wife I would totally nail because she has a very pretty face and huge, truly disproportionate tits, and when I couldn't reach my wife at 5 p.m. on her cell or at her parents' house, I started to worry she had left.
When I did get a hold of her, she was grouchy as hell and I knew I had to come back and let her be sour and make me miserable. When I got home, however, the driveway was empty. Had she found something and left right then? Had my mistress left a message for me in the day and my wife had heard it? Had I left Messenger on and one of my girlfriends had started a conversation?
Jesus.
Most of the time when it comes to my wife I am terrified. When I went to see the Domme the other night, I had to delete all my cell phone messages in case my wife called my voice mail. My mistress has my real cell phone number and knows not to call. However I let my Harry Tasker cell phone lapse as I have avoided my mistress for one or two months; I can't tell - time has sort of all run together lately, and has run by me. So, I had to listen to and delete twenty messages chronicling the time in which I've neglected her and denied her the opportunity to contact me. Since there were so many messages, I worried that while I was with the Domme, my mistress would leave another message and my wife might hear it. Or that my wife would get let off work early that night, and come home to find me gone. Or that I would be in a car accident, even a fender-bender, and an insurance or police report would show that I was two hours away in a scenic seaside town at 1 a.m. Or that my date, the Domme, would leave a hair on the seat, or a hickey on my neck.
Today for example I had stayed up til 6 a.m., and when I woke up at noon the wife wasn't back yet. I was worried she had found some evidence of my mistress or the Domme or some other girl or my blog or my porn stash, and had left me.
After that, I hung out with a friend of mine whose wife I would totally nail because she has a very pretty face and huge, truly disproportionate tits, and when I couldn't reach my wife at 5 p.m. on her cell or at her parents' house, I started to worry she had left.
When I did get a hold of her, she was grouchy as hell and I knew I had to come back and let her be sour and make me miserable. When I got home, however, the driveway was empty. Had she found something and left right then? Had my mistress left a message for me in the day and my wife had heard it? Had I left Messenger on and one of my girlfriends had started a conversation?
Jesus.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Example: Moron
This genius is trying to sell his camera lens on eBay. Here's part of his ad:
"Lens comes with case and lens cap. There is a 3/8ths inch scratch on side of lens. See photo, it is in the 2 o'clock position. I do not know how this would affect the image. Bidders outside the USA to pay by Western Union or Bibpay only. BID LIKE YOU WANT IT."
That's like a personals ad saying
"i'm fat, balding, short, unemployed, and I still live with parents. HOLLER AT ME LIKE YOU WANT ME."
Notice how he uses ALL CAPS for that part where he orders you to bid on his ruined lens.
BID LIKE YOU WANT IT DAMMIT
START BIDDING AND JUST GO CRAZY AND OVERPAY, LIKE U REALLY WANT THIS PIECE OF SHIT LENS
I USED ALL CAPS TO REALLY KICK YOUR ASS INTO DOING IT
This person actually must want to come across as being difficult to do business with. He says to pay by check, and then continues, "No other payment is available NOT EVEN PAY PAL"
"Even." He's admitting that Paypal is both common and easy and that it's outlandish for him to not accept it.
I swear to god, chances are this guy is a complete waste of space.
"Lens comes with case and lens cap. There is a 3/8ths inch scratch on side of lens. See photo, it is in the 2 o'clock position. I do not know how this would affect the image. Bidders outside the USA to pay by Western Union or Bibpay only. BID LIKE YOU WANT IT."
That's like a personals ad saying
"i'm fat, balding, short, unemployed, and I still live with parents. HOLLER AT ME LIKE YOU WANT ME."
Notice how he uses ALL CAPS for that part where he orders you to bid on his ruined lens.
BID LIKE YOU WANT IT DAMMIT
START BIDDING AND JUST GO CRAZY AND OVERPAY, LIKE U REALLY WANT THIS PIECE OF SHIT LENS
I USED ALL CAPS TO REALLY KICK YOUR ASS INTO DOING IT
This person actually must want to come across as being difficult to do business with. He says to pay by check, and then continues, "No other payment is available NOT EVEN PAY PAL"
"Even." He's admitting that Paypal is both common and easy and that it's outlandish for him to not accept it.
I swear to god, chances are this guy is a complete waste of space.
Nobody Gets Out Of Here Alive
So, I haven't even really caught up on telling about the Domme, let alone about meeting her. I always do that. I guess it's my natural tendency not to finish things. And to avoid things that are uncomfortable. I guess I'm just lazy.
I've gotten over it before on a case-by-case basis. I've made myself, or been made, to do stuff that was like practically pulling nails trying to get myself to do, and it worked out so much better in the end. Weight off my back, got the job done, even more problems avoided, etc. But man, getting to that point was like, in the cartoons where somebody's pulling on a cat or a rabbit that's hanging on by his fingernails and the entire body is stretching, but no matter what, those white three-fingered hands are not letting go of that windowsill.
It's kind of weird because theoretically I seem like a total wimp about how I can't even listen to my own answering machine or voicemail, or open my mail, answer the phone, etc.... yet when it comes down to it, if it's something terrifying like life or death, or self-examination, or facing the truth, I can stand up to it better than any of these "tough guys." I have seen it so many times, those same guys who bully me, reduced to a quivering, trembling, crumpled mass, in sharp contrast to their cruel goatee and shaved head and earring(s) and tough guy clothes and barbed wire armband tattoo. I'm the person who becomes calm during a high speed, sliding, rolling, out of control, impending car crash. Or that time me and some guys were camping and got attacked by an eagle. I don't scream, I don't panic, I become very logical. My brain suddenly has reason to forget about alllll those other thoughts that are constantly crowding their way into the forefront of my mental workspace. No, at that moment, it's clear I need to think about whatever I can do right now to minimize things. I guess it's just more evidence that I need medication, that whole deal about how if you stimulate people like me with A.D.D., it calms them down, instead of making them hyper.
I'm not scared in situations like that. If I die, I die. Either way, it is what it is. I'm only scared in situations where it might hurt. I know I'll die someday. I'm not afraid of it. Nobody gets out of here alive. I just hope the end is less painful than my life.
.
I've gotten over it before on a case-by-case basis. I've made myself, or been made, to do stuff that was like practically pulling nails trying to get myself to do, and it worked out so much better in the end. Weight off my back, got the job done, even more problems avoided, etc. But man, getting to that point was like, in the cartoons where somebody's pulling on a cat or a rabbit that's hanging on by his fingernails and the entire body is stretching, but no matter what, those white three-fingered hands are not letting go of that windowsill.
It's kind of weird because theoretically I seem like a total wimp about how I can't even listen to my own answering machine or voicemail, or open my mail, answer the phone, etc.... yet when it comes down to it, if it's something terrifying like life or death, or self-examination, or facing the truth, I can stand up to it better than any of these "tough guys." I have seen it so many times, those same guys who bully me, reduced to a quivering, trembling, crumpled mass, in sharp contrast to their cruel goatee and shaved head and earring(s) and tough guy clothes and barbed wire armband tattoo. I'm the person who becomes calm during a high speed, sliding, rolling, out of control, impending car crash. Or that time me and some guys were camping and got attacked by an eagle. I don't scream, I don't panic, I become very logical. My brain suddenly has reason to forget about alllll those other thoughts that are constantly crowding their way into the forefront of my mental workspace. No, at that moment, it's clear I need to think about whatever I can do right now to minimize things. I guess it's just more evidence that I need medication, that whole deal about how if you stimulate people like me with A.D.D., it calms them down, instead of making them hyper.
I'm not scared in situations like that. If I die, I die. Either way, it is what it is. I'm only scared in situations where it might hurt. I know I'll die someday. I'm not afraid of it. Nobody gets out of here alive. I just hope the end is less painful than my life.
.
Banality
There's nothing more depressing than the backgrounds in most sex personals photos.
I see that sub-average looking girl with her stringy hair, crowsfeet, cheap jewelry, and smallish cock in her mouth, and, nevermind the washed-out highs and excessively dark shadows of the picture. No, it takes more than bad photography to really crush the spirit. It's when I see that grey-blue or off-white painted cinderblock wall in the background, or the barren walls, or the clutter on that ubiquitous beige carpet, that my soul just caves in on itself and contracts like a shriveled piece of rotten fruit.
I see these poor wretches and I think, "Isn't there something I could do to help?"
.
I see that sub-average looking girl with her stringy hair, crowsfeet, cheap jewelry, and smallish cock in her mouth, and, nevermind the washed-out highs and excessively dark shadows of the picture. No, it takes more than bad photography to really crush the spirit. It's when I see that grey-blue or off-white painted cinderblock wall in the background, or the barren walls, or the clutter on that ubiquitous beige carpet, that my soul just caves in on itself and contracts like a shriveled piece of rotten fruit.
~
I see these poor wretches and I think, "Isn't there something I could do to help?"
.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Another Bad Haircut
I really can't stand low class people. I'm very laid back, I mean, it's hard to find people more nonjudgemental than I, but when it comes to rude, unsophisticated, selfish, inconsiderate people, I'm like a prim and proper upper-class Brit. And I do mean inconsiderate. People who don't consider.
I went to get a haircut yesterday at this new place, this really hole in the wall place with no sign. I get in the door like 5 minutes late and she goes, real rudely, "What, did you have a lot of trouble finding us or something?" I'm like, "What, did you not want a tip or my return business, or something?"
Anyway, as usual she cut my hair how she wanted to, not based on, oh, I dont know, WHAT I SAID?
The dead giveaway was when she said right off the bat before she started cutting, "Do you use gel?"
"No."
"You don't use gel?"
"No, but I use product sometimes... that paste stuff."
"But you don't use gel."
Sure enough, when she was done cutting, she goes "So do you use gel?"
Translation, "I'm going to put gel in your hair now."
.
I went to get a haircut yesterday at this new place, this really hole in the wall place with no sign. I get in the door like 5 minutes late and she goes, real rudely, "What, did you have a lot of trouble finding us or something?" I'm like, "What, did you not want a tip or my return business, or something?"
Anyway, as usual she cut my hair how she wanted to, not based on, oh, I dont know, WHAT I SAID?
The dead giveaway was when she said right off the bat before she started cutting, "Do you use gel?"
"No."
"You don't use gel?"
"No, but I use product sometimes... that paste stuff."
"But you don't use gel."
Sure enough, when she was done cutting, she goes "So do you use gel?"
Translation, "I'm going to put gel in your hair now."
.
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