Holy great sizzling Jesus, am I horny.
Yup, it’s going to be one of THOSE entries.
Spin on if you like.
But this blog is for expression of my feelings of the moment and right now I am so horny I could pole vault.
And I guess I really am a bottom at heart (who hearts your bottom too) because what I really want right now is a big hard cock to fuck my fat frustrate lonely ass and scratch that deep bitch itch that is driving me mad until I can’t even walk any more.
Because the truth is, masturbation ain’t enough. I need the kind of sex that involves other people. I want to suck a mile of dick. I want to get fucked so long and hard and well that that release of sexual tension alone will bring on puberty in local tweens. I want to eat so much ass I gain weight.
In the end I am just a greedy bottom bitch.
GIVE ME ALL OF THE EVERYTHING PLEASE.
Don’t get me wrong, I would love to have a hot tight ass to fuck too, and getting your ick sucked by someone who really knows what they are doing is always a good thing.
But I’m a bottom at heart. And at dick and mouth and butthole.
And the thing is, my sexuality has gone almost completely unexpressed for my entire life. And not just because some of it is not safe to express.
Don’t ask. You don’t wanna know.
No, the real issue is that severe anxiety kind of makes sex with others impossible.
I mean, I have trouble calling up doctor’s offices to make appointments. Approaching another human being in person to try to sex with them? Impossible.
And that’s a crying shame because I know I can be sexy as hell. I have charisma, charm, wit, and raw animal magnetism. I can read what people want and give them what they need. I can become whatever their perverted heart desires. The stuff of their dirtiest deepest dreams and desires.
i could seduce dudes who never thought they would fuck a fat dude at all, Because with powers like mine, I create my own reality and draw others into it.
Or at least, I could, if I wasn’t so god damned scared of everything.
This straightjacket of fear has really got to go. I deserve to be able to live a normal, healthy, vigorous life full of joy and esprit. There’s no good reason why I can’t go out into this world and find fun and adventure and romance and everything else that I want.
All that is between me and a much better life is this thoughtless and meaningless fear whose sole purpose is to protect me from having to deal with life at all.
And I am sick of it. Fuck safety. Bring it on, life,. I am ready to leave the shell.
Now I need to poke a hole through it with my pecker.
More after the break,.
From the desk of my penis
Just kidding. I am over that for now. Tried to masturbate, did not cum, but had enough fun to at least allow for some measure of calmness.
Now for the real headline :
The Eternal Implosion
AKA falling into myself forever.
When I retreated into myself to escape being raped when I was four years old, I started the trend that would become my primary defense mechanism and curse for life.
Whenever I can’t handle something (and I can’t handle much), I detach and flee deeper into myself to get away.
A turtle retreating into his shell makes a decent metaphor. Except that inside his shell is another shell, and inside that another, and so on unto infinity.
There is always another shell to retreat into. At no point is the turtle forced to hang in there and face his problems.
Escape is always close at hand, no matter what.
So that turtle is thousands of shells deep by now. Way past the point where he remembers what the real world is like. The shadows of his troubled past have chased him in so deep that he has no choice but to accept the shell realm as reality even though deep down he knows it isn’t.
It isn’t true reality. It’s just HIS reality.
Man can I run deep with a metaphor.
My point (I have a point? Cool!) is that I have never had to learn to stay and fight.
Not for myself, anyhow. For someone else, watch the fuck out.
And this propensity for escape has ruined my life and left me in the state I am in, broken in body and mind at the age of 48 with nothing to show for my time on Earth except for having played a LOT of video games.
And I am not happy about that. At all. Something has to change or I will end up dead before I turn 50 because I just plain gave up on life and let all my illnesses overtake me.
I mean, if this is all there is, what is the fucking point of going on? Why bother? What do I get out of carrying on this farce of a life all the way to its inevitable pitiful end?
Because make no mistake : the path ahead is dark as fuck. As I see it, I just get sicker and sicker and more and more miserable and incapacitated and I continue to waste my life playing video games all fucking day and eventually I die of things the whole world will see as entirely preventable and so I will have lived an entire lifetime without there being any purpose or point to my existence at all,.
I can’t live just making it through the day any more. I have to feel like there is some point to my life. That I am going somewhere. GETTING somewhere.
Otherwise I might as well just get off the goddamned bus while I still can.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.
(Don’t worry folks. I am not suicidal. Just venting. Love you!)