I can't fake this

I snuggle up to you, purring like a cat, and ask you to hold tight to my hair.
you stroke your hand over my head ,over and over, stroking and smoothing.... wind your fingers into my tresses and pull tight.... You make me whimper and promise, I have to twist and turn and writhe to keep close to your hand- it's hurts- you lead me by my scalp...

Down on the floor on my hands and knees, you kneel beside me and press the flat of your hand into the small of my back, 'Arch your back', I do as you ask, lifting my ass up, opening myself and revealing her to you fully. At the beginning the force of the smack against my cheeks is a surprise. Again and again you bring your hand against me, hard, the sound reverberates through me before the pain registers. I can't ignore it, it hurts to much to get used to. Eventually the tears come but I don't ask you to stop. My glasses fill with salt water, I can hardly see out. When your fingers slap against her I begin to shake and cry.

Standing over me you feed your stiffening cock between my lips, over my tongue and force it down into my throat. You gaze down at my upturned face as I choke on you, thrusting into me, holding my head you smile down at me and force it further in.

Am I tear stained? mascara streaked? Does it turn you on to hurt me?

It should shame me to kneel like this. But it is pure joy to submit to you.

reasons or excuses?

night one: too late, I'm already in bed 'sleeping'
night two: I'm drunk, and worn out from the big day
night three:It's late, the bed is really uncomfortable, I'm allergic to my room and keep coughing...
night four: The heating is broken, we're both wearing pajamas, sweaters, hats....

I'm thinking maybe
night five: my mother's sleeping right above us

senses

I have a theory about my senses. Stretching them. Flexing them. Using them to discern tiny sensations.
Like an exercises at bedtime I practise.
I hold this cup in my palm, it's warm curve nestles against me, even slight movements against it sound the high rustling tinkle of skin against glaze. I run my toes over the blanket, exploring the curves and folds, enjoying the slight prickle of wool, the friction arresting the slide of the soft pads of my feet, impeding their journey across the mattress. The cover of my book is cool and hard under my fingertips. Running my fingers over the surface I realise that that whilst it is so smooth it is also matte, and like microscopic velvet it gives me shivers.

I concentrate on gathering sensations and think of you. I know that when I have my moment with you, that is to say, when we next steal a moment together, though our time will be short (it could never be long enough) I will be practised in appreciating sensations. Each tiny brush of skin on skin, each breath that stirs the tiny hairs on my body, every inhalation will fill my consciousness, every touch will resonate my soul...

poorly

Been hiding out here at my mum's place feeling poorly.
Initially it was just sniffing, then throbbing brain, fever,
coughing, aching. The ludicrous amount of snot involved
is scary... There are massive piles of tissues.

(pause here to read my man's attempt to inflame my passions
with the judicious use of text....oh poor thing...
inviting love cavity? darling please, no...)

I've been eating in almost equal measures, ginger, lemon, vitamin c,
paracetamol, chili, codeine, garlic and porridge. I'm not entirely
certain that it's a plan I should patent, but I've stopped getting worse
and may been be getting better.

It's beginning to be quite isolating out here, makes me a bit sad how
few people contact me in the course of the week.

In the struggle to be a better mammal

...and to put my finger finger in a firmly up your A$$ position toward corporate conglomerate melonomas like Nestle and Masterfoods

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yes

I'm hanging on the sofa,
with the cats,
watching Dogma on TV,
eating ginger and dark chocolate ice cream.

things may yet be ok......

morning

Last night I didn't sleep til three something.
I woke at seven something.
My asthma's been really bad.
I'm just so tired I can't think. Can hardly function.
Now I've got builders in the basement and kitchen installing a staircase.
It's not quiet. or tidy come to that.

I'm trying to remember when I said that I had never been faithful.
All the time I suppose. Probably in a nonchalant way too.

I don't think it's true to say that I am actually incapable of monogamy.
I just have slip-ups with the same regularity as most people trip on a loose paving stone and make a fool of themselves pretending that they didn't.
Currently it seems to be limited to quarterly occurrences, inversely linked to my happiness.
I've known better than to let them inside me for some time, so it's normally a very unsatisfying fumble. A hungover morning (regardless in fact of the involvement, if any, of alcohol) and a couple weeks of self hatred, usually cut with self harm and/or starvation.

But there again, I've never tried to have a relationship with anyone who knew this stuff about me. I've never been able to talk to any of them about what goes on or ask them for help when I need it.
Would that make a difference?
Who knows.
It looks like we'll never find out.