A week without masturbation:
Well, more like five days, but I've been away from the site for a while, sort of like a hiatus. I'd been treating each set as some sort of perverse obligation, like something I had to do. A chore.
And the purpose of this is not to moor me down with chores. It's about much more than that. One facet is the girls, another is the boards, I'm writing a blog and that in itself is another reason why I'm on this site in the first place. So I'm back.
Hello again.
PS - Poem
Fastlane
You hated that you loved me.
I could feel it with every lukewarm thrust, the forced enthusiasm before I stopped fucking around and shifted into the fastlane.
You hated slo-mo, I remembered. But I'd torture you anyway, as any good sadist should.
You knew I was of the mindset that the best pain was passive-aggressive; bruises and bite marks heal, but who knows how deep mental anguish cuts, or how nastily (or brilliantly) it can scar?
You knew I needed to find out, so you endured us, endured me.
We spoke of our eroticism: I needed to earn my way into you; everything was an obstacle, a boss battle that I had to win.
Corset Monster: 16,000 hp, Special Attack: Bodybind, Resist: Physical, Weakness: ---
Oh, how you detested it! You refused to wear underwear at all after a while; they were just impediments that kept you in slo-mo mode. Urgh!
I hate slo-mo! You're getting what I give you; you are mine. Comply or you are of no use to me.
To your credit, you tried. But you needed the fastlane, it's your way of life, your way of love.
I did love you, but I expected us to fail as we did.
I've always been drawn to our kind of love:
doomed love, star-crossed love, stay together for the kids love, you get the picture.
Already lost love. Love that fizzled before the spark.
We were on life support:
Our necrotic love was eating away at us, corrupting our bodies and creating these warped, gangrenous things in the cavity where our hearts used to be.
Yeah baby, we were toxic, we existed to die, everyone around us was poisoned and wasted away while we denied that the same thing was happening to us.
I started writing this after seeing you on the street with your man. You saw me, I think, and I saw you.
I wanted to say something: I'm sorry, I still love you, I can be the fastlane you need me to be.
I can be anything you need me to be; I can morph into whatever shape pleases you and hold that form indefinitely. Fuck being myself, if I can't be with you.
You didn't regard me, as though I had never existed.
You did see me, true, but my face was too indistinct to make out as you zoomed by me in the fastlane.
Well, more like five days, but I've been away from the site for a while, sort of like a hiatus. I'd been treating each set as some sort of perverse obligation, like something I had to do. A chore.
And the purpose of this is not to moor me down with chores. It's about much more than that. One facet is the girls, another is the boards, I'm writing a blog and that in itself is another reason why I'm on this site in the first place. So I'm back.
Hello again.
PS - Poem
Fastlane
You hated that you loved me.
I could feel it with every lukewarm thrust, the forced enthusiasm before I stopped fucking around and shifted into the fastlane.
You hated slo-mo, I remembered. But I'd torture you anyway, as any good sadist should.
You knew I was of the mindset that the best pain was passive-aggressive; bruises and bite marks heal, but who knows how deep mental anguish cuts, or how nastily (or brilliantly) it can scar?
You knew I needed to find out, so you endured us, endured me.
We spoke of our eroticism: I needed to earn my way into you; everything was an obstacle, a boss battle that I had to win.
Corset Monster: 16,000 hp, Special Attack: Bodybind, Resist: Physical, Weakness: ---
Oh, how you detested it! You refused to wear underwear at all after a while; they were just impediments that kept you in slo-mo mode. Urgh!
I hate slo-mo! You're getting what I give you; you are mine. Comply or you are of no use to me.
To your credit, you tried. But you needed the fastlane, it's your way of life, your way of love.
I did love you, but I expected us to fail as we did.
I've always been drawn to our kind of love:
doomed love, star-crossed love, stay together for the kids love, you get the picture.
Already lost love. Love that fizzled before the spark.
We were on life support:
Our necrotic love was eating away at us, corrupting our bodies and creating these warped, gangrenous things in the cavity where our hearts used to be.
Yeah baby, we were toxic, we existed to die, everyone around us was poisoned and wasted away while we denied that the same thing was happening to us.
I started writing this after seeing you on the street with your man. You saw me, I think, and I saw you.
I wanted to say something: I'm sorry, I still love you, I can be the fastlane you need me to be.
I can be anything you need me to be; I can morph into whatever shape pleases you and hold that form indefinitely. Fuck being myself, if I can't be with you.
You didn't regard me, as though I had never existed.
You did see me, true, but my face was too indistinct to make out as you zoomed by me in the fastlane.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
nycstreetpoet:
Good to be back, thanks.
raffertie:
Thanks for the comment on my set! I have been playing piano for a few years now. I actually got the tattoos on my hand to remember which is left and which is right because I know treble is right. So the tats are more to help with directions, but they still dont...