BONDAGE
Joking about the jobs I could take during the summer when my schedule slackens. Number one is the kitsch fantasy of whipping meek men as Mistress Zulieka kohl-eyed in a catsuit. No one would buy it, I'm just meek.
Some things you keep under wraps for diplomacy or tact, but in my daily interactions, I shift into different modes out of fear that my authentic self would piss people off, or worse, would cause them to disapprove of me. I can make myself wretched to meet somebody's expectation, and all in all, I would say that my self-esteem is pea-sized but less dense. I don't get angry, ever, I get scared. I'm pushed around by the opinions of others even if they don't have a clue. Monkeys and five-year olds can hurt my feelings.
My old voice teacher started calling, and though I think she might genuinely like me a little bit, she is calling to try to get money out of me. We had a couple of voice lessons over the phone, I mailed her a check for a couple hundred dollars, and then she kept calling and calling because I set up more lesson times but didn't have the heart to tell her that I don't want any more useless phone lessons. Slither away. It feels too good to get away.
I want to slide away from Freddy every day. We are friends, we talk, and I love him, but when I see him in bed next to me, I see misery stretched out to the length of my memory. He will just follow me forever because I might slither away but I can't say no. I've tried. Then after sex, well, anyone with a hard-on and I just follow the thing around like a dog. Having sex keeps me in love for at least a week, then unless the honey pot is refilled, things can turn suddenly sour and he and I are mortal venomous enemies as we have been for most of this Massachusetts.
How much can you hurt a man? Why does he let you?
He took a hundred photos of Lita and I goofing around after her nap, and seeing myself in the photos, unhealthy-looking, pale, and the skin of my cheeks hanging like a wet rag, I just wanted to cry and hate him.
Joking about the jobs I could take during the summer when my schedule slackens. Number one is the kitsch fantasy of whipping meek men as Mistress Zulieka kohl-eyed in a catsuit. No one would buy it, I'm just meek.
Some things you keep under wraps for diplomacy or tact, but in my daily interactions, I shift into different modes out of fear that my authentic self would piss people off, or worse, would cause them to disapprove of me. I can make myself wretched to meet somebody's expectation, and all in all, I would say that my self-esteem is pea-sized but less dense. I don't get angry, ever, I get scared. I'm pushed around by the opinions of others even if they don't have a clue. Monkeys and five-year olds can hurt my feelings.
My old voice teacher started calling, and though I think she might genuinely like me a little bit, she is calling to try to get money out of me. We had a couple of voice lessons over the phone, I mailed her a check for a couple hundred dollars, and then she kept calling and calling because I set up more lesson times but didn't have the heart to tell her that I don't want any more useless phone lessons. Slither away. It feels too good to get away.
I want to slide away from Freddy every day. We are friends, we talk, and I love him, but when I see him in bed next to me, I see misery stretched out to the length of my memory. He will just follow me forever because I might slither away but I can't say no. I've tried. Then after sex, well, anyone with a hard-on and I just follow the thing around like a dog. Having sex keeps me in love for at least a week, then unless the honey pot is refilled, things can turn suddenly sour and he and I are mortal venomous enemies as we have been for most of this Massachusetts.
How much can you hurt a man? Why does he let you?
He took a hundred photos of Lita and I goofing around after her nap, and seeing myself in the photos, unhealthy-looking, pale, and the skin of my cheeks hanging like a wet rag, I just wanted to cry and hate him.
