pj in my bed


i imagine you

in the still of the night

you lie there, asleep in my bed

and i lie next to you, thisclose

listening to your breathe

i stare at that spot on your neck

…the one that drives me wild for no reason, whatsoever

i want to kiss and nibble and bite you


just there

so that you’ll wake up and kiss me

and i will kiss you back

so, it begins

as our bodies play

and sometime, deep in the night

we make love

amongst the pillows and comfort


Dear Fucking Diary,


I woke up to a total mess this morning. The ashtray was turned over, there was makeup tossed around and all of my cookies were gone. I guess I was busy in my sleep last night. That’s probably why I’ve been so tired lately. I suspected that I may have been sleepwalking again because, when I wake up in the mornings, things aren’t always the way I remembered them from the night before. Plus, I’ve been sleeping later and later, even though I go to bed at the same time. Sonofabitch! I don’t need this shit right now. I guess I’ll get out my shackles and attach myself to the couch, since I can’t bring myself to sleep in my own fucking bed anymore.

Shit! I’m so pissed off this morning! I’m mad at myself for doing such a bad job on my diet since he died. At first, I was getting sick every day because I was forgetting to eat. Now that I’ve been having my Lady’s Days, I cannot get enough to eat. Fucking hormones. But it’s not just that. I haven’t even been trying. At anything. I go to the chicken place every other day and get enough food to last for a couple of days. They must think I’m fucking crazy. But, economically, you can’t shop cheaper for one person, plus, I don’t have to cook. Which is good, since I’m using the stovetop for counter space at the moment. And I couldn’t shop if I wanted to because my anxiety level stays maxed out all the time. I haven’t even been in a real grocery store for ten years. He always did the shopping. Because I can’t handle nice people in confined spaces. Put me in a room full of lowlifes and fuck ups and I’m just fine. I’d be golden if they started selling groceries in skid row bars.


*Adult Content ‘Love Bleeds Through’

Ericka had known Clay for years. Around the neighborhood he was known as Big Clay. He was a mountain of a man, all of 6’6″ and 300lbs. He was built like a tree…solid and strong. Clay was the type of man a girl could call on when she needed something fixed around the house. He was a great porch buddy, as well, and the two of them had spent many an evening watching the sun set on the small town they lived in. He’d drink his beer and she’d sip her whiskey. They were good friends.

In time, Ericka began to let Clay know a bit more about herself, on a very personal level. They began sharing the sorts of things that even a best friend wouldn’t know about a person. Sunset after sunset found them in deep conversation about these secret things until, one night, the inevitable happened and they acted upon them. After that night, Clay was Ericka’s pet and she was his Mistress. Their secret, to the grave.

Ericka and Clay had been discussing a play piercing scene for a couple of weeks. They had decided on a relatively high number of needles to accommodate Clay’s desire to push his pain threshold a bit. To make it easier on them both, (Ericka had a ‘thing’ about needles), they decided to use 25g so they’d be much easier to get in and to remove.

In short order, the needles Ericka ordered had arrived and it was a ‘go’ for their much anticipated play time. They decided on an early start, so Clay took off of work at lunch one Friday and went straight to Ericka’s house. She was waiting there for him, in her bedroom, out of her mind with excitement.

Ericka heard Clay the moment he walked through the front door. She grew breathless as his footsteps moved closer to her bedroom. At last, he appeared in the doorway, almost filling it completely. She so admired his strength and size. Clay made her feel so safe whenever he was around. But there was no time for such sentimentality now, as Ericka stood up and walked towards Clay, who was now standing next to the chair she would bind him to. Without a word between them, she began to unbutton his shirt, slowly, so that she could see every single bit of him as it was revealed. His chest was hairy and masculine..and, lower, his belly was flat and hard…no six pack…just the body of a hard working man.

Ericka loved to undress her pet. It was probably her favorite thing to do. Clay was, like every man, an overgrown boy and she enjoyed caring for him in that way. Finally, she pulled his shirt off, revealing his muscular arms, reminding her that this was no boy. Then, she unbuckled his belt, and momentarily knelt down to unlace his work boots and toss them and his socks off to the side. She stood and sighed with anticipation as, finally, she unzipped his jeans and pulled them off of him. His cock was already getting hard, but she refused to touch it. In fact, she had yet to so much as touch her pet’s cock as long as they had been playing together, unless she was performing the CBT that he loved, perhaps a little too much. Clay enjoyed the pain she provided and she enjoyed the fruits of his particular, and well honed, skill set. After play-time, Clay would service Ericka for hours on end, if it pleased her. And, it did please her. Most definitely.

Once he was undressed, Ericka told Clay to sit in the chair, arms flat on the armrests, ankles close to the front legs. She got her wide leather cuffs and strapped his wrists to the chair first. Then, more for drama than anything, she got some old leg irons and chain she found at a flea market to secure his legs with. Clay sat still, a hint of fear in his eyes, along with a wicked gleam. He was smiling the sweetest little trembling smile Ericka had ever seen. God, he made her feel so…something. Next, she grabbed her favorite ball gag and crammed it into his mouth. Clay played at resisting…it was just more fun that way. Ericka moved behind him and tightly buckled the strap. Before Clay knew it, a black pillowcase was pulled over his head. Around his neck, a rough length of rope with a large knot in the middle. The knot was carefully placed over his Adam’s apple and the rope was tied tightly enough to remind him of his predicament each time he swallowed or tried to speak.

Ericka walked across the room and sat at the foot of her bad, enjoying her view of the man at her disposal. She got out her blue latex gloves, popping them on very loudly. She already had the needles laid out on a table by chair Clay was in. Needles…she could barely stand the sight of a needle. “This better be worth it,” she thought, as she got up and walked over to the table. The NEEDLE table. “OMG…”

Ericka quieted herself. She couldn’t have Clay knowing how frightened she was. The room was silent as she ripped open the package containing the first of the needles. Clay started to wriggle a bit at the sound, and his left leg was shaking a little. Ericka leaned down and whispered, “Relax, we’re going to follow the pattern to a T.” With that, she pinched up a bit of skin at the back of his right arm and inserted the needle. A tiny lil drippy drop of blood escaped his skin as she opened up the next needle, and the next, and the next…The further she got down his arm, the more the blood began to add up. Not gushing blood. More like a light summer shower’s worth. Ericka’s mouth began to water as she tried to focus on the arduous task at hand.

It took about two hours to complete the arm lining, front and back on both arms. The inside of Clay’s arms bled much more than the outside and there was much red to be seen. It was beautiful. Clay’s arms were shaking as his body was riddled with endorphins. Ericka popped off her gloves and got out her camera and began to photograph the beauty before her. This Viking of a man, bound and hooded…under  her complete control…it was intoxicating. When she had finished taking the pictures, she allowed herself a few minutes to simply sit and stare at Clay. At that moment, he was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen.

She excused herself and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. When she returned, she gently untied the rope and removed the hood and gag. Ericka lifted the glass to Clay’s lips, stroking his hair as he drank. He was sweating and red faced. Perhaps the pain was more than he bargained for. Ericka sat the glass down and took Clay’s face into her hands. Something was going on between them, she could feel it. When he looked up at her with blue eyes that spoke of both love and strength, she knew that, after today, Clay would never be her pet again.

Ericka ran her fingers up and down Clay’s arms, tracing the bumps that the needles made in his skin. Some blood had already dried. Some was still wet and it was sticky on her skin. She leaned down and kissed Clay in a way that she’d never kissed him before. Then, her lips moved to his ear and she asked on a whisper, “May I?” She would never consider taking  something so precious without asking, after all.

To her delight, Clay whispered back in a quivering voice, “Yes, most certainly.”

She licked the sticky sweetness from her fingers, then began the task of removing the needles. Each came with its own tiny drop, yet again, and Ericka tended to the tiny wounds with her lips and tongue, squeezing each to make certain she got all there was. Clay moaned in pain, but she was in her own world until, finally, the last needle was out.

Ericka’s heart pounded and she was all but overcome with a desire for this man. Again, she kissed Clay, deep and long, as though it was the last kiss she’d ever get. She was just so very hungry for him.. She allowed her hands to roam his body as he sat, still bound. Her hand trembled as it made its way down to Clay’s cock. It was so hard…throbbing…ready. This was it. It  was going to happen this very evening. That thing they had avoided for so very long was going to happen.

Ericka’s head was spinning as she began to unbuckle Clay’s wrist restraints. Her hands, shaking as she knelt before him, once more, trying to unlock his shackles. As soon as he was free, Clay grabbed Ericka and pulled her across the room, throwing her onto the bed. He ripped her blouse open exposing her breasts. Clay took them into his rough hands, his mouth kissing and licking and biting at her nipples. He was breathing so hard that Ericka was almost afraid. He yanked her skirt up and tore her panties off, forcing her legs wide apart as he shoved his big hard cock into her so hard it took her breath away.

Clay continued to fuck Ericka any way he pleased for what seemed like forever. Never, in her life, had a man used her like that. Thankfully, in no time, her fear gave way to resignation, then to pleasure, as she joined him in this exercise in unbridled lust. When she thought that she could take no more, Clay shot his load deep inside of her. She wrapped her legs around him as he collapsed on top her of, and she held him closer than she’d ever held anyone.

After a short while, Clay got up without saying a word. Ericka didn’t know what to think…what she should think. She got out of what remained of her clothes and climbed under the covers. She could hear Clay in the kitchen, drawers opening and closing, the sound of silverware clanking around…the fridge opening and closing. Finally, she heard footsteps coming back down the hallway. Clay walked towards the bed, a glass of juice in one hand, and a large shiny knife in the other. He sat the knife down on the nightstand and handed Ericka the juice. “You could probably use this”, he said, grinning. Ericka drank the juice, but couldn’t quite take her eyes off of the knife, long after Clay had taken her close into his arms. Now and then, the breeze would blow the curtains and the evening sun would shine in and sparkle on the blade of the knife. Ericka found the whole affair unnerving, except that she was so taken with Clay that it simply didn’t matter at that point.

Lying in his arms was definitely not a bad thing. Ericka had never felt so whole or so wanted. As they lay there together, Clay’s hands began to explore her body, but gently this time. His kiss was soft and loving. Knowing how sore she was, Clay made sure to kiss it all away as he entered her, once more, with his huge swollen cock. Ericka was in sheer bliss as he slowly moved back and forth, and she, against him. She had never experienced this before.She’d never felt so very womanly…so spiritually engaged…

Just when she thought she could not get another thing out of this, Clay reached over and picked up the knife. He rose up off of her for a moment and put the blade in his hand. Suddenly, he closed his hand around it and pulled the knife out. Ericka could see the red on the blade. She gasped, her mind racing. Then, just as suddenly, Clay put the knife down and offered his bleeding hand to Ericka, putting it to her lips. She grasped his wrist and began to take from the wound. Clay began to make love to her again as she took from him that most precious thing. As she did, she realized that she had not only found her true love, but her soul mate…her happily ever after.

Clay’s gentle stroke brought her to sheer ecstasy, just as the wound had given its last. When she could take no more, Clay unloaded inside of her again. As he did, he kissed her scarlet lips and whispered an oath so sublime that she’d dare not repeat it. But, from that day on, Clay and Ericka shared every sunrise and sunset.



I miss home today, although I’m not certain exactly what that means anymore. I feel uncomfortable in my skin…in my brain…in this physical embodiment of self. It seems used up and irrelevant to me. Nevertheless, I’m  bound by flesh to this earth and all the insanity that comes with it.

Of course, we all have the choice of whether or not to remain in this cosmic dump site, or to move on. Unfortunately, moving on requires a blood sacrifice that I’m not prepared to make at this time. Damn it. Damn my weakness, my indecisiveness…my fear. Those are the things that keep me tethered to this asylum, inescapable.

Love…love was once something that bound me, as well. But I don’t view love as being more than an inconvenience at this point. It is a stumbling block…a millstone around my neck. I’m finished with love. Just considering the concept makes me ill. Love. Really? What is that? The Bible outlines it beautifully. Unfortunately, flawed creatures that we are, we humans cannot make a real connection to anything that selfless. So, fuck that, too.

God, I have never felt like such a prisoner. Even murderers are allowed some time out of their cages each day. For me, the sentence I serve allows for no such reprieve.

Self pity? No. Clarity, yes. At every turn, it seems, my view of the reality that is my life becomes more clear. I feel suffocated by the blood that runs through my veins. The demands it makes overwhelm me…smother me. I am a slave to it. But, that will only be true until I finally find that place of strength within that allows me to take my well deserved leave. Sadly, I doubt that I will find it today.

In The Pitch-Dark My Soul Runs Free

Night falls upon my view
Yet I’ve no compulsion to see
Satisfied that what is there
Beyond the reach of Light
Is enough to sustain
My wildest need
As I venture out into Darkness
My path veers gently to the Left
Experiences encountered
Both sacred and profane
Feed my soulish side
My pound of flesh, freely given
All demands ignored, it is only mine to give

I feast until the early dawn
Then find my way Home
To the safety of the Light
My toll, paid
I fall off to sleep
Forgetting that which happened
Within the pitch-black night

Adios, Mr. Wonderful!

Since I was so confused and agitated about my moral issues yesterday, I decided to spread it around a little. So, I called Mr. Wonderful and picked a fight with him. Of course, this was after he sent me pictures of his enormous…I shit you not…ENORMOUS penis. Frankly, I’m happy that I started that argument and handled it like a complete child, driving him way way awayyyyy. I don’t think I could bring myself to deal with a johnson the size of a fire hydrant. Holy shit!

It’s funny how quickly people will haul ass the minute you start shit with them. It’s just like the scene in Fight Club, where they were supposed to start fights with random strangers. Nobody wanted to fight them, no matter how hard they tried to pick a fight. It’s human nature. You’re either confrontational, or you’re not.  But you’d think that a verbal spar wouldn’t be so daunting to some people. Frankly, I love it. A good fight is like rain…it clears the air and lets you in on secrets that would never come out under less pressurized circumstances. It’s basically verbal recon.

Anyway…that’s the update. I haven’t slept all night because I’m hurting physically and am sort of in a pissy mood. So I tanked up on DayQuil and I feel pretty damn good. lol! It won’t last, but I’ll enjoy it for now. I got a lot done on the house and that’s always a good thing. For me. Miss Unorganized.

Love Hate Sex Pain/You Gonna Burn For This, Girl

One man’s sin is another man’s pleasure. The Bible says that if your heart does not condemn you, you stand not condemned. As I sit here this morning, I feel as though I stand condemned. Because I just can’t let go of someone who kills me inside, yet still has my heart in his hand.

I’m not formally divorced, nor am I legally separated from my husband of almost thirty years. Almost five years ago, I got my things together and left. I had to. I could not take another moment caught up in the pain machine. During the time I was gone, many things happened, one in particular, that demanded my immediate return. And, so, like the faithful do-gooder that I am, I went home.

Throughout these last years, we’ve had separate bedrooms, as I have held fast to my initial proclamation that we are separated. As many times as I have made that proclamation, Exish has proclaimed the exact opposite. In his world, it’s cut and dry…you are married until the lawyer cashes his check. It is also a given that, if you are married, you are owned. Like a cow or a horse. Chattel.

Here’s the rub: Lately, I’ve been very lonely out here in the woods. There are no distractions. Initially, I thought I would enjoy being alone and that I’d get on with the decorating and whatsuch of the house we moved into almost two months ago. Then, that little thing happened with the man I met on that dating site. The site I went on just to see what a cyber relationship might be like. That led to phone conversations…phone sex…then a very abrupt ending that left me feeling very off kilter. The emotional exchange, however brief, that technology affords us, in the way it exists today, is something that we’re not all prepared for, I suppose. I mean…who didn’t experiment when the net first came to be? I did. It was fun. It was just new and fun to talk about sex/have cyber sex with strangers. It was a novelty that lost its shine for me when I ended up with a stalker who, oddly enough, did not pursue me as a sexual partner until right at the last of it, four years later.

Even though I deleted, or tried to, my account from the dating site, and two others, I am still getting messages and alerts from them. In the last week or so, I’ve been chatting with this one and that one and having a good time. Until I met someone who seriously got to me. By that, I mean that I feel an extreme emotional connection with this person. I checked him out…he’s who he says he is, etc. He’s a very nice man, and we just clicked. He lives in Dallas, which is about ninety miles away. He works and I haven’t agreed to go there to meet him. I told him I’d be gone for the weekend, so he can’t come here. But I want him to. I didn’t expect that I’d actually want that. Or that I could truly see a future with anyone but Exish. I’m not so naive that I believe this particular guy is Mr. Wonderful and there is some forever type thing going on between us. However, I do feel as though we are moving in a direction that will lead us to meet, at the very least. Once that happens, everything changes.

When I woke up this morning, I felt sick inside. I mean…guilt like I haven’t felt in my lifetime. I felt disgusting and dirty and low and I just wanted it to go away. I think that, for the first time, I felt like I was cheating on Exish. I’m a lot of things, but I’m no liar and I’m no cheater. That’s Exish’s department. I’m the one who can resist anything, and will go to any length, to protect what I hold dear.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do about this situation. Exish will be home from the job in a few weeks. I did tell him I was talking to someone, but played it off like I was just messing with them. As if I need a reason to talk to anyone, for any reason. I didn’t want Exish’s permission, but I wanted him to know that I’m trying to put a toe in the water…to give him a head’s up. That’s something he never gave me. The flipside of that is that I now realize that I do have serious love for Exish. We’ve been together so long. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t care what he’s done, I can’t be the one to hurt him the way he’s hurt me. I think that when you know how something feels…something like betrayal…it has to be the last thing you’d want to make anyone else feel.

I think I’m going to turn off my phone and get busy around here. Lay low and let myself settle down. I don’t think it would be cheating if I had ten men in my bed, but…emotionally…if I felt connected to only one, I think it might be.

Yeah. Hmmm…


I’m numb. I feel as though all I’ve known of this day is what I’ve seen from the window. And that’s my own fault. I wish I knew why it’s so hard for me to go outside, even here. I feel restricted and empty. So alone. Literally and in other ways, as well.

I was thinking to myself earlier about how funny it would be were I to die today. Nobody but the people who read this stupid blog would have a clue as to how I feel right now…have been feeling. Everyone who’s texted or called me today has received pleasant responses and encouragements and what have you. Smiley faces all ’round! Not one would ever know that, if I die today, it would be such a relief that I cannot explain it in any words that I know. They’d never have any realization that, before and after we talked, I was so numb inside that I couldn’t relate to anything alive…to being alive. That is not to say that I’m suicidal. That, I’m not. But I am dead in many ways, already.

A strange thing, that…How it can take decades for the flesh to pass, long after the spirit is crushed and gone. And nobody ever notices, as long as you keep on smiling. That’s all you gotta do…put a fuckin smile on your face. Holy shit! LOL! Wow! That just blows my mind.

I think I notice when others are hurting…when their smile is just a bullshit facade. I take the time to notice. Because that’s what you have to do…take a minute…look them in the eye when they aren’t looking at you. And I’m not afraid to ask somebody what the Hell is wrong. I think that most people just don’t want to know. It’s not that they don’t care, but they already have full plates. No room at the inn, so to speak. But what if you saying something changed one thing for that person? Just one. A tiny thing that could bloom into a bigger thing. Or maybe it would mean nothing at all. But do you really feel good about sleeping on it? That’s all I’m saying.

My case is, of course, different. I’m out here in the country, alone. I don’t know anyone. I’ve just recently been working on the panic I have when going into a store and such. I make myself go into the local Dollar General for longer and longer periods of time. Yesterday, when I went to town to buy cigs, I pulled up at a store and just couldn’t get out. So many of those shirtless country boys, drunk in their muddy trucks…getting gas and what not. Lots of excitement around there. I couldn’t handle it, although shirtless country boys are quite appealing 🙂 Anyway, I went on down the street. I guess that must be the ‘black’ part of town. I found a gas station with some black guys getting gas, music thumping away…and old black man…I was the only white person there. But it felt really familiar, so I got out and grabbed some smokes…had a nice conversation with the very shy girl at the register. It was good. But I’m still disappointed in myself for having to actually shop for a place to shop. It’s such a waste of time. Ah, well…I’ll do better tomorrow. The point is that there is nobody here to know whether I’m one way or another. They just have to take my word for it. And, when it comes to how I’m feeling, I’m not the most honest injun in the room.

the butterfly and the dragon


I am not what you see
On the outside
Your eyes…indeed, they deceive you
By default, I’m either more kind
Or more cruel
Than I appear
To be
It is not a statement against your good judgment
Rest well knowing that I harbor not the slightest care
About what you think
As you decide
What you think
But it could be a mark against your judgment
Should your assumption be wrong
It could be life changing
For you
Were you to imagine me a butterfly
Only to find a dragon
Or run from a lion
When you’ve been looking upon a lamb all along