Fiction and Tales about my life, the things I love, and anything else. Names have been changed for the protection of those talked about, besides celebrities and my family. Nonbinary person, they/them me please,
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I thought she understood what I was about when she started telling me what to do.
Then we got to my place, flipped the script and I had to be the dom. Sad face.
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"I really like... hatdcore."
I had never heard someone use that word and make it sound so beautiful. I was in love.
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My ex used to call me Lucifer. In the sweetest, cutest voice you or anyone you know, including me have ever heard. Yes, like the devil. I always liked it and to this day it makes me smile. She took my v card.
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I really truly think that I was so depressed growing up that I would write songs and not be able to fully understand the meaning, not to mention the gravity of what I was saying. For that I am embarrassed and ashamed. Lastly, Bob Wilson pees in the handsoap at bars, and at the houses of people we know, the shampoo and conditioner is also unsafe.
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We were fighting almost as much as we were fucking.
"I just wish, one time that you wouldn't survey every dick in the room before coming back to me." There was a guy jogging by, and we were sitting outside of the liquor store. "Look, check out that guy's dick! It's nice isn't it."
She didn't say a word.
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Here's a short list of things I have been asked to do and said no to before or while having sex, in no specific order.
Would you cut me while we are fucking?
I want you to choke me and not stop until my eyes roll back in my head.
Would you burn me?
Will you punch me in the face?
The list is pretty short but it breaks my heart.
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I remember some of the really good looking girls in high school decide to go goth for Halloween. That was an excellent idea. I'm just going to leave it at that. Holy fucking fuck.
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Ok, so the first time I saw Heather Hannoura was when she was working merch for trio at warped tour 2004.
Ok, I'm gonna back up a little bit. So I'm standing in a hot topic looking at a dress. This was a short black dickies dress that looked a little bit nurse-ish but it was black so not really. I brought it up to Matt Johnson a week later it was so sexy. "Dude it's the goth girl dress of goth girl dresses. I'd marry any hot goth girl that would wear that in a second."
So yea, she was wearing it. My fucking heart stopped.
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"I want to fuck your brother, in front of you."
"Thank you." I said while mid thrust.
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It breaks my heart anytime a woman asks me to hurt them while having sex. It just does.
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While I was trying, my family dog was staring at me. He wouldn't stop. Finally I had to shut the door that led out to the family room, I was crying, I didn't want him to see it.
I wedged the belt between the top of the door and the frame. I tried, then pushed the knob down when I started to choke and spit. I knew I had to commit or stop, so I locked the door knob.
This was it, then the belt broke in half in the door.
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The phone is ringing, he picks up. "What Mike?"
"Are you coming out today?"
"I don't know, maybe."
"What time you thinking?"
"I don't know."
Four hours later: "You call me one more time, you're not getting shit."
Two hours later: "What the fuck did I say? Now you ain't getting shit." He hangs up the phone.
My phone only works under wifi so I have to wait, all fucking day. All day. And if I don't spange I won't eat because I spend all of my money on the shit. I'm fucking so sick of it. I need a change.
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I'm fucking sick of it.
I want to wear clean clothes.
I don't want to have to steal kitty litter and cat food.
I want to have a working cell phone.
I want to not smell bad.
I want to have food in my place.
I want to not have to spange.
I want to feel human.
I want to have clean sheets on my bed.
I want to have sheets on my bed.
I want to have toilet paper in my bathroom.
I want to have things to aspire to.
I don't want to worry about what I'm going to do if my cat gets sick.
I want to record new music.
Most of all, I don't want to go to rehab. Rehab fucking sucks. Most of the guys are complete assholes and the ones that aren't are usually nice to you only so they can sell you cups of coffee for a dollar a piece. The reason I left last time I was in there was the fact that we couldn't get cigarettes because people were smuggling heroin in the packs. So I fucking left, cigarettes are fucking mandatory for me in a place like that. To be continued.
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As I look back on my time in the nursing home (or asylum is more of a fitting term) I don't remember anyone, no one's name, and I mean no one. No patients, no nurses, I only remember the names of my doctors. I kept to myself so much that I answered this mans question one time and he was shocked:
"I've had to have known you for at least a year," he said, "and that was the first time you have ever said a word to me."
"I know," I said, "because I don't like you."
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You know what is next to impossible to do when you're homeless? Masterbate.
Think about it, you're always around people, even when you're sleeping. There is nowhere that you can go.
I once put a large cardboard box around me so I could jerk off on the patch of grass on the side of the exit ramp with relative privacy. I had no phone so I kicked it old school with a hustler from the 80s.
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"Self loathing is self absorption."
As if I couldn't feel bad about myself, she had to twist the knife and thrust it deeper.
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