Posted by linmarris2 months ago
Before I change profiles I have to keep this one for posterity. It was such an epic fail. I have to face the fact my best intentions were going to fuck me up. Everything about this profile is so me. I can laugh about it. You would think it limited the men who contacted me. It didn’t change. You would’ve thought men would take me up on an offer to have cam sex in exchange for reading a good blog and leaving feedback. I wasn’t asking a man to that much and offered a reward that was legit. It you read chapter 3 you learned how I write when I peak. You know my life has been filled with challenges. No one on a porn site gives a shit. It’s a blessing. I set myself up. If hundreds of men read it and commented I would have been a free porn show for the masses. I have a pm box with a thousand variations of c2c? Not one man read the instructions how to get it. Irony is this profile could’ve ruined my damn life.It was simple. I love cam sex. I get too many requests. If I want to do it then I would’ve reserved it for men who supported my writing. I would like my sex life back. I wanted to do it with smart men who had respect for me. My heart is pure. I really am that easy. Men just don’t read. There are around ten good men that do. You know who you are. When I can cam again it will be an honor to please you. If your name isn’t on my comment list for chapter 3 then you lost that gift. I am dreading what I have to do. I have to replace a profile that is real and has merit with one that focuses on sex alone. I’m at least going to make it good.
Chapter 4 learning it the hard way. Before I say anything I want to thank the people who left beautiful comments about chapter 2 and my absence. It meant something to me. If I wasn’t heartbroken I would write you each a deep personal reply. That is all I did for 48 hours straight. I went back to the beginning of my blog and replied to any comment I missed. I did it with sheer passion and devotion. I do want to say fuck the chick who needed to respond with some comment that my blog was really long and some nonsense about being like her friend and having different opinions. Reb I adore you. You couldn’t resist reading chapter 2 or 3 without telling me how long it was. I have learned my motherfucking lesson. I can’t write a damn good blog. It will be too long and people won’t read it. There will always be exceptions. Good men and women will treasure every word. This 48 hours fored me to accept the cold hard truth.Chapter 3 was one of the best things I have ever written. It always will be. I know my writing. I know when I’m mediocre. I know when I’m boring. I know when I’m too negative. I know when I am lost in tangents. I know when I’m so tired my grammar has basic flaws. This is not my first rodeo. I’ve been writing straight stream of consciousness since the age of eight. I have been blogging on a forum before myspace before blog was a word. I have written my life story on facebook with no feedback. I had a wordpress. I had a tumblr. I have tried many forums. Xhamster is just a new location to explore. I found out what works. I found out what fails. I am not changing the way I function in any way. I fucking write. I am just done expecting a reliable audience to ever follow me. This is a solo project. I was reaching out for friendship and support. The responses I got about chapter 3 ended that notion.
You have no idea how hard it was to gamble on a mission to write chapter 3. I was in a state of sheer euphoria because I finally have a stimulant. My mission as a writer is to make a cup of puke into a glass of wine. I will never stop that effort. Before I could be a cam girl I had this idea that it was important to make men and women understand that I have not had it easy. I will always be grateful for the obstacles I have been challenged to overcome. I feel no pity towards myself. I do not even think my life has been anything but a beautiful lesson to learn. I am not negative. I do not write to make a person feel sorry for me. I try my goddamn best to tell a story that somehow makes a person appreciate their own flaws and strengths. It is my hope that a person reads about what a monster my father was and instinctively calls their father to say hello and I love you. If you can share those words with a parent do it. Don’t wait until it’s too late. Don’t ever stop fighting to connect with your f****y. If you have a sibling stop what you are doing and pick up the motherfucking phone and say hello.
I wouldn’t write if I was not actively trying to make people learn or feel pleasure. I just wanted the people who started reading part one to hit chapter 3 and be happy for me. My mission failed. I can’t bitch too much because it has only been available for two days. It was enough time to learn what I needed to know. I am a totally foreign concept. I could never read a blog that intense without slamming a person with praise. I have thanked the people who gave me great feedback. If you read chapter 3 and your response was ‘wow’ ‘thanks for sharing’ ‘welcome back’ ‘I would love to see you in that dress’ or something that didn’t complete a sentence then you don’t need to say anything at all. Those responses radically changed my world view. It can’t be reversed. I just feel like a failure.
Raymond knows how much I have grown to love him. I care about him so much. He has a free pass. He can never fuck up. He is irreplaceable. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I know him well. I am so damn happy he read it and commented that I have no right to be angry. Yet I still am. I was fighting so hard to be something besides a beautiful woman. I know it was not his intention. I saw his comment ‘I would love to see you in that dress’ and I just wanted to cry. I needed something like ‘good job’ way more than a reminder that every man I encounter just wants me to be short, sexy and sweet. That is the irony. I can tell one of my closest friends how strong, damaged, talented, hard-working, loving, mistreated, neglected, artistic, different, confident, brave, wise, intelligent, determined and heart broken I am and get hit with something sexual. I know part of our issue is that we just cammed for the first time and we are both so damn attracted to each other that we can’t help but get sexual. It’s not his fault. We have intense chemistry we both didn’t expect. I just had to face the fact that my body is the focus of most conversations instead of my brain.
If I couldn’t make one of the only people who knows me address trauma over beauty there is no hope other men can. I learned my lesson. Stop wasting time and put back on the damn dress. It was necessary. I am in dire economic distress. I told you I can turn a cup of puke into a glass of wine. Damn straight it hurt for him to remind me I need to promote sex, sell sex, live sex, breath sex, enjoy sex, and become sex incarnate. I have to focus on bank account and not my pride. I have to use this blog and the one I create on chatturbate as a weapon to turn sex into cash. I can not focus on friendship and support. It would be a lovely alternative. This is realty. If I want to make it as a cam girl I have to invite men to enjoy a blog about sex not abuse. You can’t dispute my logic. Words are a weapon. I use them to get what I need. I will use them to build the persona of a super sexy woman who loves giving pleasure.
I know my attempt to get personal was my final act of rebellion against doing something degrading. I wouldn’t change it. I needed to share some side of my life that explains why I rejected sexuality for most of my twenties. I needed men to know that I actually enjoyed ugliness. It was the best time of my life to be covered in ink in funky vintage t-shirts. I was hardcore. I would take a break with boys during a three hour art class. We crammed in my car drove down the road smoking pot with cocaine in it. I was notorious for forgetting to warn people sometimes my pot was enhanced by coke. We drove to a gas station. We each slammed a quart and went back to class. My prince hurt me with the question ‘why did you let yourself go.’ Motherfucking freedom from sex. To be an artist. To revolt against normal behavior. To make men love my art instead of my tits. I did it on purpose. Jumping into total sexuality is not easy for me. This is not my comfort zone. Ink and tangled hair is who I really am. Now I have to leave it behind and focus on what I look like.
I have to loose weight. I have to buy sex toys. I have to start networking. I have to give out free samples. I have to get better with variation. I have to ask for advice. I have to work the image of slutty instead of ladylike. I have to take on cam sex like a small business. I would love to tell you what happened the second time a boy named Tim pushed me to the brink of death. I would love to tell you about how I defied biology in a suicide attempt that turned into attempted murder. I would love to tell you about the years of sheer bliss I had working at a dry cleaners. I would love to tell you about getting half-way through nursing school and getting slammed by two deaths that made me have a mental breakdown. This is a fucking porn site. I can reach five men with an endearing tale of beating the system. I could reach hundreds of men with constant sex stories that keep getting better. Do the math. Time equals money. I don’t have the time to touch five men and earn respect. I have to reach for hundreds of billfolds willing to reward me for a performance that involves tits and pussy.
I am always going to be a sweet small town girl that is naive and generous. I have to exploit my innocence and enhance my sexuality. That is my charm as a cam girl. A man instantly feels comfortable around me because I put people at ease. I am honest. I’m not trashy. I’m a cam girl who will listen to problems and produce an orgasm. I let men bond with me. I do not make them feel pressure from a time-limit. I engage them in debates about women and trends in sexuality. I am totally cool with all fetishes that don’t involve beastiality, incest, child molesation, or shit. Men who love to play with their assholes are encouraged. Men who need to be dominated are controlled. Men who need to call me a fat, stupid slut get to do it. Men who need to fantasize about torture and rape can go there and not phase me. Chapter 3 was the only glimpse a man will ever have that informs them I’m intelligent. Men prefer a chick who is not intimidating due to her intellect. They want easy, adaptable, controllable and deviant.
When I feel like writing glimpses of my real life will always pop out. I won’t stop keeping a blog on a near daily basis. It’s just tainted with this enhanced notion that I have an insatiable sexual need. I will rewrite my profile. It will shift away from my need for a man to be intelligent. It will be short and devoted to sex. I will describe my body and not my mind. It will be a role reversal. I will start answering all those pm’s. Getting me one on one for cam will rarely be an option. You don’t give away your milk for free. You tease and lure a man to purchase the damn cow. I completed my mission to reply to each blog comment. Tomorrow my status changes to BACK TO SEX. I tried to earn respect for being a good woman. Men want a bad little girl. I will build up a campaign of men excited to see me go live. I do it with a sense of curiosity.
Men looking for a cam sex experience with a nice girl who rarely mentions money will be thrilled. Men looking for a kinky girl that isn’t a fucking piece of trash they want to abuse will find me. Men who who want a pretty face and huge tits will be thrilled. Men who like a petite chubby chick with a sense of humor will be ecstatic. Men who want a cam show when at no point does a check ask for tokens will adore me. Men who love a real orgasm will find me intoxicating. I provide innocence by being myself. Men sick of watching a chick plastered in make-up will flock to me. It’s no joke that I have a blast doing live shows for several men I can’t see. Men looking for a woman with the maturity of thirty and the appearance of early twenties will respect me. Most of all men looking for a sexy voice saying what they dream of hearing a woman say will fight for me. My voice is my greatest feature. My ability to judge a man’s need for me to be a slut or a sweetheart is damn good. It was a beautiful notion that my life story would build up a support system. It was a pipe dream. I was being naive.
If blog 3 was read and praised then I would be dedicated to shocking men with what I’m capable of. It would’ve fucked me up. I would have fixated on men who I would not allow to pay me and perform as a reward for simply reading and writing. My mission needed to fail. I needed a wake-up call. God guides me. In my writing I discuss the fact he fucks with me some times. I am his child to teach. Letting me quickly focus on economics was needed. I’m not a christian. I have no notion that sexuality is a sin. It is a gift. Pleasing men is an art form. Everything about me is an art. Making money is essential for me to become an artist. Getting work printed and shipped worldwide depends on my ability to sell my sexuality in a precise way that is not easily replicated. Men who watched me perform free of charged begged for me to accept money as gratitude for being an amazing alternative to a normal cam girl. I had no means of accepting their money. I’m truly a real chick that is just really sexy and loves pleasing men. That is worth paying for to have over and over in a private session.
I can transform quickly. It’s a gift to have many dimensions to your personality. I’m an actress eager to take on this role and perfect it. When I wake-up I will have a totally new perspective on what is important. It was a cup of puke not getting respect for my achievements. It is a wine glass to face the future as an eager force to be reckoned with. It was a damn fine 48 hours. I met a man who could match me in writing. He is all the support I need. It only takes one man to make me happy. If he hauls ass I will replace him. if you failed to read chapter 3 you lost my attention. Thank you. It would’ve been a distraction I can’t afford. Raymond and the man who writes like me are my only concern that involves rewarding friendship and devotion with time and sexual intimacy.
Raymond had to hurt me to fix me. Sometimes you have to break a bone to reset it properly. I needed his comment more than anything. It was a nightmare and a blessing. I may be less available because I am working on refocusing this page to sex. Sex sells. A damn good story that defines me is an honor to read. It won’t get my art printed. It won’t pay for medicine. A total shift in my attitudes about sex for money had to happen. I needed it immediately. My naive ambition to earn respect on a porn site had to come to a screeching halt. A few good men will miss me working at a superior pace to tell a good story. Hundreds of men will be thrilled to stumble upon my new identity as a small town girl with a high sex drive that is eager to please them sexually.
I will never write a post that doesn’t end with enthusiasm to achieve my goal and become an artist worthy of a wall and then a gallery and possibly a museum. All I can do is thank the people who hurt me with a lack of effort to support me. Important lessons hurt. I needed this one. I was on the path to chugging puke from a coffee mug. I am now excited about sipping wine from crystal. I promise there will always be a happy ending. It took me a lifetime of writing to pull off making a nightmare into a fairytale. Watch me transition. Watch me nail sex stories on a nightly basis. Watch me pull this off. Watch me launch a website selling art worldwide. I am back on track. I will keep getting better with each post. I will keep accepting change and enjoy the thrill of starting over. Thank you for fixing my busted pipe dream. This is a porn site. I’m an amateur porn star. I’m doing it to sell art. This is BACK TO SEX. Ir had to happen. I needed it now. Two weeks from now I would have caused irreversible damage.
The next chapter. I planned to spend the evening chatting with a dear friend. When he went to sl**p I was going to take on my favorite task. I love to write replies to comments. If you haven’t noticed yet I try damn hard to write a fierce reply to each one I receive. I’m way behind. I may end up replying to some twice. If you check for a reply to a comment you made it may shock you how much time and effort I invested to discuss what you mentioned. After writing so long on facebook I’m stunned by any feedback. It is such an honor that going above and beyond thank you will always be my focus. Before facebook went big brothr on us my blog was a special place for old friends. Now it announces when you like a post and if you left a comment. Before it happened I could discuss events we all remembered. People were free to write their own opinions. We could banter back and forth about issues. When other people couldn’t keep their own blog they could write on mine. Women made stunning confessions. We went in depth. It was a forum for us to connect. But I have been writing almost a year with no comments.When I do have time to reply to each one I hope it opens up a door for men to talk about their own experiences. A good blog should make men share bits and pieces of their own lives. I can’t wait to respond to some topics. I don’t remember names and pictures very well. It is a problem. An example is a man who shared his own loss writing a good story he lost due to exhaustion. I can’t wait to tell him all the funny ways I have written manifestos and watched them disappear. I really hope to begin a dialogue with people. More than telling my own story I let men tell theirs and they can count on me to reply. I know in my spontaneous blog declaring war on Doclowe I had to veterans come forward. I can’t wait to write about why I have so much knowledge concerning the VA.That is what some people don’t realize. I go out of my way to share my story because it opens doors. It is important to discuss the VA in great lengths. If you read this chapter you will understand why I know so much. I still honor lost traditions. The first thing I plan to say to each man is ‘thank you for serving our country.’ If you do not take time to say that to good men and women then you are not being the best American you can be. It may take me days but as I address issues like diabetes and the military you will understand why I offered Doclowe a new lease on life. A lot of veterans don’t even know what they have earned. I know what great lengths the VA will go to towards keeping veterans happy, healthy, independent and alive. That is a major part of my story. In many ways I had two fathers. They were both veterans. I was born into a f****y shaped by combat. In many ways nothing else matters.
One man left me the wonderful comment that my story left him with the mixed emotions of being sad and horny. It made my afternoon to read such praise. My story is very sad. At the same time I know nothing is sexier than a strong, brave woman who overcame hardships. It should turn you on. Any woman can be beautiful. Not many women can take a sad story and make it sexy. I am a bit slutty. I know what good men want. No one wants a pampered princess. She rarely has a good story to tell. It takes hard work and devastation to create a woman like me. Do not be sad when I talk about horrible things. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I have been fighting my whole life to prove my strength. I did it once on facebook. It was important to knock a few pampered princesses down a notch. I took them down hard. When you read my story you realize I achieved so much. I did it on my own. I’m happy it wasn’t easy. Rarely does a woman who had a free ride tell a good story.
I warned men not to bitch about length. I can’t tell a story in a few pages. I had one new friend tell me to make it shorter and simple. I try to address so much information that I go long and complex. If you can’t read it I’m not concerned. Good writing isn’t short and sweet. Good writing is long and complex. It is a skill that takes nearly a lifetime of practice. I don’t give a damn if men stop reading due to length. I can’t overemphasize that writing is a selfish indulgence. I do this for myself. If someone reads what I write I consider it a bonus. The act of creation is my addiction.
I could’ve focused on sex. That would be too easy. My life is hard right now. I have to make drastic changes. In one week I switched from my mission to accept help. Now getting help or support is not my concern. It would be nice if it happens. I will unlock the door and make it possible. If no one walks through my door then I will make things happen through sacrifices. You may have caught on that my computer is dying and I am penniless. The reason I’m not online is because my wi-fi won’t work. I called the cable company and he tried to help me over an hour. I have to have a technician come out tomorrow. It is either my computer or the modem. Since everything else on my computer is dying it probably means it can’t go wireless anymore.
When I wrote chapter one I had hope that when I finished the kindness of strangers would astound me. The adventure to find out what people were thinking was painful. Before I could allow donations towards a new computer with the reward of unlimited cam sex I decided to tell my story. Men are usually morons. I am an honest woman with limited time. You have to understand that men hound me for cam sex nonstop. I rarely do it. If I do it once they keep calling. At first I could handle it. I used them like guinea pigs to learn my technique. In many ways they thought I was free and easy. I started learning how to do it before xhamster on badoo. It was such a shit hole. I love Spanish people but damn I got so many messages written in Spanish it was absurd. It was made for local hook ups. I live in the winter strawberry capital of the world. I think every Mexican in a three hour radius sent me a message in Spanish I couldn’t read. A friend in the Netherlands told me about xhamster.
It was perfect. It was a training ground to learn how to be a cam girl. I had to get comfortable with many men and embrace sexual pressure. I swear for months it was a non-stop marathon. I met men who became more than just sex. They all have stories. I fell in love with many men. They hurt me deeply. They never contact me. It’s no joke they had a****l nicknames and I was a forest of pleasure. It is a pattern for a man to spend nearly 24 to 48 hours infatuated with me. Then they never call again. Some called once every few weeks. Some once a month. Some attacked me with no rational behind it. Some who never had cam sex with me hurt me the most. This is just one story to illustrate the point. The first day on xhamster I met a boy in india. We clicked. He had a best friend. They had a female friend in texas. Then there were two other people who occasionally joined in. We had audio only group calls on skype. It was wonderful to have that circle of friends. I called the boy I met alladin. He was good to me. His best friend pressured me into cam sex. I thought he was a good guy. He worked me like his own little porn Barbie. I had no clue but the girl in texas was his cam sex partner.
Alladin was kind enough to send me a pirated copy of photoshop. I was so grateful. There are no words for how much I cared about him. He was reading my blog on facebook. At some point I called my two male best friends cocksuckers because they won’t take the time to download it. One day he messaged me ‘can you do me a favor?’ I told him I would do anything. I cared so much about him I even told him I would get off xham and never do camsex again. I explained it could be a death sentence. I wanted to earn his love that bad. He hit me with ‘can you delete me from your friend’s list?’ I was speechless. I asked what I did wrong.
I didn’t know I was the motherfucking birthday police. She blocked me before I could see the message I missed her birthday. I had alladin lie and say he was just mad because I refused to say my writing made a mistake. It was bullshit. I apologized if there was an error early in the argument. I’m not perfect. I wrote a damn good forgive me or fuck of speech. The last thing he said to me was ‘I forgive you.’ I haven’t heard from him since.
I have a lot to say about that cunt in texas. She liked me until the moment her man cammed with me. Then there was a mission to hurt me. I knew it was coming. Our last group chat was different. She splurged for premium skype so we could group chat with cam. I am now used to the way she looked at me. I can say she is about as pretty as a steaming mound of fresh cow shit. When a girl like her looks at me they do it with envy. It’s new for me. I have been ugly a long time. Now when a female friend sees me there is a look of sheer malice. The way women behave changes. She could handle me as a voice. The moment she saw me it was too much. In a way I hope the cunt reads this. I want her to know in real life no woman has the balls to call me a ‘selfish bitch.’ I may look sweet and bubbly. I am that girl that will give someone the shirt off her back. The only selfish thing I do is writing. Also be careful when you call me a bitch. I am a bitch. If she confronted me about a birthday I missed because of sl**p in real life I would’ve scared the shit out of her. Calling me a ‘selfish bitch’ makes me swing. I hit people.
I haven’t been the same since that loss. I expected him to forgive and forget. I will be happy when I block him. It will be a healing process to block nearly five hundred men. I have men hound me for camsex. They give up that it will happen and move on. While I was writing chapter one at least a hundred men called or messaged me. I know some of them don’t know I write a blog. I don’t know anything about them. I made my message long and deep. I made it clear that more than money I need good men to read my blog and build up the notion I’m a good woman. I asked for comments that show support to help plead my case. It was insanity. The messages I read were so disrespectful. Two men called me four times and called me a bitch over and over. The new trend is for men to say ‘I’m horny can you help.’ What the fuck is happening to men? They don’t know me yet I’m supposed to cam like I’m a nurse solving a medical issue.
Men who responded tended to say nothing but ‘hi.’ Like I teach elementary school I had to tell them ‘hi’ gives me nothing. They couldn’t read a message. They expected cam sex when I told them my cam is broken. Instead of stopping skype calls they increased. Over and over I explained I couldn’t pick up the phone. I had men ask me what I wanted. I just told them to read a blog and comment. You would’ve thought I asked them for a liver transplant. All I wanted was them to read a page or two about me and say a few words. I’m tired of strangers on my skype list. I allow men a chance to get to know me. They truly can’t read and comprehend instructions. As the day progressed I made it a new doctrine that my writing is linked to my sexuality. My status says ‘the only men that matter read my blog. Leave comments.’ Most men will not read. Most men are so lazy it shocks me. I made it clear the only way I will have cam sex for free is to please good men who read a blog and comment. The comments are necessary to have a list that lets me learn names and faces.
What makes me laugh is they chased me for so long. A five dollar donation would’ve meant camsex I would do happily for a long motherfucking time. It was the gesture of kindness I wanted more than money. It is so much easier to put five bucks in an envelope than some of the shit they pulled. A comment also meant camsex for a long motherfucking time. The irony is anytime I have money all I do is help people. I spent 18,000 helping people. I have worked long and hard. At no point could a person ask me for help and not get it. In high school I worked a full time job. I had at least three hundred bucks on me at all times. Poor k**s with no lunch money knew I would help. I paid for condoms, alcohol, pot, cigarettes, tampons, coffee and gas. I can honestly every man failed me in some way. Some corrected the error after I begged. At the same time I don’t fuck around with the truth.
Asking for donations or comments was a test. I’m busted poor. If a friend was also busted poor I would mail them twenty bucks. Period. No strings attached. My friend could need twenty bucks and I would pawn jewelry to make it happen. I can get an envelope in the mail. If I had a friend in need I would suck cock to get them cash. That’s the kind of woman I am. My best friend knows if she needed anything she could ask me. She could hit me with a need for a hundred bucks. I would take everything I own to a flea market and get it done. It’s kind of a beautiful lesson to learn about myself. Even when I have nothing I can figure out a way to pull cash out of my ass and chip in.
If someone asks me for a comment you have no idea how far I’ll go . It’s just irony that lame men ask me to comment on dick pics. I do it. I put more time and effort into complimenting a dick than some of the comments I received. I have left killer comments on a man’s page. They didn’t ask for it. They were new to xham. I realized they had no comments and I let other women know they were good men. They weren’t just chasing sex. They showed me respect. We had a great night chatting. They found a man worth time and energy. I told women to treat him right. He was special. I warned them if they fucked with him to watch out for me because I would slam them with a comment that announced them to be a trashy skanks. When I asked for comments I expected the amount of effort I put forth into describing a cock pic. I really am better than most people. It’s not an inflated ego that allows me to say it. It’s the goddamn truth.
I know two men like me. One man I just met. He was not asking for cam sex in his message. He was asking about my day. I hit him with the long complex message. He is from Saudia Arabia. He understood what men American men couldn’t comprehend. He said some of the nicest things a man could ever say to me. He hit my biggest assets dead on. He let me know that I am a beautiful, sweet woman who gave him pleasure for free. He told me how rare that was to find. He begged to help me. He made it clear it was not for more camsex. He wanted me to know that I was special. He knew the phrase ‘no strings attached.’ He grasped the fact my computer is dying and our friendship can’t really develop if people don’t help me. He asked for my paypal. That is the joke. With so many student loans and medical debt I can’t get paypal. He begged me to use western union. I have to research where to find it. I sure as fuck will. He gave me his email address. He showed me so much respect. He saw a woman who gave him free pleasure and he wanted to thank her and know her better. He can barely speak English but he read my blog. He wants to make sure I can keep writing. I’m about ready to make him the center of my universe even if he can only send me five bucks. He got the message. It’s about building new friendships. It’s what you do for a friend.
The next man is so good to me. I had so many wonderful comments from people I barely know before I asked the people already in my life for help. He sent me a nice comment on my page. I poured out my dilemmas. I glanced at my page earlier. He did what I do for people. He wrote me a beautiful paragraph. It was about the fact I have a broken heart. It was more than a sentence. It was deep and well written. He took time to write that response. Men who claim to love me need to check out the competition. I hate the bitter truth.
Michael this is for you. You were the first person I asked for a comment to plead my case. I will check again when I post this. You didn’t say a word. You want to be lovers. You failed me the most. We have talked daily. I asked you almost a week ago for a comment. I asked again a few days ago. I would wager my aunt’s diamond ring you didn’t leave one. You want to cam with me more than anyone. You write well. You write for pleasure. There is no excuse for not pleading my case with a fucking essay. It is too late to repair the damage done. It is too late for an essay. I was quite nice to you today until I analyzed the situation. You called me your guardian angel. Think about how you treated her. I hope you realize you hurt me by reading this. Do not be surprised if I treat you rather coldly for a long time. After I read my friend’s beautiful paragraph about my broken heart I realized what some men did for me. Then I compared the message to what men I love wrote. I am worth a paragraph when I love you. I shouldn’t have to beg. Don’t grovel on skype. Just like other men you can leave a comment on my page or blog. When a near stranger can write a lovely paragraph and you don’t say a word you can’t contact me on skype and expect a reply.
Kurt I can’t lie. I know you wrote a nice comment. You want to be with me. You want me to wake up in your arms. I really thought you would go deep. You know me so well. The man in Saudia Arabia said more to me than you did. It was a test to see how you would support me. Strangers evoked more emotion. The man who wrote about my story being sad yet sexy touched my heart. You pretty much said ‘hey babe, a few nice things and I know you’re having trouble with your computer and I hope someone helps.’ I truly put more work into glorifying a picture of a cock. If I can pump out a paragraph about a cock and you can’t produce a paragraph about me then we are not an equal match. It will take time to repair the damage. I need a man who can write me a beautiful paragraph about my broken heart. As a writer that is what arouses me. A man who uses words to express himself is my only need.
My dearest Raymond. You stunned me yesterday. First of all I am so used to communicating with you. I anally **** you with words on a daily basis. You are so damn cute when you respond. You address each topic with a couple of sentences on skype. You already know you can do no wrong. When it comes to every man I’ve let deep into my world you did everything right. I am totally alone right now. Real friends ditched me. xhamster friends ditched me. You stuck around. You stayed with me. You didn’t abandon me. You let me discuss anything. You pointed out something would be wrong if I suddenly responded with just a few words. You would worry about me if it happened. When I disappear to sl**p you don’t abandon me like a flavor of the week. When I’m gone for everyone else I try like all hell to be here for you. In some ways you barely register absences. It’s because I do try to check messages when I’m sedated. I pull it together to write you. When I have a hundred missed messages I answer yours alone. When I reply more to your comments I will explain why as long as you want me I will be here. I can’t believe there is a man like you on xhamster. Silly butt you are so cute. Just as if we were chatting you wrote a sentence and hit enter. Because you care you did it three times.
You will always have a free pass. You never have to comment again. We can discuss what I write in private. In so many ways testing you was important. I know exactly how you communicate. I adore the fact that forcing you to do it means I saw your dick before your face. Giggle. I love what we created. You gave me the time I needed to trust you. No one else could resist pressuring me to have cam sex. We used words. You never gave up on me. When other men were dying for cam sex you were patient. All three men I called out by name has been patient. I haven’t had cam sex with all three of you. Michael refused to write a comment. Kurt didn’t do better than virtual strangers. Raymond was perfect. Please Raymond I promise not to freak you out with a sentence. Don’t freak me out with a full paragraph before you hit enter. If suddenly you wrote a full paragraph I would worry about you. You write a sentence and post it. You did it for me three times. Just like one of my letters you discussed each topic. I knew how all three men write. You did exactly what I needed. You hit the highlights.
Thank you for talking about my brain. That’s all I really need. This is a porn site. If I had a dollar for each message about my tits I could buy three new computers. All I wanted was for those men chasing tits and a pretty face was to think about my brain. It is an abnormal brain. I am almost too intelligent. My mom never told me my IQ. She let me know I was way higher than most k**s. Then she told me I was not freaky smart. I’ve met people that hit genius level. It does make you almost socially retarded. You can be too smart to express yourself. You can be so smart the company of normal people is intolerable. I met those people. I have stories about them. They liked me because I have similar interests. One of them got me through advanced algebra. It’s a funny story. You can be too smart for your own good. I suck at easy things. Trying to get my school locker open was a never ending ambition. Dumb k**s could remember my combination and open it when I couldn’t. I’m so far from perfect. But I’m way too smart to have free cam sex with a dumbass who can’t read a blog and comment.
I accept that I’m not like most women. They make it too easy. I know most real chicks on this site screen for hot men to do cam sex for. They want attention for the wrong reason. Hot dudes try to get me by bragging about their dick all the damn time. Men just want a chick to watch them whack off. So many men that I turn down beg me just to look at their dick. ‘ I have a huge load waiting for you’ is so common. When I was training to be a camwhore I learned how to deal with it and play along. I trained to make men cum hard and fast. I did it with no penetration. I did anything but fuck myself 95% of the time. My technique is different. I can’t stand watching other girls do it. They shoot for biggest slut on the planet. I shoot for nice chick that just likes to get a bit kinky. That’s why the man in Saudia Arabia wants to transfer me money. I was sweet, not trashy and he had a serious orgasm.
It was funny when I sent my letter out to the men who pester me daily for cam sex. They acted like they are too good to pay for sex. They each owed me five bucks for sexual harassment non-stop. The shit I put up with to find out what they were like was absurd.
My skype list will be erased except for five men. If you read this and you’re on my skype list send me a message or I may erase you on accident. I’m not good with names. All you have to do now is send me a message that says something like ‘I read your blog and your xham name.’ I want to get to know the men who read my blog much better. You are all my priority. I had too many punks messaging me to give you proper attention. I fucked up. Some men may have quit trying and I just don’t know their name. It’s a name issue. When a man has an xham name, a skype name and a real name it takes me time to learn them.
Brown sugar was pissed he got a copy and paste message. That night it was time to make things easy. The message was something like’ I write a blog that is highly erotic yet personal. Men who read it earn cam sex. Leave comments’ I do make mistakes. Brown sugar left a nice comment about my realness. I know damn well the other men that got that message needed to learn about my blog. If they read it and leave a comment it earns camsex. Brown sugar may have been a couple who wanted to cam. If you are the couple I promise you it won’t happen and we can move on. Thanks for being nice for a short time. I have no idea who brown sugar is. I make good decisions. I needed to make things clear for people leaving comments in the wrong place. Men caught on that I don’t answer pm’s. So they left comments on my page. I love them all for doing it. They were smart. But everyone besides brown sugar was missing the blog and my comment section was getting slammed. Time is an issue. I have to use copy and paste messages sometimes. If you had to say the same thing a hundred times you would feel like a retard typing it over and over.
Brown sugar could’ve said ‘I do read your blog and comment.’ They fucked up and had a hissy fit. It is an issue of not knowing names. I was attacked for being disrespectful to everyone. They brought up the fact I first had an issue with my mic. I don’t remember what else they attacked me for. Basically if it was the couple it was about my personal problems. They knew I couldn’t do camsex because of my period, my audio is a non-stop problem. They knew I used to cam live free for pleasure. They pretty much called me unstable and rude. Fuck him or them. I haven’t been able to have cam sex for at least a month. I would love to be free pleasure. How dare you address my list of problems like it means I am not who you thought I was. My medicine makes me bleed. I still have my period. Cam sex is still not an option. My list of excuses was a prime example of my realness. It has been one problem after another. My life has changed. I planned on making xhamster a place for free pleasure. I planned to earn money on chatturbate. Things changed and it’s not my fault.
I don’t know who the fuck you are brown sugar. I didn’t make the rules. To do a live broadcast on xhamster you must be an official model accepting tokens. I can’t be free pleasure if I wanted to. My mic is a huge deal. It is not an excuse or something to mock. I have no fucking audio. My computer couldn’t cam months before audio was an issue until I fixed the ventilation problem. I can’t remember the last time I could cam without my computer malfunctioning. You don’t rage out on a chick for a dying computer. I can no longer have cam sex live free of charge. Nothing can change the fact I am bleeding and it prevents camsex. I refuse to play in a bl**dy goddamn pussy. I can’t do cam sex with no audio. If you were offended by my copy and paste you should have attacked me in private and not on my page. You are a fucking cocksucker in my book. Don’t fuck with my motherfucking reputation. I could’ve fucked with yours but I have more class.
I do think brown sugar was the couple. It was the way they used the word we instead of me. If it was a dude he seems to feel like he is speaking for all of xhamster. What an ego-maniacal move. I almost don’t want to know. I know one thing. I have had two couples fuck with me. The second couple promised they were nothing like the horror show my first couple was. They were exactly the same. I trusted the first couple and asked them to be patient because of a neverending period. I trusted the second couple with even more personal information. I could be wrong and brown sugar could be an impatient dude. Or it could be a couple who promised they would be good to me and support me. Either way brown sugar acted as if my problems made me a liar. I can’t help I have a dying computer. I can’t help that sometimes I have no choice but to copy and paste. I can’t be perfect. I do not need a public attack. I’m doing my best to make men realize I write a blog and the only way I’ll have cam sex is if you read it and comment. I can’t learn names overnight when I’m hit with thousands of them.
If you’re on this site long enough it hits you that 95% of men are chasing a free cam show with a beautiful woman. That is why my pm box is full. Damn near every message is a c2c request. If you don’t make it clear how you feel about the issue then men stalk you trying to get it. Things are going to change for me fast.
Tomorrow I may find out my computer is truly dead. I am no longer seeking help. If I get told I can’t go wireless on this one then I will cry real hard. I may get a bottle of rum and get shitfaced and make my mom drive me to the pawn store. I hardly ever drink. Handing over my aunt’s jewelry has to happen when I’m numb and way past tipsy. To risk losing it forever I have to be hammered. I hate people who abuse pain pills. I wish I had a connection. For the first time in my life I wish I could score heroin. I wish I had someone to shoot me full of it. I can’t give up that diamond ring sober. I won’t be able to walk in that store without sobbing. I’m crying like a little bitch just thinking about it. I knew it would happen. I was just trying to prepare myself for the ordeal.
I’ll be out of medicine in a few days. I will sl**p a week. My pussy will quit bleeding. I need nude photos. Then when I get more medicine I was going to do it. Pawning my jewelry for a computer has been on my mind for a long time. Rather than do it I started the process of allowing men to help me. I don’t catch a break. I am grateful it happened. I learned my lesson. I can depend on the kindness of strangers more than friends. I have always figured out how to turn a nightmare into a fairy tale. I realized my ability to help people who need money or support is surreal compared to normal people. I do not stop turning horror into bliss. I am just like the man in Saudia Arabia. I trust people and help them. At no point will the words that brown sugar said come out of my motherfucking mouth. ‘I wish I could help’ is not in my vocabulary. I get shit done. I do hope it was the couple. They earn money through cam. In fifteen minutes they could earn twenty bucks to help a chick with a dying computer. Saying they couldn’t help was bullshit. They cam for money. Yet they chase a free porn show just like a cheap horny dude.
Maybe it is my modem and I can take the time I need to accept doing my worst nightmare. I know it has to happen. I’m just hoping for time. Yet I want wireless so bad that I’ll do it tomorrow if it has to be done. One thing matters to me. I want to skype chat with Raymond. In some ways I want to delete all names except his. This was a test. Three men passed. Raymond, the man from saudia arabi and the man who wrote a paragraph about my broken heart. A few men are keepers as well. I make it so easy. My writing is linked to my sexuality. The copy and paste message that pissed off brown sugar is my new philosophy. I will always be addicted to making men cum. I am a bit slutty. If you read this then I’m very interested in you. I don’t know your names and faces yet. You had a chance to meet me I want a chance to meet you. I won’t guarantee cam sex except for the three men who passed the test. You have to chat with me first so I can be positive you won’t be difficult to handle. Reading and commenting is not guaranteed sexuality. I have to trust you. Appearances don’t matter to me. What a man says to me matters.
You read part one. This is part two. As you can see my agenda has shifted. I’m no longer telling my story in hopes for donations or support. I am doing this for me. I am a writer and an artist. Getting a new computer is needed for both my passions. I will sacrifice something more valuable to me than my pride to make it possible. I will pawn my most sacred memories. I will pray I quickly earn the money to buy them back. I would do it to help a friend. It is somehow harder to do it for myself. I don’t need a dime from a man. A network of support is what I need. If you read this please ask for my skype ID so we can chat. I can’t post it in public again. I have to send you a pm. It makes me happy to get messages and calls. I make bonds that get sexual. I’m on a porn site. I like to play. I love c2c. The rules have just shifted. The privilege goes to men who read and leave feedback. Some dumb fucker doesn’t have a shot. Most men don’t read. Especially when I write a good long post men don’t try. Nothing is for free. I just ask men to read and write a word or two. It gives me a list of names I need to learn. There is no gimmick. There is no hidden agenda. When I stop bleeding, wake-up and hopefully have nude photos the game begins.
It is all a race to buy back jewelry. I’ll never wear it. I need to own it. I’ll have a computer that cams with audio for the first time in ages. I don’t play games. With or without nude photos I go live and official here and on chatturbate. It will be non-stop. I will collect tokens and go places I never dreamed. As soon as I’ve pawned my jewelry and quit bleeding I’m racing a clock to get it back. You can see me perform live because my blog will tell times and locations. More important than that once I know you when I take a break I will cam for you one on one. Sometimes men would rather talk to me than fuck me. We can have both. I need support. I blend friendship with sexuality. I’ll warn everyone that Raymond comes first. He can’t be there 24/7. No man can replace him. No man can get jealous that I play with other men. Don’t freak out on me if I miss your messages. Because of my sl**p issue I go missing for days. Sometimes I’ll be writing. Sometimes I’ll be doing art. It’s not going to be easy until I get my jewelry back.
Xhamster has taught me one thing. No man can be trusted not to ditch me or attack me. I would love to say I have faith that Raymond won’t bail on me. Just like the boy in India who knew me from day one and earned all of my love Raymond could flee with no explanation. Men move on without the courage to say goodbye. It happens all of the time. That is why I’m starting over. One man made a page comment he missed happy Lynn. I haven’t been in a happy place for almost a month. Doclowe proved I could go to sl**p with a man writing me a love letter and wake-up with a public slam on my page with no explanation. Brown sugar proved I could make one mistake and get slammed with a message that makes me look like a rude lying bitch. I vow on the bible never to trust a couple. I’m not bisexual. Women turn on me faster than men. I don’t want them in my life ever again. It’s a man’s world for me.
I honor which men found me first the most. I write a damn good blog with a deep look into my life. I give every man a chance. I have no choice. Men keep fucking up. They always leave me. This blog is so new. It has been good erotica based on fact. I have fun writing about sex. I can pump it out fast. It’s the blogs that get personal that matter. I say exactly what’s on my mind. When I have wi-fi I tackle the pm box. You better believe I respect men who found me first. Doclowes comment implied I don’t value the people who care about me deeply. Nothing could be more false. You read chapter one. You may have giggled at my quick blog about wrath and the way I help people until they mistreat me. This is only chapter two. I had men promise to read every word I write already drop me. I can do this alone with no feedback.
I give so many men a chance because I want a life partner. I deserve love. I know to expect the unexpected. I may fail as a cam girl and succeed as an artist. I may succeed as a cam girl and fail as an artist. I may become a pornstar. I may end up homeless. I may not be able to afford a private shrink and expensive medicine. If it happens I will die quick, hard and fast. I’ll explain more labor but a long time taking medicine has caused k**ney problems. I may drop dead.
I keep trying to tell people my decision to become a cam girl is about life or death. I wouldn’t do it if it was not the only option. It is degrading to mix sex with money. People treat you like a whore even though I enjoy innocent sexuality to please men who can’t touch me. The boys comment ‘have fun being a cam whore’ was made to mock my fight for survival. He can work and he lives with his parents. How dare he try to berate me for difficult things I must do. He tried to tell me my facebook blog portrayed me as slut. I wrote a hundred pages about the topic. I didn’t post it. Barely anyone would read it and no one would comment. I decided to write here where I will be praised for my sexuality.
One old lover messaged me asking me to listen to his demo and donate to his dream. His music was garbage. If I had ten bucks cash I would have contributed. Trust me the music was so bad he was not worth pawning something to help him. Instead I shared my most recent collages. I happily explained I knew he couldn’t enter my world because he was happily married. I let him know it is a forum for open minded musicians, artists and writers to connect all over the world. I was proud to tell him I would do anything to launch my own creative ambitions. For me it involves cam sex. I told him I would love to exchange one of my collages for his cd. I explained they cost the same amount to produce. Our shipping service was an equal amount. It was a chance for two old friends to trade our creations.
He attacked. First he said no and then he explained why. He told me I did not respect his marriage. He announced he was seeking donations for a legitimate cause. He declared he was not the ‘international barter exchange.’ He told me we clearly chose different paths in life. I listened to his music. It was terrible. I was trying to be supportive. I tore him a new asshole. He hadn’t contacted me in a year. The only reason he did was to get my money. When you listen to me talk about how happy I am that you are enjoying your married life and then accuse me of trying to tarnish it you don’t make sense.
I let him know I was not chasing his dick. I let him know I live in America and he moved to Germany. I can’t jeopardize his marriage. I wouldn’t try. I simply offered to exchange his music for my art. That is what friends do. I gave two pieces to my friend he refers to as his retirement plan. I knew I offered him something than can grow in value. He has no shot at a music career because he can’t sing. My art is really good and it is stupid not to collect it when I can afford to print it. He’s damn right we chose different paths. I would never use a site and solicit old friends for money. I plan to do this the right way. Instead of donations I’m going to work to become an artist. I let him know he should do car washes rather than beg. I called him out as an arrogant son of a bitch for targeting people just to get money. When you only send a message asking for money to old friends I call that manipulation and being a con-artist.
I let him know on my forum we exchange creative projects and consider it sacred. I let him know men have asked to buy my work if I could afford to print it. Good men are waiting for me to launch a website and tell them how to buy it. When I incorporate my nudity I have no doubt men will jump at the chance to collect it. He talked about building a boat. I told him on my forum we launch yachts and sail around the world together. I don’t have time for a boat. I want to travel the world.
I offered him a chance to have something I will make available world-wide. Once I edit it and form a website. I will feature as an option for galleries. Someone will jump at the chance to catch me as a new face in the art world. We move in different circles alright. I could jump on a site and beg for money to become an artist. Men would not only love my work. They would love my beauty. They would love my ambition. They would love to earn early work from an artist that could make it. My work is unique. It can take me places. I refuse to beg for money when it comes to art. This week has taught me that an honest plea for help gets rejection. Not enough people cruise that site on a search to donate and support new musicians and artists
Choosing cam sex is about earning my future through hard work and giving pleasure. There are a lot of musicians singing the same damn love song. There are a lot of artists selling bullshit landscapes. There is a search for good contemporary art. There is a search for something different. I will not be a cam girl once I launch as an artist and reach out to galleries. At the same time my work is in a gallery to be sold for a lot of money I will also make it available to good men like you who read my blog. For a man who impresses me with support I will basically give it away. That is the irony in calling me a ‘selfish bitch’ saying ‘have fun being a cam girl’ ‘We have chosen different paths’ ‘I don’t value people who care for me deeply’ ‘I don’t admit my writing is flawed’ ‘ ‘I make excuses and disrespect people’ and so much more. I plan to dedicate my life to people that read my blog. I am so generous that it is self-harmful. It will be fun being a cam girl. I chose an honorable path without begging. My excuses are real problems. I show people respect. I state over and over my writing isn’t perfect.
Now is the time to reach out to me. Raymond did it the right way. I give men a second chance. When I am a cam girl on two sites things will change. Both sites will have a blog for men to enjoy things. As soon as possible each site will have cutting edge nude photos that aren’t slutty. I’m working on getting an amateur photographer to make videos of me nude that use my voice and acting skills. A man made a comment about being curious to hear my voice. It meant a lot to me and I will explain why. It changes. When I talk to my mother I sound like a sailor. When I speak to make men aroused it’s a higher pitch. I have a southern accent. It was enhanced by my aunt jonell.
I was raised to use my voice to charm. I was taught to have the manners and tone of a proper lady. It is sweet like candy. It is soothing. The witticisms I use are old-fashioned. It is sexy. It is cute because I curse like a sailor and sound like sex and sweetness. A lot of the camsex I did was based on my voice. I can talk about graphic sex with a voice trained to be sensual. No one is able not to focus on the way I speak. It is true sweet southern charm. Most cam girls can’t pull it off. I have the ability to do things with my voice. It was being trained to use tone to make people comfortable. I get mocked it is so high and sweet. I used my voice to dominate phone sex before some girls had their first kiss. It affects men and women differently.
I learned how to use it in a restaurant. When customers get hostile I can soothe aggression. When I was f******n I got propositioned to work for a call center for a lot of money. I had to tell them I was so young. They begged me to stay in touch until I was sixteen. I lost the number.
Women hear something soothing and innocent. Men call me out for having a sexy voice almost immediately. Studying acting I learned how to use different variations for different roles. People tell me to use my real voice. That’s the funny thing. I can’t control it. My parents insisted I quit using my baby voice and speak like an adult. My aunt jonell told me to sound sweet. I formed two voices. They are entirely different. I can’t control it. When I am nervous high pithed, sexy and sweet is my only option. When I’m around good friends I am comfortable and I try not to sound sexual. People used to one voice freak out when they hear it change. When my aunt was alive I stopped everything to talk to her on my cell phone. Friends called it my aunt jonell voice. My ex thought it was the cutest thing ever. He stopped everything to listen to me take those calls. All of a sudden I was so southern, sweet and old-fashioned. We talked about the funniest shit. I sounded like a movie character. I haven’t talked to her in such a long time. That voice wasn’t about sex. It involved a twang so strong it was shocking. I was sweet like syrup. I did anything to please her.
Her favorite expression was ‘be sweet.’ Using my real voice disturbed her. Those lessons to ‘be sweet’ shaped my life. The sweet tone I use is sexy. Women don’t try to seduce men and women with their voice. I can’t stop it from happening.
There are so many reasons to reach out to me now. I will get more contact if I can produce nude photos and audio. Doing it on two sites mean catching me before I go from slammed to jam full of opportunities is smart. After I write these next few blogs you will know so much about me. I will return to writing erotic fiction based on fact. My agenda is to meet the men who knew me from the beginning and idolize them until they leave me. I need a circle of friends that knew me before I was busting ass as a cam girl. I do not worry anymore whether my writing is read or ignored. I learned a valuable lesson asking men to try it. Men don’t want to read. They want a free cam show.
I had one men who said in poor English ‘I do not pay I am yung and hansome.’ I told him that men who announce they are young and handsome offer me nothing. I want a humble man. I can refer to myself as a beautiful woman for a different reason. I do not try to get cam sex announcing my beauty. I’m only able to call myself a beautiful woman because I am talking about inner beauty. I have been ugly a long time. I’ll get into that story in the next few chapters. The way I help people is beautiful. My life is devoted to God. He owns me. My ability to love people despite flaws is beautiful. The fact that age and appearance doesn’t affect my ability to treat men like they are perfect is beautiful. My dedication to making a difference is beautiful. All I care about is using words to make people happy, laugh, promote health, stop bad habits and think. That is why I write a real blog that isn’t just non-stop sex.
I give every man a chance. That is why I say get my skype ID and stay in contact. More than money and support I need love. I am looking for a smart man who will read what I write and give me feedback I need. The right man will jump at the chance. He will stick around for the bad times. He will help me celebrate the good times. When I have a need he will work hard to achieve it. He will contact me daily. He will be able to read anything I write. He will be sexual. He will support me even if he feels jealousy. He will want my artwork. He won’t scold me. He will not act like he needs to educate and control me. He will understand my need to prove I can support myself and I don’t need his money. If we fight he will work with me to mend issues. He will love me for my flaws. He will not be intimidated if I succeed. He will have his own stories to tell. He won’t be scared to tell me he loves me. He will calm me down if I rage out on him. He will use words to convince me he won’t leave me for an easier option. He will respect me that I need solitude. He will not treat me like a maid. He will not push for sex when I can’t be sexual. He will be free to have his own independence. He will have his own hobbies. His story will also discuss overcoming adversity. He will live a relatively sober life. Like me if he engages in d**gs and alcohol it will be rare and harmless. He will win me with words. He will never cease to amaze me. He will be able to work hard. He will not try to impress people with wealth. He will want me even though I can’t have c***dren. He will be an older man that has had a chance to be a father. I refuse to allow a good man the chance to be a father to be with me. I will know he can recover if I die young. He will treat his f****y right. Most of all he will love me how I am now. If I make changes he will still love me. He will never try to change me. He will allow me to make my own decisions.
I can live a happy life if I never meet a man with all those qualities. It is a dream to find him. I will relocate anywhere in the world to be with him. He can also come to me and allow me the ability to stay in the town I love. The last usb port on my computer is failing. I can accept I must pawn jewelry to replace it. It is the key to my survival. As soon as I can have wi-fi I will go down the pm list with a simple message. My pm box is full and I can’t use it. Not very long ago I started a blog. The beginning is very sexual. My most recent posts discuss who I am. It is long. Most men don’t read it. I’m looking for men who love me for writing an honest blog about my life and what I’m thinking. I am an artist and a writer. I give any man a chance to know all about me. I don’t need anyone to read it. I write it for myself. I only ask you leave a simple comment if you do enjoy it. I am trying to learn new names and faces.
That list of names are men that aren’t too lazy to learn about me. Everyone seems to want free cam sex. Yes I do it. I plan on being a cam girl because I’m bi-polar. I can’t get a real job and I got denied disability. A man who can keep up with my blog and write a really good comment on a regular basis is encouraged to ask for my skype ID. A man that can do that is worthy of free cam sex. Nothing is guaranteed. It takes time to earn my trust. Soon I will do live broadcast here and on chatturbate. The kind of man worthy of cam sex is patient. He doesn’t give up on me if I miss messages. I will be very busy at first because I must earn money for expensive private healthcare and capital to launch an art career.
Even though I make it that clear I doubt anyone on that pm list will read a word I write. The fact I give them a chance is my dedication to engage men in a rare glimpse of a woman’s mind. I keep it real. I promise to return to fun stories about sex. First I had to introduce myself. I had to show my reaction to criticism. Chapter two needed to discuss what I learned trying to figure out who on my skype list must be eliminated. Then I had to encourage men who have read this blog to replace them so we can chat. I had to discuss pawning jewelry I cherish more than anything for a new computer to make it possible. I had to discuss the ways I get ditched by every man I cherish. I have to warn men I don’t expect them to stick around. It hurt to admit strangers did more for me than friends. I know this blog will make two men unhappy. I may have shared too emotion towards Raymond and cause him to feel overwhelmed and flee.
I had talk about brown sugars rage over a copy and paste message. If they felt disrespected the appropriate move should’ve been discussed in private. To attack me for legitimate problems I can’t control on my page was an example of abuse. There is no reason to harm my reputation when I’m a real girl with major problems. Any instance a woman is the primary person to communicate they are malicious. No more women will have a chance to interfere with my life.
If you read this blog you realize I don’t ask for something I’m not willing to do for other people. I can get money in the mail to help a stranger. No one asks me for help without a valiant effort to make it happen. If someone needs a comment for support they get a paragraph without asking. Even if it is a picture of a dick I’m complimenting. If you helped me when I asked I appreciated it. A man in Saudia Arabia knew my worth more than good friends. A friend who responded with a lovely paragraph about my broken heart fixed the situation. He answered in less than twenty four hours. Unlike Michael he was easily able to help me in ways I can’t forget. I know longer feel sad and broken hearted.
I told you every horror story becomes a fairy tale. When it hits you that you deserve support with a comment like that you reevaluate what is important in life. I am ready to write the next chapter even though it is a hard story to tell. I don’t need to write asking for feedback. I do a better job giving comments about a dick than men who claim love for me. I don’t need help. I can sacrifice the only thing I care about. I can work like a mad woman to get it back. I do hope men who read this ask for my skype ID. It won’t break my heart if they don’t. In time too many men will jump at the chance. I just have to keep writing, asking men to read it and be patient
Posted by linmarris2 months ago
I checked ‘my news’ comment to see the man who bitched about quantity tried to tell me I was disrespectful and he was just honest. Then even though I didn’t respond he had to post one more comment. Stop now. If there is one way to piss me off it is by telling me to stop commenting on my own damn blog. I accept that men will consider me a ‘a flavor of the week’ and drop me. It’s nothing I’m doing wrong. I’ve been sleeping so much I’ve barely posted in this blog. People are simply rude. However, not all men are that way. I also must adjust my blast on accepting couples. I just explained to another supportive couple that four bad people should not make me dismiss an open-minded couple who want to enter my life. I let anyone have a chance. Most men will walk by the open door and slam themselves against a brick wall trying to get me to be free porn. I make it so simple. All you have to do is read and post a comment somewhere. My PM box is always full. I will miss your message if you send me a PM. I am busy making deep replies to lovely comments on my blog or page.
One man may have truly saved my damn world. I did pawn almost all my jewelry. It was enough for groceries not a computer. Scott in Australia was my salvation. Not only has he offered to donate towards a new computer if I need it. He went a step further. He fixed this one. I trusted him to remote access my PC and clean it up. He also did something else I needed. My skype ID was an issue. It was my real name. I have erased all evidence I can find of it. It was posted all over the place. It was not safe. You can google a name and pay a company to provide a person’s address. Details like pictures and my hometown help narrow the search. However, letting my name out was a huge mistake. I have a new skype ID now which is safe. It will remain safe because I will only give it out to people who have read this blog and now to treat me like a lady and not a masturbation source.
Scott asked me if I was really sexual. The answer is yes. I’m a very sexual creature. I love getting men off. I get requests from so many men it would be idiotic to do it for a stranger. If you read this blog you realize I offer quantity. But fuck the man who accused me of not maintaining quality. He liked mini blogs about my panties. He had no interest in learning about my past. Then there are men who really want to know more of my story. It did start with a ‘to be continued’ feeling. So this is chapter 3. The blue dress. I am writing this for a new friend I call my prince. Our friendship started with his criticism for me to make my work shorter and simplify it.
Poor boy, I unleashed wrath about judging a person’s writing when they don’t write. It is a philosophy I will teach so many people. If you can’t paint then don’t make critical statements about another person’s painting. If you can’t build a house don’t find fault in an architect who can. So what if his foundation is cracked? You can’t build a box. How dare you judge a creative endeavor unless you can compete with a person who can? I never bitch about a shitty meal because for the love of God I could burn down my house boiling water.
In art school during any critique there was an unspoken rule never to say one negative thing before you praised something worth merit. I can handle criticism once I know a person. Now my prince could tell me ‘baby you got too complex about this or that’ and I would learn from the mistake. However, he hit me with the length issue before we became good friends. Now, we are each building up one another. I let him know that he is a very intelligent young man. He is Arabic and his English is excellent. I will never stop bragging on him because I can’t learn a foreign language. I could try with all my heart to learn Arabic and speak gibberish for life. I can write. I can make art. He can learn languages. I am trying to engage him in writing. I try to do it for all people. I can teach someone how to do what I do. I can edit. I also know that writing in Arabic and translating it into English will make him so damn fluent he can pass for American.
The blue dress is in my pictures twice. I show men what I looked like as a teenager because it’s sexy to see how a woman grows up. I’m also damn proud I don’t look that different. I am very picky about clothing. My sense of style is pretty damn good. For high school buying a dress for an event was a big deal. The women in my family love to dress up and look good. That blue dress is probably my crowning achievement. When I buy a dress I go for timeless. In a way my prince hurt my feelings by asking me why I would basically let myself go. I have an answer. But first let me describe the dress. It is a size nine. It is strapless. It is the perfect color blue with a floral embroidery pattern in the material. All I can say is that my senior year that damn dress looked like it was tailor made for my body. I looked at it one week ago. It is an hourglass. It was built for huge tits, a waist, hips and it is short enough not to need hemming. The top has a lace trim and so does the bottom. To wear it I had to by a corset to support my massive tits without straps.
I have so few pictures of my teenage years. Two of them feature that dress. One when I had my signature orange crown of ringlets. One when I had my long black hair with bangs. My hair has always shifted from orange to black depending on my acting roles. I know my body looks banging in the picture where my hair is orange. I prefer the picture with my black hair and the name badge halina which is not my name. The reason I let myself go is the tall boy standing next to me with that blue dress and orange hair. His name is Tim. He destroyed me twice. It takes a lot to destroy me. When you pull it off twice you are officially a monster.
I was a happy teen slut that refused a boyfriend for one main reason. Back to chapter one where I started to describe what made me different. My dad got me a job damn near the day I turned f******n working at the crooked restaurant he was a prep cook. We were dirt poor. My brother was eighteen and he hadn’t worked a day in his pampered life. I have always been an overachiever. My mother shouldn’t have let me go to work. She did for one reason. When she was fourteenn to sixteen she worked at summer labor camps picking and processing tobacco. If you ever get a chance to read about the sixties movement to turn teenagers into hard labor during the summer at tobacco plantations you should learn about it. For my mother it was freedom from an abusive household. It let her buy nice clothes and feed herself. She wanted me to have that same freedom. It was not childd abuse. It was my mother teaching me how to be self-sufficient. My dad just knew it meant he could use me for drug money.
It was my secret life. I told no one about my job. It was highly ilegal. At that time a fourteen year old could occasionally score a job but was restricted by how much they could work. They had enforeed breaks and wages were closely monitored. My job was over forty hours a week. I worked every school night from five to ten. On Sunday I worked from six am until ten pm. Some weeks I worked all Saturday as well. I was a ‘busgirl.’ I wouldn’t think I was abused if I simply cleaned tables. No this was real childd labor. I greeted each customer, sat them, handed out menus, explained specials, took drink orders, filled them, prepared salads, soups, desserts, refilled drinks and then I cleaned the goddamn table. There would be five servers with four or five tables. I was in charge of taking care of every table in the goddamn place.
I wouldn’t bitch as much but the number one rule in a restaurant is that hot food gets out no matter what. Half the time a server didn’t even put the food on the table. I was also running the credit card machine. I was also taking orders. Basically I could wait on an entire table while another woman was tipped. For all the work I did my boss paid me three dollars an hour. Each night a server decided how much to tip me. No restaurant could pull off doing that to a fouteen year old girl anymore. The world has moved on and what my boss did would shut him down. I was paid in cash under the table. If I described that to a close female friend she would report me to ‘help me.’ What my spoiled little cunt friends didn’t realize is how much I learned.
I had little wanker call me out on being a malicious and deviant woman he underestimated. That job trained me how to get what I need in life by any means necessary.
My boss was smart and everything in the place was handmade. From the salad dressing to the French fries. It didn’t have a menu. It had a book of food options. You could get a hot dog as big as your leg. You could also get chicken marsala, veal, scallops, wine and gigantic steaks. He made the best fucking marinara you could imagine. He made the best chicken salad you could dream of. My dad did a lot of the cooking but he couldn’t handle the line. He made sauces, soups, rice pilaf, potato salad and coleslaw. If you lived in that town and ate there once you came back. Servers knew better than to leave. It was so oldschool they had to wear jean skirts.
They were mostly old ladies on meth. I loved them all. They loved me. I was always willing to go above and beyond my job to help them do their work. I made a shitload of money. My dad bitched from day one that his fourteen year old daughter made more money than he did. It was one of the reasons he hated me.
You have to understand my father never saw me act or sing. He refused to attend one recital or play. My pedophile boss showed up and I had to sing lollipop while he perved out on me so hard I wanted to die. Then like he didn’t stalk me I had to walk up to him and let him rub a hard dick on me to ‘hug me’ and tell me how great I was. After that day my name officially changed at work. No one called me lynn. I was lollipop to everyone. I always broke dishes. If you heard something break everyone stopped and screamed lollipop. Customers learned my name was lollipop. When I got yelled at I was even called lollipop. New servers were schooled not to fuck with lollipop. They were warned that I would get their money. They were warned to tip me right. Each bitch tried me. It was a whole array of possibilities to take them out. I am no thief. I never took one dollar off a table. I didn’t have to.
Most of the time honesty was my only scheme. I would spot a new wealthy flier and see easy money. I told them I’m only fourteen so I can’t be your waitress. I don’t get money left on a table. I will probably do everything but handle a cash payment without getting a tip. I could make it so brutal. I could slam a new waitress and tell her customers that she was outside smoking a cigarette and I am doing her job and she has no intention of tipping me for my work. Customers were drawn to me because I was pretty, sweet as sugar, eager to please and I could remember what they wanted if they were regulars. I could get a table’s drinks without asking them what they wanted. Because I had a whole restaurant at no point was I not working. The servers would stand there and chit chat. It was so obvious that wealthy customers did way more than hand me five bucks. They spent thousands on airplane fuel for that meal. It was no big deal to give me a hundred bucks and leave a server nothing.
It was no big deal to give us both a hundred bucks. That’s why servers never left. You couldn’t find a better place in town to be a waitress. I worked men. Men training to be pilots ate their near daily. They wanted to date me. They wanted to fly me around. They wanted to be around me. It fucked with their head that I was just fourteen. So they tipped me hard. I was not a normal girl told not to get in cars with boys. My rule was not to get on an airplane with grown men. Sundays were our biggest day. We could have a line at the door from seven am until three pm. You can’t imagine busting your ass so hard to turn tables. I had to learn how to carry three coffee cups on a saucer with one hand. I had to learn how to stack hot plates up and down my arms. I felt like each Sunday would kill me. By two o’clock I had a breakdown. I went in the bathroom stall and cried five minutes. The head server saw me do it and she did something a lot of people will never understand.
She offered me meth. I knew they all used it. My dad was such a meth head. Everyone in the place did the work because of meth. My life would’ve been very different if I accepted her ‘medicine.’ I refused. I let her know that I wouldn’t use drugs. My mom worked like a man. She worked with men who depended on meth to get shit done. She did it drug free and so could I. I went home each Sunday and collapsed. My mom had to watch me bawl from my feet hurting and my muscles aching. In some ways I will never forgive her for watching me work that hard so young. My money bought groceries. Most of all my money bought my dad meth and I thought it would earn his love. You can’t buy love. However, he would’ve probably shot me if I ever refused to give him money. In the end that was our true nightmare. Money did eventually equal a gun.
That’s why those first two years of high school I never really had a boyfriend. A boyfriend would bust me in a heartbeat for working a job as a full grown woman. That’s why my sexual adventures happened in the auditorium. I would never have left that job until it got scary. I was sixteen and my pedophile boss told me to come in the cooler and get my Christmas turkey. He shut the door and tried to forcee himself on me. I screamed, fought and went insane. He freaked out. He had no words for himself. He just said here ‘take a ham too.’ I left that day with a turkey and a ham and never went back until I was older. I was screwed after that. I was making around five hundred bucks a week. Suddenly I had to bust ass and find a minimum wage job. All the kids in my drama department worked at boston market. I joined the club.
Since no one knew I had previous employment they thought I was some slacker kid. Cunt bitches had no clue that first I went to school. I stayed after until 4:30 for drama practice. I was at work at five until ten. When I got home I fucking read and talked to boys. Homework was not an issue for me. It was all busy work. I had no time to do some lame handout. I copied it all. I was notorious. I was also absent Monday or Friday. I didn’t ask cunt friends to copy. I let boys who wanted to date me do my work. I dished out my secrets on facebook some of the boys I relied on for homework. I floored girls.
I made my reputation before I started high school. In eighth grade I took an algebra class that equaled high school credit. I hate math. The teacher gave us so much homework it was ridiculous. I rotated who I copied from. She busted me because I would have wrong numbers and the right answer. It was such a big deal she announced to the class anyone caught letting me copy homework would also be kicked out of the class.
She got my mother involved. She demanded to take the issue to the principle. I had never been in trouble my whole life. My mom was pissed that some teacher had an issue with me. It was like a bad soap opera. I live in a small town. My mom was that cool smart chick who partied in high school. My math teacher was the band dork who no one liked. When she realized I was my mother’s daughter and they were about to battle it was a big deal. The teacher demanded I be removed from her classroom before the principle. My mom told her she needed better proof than a few mixed to numbers. She told my teacher she had to catch me before she declared me cheating. My teacher actually cried while my mom berated her. The principle agreed with my mother. Unless she caught me copying and saw it with her own damn eyes then I could stay in the class. I can memorize formulas and pass tests. I just refuse busy work. It got even better because the whole class worked as a team to even let me copy extra credit.
I couldn’t sneeze in that class without being screamed at. Of course I passed with a B. I giggled because all four semesters she gave me an F in conduct. So I started high school with a reputation for copying homework. I still could get A’s on tests. I held a full time job, did drama, missed one day a week and stayed in the gifted program.
At boston market I met a boy who was different. For one thing I had a reputation for hooking up and dropping hot boys. Stu was fat and he had this lame blonde pony tail. His real name wasn’t even stu. He truly got nicknamed for looking just liked the beavis and butthead character stuart. I don’t know why I fell for him. I knew I hated that damn job and he was so good to me. He mopped the floor for me and helped me debone chickens after work. That earned his chance to be my boyfriend. We dated a long time. I was cruel. I wasn’t sexually attracted to him. I couldn’t give him an orgasm or even kiss him really. He was being courted by one of the girls that started out my friend and ended up my enemy. I called her the wildeb**st. She was enormous. She was way over six feet tall with a huge ass. She had buck teeth. She had glasses. She was also still heartbreakingly in love with stu’s best friend. Tim. Stu fucked up. He fucked the wildebeast. I went ballistic at work. She was also my boss.
I nailed him in the head with an industrial size can of pam. I was so pissed I told a sweet old lady at the drive-thru ‘here’s your fucking change.’ Luckily she drove off confused. I decided I needed to leave. I went in the kitchen to tell the super cute dishwasher what stu did. He was one of the most popular boys in the school and dating this really hot chick. He told me that he would rather hold my hand for a lifetime before he would fuck the wildebeast. Then he busted out with ‘oh my god, can I please see your titties.’ I said fuck yes. I got topless for him and played with them while he stood in complete satisfaction. Then I plotted my revenge on stu and the wildebeast.
Stu’s best friend was Tim. Tim was the wildebeast’s high school sweetheart. Tim’s little sisterr was one of my cunt ass gifted friends. I didn’t know why she did it. His sister’s name is Robin. I guess she knew tim needed an intervention. She picked me and my two gorgeous and wicked smart friends to come over and offered us to him like a buffet. He was fucking hot. He was about six foot seven. He just flopped at boot camp and landed in a bottle. That night I dressed to kill and planned revenge. It nearly didn’t happen. He was belligerent d***k leaning against the fridge on the floor. Me and my friend becky immediately worked like nurses to get him off the fridge and get some liquid in him. His s****r just stood there while we took over the situation. Of course he hit on becky and not me. It never fails that a man goes for my friend first.
He drank milk ran outside and puked his brains out. I’d never seen someone that drunkk. Becky and my cunt friend hauled ass. He was at least prepared with what any teenage girl required before the year 2000. It was the only reason I stayed. He had zima in a cooler. If you don’t know what zima is it’s basically the first version of a wine cooler designed for women. I wasn’t leaving without at least drinking one zima then I planned to haul ass. He was so socially awkward and drunkk we couldn’t really talk. I asked him if he wanted to walk me to my car. He got half-way there.
He stunned me in a way that no man can repeat. He grabbed me. He picked me up like I weighed a feather. He wrapped my legs around his waist and gave me the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life. That kiss was the moment when I fell madly in love for the first time. He had a tent in the yard and it was winter. We spent the whole night making out like we were devouring each other. He didn’t try to get me naked. He just enjoyed me. I am malicious. I stayed with him until I knew it was time for boston market to open. I was rumpled and dirty from nearly fucking on the ground. I walked in and got a drink like I owned the place while the wildebeast looked at me like she was triumphant. I was high on love. I sat there and giggled like I was drunk and stoned. I can’t even remember if I walked up to her and told her I had tim last night. Most likely I did. Stu was devastated. He lost his girlfriend and his best friend.
I went to see tim again the next night and we started talking. We shocked each other. I have talked about my mongoloid cousins. I grew up playing with all little boys. One of them was really tall. It was tim. He was raised as one of the familyy. He knew as much about my familyy as I did. He remembered the pretty little cousin. I remembered the pretty tall boy. After that we were united. We could only wait two weeks before we had sex. I always said I wouldn’t put out until I was at least sixteen, driving and truly in love. I kept my vow. Our families loved that we came together. We all planned our marriage. My junior and senior year I was basically married. I was in love. That first picture of me in the blue dress standing next to him with orange year was my senior year homecoming dance.
We probably would’ve got married but life wasn’t easy for me. It started two days before my senior year began. My mom made my dad go to the doctor because she thought his eyes looked yellow. There is a reason why I know so much about the VA. We all used to hang out in the denny’s parking lot each night as a group of misfits. I just got a cell phone. One of my first calls was my mom calmly telling me to come home. I know my mom is fucked up sometimes. She could’ve waited a few hours until I came home like normal. Instead she decided to tell me over the phone. It was simple. My mom said your father is dying of pancreatic cancer. It can’t be treated or cured. It is a death sentence. He may live three months to a year at the most. It is also one of the most painful ways a human can die. Then she hung up the phone.
I loved my dad so much. He was such a funny cool motherfucker. He didn’t love me. He never did. All we did was fight. He loved my b*****r dearly. He refused to look at me. I always thought as I grew up he would grow to love me. The devastation about his diagnosis was that would never be an option for me. That first day my senior year I was signed up for college credit courses in English, American history, European history, Chemistry, Psychology and my free pass drama. I had my mom write a letter to the office what would happen. I told each teacher my dad could die at any point. Every single one of them told me to go ahead and graduate and be with him. I refused. I told them I would be absent all the time. I told them I would keep up. I told them I could pass the exams and earn that college credit. I was no spoiled brat who would go to college on daddy’s money. I had to earn a full scholarship and all those free classes. My father dying was not stopping me.
The biggest issue was that my father was dying and I was a minor. I received a check from the government before he began getting paid. I didn’t have to work my senior year. That money could’ve gotten me killed. My father got his money and went on a meth binge like no one can imagine. He demanded I give him my check. I refused. He demanded I split it with my brotherr who was not a minor. I refused. I needed that money to survive while I took a full load of college courses to earn a scholarship. Yes he threatened to kill me over it.
We all knew he was dying from agent orange. Research the link between pancreatic cancer and agent orange. It is a government cover-up not to admit that is what happened to men like my father. Life was so scary but the confirmation that it was agent orange happened at the right time in the right way.
I will get back to what it was like as he died. I will just say it ended with me in the VA hospital in a waiting room. I adore Stephen king. It was just like a relief that he had a book out that took me away from my situation. His books always fix my problems. This one I blocked out. I can’t tell you one thing about ‘hearts in atlantis.’ It was about Vietnam. I sat in that hospital and went on a journey that my dad wouldn’t discuss. He was in a coma for a week.
I remember one thing from the book. It announced that the government knew damn well that men were dying around fifty from pancreatic cancer because of agent orange. The book proclaimed it was so clear that it had to be covered up. Too many kids like me would’ve earned compensation because weed killer killed our fathers at fifty. It would’ve bankrupted the VA hospital. It could also have devastated the whole damn economy if it wasn’t covered up.
I closed the book after I read those words. I walked into the room of death. My aunt myrtle forceded me to kiss him goodbye. I had never hugged the man. Kissing his near death corpse was cruel.
The VA was smart for covering it up. Nothing should bankrupt free health care for veterans. They also knew how to handle the epidemic of pancreatic cancer. You get an unlimited supply oxycontin. Veterans need to know that the VA does supply pain management any normal hospital will never provide. They also do radical expensive procedures to prolong your life. My dad lived longer than most men because he had two serious operations to create ducts for his body to function. Recently my mom tried to tell me the anatomy of the disease. Your intestines fuse and you truly shit out your organs.
That year I was on the brink. The biggest issue was the smell. My dad lived on the toilet. He was a cruel man that never seemed satisfied with a family who loved him. In the end he had one comfort in life. A can of air freshener that smelled like peaches. The smell of shit and peaches in our house was so rank a normal person wouldn’t be able to take it five minutes. Me and my mom both have to laugh about it
Death does get comical. My dad couldn’t handle the smell of his own shit. He constantly sprayed that can. We bought three or four cans at a time. He could kill a can in one day. I still giggle when someone sprays an aerosol can. You couldn’t walk in that kitchen without hearing him spray with all his fury. Eventually you do break down and tell a dying man to cool it with the goddamn peaches. You hate being that mean. We spent our lives being mean to each other. So asking him to please stop the peaches was a normal fight. Screaming out ‘you’re making it worse with peaches for Christ sake’ comes flying out of your mouth. To this day the idea of eating a peach or smelling one makes me gag.
My dad was always a drug dealer. My mom had finally decided to leave him weeks before his diagnosis. She couldn’t kick him out. Our house became the town zone to get meth or oxy. Oxy was brand fucking new. I know we got lucky. If he had those pills now we would be in serious danger. My mom worked nights. He kept his activity going as soon as she left. Then he sold his pills for meth. He would disappear and junkies would bang on the door until I answered with no way to defend myself.
We had junkies living in tents in our yard. My dad started an eternal bon-fire to party with every meth or pill head who wanted to play. We had so much oxy I watched my dog pick something off the floor and instinct told me to check his mouth. I never checked his mouth in my life. God watches out for me. I pulled an oxy out of his mouth. They were scattered all over the place. If that drug killed my dog I would’ve probably just ended it all. I can honestly say I loved my dog one thousand times more than my father.
Things might have been okay if it wasn’t for my brotherr. He was mopping the floor while it rained. He bitched at me for getting mud on the floor. All I said was ‘I’m so fucking sorry’ like a sarcastic bitch. We were standing on the kitchen stairs. He punched me upside the head. I beat the fucking dog shit out of him. I have worked hard and I’m stronger than a lot of men. I beat him unmercifully. He fought back. I remember him screaming out like a pussy ‘you broke my glasses.’
My boyfriend knew my brotherr beat me my whole life. He was in the drive-way in his truck. I was busted up and bloody. I told him what happened. He was silent. I begged him to go in my damn house and tell that cocksucker no one would hit me again. I begged with all my heart. He claimed to be such a badass. He was six foot seven and strong as a bull. He refused to confront my brother. He forceded me to drive out of my driveway bawling because nobody ever helped me defend myself.
My mom has her moments. She let him get away with slamming against walls before he was eighteen. Finally when he hurt me at 21 she declared war. She was not letting her teenage daughter get hit by a grown man. He got kicked the fuck out. My dad went into a murderous rage. My aunt jonell saw how bad I beat him up and felt sorry for him. She paid for his new glasses, set him up in an apartment, bought him new furniture and even a new tv. He was rewarded for hurting me. My dad entered a near lunatic style attack on me for hurting his son and taking him away. His new mantra was I’m going to kill you, your mother and then myself. I’ll tell you exactly what I did. I started taking oxy to cope with the fear.
I went on a five day bender. I missed a full week of school so high it was probably nearly an overdose. My parents did one thing right. They tried to hide the pills from me. I will never be able to tolerate the company of someone on opiates. I went through dope sickness. I searched the house looking for more drugs. I had to get over it and I learned my goddamn lesson.
Eventually they stopped hiding the pills and I only took one every four or five days. They are memories of happiness and relief for me. I remember being high and seeing paisleys and pink elephants. I don’t think I could have coped without the oxy. But I’ll never be a drug addict.
I nailed competitions that year. I won’t bore you with details but I picked killer scenes that made people cry, freak out and give me way more than a standing ovation. I was the best actress in the school and it was my choice to pick my last play. I was told it couldn’t be done. I told my teacher to try me. I wanted more than a play. I wanted a book. I wanted ‘the crucible.’ My dream role was to be Abigail the historic villain that started the salem witch trials. I had to beg the administration to let us perform a four plus hour play. It was so intricate my own damn teacher was an actor. I nailed that role. I make an amazing villain. I hoped my dad would go but he had no soul. Any normal father would die to see his daughter star in something that epic.
I did miss half the year in absences. I had to start taking anti-depressants. That my prince is one of the main reasons I don’t fit into that blue dress. Anti-depressants cause weight gain. It can’t be avoided. If I had to pick the worst day of my life I know it by heart. I was getting ready to star in the crucible. I thought my dad had days to live. I don’t need much in life. I’m a strong fucking woman. I needed him to do one thing for me. I can give a motherfucking speech. He made me give it on one side of his locked bedroom door or I would have forceded him to look at me.
I begged him to do one thing for me. I begged him to say he loved me one time.
I drove to my best friend’s house. I won’t bore you with how much I helped her that year. When I need help I go to people that I’ve helped. We knew by then she would be the valedictorian. She no longer needed me for a ride to school. She no longer had to act like a normal human. I knew her secrets. She was daddy’s little fuck doll. I showed up at her house hysterical. She let me in and showed no emotion. I still had to tell someone what I just lived through. I’ll never forget it. She stood at the stove methodically measuring and cooking grits. She had her back turned to me.
I poured out my anguish. I also poured out another secret. To be on stage I entered a psychotic Atkins diet to shrink my tits. I did it twice. I was truly in a state of starvation and not thinking straight. That was her moment. She didn’t mention a word about my father. She turned around with a spoon held up like a weapon and declared ‘lynn it’s about goddamn time someone told you to get on a fucking treadmill’ At thirty two I would bash her skull in for those words. At seventeen I left broken and went home and nearly overdosed on oxy.
I lost the goddamn weight. The dress my grandmother sewed me had to be pinned back I was so little. That is the dress that I’m wearing when I’m in a puritan costume. That picture makes me giggle. All I see is my whore orange hair and these giant tits. I love that picture. I know these tits were meant for a character like Abigail.
When it was time to study for my college placement exams I entered a state of dedication you can’t imagine. I had the study books to read once and memorize. I could score a three on the test for one semester of credit. Or I could score a four and earn a full year of credit. I giggle because I knew kids like the cunt valedictorian went every day and couldn’t get a four on those tests. I beat her at history so often she did finally say ‘you really are just smarter than me.’
When I want something I get it. I wanted all fours. I wanted almost two full years of college complete and a full scholarship anywhere in florida plus the cost of books. I got all fours. My senior year I was tested and I got through death with straight A’s. I talked about dresses a lot. It was important for me what I wore under that graduation gown. It had to be timeless. It had to be perfect. I found the perfect sleeveless little black dress by calvin klein in a size eight.
Yes my prince, I will fit in both those dresses and it will happen quickly. I swear there were 500 kids graduating with me. I was ranked 42. It is my favorite number. If you read the ‘hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy’ you would understand. It is a book about satire. They create a machine that is built to answer the question what is the purpose of life. It spit out the response ’42.’ The only reason I didn’t rank higher was failing PE, health and not taking a college math instead of drama.
I truly thought my dad would go to my graduation. He had his second duct operation and he could’ve gone. He watched me cry and beg him to go after I worked so hard to make it. He refused. He deserved a can of peaches.
That summer was nothing but a death watch. Me and my mom talk about it. It’s no joke if we had access to a gun we would have killed him. My boyfriend had no choice but to move in. My father wouldn’t even let him sleep in my bed. He only let him move in because he needed someone with a gun to protect us from a home invasion. Too many people knew he was dying and we had a stock pile of oxy and meth. My father needed a strong man in the house to protect his drugs. My boyfriend was smart enough to hide the gun from me and never let me have it. By then my father was insane. He would stand there berating me with a fist held up to my face. I egged him on and said hit me you old dying fuck so I can beat you down.
We stopped the hostility for a few days that summer that haunt me. My dad loved his parents so fucking much. His father was his best friend. His mother was the only woman on earth with value. He was too sick to drive himself. He had no choice but to ask me and my boyfriend to drive him three hours away so he could say goodbye. It’s true that sometimes people know they are going to die and they can’t explain it. My grandfather was the only man in the world who loved me. He was my world.
He knew he wasn’t going to live longer than my dad. He had never met my boyfriend before. Tim realized my dad was a piece of shit but my grandfather was a master carpenter and a wonderful man. He made him promise to take care of his little girl. Tim made that promise. My grandfather made us listen to an old country song where a man tells his family goodbye. He sang it to us. I just wept. In my mind I thought he was trying to reach out to my father. No he knew he would die in a few days and he sang us goodbye. He was a wonderful musician. Sure enough he went in for a routine procedure and died on the table a few days later.
My father suffered for what he put me through. He should’ve been spared his father’s funeral. I needed Papa to help me get over losing my dad. In some ways I don’t think he could handle his son’s funeral. In many ways that first funeral was too much for tim. I could sense him having a breakdown just trying to love me. I enrolled us both in a damn good school within driving distance of my house. I didn’t have the money for a dorm. I was also not leaving my mom to go off to college when I could live with her and drive to one in thirty minutes.
Tim was two years older than me. I told him he was a fool for not going to college after earning a full scholarship. I told him I wouldn’t marry a man that refused a free education. We went to orientation together and we prepared to start our life.
My dad was fine five days before school started. That final day he was suddenly non-responsive in a coma. We called the ambulance and watched him wheeled out of his room for the last time. God works in mysterious ways. That day his junkie friend showed up. I asked him what all drugs my dad took. He told me he did all drugs. From crack, to heroin, to meth, cocaine. I was enraged. I told him I would fucking kill him if he showed up at my house again. I warned him I would beat his ass if he showed up at the hospital or the goddamn funeral. I was so mad I refused to get in the car with my mom and my brotherr to go to the hospital.
It was a miracle. I just knew I wanted to drive my damn self. I was in the waiting room when my mom called me. They got hit by a drunk driver and the entire back seat of the care was torn off. They were seriously injured from whiplash. If I had been in the car I wouldn’t be typing this.
My story does read like fiction. My first morning of college two things happened at exactly the same time. My alarm clock rang as the phone began ringing. I knew what the call meant. I answered the phone that he was dead enraged. He fucked me all the way up to my first day of college. He made the alarm into a phone call he was gone. I wasn’t missing my first day of college for that motherfucker. It was hilarious. My boyfriend had a class that started one hour before mine. I was having a nice chat with god. I have mentioned my town revolves around strawberries.
We have a festival. Every year some senior high school girl gets a crown and becomes the strawberry festival queen. I had known the girl since seventh grade. She was the most stuck-up cheerleader on earth. She was that girl you couldn’t even be nice to she was so haughty. Of all the people on earth she saw me sitting on a bench and had to talk to me. She wouldn’t look at me in high school. Suddenly the day my dad died she had to start talking about her crown, her glorious new boyfriend, and her sororiety options. I swear if I don’t google up how to properly spell a word then I loathe it. I can’t spell sororiety and I don’t want to learn it.
I talked about it with friends. I had a free pass. I was in a state of shock. I was visualizing beating her down with my textbook as she was speaking. I have never been so close to a homicidal rage. We have discussed the topic and I should have beat up the strawberry festival queen just in principle. I wish I had. I only refrained by focusing on the fact I may hurt her bad enough she required cosmetic procedures.
The very next day we had his funeral. He didn’t love me but I loved him. We cremated his ass. Yet I couldn’t bear the thought of not even having a casket to look at. That night I did something beautiful. I went through what few pictures we had. I used a scanner to blow them up. I mounted them on poster board. I had seven or eight photo collages that represented his life. I had pictures of his beloved dog. His time in Vietnam. His yearbook photo from st.croix. I blew up his damn driver’s license. I documented his life. We only had one photo of all four of us together. I was a one year old baby. But damn it I made us look like a family. It touched my grandma so deeply she kept those boards. I didn’t shed a tear. I was happy. It was over. Or at least I thought it was over.
I will never be able to fully trust a man. It was the day of the funeral and the man I planned to marry refused to come home with me. He was so full of shit he claimed he had ‘homework’ from one day of an astronomy class. I knew what he really needed. He needed a bottle of jack daniels. Timing for our demise was correct. He always told me that he cared for one other female in the world. She just flunked out of college and showed up back in town. She was even working at boston market. At first she had a boyfriend and we hung out as two couples. I knew when she left her boyfriend she had tim.
Irony is the night my dad died we raided his shop to see what the fuck he had in there. We found his tackle box of drug needles, an ounce of pot and his pipe. We also found a porn magazine collection of such epic proportions it was truly a full truck bed of everything from swank, fox,gallery, barely legal, hustler, penthouse and playboy. He had strange ones like Asian nymphos. It was classic. I inherited enough porn for three hundred men to whack off with.
The day after the funeral me, my mom and my grandma went to Atlanta just for a much needed vacation for two days. While I was gone he smoked my dead dad’s pot with the girl he planned on leaving me for. He was a carpenter and he built me a three story tower. It was where we spent every evening together. With his new woman he ripped out every centerfold in each magazine and collaged the tower in 80’s pussy.
He couldn’t leave me right away. He wanted us both. He bounced back in forth enough for me to lose track. The first time he bounced to her I busted him showing up at boston market and punched that motherfucker hard enough to bust his lip open. We got back together and he had to tell me I have a damn good right hook.
The next time he bounced back to her I showed up at the tower and poured out a brand new bottle of jack and got it in his eyes. He came back to me. I let him know I couldn’t be with a drunk. I had him two years sober. I would not have him drunkk. We fucked. He called me the next day to tell me that our mutual friend told him after we fucked he got black out drunkk went to sherry and fucked her too. I puked. Then I got angry.
Our song was always lynard skynard’s ‘Tuesday’s gone’ I took a marker and wrote ‘Tuesday’s gone with the wind’ as big as possible across the wall. I moved my best friend in with me. Pot saved my damn life. I had at least a thousand oxy or an ounce of pot. I chose the pot. It got me through some serious grieving.
My male friends took me in. They knew I lost my dad and my boyfriend in one day. Most of them were former lovers. They threw me some parties that are legend. My male best friend is a boy named brent. I love him like a brotherr. We talked about it recently when his wife left him and I was ready to take her place. He was the only boy that wasn’t sexual with me ever. He is not attracted to me at all. I finally asked him why. He says he always thought my face looked too young.
I let him know his friendship kept me off opiates. I let him know that one man choosing to be my friend and not my lover is priceless. He thinks I’m such a slut. I love it. I made his brotherr cum in his pants. I fucked his dorm roommate. His roommate was damn good sex. We ended up fucking in the shower, the bathroom floor and then against the toilet. Brent had enough when he heard the slamming of porcelain against his bedroom wall. He busted in on us fucking against a toilet and told us to get our shit together and fuck in a bed and not on a fucking toilet.
But my prince this is part one of why I don’t fit in the blue dress anymore. I went asexual. I had my heartbroken so bad I stopped giving a damn what I looked like.
I did occasionally hook up with men. They got me when I was in a vintage t-shirt with my hair a mess. I didn’t want to be pretty anymore. I stood out for not trying. I still do. I became an artist. I entered a whole world where no one cared about pretty. I was one of the boys. To pull it off I wasn’t skinny. I didn’t wear anything pretty. I didn’t wear make-up. I truly was a printmaker. I stayed covered in ink. It is all oil based and it stains. I had black fingernails from ink not polish.
I wore rags that were purposefully covered in ink. Most people assumed I painted houses. I had a life of all female company. Men still chased me and I shut them down. I could’ve married my professor. We were in love. We loved each other’s art. He pursued me hard. I couldn’t risk another broken heart. I preferred to lose him than let myself be hurt again.
I told you that the boy in the picture next to me in the blue dress nearly killed me twice. This was how the first time happened. We did have our moment in the tower with a gun. We contemplated double suicide. We were in love. He just loved two women. The other woman became one of my best friends after she married the man who should’ve married me.
She left him after eight years. He came right back to my door. The next chapter is about round two and how he actually did hurt me far worse than leaving me the day my dad died.
There is a fairytale after all this horror. I made it. I need to drop twenty pounds to fit in that dress. It’s going to be easy with a stimulant that makes me unable to eat. I will shrink like I’m melting. Most girls can’t wear a dress like that once. It is about having huge tits and a set of hips. I’m going to wear it at 32. Time stood still. I will fuck with him. When I get back in that dress I’ll have pictures made. His wife is one butt ass ugly drunken monster. I will mail him my picture and show him how I got better than ever. Wearing his favorite blue dress with my hair the color of tangerines he will feel remorse.
if you have read my blogs or chatted with me you understand my absence. being bi-polar and dependant on adderall comes with a price. each month i haave two totally active periods of great communication. then i run out of medicine. I have been asleep for an unknown period of days. I have missed great comments and feedback. Slowly as i detox off of adderall I will be able to function more. in a few days i will be able to reply to comments and be slightly normal. Right before i ran out of medicine i took a break from skype. many men have added me and i have not accepted the invite. it’s not because im rude. i simply cant communicate right now. many men will dismiss me as an unreliable flavor of the week. Some men will stick around and be understanding. this blog gives me a place to warn men of my absence and assure them i will be back. it just takes time for me to go from sleeping all day and night into a pace of sl**ping just the majority of my time.
Im new at this. I did tonight’s round of letter fucking. I posted it as a story. It has to go through moderation and I am impatient. I prefer it to be more of a blog post. At the same time it is my first real story so I don’t care if I edit twice and it shows up in another section. I don’t know how the system works. A good friend wanted a story about fucking in a lingerie store. I will get better at writing stories. I just don’t know whether I will post them as blogs or as sex stories.We were both stunned when the gallery in New York suddenly began selling my work for such a large amount of money. I am a very simple girl that has never had a lot of money. For god’s sake I had never even been on an airplane or in a major city. Being in New York and seeing my art on display in one of the most cutting edge galleries in the world was a shock for me. Suddenly I did have a small fortune to play with. I had no problem parting with the money because I knew my work was in high demand.
You could tell I didn’t like the city very much. In many ways I was quite miserable being swallowed up by people and skysccrappers. I didn’t want to leave the hotel to explore. Then I decided that there was one place I wanted to go. It was more than just shopping for me. You knew my whole life had been a struggle to find a bra big enough for my huge tits. Dressing well will always be a problem for me because I am such an odd shape. In order to fit in with my new social circuit it was important to start with the basics. You didn’t realize this had been a life-long dream. It’s not as though I have ever been able to walk into victoria’s secret and simply by a bra.
We laughed about the fact I spent a whole summer simply unable to find a bra for love or money. That was how you met me. That summer after a drastic weight loss suddenly my bras were too big around the waist. Since I lost the weight slow through good nutrition my tits didn’t shrink as fast as my waist. When I was fat I could wear some larger size bras in a 40DD. Suddenly I needed a 36 or a 34. I tried to explain that a bra’s cup size gets smaller as the size decreases. That summer I had no choice but to learn how to look sexy in two or three tight tank tops and no bra. I spent the whole summer shocking men with cleavage bubbling out of a tight tank top. I used to fuck with men and tell them ‘I’m not even wearing a bra.’
When you met me I was wearing my signature uniform. A short pair of distressed denim jean shorts and that white tank top with no bra. I didn’t even have decent fitting underwear. I lived a simple life without any money to buy smaller panties and a new bra. Sitting in the hotel room it hit me. I am in the epicenter of fashion and I can now afford to replace my cheap bra that was too big around the waist yet too small in the cup size. We both agreed I looked better without a bra than wearing the only one I could find that was decent. I never thought I would have the chance to go to a custom lingerie boutique that is the exclusive destination for women like me who need a strange bra size.
You were startled by my sudden enthusiasm. I lit up like a k** at Christmas when you mentioned finally buying custom fitted lingerie. It was out of necessity. To wear the dress for my first major art show I needed a decent bra. I needed a whole new collection of lingerie to take back home when we left the city. I had seen this particular lingerie shop on some reality tv program years ago. I watched two women with huge tits help women like me finally find sexy underwear. I knew it would be an expensive shopping experience. I tried to warn you that I planned to buy the equivalent of a land rover when it came to bras and panties. Since I had always been tight with money you thought I was exaggerating. You had no idea that I was prepared to drop three grand to buy one bra. You didn’t realize I planned to buy at least six or seven.
You didn’t know about my obsession to have matching bras and panties like a normal girl. What you truly didn’t expect was me to splurge on sex kitten type outfits just to please you. We took a cab and I was giddy with excitement. I knew when we walked in the door that I found paradise. We were the only customers. I was glad I’d only seen those women a few times on TV. I would’ve been embarrassed if I watched their show all the time. I was new to the experience of wealth. I seemed kind of shy. However, I wanted those women to know I planned on spending a small fortune in their store. When I announced my intent to truly splurge their eyes lit up.
Immediately they offered us a glass of champagne. Suddenly you were in a world with women embarking on a mission. I was their idea of the perfect customer. They were on a mission to provide women like me with plenty of options and total intimacy. It was almost embarrassing to show them how I was busting out of a store bought 38DDD. Suddenly my tits were out and I was holding a glass of champagne while two women wrapped me up in a measuring tape.
You were stunned at the way they complimented me on a gorgeous set of tits. We laughed like a couple of old friends that despite my size I was not sagging the way some women are. One of the ladies told me I was down-right perky. I told them I was raised by a woman who taught me how to maintain big tits. Until that braless summer I practically slept in a bra that had good support. Suddenly you realized how I was able to pull off not wearing a bra. When you have enormous natural tits you boost them up and support them at all times. I was kind of shocked when they told me I needed a 34F. I expected to be a 36E. I had known most of my life I needed an E cup. I just had no idea I really needed an F.
Once they determined my size they were like busy bees hunting me down my options. I just happened to mention I also wanted something for ‘pleasure.’ One of the ladies looked at you and smiled. She simply said ‘aren’t you a lucky man.’ I was already aroused at the idea of finally showing you what my figure looked like in the proper undergarments. They refilled our champagne and showed us the fitting room. Unlike some cheap mall store it was like the size of my bedroom and it had a couch. Unlike a victoria’s secret I could try on the panties. Just like a swimsuit there was just a liner in each pair of panties.
They must have started me out with thirty variations of a bra and its identical matching panty. Then there were the sexier items like corsets, garter belts, pantyhose and more. You were stunned to see so much lace and ribbons. The women made sure we still had champagne. I don’t drink much so after three glasses I was a bit tipsy. They told us to take all the time we needed and threw in a ‘make sure you two have fun.’ You smiled and said ‘oh we will.’
I knew you were disappointed when the first thing I picked up to try on was a simple white lacy bra and a matching white thong. Nonetheless you were impressed. My old bra was too big around and it basically dragged down my cleavage. Finally in a smaller size with an ample cup my tits were basically right under my chin and there was no sensation I was busting out too much. In this bra I was busting out perfectly. I could see the bulge in your pants. When the next words to come out of my mouth were ‘go to the bathroom and give me five minutes,’ you seemed disappointed and then you understood. I just gave you a wicked grin and said ‘I want it to be a surprise.’
When you weren’t paying attention I told one of the ladies I wanted exactly what I saw on one of the mannequin. Usually I don’t go right for the obvious. I had some outfits of leather and some outfits with fur trim. I saw the outfit of my dreams and it was mixed in casually with all the other things. In many ways I didn’t give a damn which outfit you wanted to see. This was my fantasy come to fruition. I don’t know if you knew much about my love affair with fashion. In many ways you thought of me as a simple girl in a white tank top and jean shorts. You didn’t know much about my wealth of knowledge concerning vintage clothing or designers. I made a living during college selling vintage clothes on ebay.
One of the highlights was finding a vintage bra from the sixties by the designer Emilio Pucci. He is known for his super bold or intricate patterns. I know all about Pucci. I casually asked one of the ladies if the strapless and intricate corset with at least 25 hook and eyes down the front was Pucci. You barely heard me because you were looking at the bolder things that were red and black. When she said ‘yes, don’t you adore Pucci, it may be tight but we have your size,’ I truly could’ve cried. The bra I sold on ebay was very simple yet very unique. The corset I chose brought back those memories.
It was a lovely blend of pink highlighted with pastel shades of lavender and turquoise. The print could only be described as a variation of paisley. It was right out of the sixties. It had this sexy almost geometric design which truly made me fall in love. The whole outfit was complete with the printed matching panties, a delicate unique pink garter belt, and something totally unique. I have seen my fair share of sexy pantyhose. These thigh high works of art were unique. They were designed to blend in with the unique boldness of the corset. They were an odd shade of pink with an almost glittery shimmer to them.
I felt like a movie star as I set myself to the task of fastening that row of tiny little hook and eyes. It was a designer corset with boning wrapping my body up tight. My waist had never looked any smaller. I truly was an ideal hourglass shape. Because it was designed for smaller tits my ample cleavage was busting out so bad I felt like I had giant mounds of tits touching my chin. I was barely able to sit down. It was almost hard work being in something that tight and touching my feet to slide into the pantyhose. They were so silky it felt like I had my legs dipped in pink magic. As I fastened the garter belt I looked at myself in the mirror.
I even knew I looked so much like a damn playboy bunny it was surreal. All I needed was a puffy tail and I would’ve fit right in at a playboy club serving drinks or selling cigarettes. My ultra-long blonde hair completed the outfit. I do make bold fashion statements when I go to an effort to be sexy. Wrapped up tight in pastel pink paisley with such an intricate print I looked like an artist who knows timeless fashion. At that moment I didn’t care if you liked my choice or not. I wanted to fuck myself.
Even before you knocked on the door and said ‘I’m back’ I was standing in front of the mirror rubbing my clit. I knew when I put on those paisley panties it was okay to rip out the sanitary lining. In fact nothing would get me out of this outfit. I planned to leave the store wearing it. I could see by the look on your face you were stunned. I knew you weren’t lying when you said ‘I’m speechless.’ I was nearly speechless at my own transformation.
It suddenly put me on a power trip like nothing else on earth. I took you by the hand and guided you over to the couch. Because I was wrapped up in a boned corset I had no choice but to lean back. I wasn’t even listening to your compliments. I was simply pleasuring myself. You just took in the view as I worked tiny circles with my fingertips on my clit. I looked at you and said ‘lick me through my panties.’ Like an obedient slave you kneeled before me on your knees. It made me even hotter when you f***ed my legs even wider apart.
With the boning digging into my flesh it was a unique sensation of being confined yet stretched. You couldn’t stop sliding your hands up and down those pantyhose. Each stroke up and down my legs sent a surge through my body like lightening. You grabbed my ass and pulled me up and back towards your face. I couldn’t stop from saying ‘you can do anything you want to me as long as you don’t take of my panties or tear them.’
I never f***ed you to lick my clit through panties. You were up for the challenge. Usually you know I like head very gentle at first. As you started to gently lick me I told you ‘do it harder.’ With fierce devotion you licked me hard and fast. I was instantly grinding my pussy deep against you face. My panties were already soaked. When you slid a finger inside of me you were stunned I was so wet so fast. As you pushed up on my g-spot and licked my clit I simply let myself moan in sheer ecstasy. As you slid two fingers inside of me stretching my tight pussy I wanted to scream from the pleasure.
I told you ‘fuck me and lick me harder than ever before.’ You knew this was a rare chance to truly dominate me when it comes to giving head. Usually I insist on a delicate technique. This time I was much different. I didn’t mind when you pushed my panties to the side to really lick my clit hard and fast. Even confined in a corset I was grinding up and down against your face. As if you read my mind you slipped a finger deep in my ass filling both my holes just the way I like it. I was nearly screaming ‘yes baby don’t stop’ loud enough for the whole store to hear me. I knew those ladies could hear me and they were probably half rolling on the floor laughing. I could tell it turned you on to know I didn’t give a shit if they heard me screaming and moaning.
As you worked your fingers in and out of my holes you didn’t mess this chance to truly devour my pussy with your tongue. It was an odd sensation to feel the pressure of those tight pair of panties f***ed to the side so you could lick and fuck me harder. I could feel myself about to peak as I bucked up and down forcing you to swallow a full mouth full of my pussy juice. You never felt me so wet. In many ways I knew you were slowing down in order to keep me from cumming to soon. You never wanted to stop licking and fucking me the way I was letting you.
When you slowed down I did something I rarely do. I used both my hands to force your head harder into my pussy. I applied so much pressure you could barely breathe. I didn’t care. I just screamed ‘don’t stop’ over and over. With my hands I forceded your face to be buried so deep in my pussy I could feel myself grinding against your nose and even your chin. You didn’t slow down with one hand stretching out my asshole to its maximum potential. I could feel my juices rolling backwards keeping my asshole nice and wet.
With the other hand you were using three fingers to ram up and into my g-spot so hard I was literally screaming. I could feel it about to happen. I could feel the ache of the corset against my hips. I could feel the fabric digging into the left side of my pussy like razor blades. Deep inside me I could feel the pressure building up. I almost thought I should warn you what was about to happen. Yet I didn’t want to break your concentration. In one final agonizing wave of pressure I forceded your face down even harder against my clit while I screamed ‘I’m cumming.’
This was nothing like my normal orgasms. I could feel the ripple of pleasure shake through my whole body. From the top of my head to my toes I was in pure orgasmic bliss. It lasted nearly a full minute as I let you pump in and out of my holes as the pressure in me released. It had never happened to me before. Suddenly I could feel cum go shooting out of my body in a torrent like I was pissing into your mouth. I know I forceded you to literally guzzle my hot squirting cum.
I released your head and laid back totally motionless as I panted to catch my breath. When you looked up at me I could see the stunned look on your face. Even though most of my cum went down your throat your entire faced was still soaked. Suddenly we were both laughing hysterically. I told you to wipe your face on a pair of panties. I knew we had our fun and now we had to do the walk of shame out of the dressing room. I slipped my dress on. I made the split second decision to buy everything we brought into the dressing room. With both of us carrying a pile of clothes we walked out of the dressing looking guilty and wore out.
Before the ladies could say anything I simply said ‘Everything fit and I want it all. Plus I’m wearing everything on that mannequin.’ There was that moment when we all giggled at the register. We were obvious. They were obvious. I learned when I went to the Pucci boutique that it’s quite normal for there to be a couch in a fitting room. On that couch you got to fuck me in a sexy little dress based on a sixties motif. And that my friend is my story about fucking in a lingerie store.
Anonymous: I blindfolded you and tied you up on all four bedpost of your bed…..mmmm..you are wearing what I like…black skirt, black stockings, the black boots and a white blouse….I can see the nipples of your tits trying to break the fabric of your blouse….yes you are horny slut and I know what you want….you can hear that I am taking off my shirt, the zipper of Jeans and when I pull it down….I grab my hard cock and let the tip of it slide over the lips of your mouth….yes use the tip of your tongue to lick it….mmmm…you are my horny whore now….I want to see your tits and my hands are grabbing your blouse to rip it off to both sites….you can hear the buttons falling on the floor……my hand are on your sluty tits and teasing your hard nipple…..yes moan your little whore….I know what you want…. You want me to fuck you like nobody else before…..but I will do it when I want it to do….my hand is stroking down to your belly….the tip of my fingers are moving around your bellybutton ……you start to lift your pelvis because you are so horny and want that I fuck you……no not now…..I will kneel between your legs on the bed…..mmmm…yes I push up your skirt….I can see your camel toe in your pink slip…..and the wet spot…because your horny juice is filling your horny cunt already…..feel my fingers sliding on your stockings to your thighs….yes moan loud….beg me to touch your horny cunt…with two fingers I press the your slip into your soaking wet cunt…..yes you like that you whore….I want to see your swollen cuntlips and my hands rip off your slip….yes scream….I stick the slip into your mouth so you can taste yourself and cannot scream anymore……..I like what I am looking at….on the end of your stockings I can see the swollen lips of your sluty cunt….it a little open and your honey juice is running down to your pink asshole that twitch when my fingertip is sliding over it……..I want more I want you wide open for me and what I want to do to you……I grab the scissors from the floor and cut the rope on your ankles….grab them and f***e a part your legs up to your hands and tie them up there…..now you are all mine…..feel my tongue licking down your stocking to reach your swollen cuntlips….to lick around them and to tease with the tip of it your hard clit…..yes moan load….try to lift your pelvis to get more of it….now I lick down to your pink and juice asshole…..lick around it and f***e my middle finger deep into it…yes scream…..i know you want it to much….but I want my hard cock in it….I grab your ankles and f***e my hard cock deep into your wet whorecunt to make it slick for the tight canal I want to fuck…..feel the tip of my hard cock on your twitching asshole and how I press it without warning deep into it…..scream you sluty whore…no mercy…..feel how I fuck your ass deep and hard….and my thumb is teasing your hard clit…..yes cum for me you are my fucktoy and I will use you as I like…..your body is shaking and shivering when your orgasm is Cumming and you feel how my hard cock is pumping his hot fuckjuice into your tight ass…..I pull my cock out and order you to press my cum out of your tight canal so I can watch when its running down your black stockings………Me: Before you can tie me to the bed I offer you a challenge. You see the glimmer of sheer lust and v******e in my eyes. That’s the part of the story that is missing. You knock on the door of the hotel. I am ready for you. I dressed in your favorite outfit. But I shocked you with something you didn’t expect. You had only seen me with long brown hair. For this occasion I decided to go all out. My hair is a stunning shade of blonde that cascades down past my nipples in a ripple of natural waves. I don’t even say hello. I just hand you a glass of whiskey and tell you to drink it. You look at me kind of perplexed. All I do is give you a wicked smirk and say ‘you’re going to need it.’My black skirt is wicked short and pleated like a little tramp in a high school uniform. My stockings are my signature trade mark. I only wear black thigh highs with no garter belt. You know my style but you are stunned to see it in person. I warned you about that inch of skin. You didn’t believe me until you saw it. Where my pantyhose end you see how the tightness of them makes my thighs bubble over. It is just like cleavage only it’s below my skirt. You watch me pour out another glass of whiskey and casually lean against the dresser letting you see that my skirt is short enough to show the hem of a white slip just like you asked for. Little did you know I went to great lengths to hem that tiny little slip just the same length as my skirt.
As I lean against the dresser you see I did what you asked and your dick is so hard it presses painfully against your jeans. You wanted a white blouse. Little did you know that was also my trademark. I have always had one trick when it comes to fashion. Instead of a blouse that fits a woman I’m wearing an actual school uniform. I bought it in the boy’s department. It is so wicked tight and hugging my body you are stunned. Of course my tits are too big for it to button all the way up. Just like a little tramp the buttons are open above my belly button and you see my massive tits bubbling out of a black lace bra. You are stunned I nailed the uniform exactly the way you requested. You are simply speechless.
You can’t stop staring at all that blond hair almost blocking your view of my cleavage. I casually move my hair over my shoulders so you can see all of my tits busting out of that tight long sleeve little boy’s shirt. All of a sudden you see me gulp down my glass. You’ve been standing there too stunned to drink yours. Once again I give you a wicked smirk and tell you ‘you’re going to need it.’ So you guzzle it and slam down your glass on the dresser. It’s your way of saying ‘I’m ready.’ You look at the bed and see four pieces of black rope attached to the four poster bed. You know I am ready. What you aren’t expecting is a challenge. I look at you wickedly and say ‘If you want me tied down then you have to fight me.’
I walk up to you and you expect a passionate embrace. Suddenly I slap you hard against the face and you are stunned from the blow. You aren’t expecting this. You look at me in fury and ask me ‘what the fuck was that for?’ I giggle at you and tell you ‘welcome to my world.’ You know it’s a challenge and suddenly your dick is so hard it truly hurts. Something about that slap and my wicked smirk has you so damn aroused you can’t think straight. You realize this is going to be a struggle you didn’t expect. I taunt you by saying ‘do I have to use my fist this time.’ Suddenly you are ready and you grab me by the waist and work towards pushing me onto the bed.
You are stunned as I squirm against your hold. You didn’t expect a fight. With your hand on my waist I take my chance and slap your cheek again. Harder this time. Instinct makes you grab for my wrist to prevent another blow. Suddenly you have one wrist in each hand and you keep pushing me towards the bed. Like a slippery little fish you can’t control my hands. My right hand escapes and before you can grab it again I use all my strength and a fist. You take a hard blow that busts your lip wide open. You are enraged. You take a moment to wipe away the bl**d on your pants.
I giggle again and say ‘you’re going to have to fight back to get me tied to that bed.’ You never thought you would do it but suddenly that smirk on my face enrages you. You can’t resist slapping that look off my face. That’s what you don’t know about me. That feisty look taunts men into slapping me all the time. You can tell I’m suddenly getting so damn horny from this new game I can barely see straight. You are much stronger than me. Yet you are stunned at how hard it is to grab a hold of me as I twist and squirm. I moan ‘hit me again.’ You don’t hesitate and you slap me across the other cheek using all your f***e. The blow knocks me onto the bed.
You climb on top of my squirming body and start shifting me towards those straps on the bed. You knew you would dominate me. I just surprised you with the experience of a fight to tie me down. We wrestle like to k**s in gym class. You can see I’m being very careful not to accidently land a kick to your achingly hard dick. You know that I won’t really hurt you and this is my idea of foreplay. Each time I squirm lose I land one of those wicked little blows to your face and shoulders. Suddenly you are an a****l with your intensity to get me tied down. You have never wanted anything so bad in your life.
With your knees you pin down my chest and latch one arm to the bedpost tying a hard quick knot. You are stunned that I’m still landing blows with my other hand. You slap me again and you can see me getting off on each blow. While I’m having a euphoric rush of pain and arousal you seize the chance to tie down my other hand. With my hands tied you can feel me switch completely out of any v******e and into a state of sheer agony to feel you violate me. I easily let you tie down my feet. That’s when you see my hips start to push up and you hear me start begging for your cock like a dirty little whore.
This is just round one of our letter fucking. Round two will focus more on my own experiences as I feel you deep inside all of my holes. Most letter fucking will be more sexually graphic. You just gave me a chance to truly describe how I would dress and what would happen to get me tied to the bed. Some men can’t handle a touch of v******e. Round two will be more focused on the actual fucking. This is real. This is what I would really look like. This is what I would do to any man who I allow to dominate me. I could’ve pumped out an enhanced version of my pleasure and feelings while you fucked me. That would be too easy. It will come. Don’t worry. I have a never ending ability to describe what it feels like for you to fuck my mouth, pussy and ass.
This is a dose of my own fascination with foreplay that gets rougher than most men can tolerate. Round two will be more graphic about the sex. I hope I didn’t disappoint you with more of story and less raunchy detail. I can do both with ease. But men need to know what it takes to tie me down and how I really play. No man has been able to handle this side of me. I can’t wait for round two. I do enjoy talking about the feeling of a cock deep inside my tight ass and the feeling of cum being f***ed out of any hole that has been violated. However, your message let me tell you what it’s really like for a man to be able to dominate me. I like to be hit. I would bust open your lip to make you do it. Your turn.
I’m about to crash hard. I hit a manic state and focused on writing. That mean’s i missed all pm’s and skype messages. if im playing on skype i ignore xhamster. If im playing on xhamster i ignore skype. When I’m in the mood to write I drop everything and do it. Today I spent most of the afternoon posting my last blog on facebook. I don’t get feedback there. I wrote such long post people ignored anything I wrote. I can kill time or I can steal it. I made a few decisions. If I get a blog comment I will guarantee a man or woman a response even if it’s as simple as thank you. Since I have a hard time keeping things simple I’ll hit you back with a reaction to what you post. I’m going to try and reply to every comment someone puts on my page. i won’t bother with people who just say thanks for the add. Just know every time i read it i think to myself thanks for the invite. by focusing on a reply to comments I feel like I’m engaging good men when they engage me. I get hit with a lot of pm’s usually I can tackle a lot of them. When I’m focused on writing then I loose track of time. it took me hours to end my reign of terror on facebook. I’m so glad I found a better place to blog where I can tell naughty stories and write erotica. I want to make this very sexual. But I want to make it real. I will juggle both aspect knowing personal issues will get little to no feedback compared to erotica. I will always warn if a post isn’t sexual. I don’t want men who are looking for erotica to feel like I wasted their time. It will be clear whether it’s sexual or just me using this forum as a place to vent about life. what I do is selfish. This is my new playground. I make posts so I can remember them. That’s why it’s not all erotica. Since I dropped facebook I have to use this site as the place I do discuss daily events or concerns. But a comment has to get a reply for me to feel good about engaging the men that do read my blog. And if your lucky for c2c this is not a good time. I’m on my period. It’s hard work getting men off when my pussy is a no go zone. I don’t have a period every month. When my body does have one it can last a freakishly long time. since my cam is malfunctioning and I’m bleeding it’s not likely I’ll do c2c. I have to much fun writing and I go in waves when All I want to do is cam or all I want to do is write and answer messages. but comments come first. if a person takes the time to leave one than I take the time to write back. goodnight I may sleep a long time. I may be up at midnight. I have no clue.
Dear michael, thank you for such a great message. I love making new friends. My videos are poor quality. I can’t overemphasize how much my recorder program sucks. It lags so bad I have to get naked quick and in silence. Even though they suck I’m still glad I posted them. I really only have face pics. I have always thought it looked tacky to hold a cell phone in front of a mirror for a full body pic. I think it looks so juvenile and almost vain. At the same time I know that this is a porn site. I did get plenty of attention when I was a paragraph explaining why I couldn’t go nude and fifteen pics of my face. It didn’t seem right not to have any pictures that showed my size and shape. After I hid my location so I couldn’t be easily found from my cousins who chase local pussy I could finally write a real profile.
In the beginning I was on the verge of being a cam girl. It’s no bullshit story that I’m disabled from being bi-polar. I take hardcore medicine usually used for schizophrenics in order to sl**p. I have no shame in saying I have to take an anti-psychotic to sl**p. I am a rare type of bi-polar. What people don’t realize is the disease is less about erratic behavior and more about the inability to have natural sl**p. The whole ordeal revolves around the fact sl**p just doesn’t occur without medication. Both of my parents are bi-polar. My mother’s side of the f****y is by biggest genetic defect. My grandfather was adopted or simply taken in off the street because my non-biological grandparents were extremely wealthy owner’s of an original florida homestead. They owned part of the town before it had a name.
I don’t tell people which city I live in. Knowing my city and my real name allows any person to google me and pay a small fee for my address. I’ll take the risk and just say it is the perfect weather and land to grow strawberries. Both sides of my f****y grew strawberries. I am a little strawberry baby. There are no adoption records for my grandfather or his s****r. He was only adopted because my non-biological grandparents fell in love with a beautiful little girl. I’ve seen pictures. If i am beautiful it is because both those c***dren were breathtakingly beautiful. All I know about my ancestry on my mother’s side of the f****y is what my grandfather could remember. They were fresh off the boat from scotland. As soon as they arrived in america my biological great grandmother was put in a mental asylum. They were beautiful but they were so flawed it is scary.
Without modern medicine I would also be in an institution. No amount of xanax, ambien, four other sl**ping pills, tylenol pm and alcohol will put me to sl**p. For along time it did. I lived a normal life thanks to sl**ping pills. My parents and the woman who raised me were in a state of denial. Yet they let me have xanax or tylenol pm after I went insane from sl**p deprivation in seventh grade. I tried one time to sl**p naturally. I was up to ten tylenol pm per night and my body was shutting down. It takes five days for me to go insane from lack of sl**p. Even with a sl**p aid my body would still shut down from five nights of insomnia. I talked about it with my mother yesterday. I don’t know how on earth no one easily diagnosed me. I missed one day a week from school my whole life. Getting to school on mondays or fridays was impossible. My aunt was in such denial she allowed me to fake being sick to stay home and sl**p. Most of the time she let me sl**p until the late afternoon and took me to a pediatrician for a doctor’s note for illnesses I faked.
My doctor failed me. Someone should’ve helped me. I even had a bi-polar aunt who was in and out of asylums until her suicide. I was allowed to miss that much school because I was in the gifted program making straight A’s. Some years I was such a fluke it baffled the administration. I got letters warning me if i missed so many more days of school I wouldn’t pass despite straight A’s. I still tend to crash on the fif