Saturday, November 12, 2016


Oh. She has posted something. She hasn't posted anything for ages and ages. I am not sure if she knows how talented she is, because she is one of the best writers I have ever come across.

Wow, her writing has improved. Perhaps all this time away has allowed it to mature and grow. I see that she is still writing dark twisted tales. Delicious darkness. She has so much shade inside her I love it, I always have. It is what drew me to her in the first place; the talent and the depth inside her. She never saw it, women like that never do, they see all their faults and have had people around them who drag them down.

I have seen it thousands of times. That's why women flock to me. I pay them attention, throw around a few compliments, show them that they are beautiful then they are eating out of the palm of my hands. Simple really. I love the envious looks I get from other men as these women fawn over me. These men see that I have a beautiful woman with eyes for no one else and I can see them puzzled as to why they are with me. This feeling feeds me, it makes me feel strong and powerful when really I am non descript looking: 5'6", slim build, bald, snaggled toothed, usually wearing a grey suit having come straight from the office and a fag in my hand. Average, that is how I have been described, I look average. With these women, with her I am not average, anything but.

I have always loved women, having my first sexual encounter at the tender age of 12, fingering a girl in her bedroom, smelling her scent on my digits. That is still something that I adore doing. I remember doing that to her, my writer, watching her writhe under me, seeing her so willingly submit to my dominant desires. She has soft flesh, smooth skin that reacts to well to my touch. The way she arches her back, yearning for me. A tight hold and tug on her hair and she is mine, utterly mine. Of course, I look after her, watching what she posts, looking out for scumbags that will hit on her. Special people like her need to be protected, she is such a free spirit and so trusting that people will take advantage of her.

Things got a bit weird between us towards the end of our relationship. She described me as toxic, a bit harsh as I was only looking out for her. I will admit that I am a jealous guy, despite my bravado I was worried that someone would steal her away from me. I kept testing her, seeing if she would be where she said she would, showing up unexpectedly, deliberately standing her up; all proof that she was still true to me. After a few months of this I found out that she had been on a dating website. I didn't have the app of course but I read the emails. Perhaps she should have put a stronger password on it. She went mental when she found out and threatened to never speak to me again but I have to look out for her and we had a tumultuous relationship where she we split up and got back together over and over again. She said that I drove her to do it and that I drove her away, I didn't mean to, I just wanted to know that she loved me. Except that time she meant it. That was three years ago, all history.

I was relegated to the benches, to use sporting parlance, all I could do was watch. I saw her date a few guys, all of course were completely inappropriate, watch her go quiet online as she does when her heart is hurting. Why do women like that go for weak men? How can they not see their value? I wanted to speak to her, occasionally I would drive past her house and see the light on in her living room. I even got as far as to get out of the car and go to her front door but something stopped me. I want her to choose me, I ache for her to choose me. I have spent three years watching out for her, guarding over her. I don't really mind if we can only be friends, at least then we can see each other again. I can touch her again. Smell her perfume again.

Now I see her back online writing again and my heart skips a beat. She truly is magnificent.

I know that she said for me never to contact her again but I am sure that one message won't hurt. One DM on twitter.

Me: You are writing again..hope it's ok to have read and grinned.
Her: You will have to remind me who you are. I have been away for so long.

Of course, I chuckle to myself, I changed my twitter handle. She doesn't recognise me.

Me: I know you's the one who promised never to contact you again but sod it cos you got deep dark writing going on again and that's brilliant.

My heart is racing. I hope she realises it's me. I hope she wants me. Just to be talking to her is thrilling and sexy.

Her: Tony?
Me: you.

Yes! She does recognise me.

She is keeping me waiting, perhaps me messaging has taken her by surprise. She always had the kindest of hearts, it was both her greatest asset and her greatest failing. Perhaps we can go for coffee and talk about old times. Perhaps I can hold her again. A kiss possibly; would that be too much to ask?

Her: Fuck off. Fuck right off. Never contact me again or I will call the police!

Jesus! Well that didn't go as expected. All I wanted to do was talk to her, tell her how fabulous she is and that she is writing again. Wow that hurt, that was like a punch in the chest. Now I feel angry, cross at her, all I ever did was look after her, look out for her. Is that the gratitude I get from her? Fucking bitch.

Friday, November 4, 2016

His and Hers

It's there, in front of my face. Dead birds don't fly. It's a grower not a shower. Cruel words and phrases emerge in my brain. I wait there hoping that the resentment subsides. Apparently feelings of resentment are the fastest and most absolute way to destroy a relationship. I hate him and I hate his flaccid, failing fucking cock. I loathe his cock. If I could bite it off I would, the rage in me is so strong at this moment.
He never used to be impotent. We used to have hours and hours of fun fucking, sucking, wanking his beautiful appendage. It never was the biggest but it, to my mind, was the best and most beautiful penis I have ever had the pleasure of. A wondrous staff and always an orgasmic ride.
There is always a but.
We wanted children. Cue LOTS of fucking, lots of giggling, a lot of grown up sexy time. We breathed each other, an inhalation of pheromones, lust, and love. Creating new life; a new connection between us.
I didn't get pregnant. Oh fuck, this is all my fault. That's all that went round and round in my head. Doubt at first, swiftly followed by self loathing; self hate. I was a useless woman, a shell, my shit body wouldn't do what it was meant to do. This useless fucking flesh sack. For the first time since I was a teen I wanted to cut my flesh off.
Then I found out it was you not me. Your sperm count was so low it would be a bloody miracle to conceive. That was the start of me hating you; thinking that you were the lowest of the low. That was when you started to have erectile problems. 'Your erection, our relationship' the self help pamphlet said. It was the worst, you were the worst. You went from being a useless fucking man to a pathetic, shrivelled wimp. Stupid, useless man.
Out of this hateful reverie I look up and see your sad eyes look down at me. My heart sinks. How can I even think such poisonous thoughts? You are kind and generous and the most beautiful soul that I have ever been touched by. I am filled instantly with regret, full of sorrow.
'I love you,' you whisper hoarsely. You are filled with emotions that make me love you more.
'I love you too.'
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We agreed to the oral sex. I am so nervous because I am not sure if I can get it up. I used to love getting head, you are so good at it, you are amazing at it. Were amazing at it...before. Before this all happened. We were amazing together. I miss 'us' as we were, I mourn 'us'. My heart aches.
I recall how we were before we found out that I have no sperm. I am a useless man, a shell of a man. I try not to fall into self loathing but the cancer of it grows through my soul shredding my sense of self worth. I am in tattered rags, so fragile that even a look from you will make me crumble. Please don't look at me like that, please.
I try and hide my depression from you. I guess you suspect that I am not ok because you are a smart woman. I have always loved smart women, they are the best. I am not sure though because I know that you are in your own personal hell. I want to pull you out of it but I can't and that makes me feel like I am a useless bastard of a husband.
Emotions jumble within me as I try and push the suicidal thoughts away, banishing them, but they have become my near constant companion these last few months. I don't know when they started, as they insidiously crept into my mind. I know how I would like to do it, to end it all. I am no longer afraid of death, some days I long for it but I am not yet at that point. I hope never to reach it. I still have some hope no matter how faded. You are my life, you are my light and I have let you down. I love you, with my whole heart, with everything I have in me. I just hope that you still love me back.
Choking back the tears I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Just like my cock. I roll my eyes at my own self disgust.
'I love you,' creeps out of my mouth.
You look up with your beautiful amber eyes and tell me you love me too.
Let the blow job begin.

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