Hog-mage - That Darn Chick

Roar!

Look up diphallia,

And get back to me in the morning. You’ll be thanking me. You’re welcome!

This one night

Short Story:

I turned into someone else, someone that I hated and envied all at once. I stared at him, knowing he was my undoing, all at once afraid and in love with him. His years of grip on me was tight and strong, but my more logical side breathed for freedom from his chains.

He had told me that I was his, that I belonged to him, that every kiss, be it forced or done in silent surrender, was his branding of me. His touch was like fire now, pain so intense that I wanted more, just to have a feeling of no longer feeling empty. Sometimes, the slighted touch would make me whimper, wanting more, needing more, needing him.

Every night he is like a warrior, he being the sword, and I, his scabbard. No longer do I resist, it has been years since I’ve last resisted, but with stillness in need and thought, comes the realization of freedom, of it being so close in grasp that I can taste it. The more I succumb to him, the more logical side of me knows that what I’m starting to love; him, his grasp of me, my willingness to stay, my acceptance of everything, is wrong and deviant.

So tonight, here I stand, with my own sword in hand; a chefs knife, from under my pillow, I straddle him, moving against him like butter, he awakes, both his desire and his eyes open to me above him; him staring at my slightly mad eyes. I kiss him, putting all my sorrow, all my love, all my years wasted in his silent threats, and take my revenge.

When I remove myself from his final hold on me, his blood dripping down my chest, I look at him. With every beat of my own heart, I remember everything he’s done to me. I wipe his blood from me, and I remember wiping blood from my own wounds, from the tears shed. I dress myself and remember when he would cut away my clothes with knives, or sheer force of will. Finally, I walk out the door, the door that I was pushed though, time and time again, the door that I walked through willingly, holding hands with him.

The air tastes sweet; new. I am still left empty.

When you and your crew all find something funny for once.

Source: I Miss The 90s

Lady Snowblood (Toshiya Fujita, 1973)

As an adult now for...

14 years, I've learned about the wonders of Farmer's Markets.  It's the best!!

Who will set me free

My pen is my comfort. Behold, my poem. *Who will set me free? I have been deceived, I believed my own lies. I am rooted to the earth, and I bare no fruit, only that of death. There is conflict within myself which holds me fast. I am in bondage to my own sin, which is eternally battling within. What gives life eventually gives one death. A cry of despair leaves my lips. I am disease, and whoever touches me, receives death. I do not possess the power of a life pleasing to live, for my leaves wither dry. I leave myself open and vulnerable to sin. I am rooted to the earth and I bare no fruit, only that of death. I wait for the one to set me free, to whom I will surrender all.

Hoping my wedding pictures look as cool as her.

How to Wear Flowers in Your Hair

You’ll look as fresh as a daisy.

By Rian.

Ms. Davis

Betty Davis

A naturalized progression

Begging --> Fingering --> Oral --> Making love --> Each to our separate bathrooms to wash away the shame.