Period

One of the things I have learned from the years of making out with boys and men is that they don’t like blood coming out of my vagina. It is alright with me. I don’t …

Electricity

I had started to make plans with a “special” friend for this weekend. I was very much looking forward to see him again. Talk to him, laugh with him, feel him, smell him. But unfortunately …

A promise never kept

There’s something I’ve been promised by a couple of people (men), but the promise was never kept.

To write something for me.

Why is it such a big deal?

I find it a very personal thing to do. It’s like making a mixed tale for someone. (Which I also have been promised, by a boy in high school, with whom I was madly in love. And I never got it…)
The person has to sit down, think about yourself. He has to care enough for you to concentrate on you. To wonder what you would like to hear or read. It needs time to be put into nice words, good sentences. It has to fit all well. And I it’s really good, one feels that it’s about you and for you.

As the mixed tape in high school, I never got a story or something similar.

For almost 2 years my ex told me he would write for me, but was never inspired to do so. I should mention that he writes for a living.
I’ve been with other men. I’ve seen them writing for their ex-girlfriends, ex-subs etc. and also for the new ones after me. But need for me.

Why I am so upset about it?

I am not sure. It has to do with promises which weren’t kept and with the feeling that all these men didn’t care enough to actually spend some time thinking about me and writing a little something.
Not a story, not even something describing him and me together.

It upsets me. And what upsets me even more is that the more I think about it, the more I come to a realisation, which I don’t like and have been trying not to have for a long time.

It has to be me. I am not memorable enough. Not inspiring enough. Not important enough. Simply not good enough.

H

In my previous post I said that I am done fighting. And I still mean it. But as I have been thinking more and more about it, I remembered that sometimes fighting for something it …

The belt

There I was. Lying on the hotel bed. I was naked. Wearing nothing but my black hold-ups. Even though it was cold outside, I didn’t need a blanket. The heat from the sex I just …