anger is a gift.
I’ve always thought that and i shall always believe that. sometime ago i used to be quite angry. really angry. hours and hours locked in my room writing/reading/pacing the floor. i would listen to Ministry. NIN. Front242. JudyBats. Cure. hard driving music. depressing music. this was my own little world and this is how i wanted to live it. i remember oh so long ago, standing in my bedroom while living in Toronto looking out to the city. I had gone with my dad to see “Pump up the Volume” and I had borrowed my dads cassette recorder. I spent hours talking to myself, always thinking about that perfect moment, perfect man, perfect life. I chronicled how I felt in long diatribes. I wrote letters after that to my friends. Long missives about life. me. love.
i still remember those nights quite vividly. they’ve been sparked by long discussions recently that were not of shallow content. And it started breaking down again and again. pent up rage and emotion that i don’t let out anymore. i had promised myself after Alan that i would never feel that way again. After Jeff, I made it so.
Then along came Justin. And you would think i would be happy. People always tell me I should be and that i have to be. Look around me.
But that is not what this is all about right now.
Several months ago, I started a project I had nicknamed “Lisa 2000”. It was an off-shoot of this that I had basically started putting together one night that would cover rants on specific topics. I completed about 10% of the project before I got bored and stopped. I went perusing the my stuff the other night and found the writing that I had started. I had initially started the site as a “portal” (gag) but decided against it at a later date. I think the writing is one of my best. here is what i have done so far:
hooked on the past
so continuing on with this thread, i sat in my chair last night knees against the seat. chin on the back. F242 was playing on the stereo. i kept twirling around and around. stopping a bit to type something in and going back to twirling. the past keeps catching up with me in different ways. i had originally started this piece with the intent of talking about BD/SM, but found I couldn’t. I would get email upon email from HNG’s (horny net geek) wondering if i was available and when? perhaps tomorrow? lets met somewhere. doesn’t matter where. I’m an irc tart. I’ll fuck your mind and not your body. safer that way. can’t let you in or anyone else in. fuck that.
i want it all.
lately I’ve been thinking about dying. i would get so fucking down on myself for whatever fucking reason. be it late at night or early in the morning and i would sit there and think about my life and how wasted it’s gotten to the point where i don’t want to do jackshit any more. everything is bringing me down. work. lack of a proper sex life. relationships. lack of drive/desire. i keep hiding and hiding and can’t find out where I’m going.
but I’m going to talk about it.
even if I’m up all goddamn night.
I’ve always been sexually liberated. even when i was a kid, i grabbed Jeff something or anther in the 2nd grade, pressed him up against the tree and gave him a big fat smooch. geeks were always my weakness. genius guys that lacked social and moral convictions. i need to save them. make myself worthwhile. cos if i can save them i could save the relationship between my mother and father that ended 25 years ago. fucked up isn’t. I’m such a fucking statistic. i can pinpoint my problems and tell you WHY they happened. case in point above. mentally and sexually abused as a kid? no problem, I like sex so rough and so hard that no one has been able to deal with it. I’ve been date-raped, raped by bf’s, sexually abused by my father, beaten by bf’s, dumped, cheated on. did drugs and alcohol in high school. dropped out twice because i was sick of all the bullshit i was given.
but sex. i used to think i was a lesbian. used to fantasize about girls quite a bit when i was young. wet dreams about women that would leave me awake at night with my clit hard and my panties wet. but i never told a fucking soul. wasn’t till i moved to california that i got my first experienced with being with a female. fucking loved it. i was so hot that i nearly tore justin apart after the experience. we had fucked 8 times within a nine hour period. i was on the verge of going wild. and he fucking wouldn’t let me.
alan brought it out in me. i always knew it was there. i always thought that the moment i got laid for the first time i would turn into a raging nympho. and sure enough it was true.
alan and i would fuck 15 different ways till sunday. he would walk into my house and zip would go his pants as I was on my knee’s sucking his cock. on the kitchen floor. on the washing machine. everywhere in the house. on the hood of his car, my car. we got off thinking people were watching. i would give him head without a damn doubt anywhere he asked. we talked about threesomes, orgies and public displays. the more that we talked about it, the hotter i got and the more into it i got. spanking, clawing, biting. i could fuck HIM anyway i wanted. objects were used that were not intended for sexual purposes. i was his sexual slave and i loved it. i whipped him around my finger and we engulfed each other any chance we had.
then we stopped having sex as frequently.
then we stopped having sex at all.
found out, that the bastard had been dealing me a bad deck of cards: he was cheating. it was a monogamous relationship. we weren’t using condoms after the doctor checked us out. i was only 20. i wanted to dress in leather, get pierced and be made a slave.
he decided he needed a nice girl that could satiate his family needs.
after the break up, alan stalked me for a bit. i started whoring around sleeping with a few people and dating whomever asked. but when alan called, my cunt started hurting and i started pining away. i wanted this. i wanted him. no one has ever made me feel this good. and we kept fucking each other until my 21st birthday when I had seen him and the new girlfriend at a bar. i had been drinking. i had ended up pissed off in a rage and had confronted him. he had been watching me all night but i didn’t care. the gf came up to me and started being a bitch. i was too drunk to be coherent so i started walking away. FUCK THEM!
She called me a whore.
I turned around and started choking the shit out her. took alan and two bouncers to pull her off of me. one escorted me to the door and told me to get my ass home. i was drunk. so drunk that i could barely walk straight. they let me drive my muthafucking car. i drove to his best friends house and started bawling. i was so hysterical i couldn’t calm down. alan called asking about me, but, that was the one of the last times i ever saw him.
6 months later, I ran to the store for my mom. i walked in as alan walked out. he didn’t say a word and i just glared.
that was 1993.
in 1995 i started dating someone serious again. most of what had happened was beyond me.
i never forgot no matter how far i pushed it down inside of me.
i remember what it was like being that insanely in love and my soul had been taken. i crave that deep down inside. tried to hide it since then. i always knew plain vanilla sex would never be what i wanted. i wanted to take it back and have him again. i wanted him to take me back. i plead begged and screamed.
I’ve always been on the lookout for someone like that: to make me their whore. their sub. and i would make them my whore and my sub. so many people came close. but it never worked out. it never does, does it?