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and here is the conclusion to the story
i know its long
you dont have to read it if you dont want
I had long since decided to wait until I broke up with her to write this essay. And since this is my 10,000th post, I thought I will write about the most consuming and absorbing affair of my life. This is about the girl I wrote about years ago in my essay "The Face". It has been more than six months since I broke up with her and it looks like this will be the last time, if only because this time she finally found a new boyfriend. Well, she is pretty enough for that now. Some of the Old Hands have seen her "before and after" pictures. Some have actually met her when she was pretty close to the final product. Early on, when she got out of the car squinting in the sun, she looked so horrifying that I literally had to brace myself to keep from jumping. Shortly before the breakup, I went to her apartment when she just got home from a party with her silvery makeup still on and I strained to hide that I was startled at her beauty. In between, I screwed her for six years. There are marriages out there that don't last that long.
I am still at a loss for words when trying to describe what got me so hooked on this girl. When Kris asked me about this, I answered "I don't know. Maybe it's because I never shagged something from a splatter movie before". That joke got a good laugh and ever since then, I called her "the Splatter Girl" on the forum.
It was so intense that it was addictive in the most acute way, but I cannot even find the word for what "it" was. "Passion" comes close. But it was much closer to raw lust. It was something like the distant relative of aching hatred. It made something burn inside at the mere thought of it. I still remember that time, after I had better sex than usual with my wife, I wondered why I was treading on thin ice to drive across town and meet the ugliest girl I had ever known. Then when I got to the hotel room, she visiblly trembled at the approaching kiss, her fingers struggling through the air in minute jerks to reach my chest. Her breathing stopped in a gasp and resumed again in labored sighs punctuated with halting periods of utter motionlessness. And then I knew that it was this tension that I craved about her. It made me hold my breath with her.
I asked her one time what her best memory of highschool was and she told me that she was, for lack of a better word, in love with a handsome boy who was taken by her best friend. As she walked home with her friend, the handsome boy would join them on their way home and she would have the pleasure of walking with the handsome boy on account of her friend. What immediately struck my mind was what the boy must have thought about the hideous gargoyle that chaperoned them all the time. And that was the closest she ever came to having a date until she finally met me when she was almost 28. And no wonder because when I walked with her on the sidewalk, some pedestrians literally crossed the street to avoid passing by her. Most of the others just looked away as if they had just seen a particularly grisly roadkill. In one of our dinners early on in the relationship, she couldn't get over the fact that I was looking at her.
So just standing there in the hotel room reaching over to kiss her made her so tense and rigid because it completely changed the world for her in such a substantial way it was positively tearing her apart. Like so many people who go through unbearable suffering, she had constructed a faux world around herself to protect herself from the pain. She showed me a photo of herself in a yukata looking over her shoulder at the camera in a coquettish pose. "That's the new yukata I made last year. Isn't that cute?" she said. Of course the the yukata was cute. But the model certainly was not. Yet, she could suspend her perception of reality enough to pull a haze over her shortcomings. Nothing was a better example of this than her perfectly shaven eyebrows. I often marveled at them silently after having sex with her. They were truely shaped perfectly. You couldn't do that without putting a lot of attention into it. Or looking into the mirror to do it. She must have spent a lot of time looking at her face in the mirror to get those eyebrows done just right. It was so pathetically futile, yet so tragic because of the desperate hope invested into it. And it extended to her whole perfect body which, of course, no one would ever notice.
Normally, I just ridicule those fat, ugly women who believe their own bullshit about their beauty. But then again, there is nothing heroic about their denial. Obnoxious women are not the victims they make themselves out to be. The Splatter Girl, however, was a genuine victim of our casual indifference and apathic insensitivity. She was a true leper in an age where political correctness had basically outlawed lepers. Think of yourself as the highschool boy who couldn't date the girl he fancied without this eyesore following you around. How would you respond to her mere existance? You are not intentionally being malicious. You are just responding to your own bad luck in a way that comes natural to you. That was the way everyone looked at her. And just because she was born with a congenital facial malformation. So she had a carefully constructed fictional world view, an imaginary capsule to protect herself from the cruel world while letting her function as an able professional. That world crumbled with an earth quaking roar like the walls of Jerico every time I fucked her guts out. And she couldn't tell the hurt from love.
Over the course of our relationship, she had an inch of her blabberly upper lip removed, had a chunk of her thigh implanted into the dent in her cheek, had some teeth pulled out so the rest of her teeth would conform to braces, had eye surgery to remove the pterygium, had her jaw bone shortened to fix her underbite and got her smaller nostril enlarged. For the first three years, her face was so frequently black and blue, it looked like she just walked off a boxing ring. All the while I told her that I could imagine the beautiful face that was just waiting to come out from under the wounds. I really couldn't. Somewhere in the middle, I began to expect her to remain just bareablly ugly.
It is impossible to explain why I couldn't stop. It was simply too good. It was maddeningly good. She knew she was a second woman from day one and didn't care. A few months after I started seeing her, she quit her job and moved to a place closer to me. There she stayed on welfare until her unemployment check ran out and just sat there all day waiting for me to show up and shag her. All I had to do was ring the doorbell and without any ceremony she was in full sex mode. She couldn't get out of my car in front of her apartment without her eyes welling with tears. She had never experienced puppy love. Her first innocent crush and her first sexual orgasm came at the same time. She was so hungry for sex and drunk with love, she lost all ability to distinguish the two while she drowned in her sudden euphoric happiness. She could not help crying when I slept with her on Christmas Eve, something most girls take for granted. She never even asked me if I loved her until two years into the relationship. She was my sex slave.
She was in fact the embodiment of my most selfish sexual fantasies. I could fuck with her mind, her money, her body, her job and her entire world in any which way I pleased, all the while having her thank me for improving her life beyond all recognition. By every measure of domination, I owned her. Throw me your accusations. Yes, I am into power games. Who isn't? That is the whole point of getting blow jobs. It's not because her mouth feels better than her pussy. It's because it gives you a high when she kneels to hungrily put your cock in her mouth. The thing about men, if you have the guts to admit to it, is that we get high on things that are really nothing to be proud about. That's why we grow up beating each other up in playgrounds and running motorcycles through dangerous hairpins at a hundred miles per hour. We don't grow out of it or don't want to. I owned the bitch and loved it. She was actually grateful for having someone to give a blowjob to. It was a high you cannot describe.
But it wasn't all scorching rubber. The passion slowed down after a couple of years. Maybe three. She found a job again after her unemployment check stopped after eight months or so. After that, she would e-mail me her schedule and I would go to her room whenever I could. I still kept doing her as often as I could. She still behaved like a puppy running up to me. But she did not cry every time we parted anymore. She told me that she wanted to get married and raise a normal family. Of course she would want that. It is people for whom normality is a boring rutine who dream of deviant sex. The girl who had to hope against the odds to have a normal marriage would not see perpetual sexual pleasure as her goal in life. Still, I owned her. I knew I could sway her thoughts. I could make her want to remain my mistress forever. And yet, I lost the desire to do it. Not because I was growing tired of her or because I wanted to ditch her. I just lost the stomach for it.
What a perfectly twisted story it would have been if I had turned my energies into changing her mind, making her want to stay my mistress. Her lifelong dream evaporating in her desire to please me. And keep on pleasing me. What a thrill to bend her soul like clay into a perfect fit for my desires. But that was not to be. I screwed up. I failed to become the absolute villain. I could not become completely heartless. We eventually began to distance each other. We tried breaking up. For about a month at first. Then a year later for nearly two months. She moved out of her apartment, but left enough hints so I could find her. When I tracked her down, she wept in bed because she was afraid she would never see me again. I loved her for that. I loved her for many things. I don't know when I started loving her, but I loved her very much.
And it was because we loved each other and because I failed to become the totally evil slave master that we knew we had to end this. So we did the on and off thing. We talked to each other more. We had fights of no consequence. But most of all, we advised each other that we should break up, like we weren't the ones doing it. It became our standard conversation topic between two bouts of sex. Look, you really should stop doing this to yourself. This can't go on forever. Then we'd shag again and kiss and say goodbye till the next time. It went on that way for the last two years or so until one day she e-mailed me that she got off work early that day and had some free time. She knew I got off early that day too. I dutifully went to her apartment and we had sex like always. Then after that, with each other in our arms between sweat drenched sheets, I went on to tell her that she will never find a marriageable boyfriend if she kept calling her married beau when she got off early from work. She should spend the extra free time to find a new boyfriend. She looked at me like she had never thought of such an idea. Like always, she promissed to follow my advise. Then in the next e-mail I got, she said she found a new boyfriend. He was really into her. Who wouldn't be now, I thought. She stole my breath at times, she was so beautiful. So I faded away from her life, which I thought was a gentlemanly thing to do.
I e-mailed her a few months later to check up on how it was going. She told me that she was very happy now thanks to me. I told her that it had been a perfect relationship. And that I truely loved her.
Linked for huge, NSFWish and three different versions of WRONG.
And nice story Air.
Steam: YOU FACE JARAXXUS| Twitch.tv: CainLoveless
With a lunchbox
My God that is a lot of wrong for one image
hate you
oh my god
look at the picture on the lunchbox
that's not 3 women
it's 1
hey satan...: thinkgeek amazon My post |
stop projecting your fantasies onto an otherwise innocent image
But look at the disgust
Edit; also there are two forearms missing from the picture (look at their elbows). Where are they? Dark places, we must assume.
sheesh
See you should move to Australia.
I'm 18 and drink because I'm ALLOWED to.
Infact there's nothing you can do at 21 that you can't do at 18.
there's snow up there
GRRL TRBLLS
Need some stuff designed or printed? I can help with that.
Linked for huge, NSFWish and three different versions of SE++
Happy 2008
Fortytwo's blog about fatherhood, life, and everything.
snakes don't have ears.
SteamID: Baroque And Roll
What the fuck.
You can come visit me!
Haha
no.
Not you
Not anyone
not meissnerd
no sir
Ever.
Aren't penguins supposed to live in the South Pole, anyway?
You got the right temperature, wrong location.
shhhh stop it
but where are youuuu
I dont get it
The mystery of why J3p's signature does not seem to impress me like it did other people. My computer and/or browser is so old and crappy that it renders blank spaces in PNGs as a color or something like that, so while everyone else sees either leaves or grass I see both at the same time on a white background.
I also see my avatar as being on a black background, just so you know.
Well now I can sleep at night again.
No, it is this
The headless horsey Brak
Campion drew it!
I'm not really into pokemon
diff'rent strokes
this is bugging me
h5 4 canada
my god it's an abomination