Killing Two Truths With One Stone, Mother

Truth 1: Not feeling the love for mother on this 2018 Mother’s Day

Thursday, May 10, 2018: I had made up my mind that I was going to change Uber charges from mom’s Discover Charge to my own MasterCard Debit. This move is so I can justify my indignation over the co-dependent relationship between my mother and my brother. Of course, I immediately encountered internet interruptions…grr!

Waiting till after 10:00 to avoid surges and incentives, I ventured to the dispensary; from there I went to the market. The independence countered my depressive state.

The Truth: a bit of rationalization including the market with the dispensary.
The Fear: How long will money last for these excursions; must limit to one a month at first.

Anyway, feeling pretty groovy when I got home – especially after smoking a blunt that I had treated myself to for completing my customer loyalty punch card – I made the call to the prostitute I had selected and fascinated on for over a week. The phone was disconnected. Go figure. Had I been more spiritually aware, I’d have realized this was God putting the kibosh on a very expensive lesson confirmation.

I selected another – all this despite my favorite/selected site experiencing an internet interruption of their own, leading me to think about the end of net neutrality and the government shutting down Craig’s List Personals and other prostitute-advertising websites down as part of an enforcement action by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the U.S. Postal…blah, blah, blah. Personally, I think prostitution should be legalized for therapeutic reasons…not all humans are confident, beautiful; and we all get horny!

Sans crack…the guy arrive. I was nervous as hell.

Allow me to preface my experience: I used to take a hit of crack, alone, as soon as I got delivery and the hot, straight dealer had left. After a brief moment of euphoria, the sex glands started pumping. The next thing you knew, I was out the door in search of some willing male participant – my body shakes at the thought of anticipation as I write this. Having found a playmate, my next hit would have me dropping to my knees to perform greedy deep-throat blow-job service.

My sex glands had not kicked in yet when the guy arrived. He was hot. It was awkward, him claiming I was his first – can you see my eyes rolling back in my head? I tried to explain what I wanted and how I wanted it, but that got old fast. I actually found myself laughing at the false-misconceptions crack had created over sex. Even the requested domination was a joke.

I wonder if crack would affect me the same today?
I’ve heard tell that I would pick up right where I left off.

Anyway, I had paid $500.00 for two hours because I had anticipated something entirely different. What a waste of money, but a lesson finally well learned and many myths dispelled with minimal wreckage.

So, was I two different people? Did I do the drugs to allow myself to be mistreated as a means of self punishment or am I really that perverted and twisted? The sick part is that is what I desire…permanently, forever. The sick part is that when I hear stories of other humans having experienced abuse by their captors, I am jealous, envious, covetous. Do I grieve?

Truth 2: The quiver of anticipation is crack calling me back through my sex vulnerabilities.


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