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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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Bad Sex

My Unattractiveness Reaches Psychic Proportions

I had begrudgingly set up a date with Pierre the Prostitute – begrudgingly because I believe paying to be the one to do all the work (a blowjob). Especially, in this humidity with no air conditioning!? Got a bad vibe due to non-communication, his price was higher than normal, and we were going to blow clouds so I started looking for someone else.

Next was Darrius, who only liked pot. So being the people pleaser I am, I was off to the dispensary. It’s as if he was psychic – in my mind, at least – when I got the call from him – on the way to the dispensary, after worrying about time because my cousin that was going to ride me made me wait – that he was cancelling on me! WTF!?

I was dejected; my cousin noticed my change in mood and inquired. I had not been truthful to her about paying for sex so I remained silent.

So with a bag of weed, I went home and started looking again when I felt the green fuzzies. I could not find anyone that sounded like someone I might enjoy for the $120 in my pocket. Frustrated, I used the ads as porn, I actually watched 1.5 porn movie. I got very high and very sexually enticed and then went to bed and fantasized in my head of two daddies. How might they react to each other? With my luck, they’d be so turned of by each other, I would be Charlie Brown once again.

WHY AM I EVEN SO HELL BENT ON GETTING SEXED?

I am sex addict and the pot is not working as much anymore so now I seek out sex as a means to act out. I have ALWAYS associated drugs with sex; they enabled my male persona to condone the raping of my female persona. There are other factors: HIV+; Herpes; Cancer; my diabetes medication gives me cotton mouth 24/7; impotence; and my apparently morbid obesity.

On my side of the board I believe in paying for love is acceptable and should be an option for all of society. My biggest obstacle in attracting men is the men that I am attracted to: skinny to muscly men with big daddy dick! Sorry, getting excited, but no worry, the little guy asleep, motionless. Ha! So far, of the four men I have encountered, the first was the best; my success rate: 25%. Not too good. Further discouragement: I removed my anti-depressant from my medication regime, discovering that it was a cock-blocker – still nothing.

Oh, and then there a jealous child, Mojo.