The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

sweepthefloor said:

Thank you for the advice! I did not know the meaning of juxtaposition but I searched the definition. I have never had any narrative critique or advice before, I have just began to start searching on the internet about formal writing for novel format.

The novel type that I am writing seems messy. My ideas are maintained but the content is all over the place from childhood memories and learning the sense of things about the world around me. I am trying to link each experience to my love laboratory failures.

I just keep writing but the further I get without a clear voice plan the more I will have to edit to achieve a consistent pattern. I just keep writing raw. It is time and effort. It is a lifelong history of writing for myself and writing something that others will read.

All my life I have perceived words as nothing more than some kind of food, it tastes good going in but in the end it always turns to shit. The good thing is that there are no calories.

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The structure is a just a big jigsaw puzzle with words that can be fitted together later. Probably more important is to fix the purpose and narrative voice(s) from the outset.

I dropped a pm into your box.

It is a paradiddle life, it is the same thing over and over again. All we can do is switch the hands that life sticks us up with.

Everything was going great, and then he told me that he loved to suck a cock too.
I just can not handle the competition. End.

The torch is a temporary fix and it does not last long.
It is like masturbating.
What a dick needs is some heat tape and insulation.
The littlest penis is the neediest.
Copper dicks are fragile when faced with the torch.
I do not want to burn a hole in the vulnerable thing.



Do you remember the warm?



Do you feel the fucking cold?
The temperature is a value that we use to measure the quality of our life.
The heat gun is a joke.

I have been blowing on torches since I knew about torches.
The furnace will not keep fire.




I could stare at the furnace flame peep hole and jerk off like a pervert waiting for the fire to light like some kind of combustion,
but the hot life does not come with a manual.
You either know, you do not know, or you just fucking figure it out.



He says, “Don’t burn the house down.”
I repeat, “Don’t burn the house down.”

The time has come gentlemen: Men at baby showers. I can not hide my confusion.

sweepthefloor said:

The time has come gentlemen: Men at baby showers. I can not hide my confusion.

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Is there beer?

Actually, no, that's not a good enough reason to go to a baby shower.

Sir_Spongiosum said:

Is there beer?

Actually, no, that's not a good enough reason to go to a baby shower.

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It is the new standard.

He spit his oral spit in my mouth and I thought it was all going to be alright because who does that? It was so spontaneous right after the blow job. He spit in my mouth when I would not stop laughing so close to his mouth, because I was having another laugh episode. I stopped laughing.

I just kept sucking in a way that I have never sucked before. He bruised my throat and I bled. I do not know what he tasted like because he skipped my mouth in favor of my stomach.

I gagged a new gag, a gag I did not know before. I puked coffee and belly acid on his cock and he did not stop. He was only happy unless he smashed my nose into his bone.

He swore his love to me. I told him love is a silly idea. It made him mad. Isn’t the back of my throat enough love? It is never enough.

And this was all happy ever after until it was not happy ever after. You can’t force a person to trust you, either they trust or they do not trust. I am an honest girl. Love without trust is nothing more than an obsession.

Surprise! You have fallen in love with a socially inadequate woman! A woman that has spent the most of life living on the free. The love is free with no accountability. I was never any good at being responsible for other people’s feelings. I just live like me.

We had been breaking down since week number one. The sex and pain kept us going back for more like crackers looking for dropped rocks on a filthy carpet. I was never a fan of rocks.

The worse was the night with the booze and a friend. In this love free life the men are loose and I am even looser. There is never any ending because there is never a beginning. There are only brief moments that are both satisfying and easy.

My friend is a threat. He is both aggressive and violent. He never hurt me. I had a boyfriend. The bondage of friendship is stronger than the lightly knotted rope of a new romance.

The growing up code of conduct remains. We do not let each other down. We defend each other. He gave me his car keys with his drunken hand, and my boyfriend had a problem with it.

You Make Me Sick

I am a failure love and he fucks girls with bleach blonde hair and saline breasts. He is the forever fits like soft jeans on my aging body and the television plays Star Wars me to sleep in his cold bedroom. We could never suck or fuck but we would make great domestic partners.

I have the healing hands that seek pain and remove it from his broken work body.
He: Can we get married?
Me: I am not suitable for marriage.
He jerks himself off in under two minutes under the blanket and I hand him a sock to clean himself off. He knows that I do not get involved in that business. He also knows I will wash the dishes in the morning and steal another Yankee hat. It is just like that.

I can not say it will always be this way. I am in the kitchen. I already let the dog out and down comes the housemate! He is the one I was supposed to marry: when we were 15 years old we made a promise that if we did not fall in love with anyone else we would just get married. We could never suck or fuck too. It is just a fuckless suckless world with these two men and a dog.

The old neighborhood smells like rotten salad. The delayed garbage stick out your can schedule makes a scent difference. There is a faint trash taste in the back of my throat and it is not from that fuck face. Wish-Wash is the laundromat where we passed hours watching the soap suds wheel go around. The water turns dark before the rinse cycle, and that is my life load. He took his life all those years ago. He took his life away before the rinse cycle. I washed my dirt stiff spinal jeans many times before I rinsed clean. My chest trembles like an off the balance machine so I open myself up and try to push some rags around and restart.

A best friend is laughing at jokes read on the internet cables, and the old punk-rock is playing on a streamer instead of a turn table. This is the olden days except I am typing instead of writing. We are still here and we are old. He is Mr. Deep Voice. He is the big guy and I have a pinch more than inches belly. I am wearing a nightgown and no bra. He wears a tank top and a short fashionable mohawk hair top. It is not age appropriate, but who is counting the years?
Mr. Fits-Like-Soft Jeans is watching the Yankees on the TV in his bedroom. He throws a water bottle at the door because I leave it open while unpacking for the night. I tell him the place is a fucking mess. His room is cleaner than Mr. Deep Voice’s so I will sleep in his bed. There is no fucking or sucking around this place. It would not be right and some things are right in this world.

The dog licks me. The children are running around and getting the sweat on. There will be no sleeping tonight because children do not sleep at awake-over parties. I go to the store to purchase toilet paper and juice boxes. We are not children anymore. We are not teenage dirt bags. We are not teenagers from mars, but we are together in an industrial wasteland. This is not a teenage wasteland.

It is a deep deep massage with the end light touch, and my hands have some energy transmitted through the deepest section of my soul. It is nearly a spiritual thing. I do not know where this comes from but he likes it. He says I love you and I do not respond. He does love me in that old-friend way and I do love him too in my own way. My love way is the hard hand back massage job and the gentle help the handy-job-do-it-yourself-man-you-are-nasty. There is a tissue box on the bedside night table.

We smoke some Newports out the window and who the fuck smokes Newports anymore? That is what we used to do, and I could not resist. It is the middle of the night.

I am bitching about the filth in the house. I do not know how I fall asleep around here. He tells me to stop bitching because it ruins his high.

Finally I've learned to trust my penis enough to let it lead me to pussy.

Sir_Spongiosum said:

Finally I've learned to trust my penis enough to let it lead me to pussy.

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And one year leading to pussy plenty?

I have been heart-broken and mended by the same hand and that is the best recovery. The Post-Hurt-Me-Unit; it's those Fentanyl lips and Diprivan milky white of the drip in my mouth.

Oh! The cold break up table and the bright sterile lights of reality hurt so bad. We are not cutting to cure like Surgeons, we are hurting to heal like lovers. It feels so good.

A year later!!

I've read through this early on. Glad to see you bumped back up.

thank you cookie!

Good to see you return to this thread after so long away - I had feared it abandoned as a lost cause.

sweepthefloor said:

And one year leading to pussy plenty?

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I may have got a bit too excited there.

The cougar encounters of late 2015 were too few and ended too soon however she was an excellent way to break a drought and not just because of the squirting

An amazing kisser.

2016 was a year of no pussy however 2017 will be more conducive.

I've also realised I need to change my geography and move to where the pussy that likes my kind of dick is. Mating markets matter!

I miss your writing.

Sir_Spongiosum said:

<snip>

I miss your writing.

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I second this. But I think I already said it.

Pockle said:

Good to see you return to this thread after so long away - I had feared it abandoned as a lost cause.

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abandonment and lost causes are the themes of my life.

Sir_Spongiosum said:

I may have got a bit too excited there.

The cougar encounters of late 2015 were too few and ended too soon however she was an excellent way to break a drought and not just because of the squirting

An amazing kisser.

2016 was a year of no pussy however 2017 will be more conducive.

I've also realised I need to change my geography and move to where the pussy that likes my kind of dick is. Mating markets matter!

I miss your writing.

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i had an experience but it didn't work out for reasons that hardly matter.
the good news is that i gave it a whirl.

now i am just trying to fix the self-care deficit that is destroying my life.

i don't even want a man in my mouth and this is surely a low blow to my ego.

it's the downside of mania and i am not medicated.

cookiecat said:

I second this. But I think I already said it.

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thank you so much.

The drawer is full of ten year old period stained panties. life is the panty drawer it’s all so very dingy and there is nothing fresh about it.

sweepthefloor said:

The drawer is full of ten year old period stained panties. life is the panty drawer it’s all so very dingy and there is nothing fresh about it.

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maybe a little well-placed potpourri might help ?