Esperanza_Hidalgo
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 26, 2009
- Posts
- 2,614
This is a personnel essay to honor a friend and share how she helped me. It is different for Literotica, but I am compelled to sing about her—forgive the indulgence. Do not read it if a lesbian talking about a cathartic episode in her life offends you.
"It's just enough story between sex to make it interesting. But I think you got lost a bit toward the end."
Out of an inauspicious beginning, a friendship emerged—a strange friendship based upon love and mystery. Admittedly, sexual attraction stirred the young woman’s initial interest. Confusion ruled in the young woman; the mature woman ended the young woman’s confusion. The two women discussed many private issues about the young woman’s circumstances and disposition. Not knowing each other’s identity made it work. The young woman trusted the mature woman.
At nineteen, the young woman published a successful short story at Literotica.com called Good Girl's Aren't Gay (she later took it off Literotica for many reasons. She reposted it yesterday because of a promise). The story was good, but lacking in many regards; nonetheless, in the Lit scheme of things, it rocked. Sometimes suspect stories rock at Lit if there is enough girl fucking.
Things were strange for the young woman during the juncture of time and place. She had just met her future wife after parting company with an abusive woman. Her wife (only a friend at that time) encouraged her to seek out a psychologist. The future wife even paid. The shrink diagnosed her with ADHD and depression. Medication slowed down the synapses in her brain. She could think for the first time in her life. She figured out she could write, although the jury is still out on the quality of her writing. She wrote the aforementioned story. It was damn good for a noobie.
The mature woman, nicknamed Misty (she’s not Misty Morning, so don’t get confused), left a hint in the private message on how the two could communicate. Over a million words later, they still communicate. The young woman will not discuss her confusion, or what she learned, because it does not matter within the context of this essay. What matters is a woman opened her door and bade a stranger to enter. The stranger drove a crap-laden dump truck in other woman’s house. The mature woman listened and suggested. The young woman listened and changed. The young woman is now a mature woman too.
*******
I realize, over one year later, how accidental circumstances can change a life. Our deeds impact others; the impact, whether it is positive or negative, can change the fabric of society. Many opportunities exist for us to help others, and I try to do as she did for me when I see one in need. Mostly, I try and help queer young girls like me—girls who are screwed up about identity and love. I do it because I owe Misty. She helped me, so I must help others.
Perhaps you think this is corny and I am a Pollyanna. I don't give a shit if you do, because to you I do not speak. Some do not listen even when someone else is shouting in their ear. I can’t help you—you must want help to change.
What I feel is real, and Misty made me feel this way. It is because of her I am majoring in psychology and literature. I am inspired to be a shrink for kids with ADHD and young lesbians.
So, to those of you who think the anonymity of the Internet, or making friends via Literotica due to strange circumstance has no impact, think twice. It does. I plan on changing the world, even if no one ever reads anything I write.
For many reasons, I am free.
I exist. I have purpose. I sing. I dance naked on the freeway. I revel in existence. No one can take my freedom away from me—unless I allow it.
I write this for those who listen.
*******
A Mystery
by Irania©
A Mystery
I rest upon my bloody knees removing indignation;
'Tis my role within these walls to purge my resignation.
Walls with brain obsessed by frequent mental masturbation;
To bridge these walls I seek a muse to cede my putrefaction.
Temptress of my mind I freely plead for your kind heart;
Inside this fractured psyche rests a soul infused with art.
I pluck thorned rose with baited breath and place it on your breast;
As Lazarus was gifted life I pray remove my death!
The rose emits a quality like babe before the breach;
Held within your mighty heart the rose permits life's reach.
I'm swaddling babe with screaming voice in search of nomenclature;
My war within my unkempt mind must win against my nature.
Please keep this rose inside of you my complex loving muse;
If rose doth wilt inside of you my edict is to lose.
I consecrate myself to thee for sweet monastic time-
Time fulfilling prophecy like grapes majestic wine.
A wine through supplication leaves me questioning my God;
As wafer chokes within my throat to burn the lightning rod.
'Tis this burn you douse with a Vesuvius hot kiss;
Gifted words you speak to me extinguish confused bliss.
O heart filled muse so pure of gold my life rests in the balance;
Place me on your altar dear Hypatia my talents.
Dreams no longer darken night as light wafts through my door-
A peaceful calm lifts the child who was but wicked whore.
*******
I love you Misty. May your life be peaceful.
To the rest of you, forgive the indulgence. I had to do it.
Raney
"It's just enough story between sex to make it interesting. But I think you got lost a bit toward the end."
Out of an inauspicious beginning, a friendship emerged—a strange friendship based upon love and mystery. Admittedly, sexual attraction stirred the young woman’s initial interest. Confusion ruled in the young woman; the mature woman ended the young woman’s confusion. The two women discussed many private issues about the young woman’s circumstances and disposition. Not knowing each other’s identity made it work. The young woman trusted the mature woman.
At nineteen, the young woman published a successful short story at Literotica.com called Good Girl's Aren't Gay (she later took it off Literotica for many reasons. She reposted it yesterday because of a promise). The story was good, but lacking in many regards; nonetheless, in the Lit scheme of things, it rocked. Sometimes suspect stories rock at Lit if there is enough girl fucking.
Things were strange for the young woman during the juncture of time and place. She had just met her future wife after parting company with an abusive woman. Her wife (only a friend at that time) encouraged her to seek out a psychologist. The future wife even paid. The shrink diagnosed her with ADHD and depression. Medication slowed down the synapses in her brain. She could think for the first time in her life. She figured out she could write, although the jury is still out on the quality of her writing. She wrote the aforementioned story. It was damn good for a noobie.
The mature woman, nicknamed Misty (she’s not Misty Morning, so don’t get confused), left a hint in the private message on how the two could communicate. Over a million words later, they still communicate. The young woman will not discuss her confusion, or what she learned, because it does not matter within the context of this essay. What matters is a woman opened her door and bade a stranger to enter. The stranger drove a crap-laden dump truck in other woman’s house. The mature woman listened and suggested. The young woman listened and changed. The young woman is now a mature woman too.
*******
I realize, over one year later, how accidental circumstances can change a life. Our deeds impact others; the impact, whether it is positive or negative, can change the fabric of society. Many opportunities exist for us to help others, and I try to do as she did for me when I see one in need. Mostly, I try and help queer young girls like me—girls who are screwed up about identity and love. I do it because I owe Misty. She helped me, so I must help others.
Perhaps you think this is corny and I am a Pollyanna. I don't give a shit if you do, because to you I do not speak. Some do not listen even when someone else is shouting in their ear. I can’t help you—you must want help to change.
What I feel is real, and Misty made me feel this way. It is because of her I am majoring in psychology and literature. I am inspired to be a shrink for kids with ADHD and young lesbians.
So, to those of you who think the anonymity of the Internet, or making friends via Literotica due to strange circumstance has no impact, think twice. It does. I plan on changing the world, even if no one ever reads anything I write.
For many reasons, I am free.
I exist. I have purpose. I sing. I dance naked on the freeway. I revel in existence. No one can take my freedom away from me—unless I allow it.
I write this for those who listen.
*******
A Mystery
by Irania©
A Mystery
I rest upon my bloody knees removing indignation;
'Tis my role within these walls to purge my resignation.
Walls with brain obsessed by frequent mental masturbation;
To bridge these walls I seek a muse to cede my putrefaction.
Temptress of my mind I freely plead for your kind heart;
Inside this fractured psyche rests a soul infused with art.
I pluck thorned rose with baited breath and place it on your breast;
As Lazarus was gifted life I pray remove my death!
The rose emits a quality like babe before the breach;
Held within your mighty heart the rose permits life's reach.
I'm swaddling babe with screaming voice in search of nomenclature;
My war within my unkempt mind must win against my nature.
Please keep this rose inside of you my complex loving muse;
If rose doth wilt inside of you my edict is to lose.
I consecrate myself to thee for sweet monastic time-
Time fulfilling prophecy like grapes majestic wine.
A wine through supplication leaves me questioning my God;
As wafer chokes within my throat to burn the lightning rod.
'Tis this burn you douse with a Vesuvius hot kiss;
Gifted words you speak to me extinguish confused bliss.
O heart filled muse so pure of gold my life rests in the balance;
Place me on your altar dear Hypatia my talents.
Dreams no longer darken night as light wafts through my door-
A peaceful calm lifts the child who was but wicked whore.
*******
I love you Misty. May your life be peaceful.
To the rest of you, forgive the indulgence. I had to do it.
Raney
Last edited:
proud of you babe
