I didn't mean to get involved. Really, I didn't. I was just standing by the door. It was dark, I was looking down, but I couldn't see anything. Someone pushed me. I was weightless. Then I felt air rushing past my face and I knew I was falling. In my other life I was very good at school. In science class, there was this formula. It told you how long you could fall before you hit something. I could probably remember the formula, but I'm not good at math.
Then I hit something.
I thought I was dead. I couldn't breathe. Then I realized I wasn't dead at all. The wind was just knocked out of me. When I could breathe again, I could still feel the wind on my face. I was still falling, just not as fast. I looked up and saw the canopy. I felt the straps under my shoulders. I realized I was wearing some kind of parachute.
I broke out of the clouds. It was suddenly bright and it hurt my eyes. I didn't know where I was. I was still coming down pretty fast. I was wondering what it would be like when I hit the ground.
“Thump!”
It was about like when I jumped off the top of mom's minivan when I was six. I fell backwards over my heels. I wriggled to my feet and looked around.
“Hey! This is pretty cool!” I said. Then the 'chute landed on me.
So, that's sort of a word picture, but maybe you don't like word pictures. Anyway, I was tired of telling how I got mouth-raped when I was [censored]. The experience hyper-sexualized me, my shrink said. He said I needed to suck his cock to get better. (Just kidding) I did suck a lot of cock, though. At first, I was a slut. Then I learned you were supposed to kiss and stuff first. So then I became a hott grrl. My tits weren't big enough to be a cheerleader, but I was a Glitter Grrl. I was everyone's sweetheart. I was the little blond on the top of the pyramid. My legs were a little too long, my hair a little too blond, my ass a little too tight.
I was really pretty afraid of sex. Oh, not of diseases, or getting pregnant. It's just like there is no “safe sex” for girls. Sex is very dangerous for girls. Guys, they can dip it, shake it off, and they're gone. Girls, we take a guy inside us. I've learned to my sorrow, they never really come back out. Oh, it's not the cum. Cum comes out eventually, but I carry around pieces of every guy I have been with. They're somewhere in my memory. Well, not exactly my memory, maybe my mind. When I was Catholic, I had a soul to carry things like that around in. When I needed to, I could go to confession and get my soul emptied out. Now? I'm not so sure. I don't believe in souls any more. The guy-pieces are still in there somewhere. I used to know where the pieces were. I don't any more.
Most guys are not nearly as good at fucking as they THINK they are. I mean, one of the first things a girl learns is to say, “Oh my god, it's HUGE! I've never HAD one that big!” The SECOND thing a girl learns is how to fake an orgasm. Guys? Well, they either get hard, or they don't. They either cum, or they don't. Kind of hard to fake it.
Guys have to be brave to have sex. I admire them for that. I can be a chicken-shit and no one can tell. Guys have to let it all hang out. (so to speak) Anyway, I really like guys, but I got tired of all the pieces I was carrying around, and the fucking wasn't all that great, and there WERE diseases and shit, so finally I decided I'd maybe lay back a little on the genital sex.
The guys hardly noticed. Most guys would WAY rather get sucked off than have to navigate their way through her verbal haze and gyno-maze only to be confronted by the “G-spot,” I mean I read this “Cosmo” article and I was like, “God! He'd have to have a Charmin' Garmin to get there!" So I developed my famous crotch-dive. When things start to get serious, I go for his cock. It's a matter of control. When I'm sucking a guy, he thinks he's “getting some,” but baby, it's really me. It's all me, sweetheart!
Guys! Look at it this way: If my mouth is full of cock, you know you won't have to listen to me vent.
So all that sex and screwing around didn't help at all. I even tried to act out some of my rape fantasies. That sounds so great, and there will be fifteen posts after this one about how “I met this guy on the internet and it was the best yada yada yada,” and it will be TRUE! But that stuff never happens to me.
So what DOES help is writing about what happened to me, what COULD have happened to me, what SHOULD have happened to me, and sometimes what DIDN'T happen to me. In other words, I'm here for therapy. My therapists are “the rapists” on the board. I don't mean, “Tell me about your childhood, Jamie.” I mean just the ordinary sharing of fantasies, sometimes some role playing. Posting and telling “my story” over and over helps me “own” what happened to me.
It's all mine now, it's not about them. It's not about what happened to me then, it's about now. Unfortunately, most of what happened to me was way before I was eighteen. After that, I really cleaned up my act. Kinda-sorta. So I go on here to replace some of what I was trying to get in what used to pass for my “real life.”
I was like, "Hey! This is pretty cool!" Then the 'chute landed on me.
Love,
Jamie
PS: The REAL reason I'm here is that quantum mechanics teaches that it is impossible to know exactly where anything is at exactly the same time as you know exactly what it is doing. In other words, everything made itself, but not on purpose. One part of the universe made itself while the other part wasn't looking.
I'm a fluke of that universe. I have no right to be here. And whenever I try to ignore it, I can hear the universe laughing behind my back. But when I look, I can't hear the laughing any more, because quantum mechanics teaches that it is impossible to know exactly where anything is at exactly the same time as you know exactly what it is doing.
Then I hit something.
I thought I was dead. I couldn't breathe. Then I realized I wasn't dead at all. The wind was just knocked out of me. When I could breathe again, I could still feel the wind on my face. I was still falling, just not as fast. I looked up and saw the canopy. I felt the straps under my shoulders. I realized I was wearing some kind of parachute.
I broke out of the clouds. It was suddenly bright and it hurt my eyes. I didn't know where I was. I was still coming down pretty fast. I was wondering what it would be like when I hit the ground.
“Thump!”
It was about like when I jumped off the top of mom's minivan when I was six. I fell backwards over my heels. I wriggled to my feet and looked around.
“Hey! This is pretty cool!” I said. Then the 'chute landed on me.
So, that's sort of a word picture, but maybe you don't like word pictures. Anyway, I was tired of telling how I got mouth-raped when I was [censored]. The experience hyper-sexualized me, my shrink said. He said I needed to suck his cock to get better. (Just kidding) I did suck a lot of cock, though. At first, I was a slut. Then I learned you were supposed to kiss and stuff first. So then I became a hott grrl. My tits weren't big enough to be a cheerleader, but I was a Glitter Grrl. I was everyone's sweetheart. I was the little blond on the top of the pyramid. My legs were a little too long, my hair a little too blond, my ass a little too tight.
I was really pretty afraid of sex. Oh, not of diseases, or getting pregnant. It's just like there is no “safe sex” for girls. Sex is very dangerous for girls. Guys, they can dip it, shake it off, and they're gone. Girls, we take a guy inside us. I've learned to my sorrow, they never really come back out. Oh, it's not the cum. Cum comes out eventually, but I carry around pieces of every guy I have been with. They're somewhere in my memory. Well, not exactly my memory, maybe my mind. When I was Catholic, I had a soul to carry things like that around in. When I needed to, I could go to confession and get my soul emptied out. Now? I'm not so sure. I don't believe in souls any more. The guy-pieces are still in there somewhere. I used to know where the pieces were. I don't any more.
Most guys are not nearly as good at fucking as they THINK they are. I mean, one of the first things a girl learns is to say, “Oh my god, it's HUGE! I've never HAD one that big!” The SECOND thing a girl learns is how to fake an orgasm. Guys? Well, they either get hard, or they don't. They either cum, or they don't. Kind of hard to fake it.
Guys have to be brave to have sex. I admire them for that. I can be a chicken-shit and no one can tell. Guys have to let it all hang out. (so to speak) Anyway, I really like guys, but I got tired of all the pieces I was carrying around, and the fucking wasn't all that great, and there WERE diseases and shit, so finally I decided I'd maybe lay back a little on the genital sex.
The guys hardly noticed. Most guys would WAY rather get sucked off than have to navigate their way through her verbal haze and gyno-maze only to be confronted by the “G-spot,” I mean I read this “Cosmo” article and I was like, “God! He'd have to have a Charmin' Garmin to get there!" So I developed my famous crotch-dive. When things start to get serious, I go for his cock. It's a matter of control. When I'm sucking a guy, he thinks he's “getting some,” but baby, it's really me. It's all me, sweetheart!
Guys! Look at it this way: If my mouth is full of cock, you know you won't have to listen to me vent.
So all that sex and screwing around didn't help at all. I even tried to act out some of my rape fantasies. That sounds so great, and there will be fifteen posts after this one about how “I met this guy on the internet and it was the best yada yada yada,” and it will be TRUE! But that stuff never happens to me.
So what DOES help is writing about what happened to me, what COULD have happened to me, what SHOULD have happened to me, and sometimes what DIDN'T happen to me. In other words, I'm here for therapy. My therapists are “the rapists” on the board. I don't mean, “Tell me about your childhood, Jamie.” I mean just the ordinary sharing of fantasies, sometimes some role playing. Posting and telling “my story” over and over helps me “own” what happened to me.
It's all mine now, it's not about them. It's not about what happened to me then, it's about now. Unfortunately, most of what happened to me was way before I was eighteen. After that, I really cleaned up my act. Kinda-sorta. So I go on here to replace some of what I was trying to get in what used to pass for my “real life.”
I was like, "Hey! This is pretty cool!" Then the 'chute landed on me.
Love,
Jamie
PS: The REAL reason I'm here is that quantum mechanics teaches that it is impossible to know exactly where anything is at exactly the same time as you know exactly what it is doing. In other words, everything made itself, but not on purpose. One part of the universe made itself while the other part wasn't looking.
I'm a fluke of that universe. I have no right to be here. And whenever I try to ignore it, I can hear the universe laughing behind my back. But when I look, I can't hear the laughing any more, because quantum mechanics teaches that it is impossible to know exactly where anything is at exactly the same time as you know exactly what it is doing.
