I wanted to write every day.
Wasn’t planning on days like these.
Back on Tuesday.
In case anyone stumbles by and wonders
I’ve started taking random pictures something of an erotic/porn nature and creating stories around them. It’s a way to keep writing, to do something every day.
Today’s picture isn’t exactly random, but what the hell, it’s almost Halloween and here’s a Halloween story.
I cheated on the title, I like single word titles but “Witch Wood” kept coming up and it seemed important, so I cheated the space. Forgive me
“Look, you grow up all your life with some cheesy stupid legend about forbidden woods and old witches and shit, and you know it’s not true, none of it. You know it’s just this stupid fucking old legend that don’t mean a damn thing. So when you grow up and you’re old enough to go where the hell you please, you and your buds figure the best place to go is where we aren’t supposed to go, ya’ know?
“So Pete and Ray and me, we head out to the Witch Woods a couple nights ago, ‘cause … ‘cause it’s the Witch Wood. We all of us heard all our lives that it’s haunted and the witch will catch you and eat you or some shit, and it’s always the friend of a friend’s cousin or something that went in the Witch Wood and never came out….
“Give me a minute, ok? You got a cigarette? Thanks.
“So we decide to go camping over the weekend and there’s no real discussion or asking, the obvious place to go is there. What? Yes, the Witch Wood! We take Pete’s old truck his dad gave him and park it next to the road, but off a bit so it don’t get towed and then we sling our packs and walk off through the fields. See, none of us really knew just where the Witch Wood was or how it was different from regular woods, but we figured we’d know the place when we got there.
“We camped that first night like we always did camping, it was a warm clear night, so we didn’t bother with tents, we just slept under the stars. I woke the next morning and Pete was screaming and carrying on. He’d lost his keys, or we all thought he’d lost them, then. It was going to be a long walk home without the truck, but shit goes missing, ya’ know? So we get Pete calmed and then Ray starts looking for his wallet. Pete and me, we got ours, but Ray’s frantic. I tried giving him shit, you know like ‘ “All’s in there is just a condom, what the hell were you planning on using that old tired condom for out here?”, you know just for the hell of it, right? But Ray looks at me all serious and asks me what I’m missing.
“Not a goddamed thing. I wasn’t missing nothing, but both of them made me look anyways. Then they started giving me shit like I’m playing them, but I didn’t take a damn thing, I wasn’t playing any games.
“So Pete wants to go back and Ray too, so …yeah, fine, we go home early, whatever, but then it’s like everything changed over the night and there’s nothing familiar. The fields we walked over aint there, there’s nothing that anyone can recognize and we’re fucking LOST! So, we wander off where we THINK we’re supposed to be and the woods just get thicker and thicker until we know we aint getting out again.
“Then we get to a clearing and I see Pete’s keys on Ray’s wallet, set out on a fallen log like it was placed there for us and they start to fighting with me again, like I set them up.
“And they were staring behind me. Kind of like they were struck. So I turn. She’s standing there at the edge of the tree line like she’d always been there. Beautiful, tall, hair as black as I’ve ever seen and butt ass naked. She’s got this snake wrapped around her shoulders and there’s this like, dry leaf kind of thing at her feet and she’s just smiling….
“God, that smile. Like the kind of smile you’d do if you walked in on a bunch of naughty children, or… or squawking chickens. She was gorgeous, but that smile…..
“Got another cigarette? Thanks.
“Anyway, Pete dropped his backpack and Ray forgot about his wallet. They just watched her walk up to them and it was something to watch. She like, swayed, in a way. Her hips rolled as she took each step and her breasts bounced just a little but the snake… The snake rode her shoulders and draped down her tits and the tail… the tail of the snake was like inside of her. She walked with the tail slipping in and out of her…
“She reached out and grabbed Pete’s crotch and squeezed. Ray stared at her and unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. It was already hard and he starts stroking it while watching her open Pete’s jeans. The snake crawls away and she licks Pete down the length and back up again and holds her hand out to Ray. He walks to her like he was on a string and starts pumping him with her fist and Pete closes his eyes and starts to groan.
“She grabs Pete’s hips and drives his cock down her throat, bobbing up and down and up and down and straightens her legs so Ray comes around the other side and without a sound he slams into her pussy from the back and she’s like skewered between them like their dicks are one big dick that goes all the way through her.
“She’s holding on to Pete and sucking hard, her cheeks are collapsing with how hard she’s sucking and Ray’s got her hips in his fists and is slamming harder and harder doggy style and he’s groaning and Pete’s yelling and the she pulls back and Pete’s cock explodes all over her face and the cum is like flying, you know?
“Ray pulls out too and shoots all over her back and she’s like glazed, just covered in their cum. Pete falls like his knees gave out, his cock soft now and spent and Ray just finds a stump to sit on and … she looks at me. That smile again.
“She’s covered in cum and is smiling at me like it’s my turn and she knows something, something I don’t and she walks to me and….
“oh God.Pete…. Pete just…. He collapsed. Like she pulled out all the water in his body through his dick! He just shriveled like a prune and just was bones in a skin bag! I turned to Ray, but he…. He BURNED. It was nothing but black and soot and the snake was wound around him, breaking the soot down and she was almost on me and my dick was so hard and she reached for me and …
“I ran through the woods blind with my dick slapping my legs with each step. Cock and balls getting whipped and beat from pine trees and grass and I don’t know what else. That’s how I got hurt, the hospital will tell you that. They picked needles from my sack!
“The thing is, I don’t remember taking it out. I don’t know if she touched it. Maybe she licked it? I just don’t know, but I don’t want to end up like them, I don’t. The hospital wouldn’t believe me, wouldn’t test to see if I was going to shoot so hard I died. They think I’m crazy, but you go there, you tell me when you find them how they died. I saw it.
“What?! Are you crazy? I am NOT going back there! No way in hell!
“I can’t tell you, I was FUCKING LOST remember? Ok,. Ok. I… I can show you part of the way, so long as I don’t have to go back into the Witch Wood, ok? OK?
“Fine. Fine. I will show you where. I’ll take you. But not her. Not the woman cop, no.
“Why? Something about her smile. I don’t want to go into the woods with her…..
I thought I would try getting a random image and creating a story around it. This is the first effort. The image is included below. None of these images are mine, I own nothing, just using what I find in the emptiness of the internet, so I work under the assumption that it’s not owned. If I am wrong, let me know.
The party was a bit bigger than she’d anticipated. She walked among them barefoot, her simple shrift hugging her curves and clinging to her. It was one thing to ban the bra, a sentiment with which she was in full accord, but the … dress for lack of a better word, was almost worse than being naked. Maybe not. She’d know soon enough.
She was forbidden to wear anything other than the thin dress. No underwear, no shoes, no jewelry. She was to be an elegant hostess and to be sure that each guest was served and no glass was ever empty. The rest of her instructions were much more frightening.
People they’d known for years, people they’d only recently met all pooled around the living room, some remarking on the oddity of a bed in the middle of the room. Still, it was an era to challenge preconceived ideas, flower children were all gone and polyester rose in their stead. Yuppies and disco music and furniture made of plastic and walls painted in orderly pastels dominated even the stogy pages of the Sears catalogue, so a bed in the living room was a statement, a bold choice and her guests congratulated each other on having the good taste to recognize it for what it was.
They were wrong, of course.
She was forbidden to tell anyone her orders. She was allowed to chicken out, he was her Master, not her Monster, but she was determined to rise above her fears and push that envelope.
Besides, looking at their faces, she just kept getting wetter. The fear was fueling her arousal. He knew it would too, damn him.
Every time the next record fell onto the turntable, her heart lurched. Elton John sang about Benny and Jets and she filled up three glasses with scotch, neat. Paul McCartney warbled about a band escaping prison and she refilled a snack tray assuring one of her friends that yes it was strange to see a beatle by himself.
When the commodores sang about a brick house, it was her time. Her heart stopped, her mouth went dry. It was her time. She looked across the bar to her Master. He stood quietly, someone she didn’t know still yammering away at him as he caught her eye. He dared her to call her safe word. The challenge was in the set of his face, the angle of his head. It was the challenge she needed.
She thought again of the guests that wandered in and out of the house on a warm summer night, artists, poets, thinkers and dreamers all. She looked back at her Master and smiled a deep, defiant smile and locking her eyes on his, not looking at anyone else, her hand slipped of its own accord to the tie at her neck. With a gesture, the tie parted and the thin dress pooled to the ground at her feet.
A gasp, a few others but she only picked the dress up off the floor and folded it neatly before walking through the stunned crowd and handing it to her Master. The look she gave him was one of triumph.
He smiled at her and lay a single dollar bill on the bar. He’d bet against her. He’d bet she would call her safe word, that she wouldn’t get this far. He bet a dollar.
He’d also bet against her following the next queue. That was ten dollars.
She took up a tray and walked among the guests. Yes, the clinging dress was worse that nothing. Naked, she felt the warm air caress her skin, felt the eyes of her guests following the breeze. The men who had surreptitiously stolen glances at her hard nipples through the fabric now openly gawked as she moved among them with the tray, making sure no glass was empty.
Sometimes as she walked around the bed, a hand would brush against her, the back of the hand at first, then fingertips, soon her ass was palmed and her sex was probed tenuously, like so many little boys that are just sure what they are doing will get them scolded. The same people that praised each other for having taste enough to put a bed in a living room, now applauded each other for being enlightened enough to have a naked hostess.
She allowed herself to stand still a moment, after having made her rounds. She was indeed the center of attraction. All the men, most of the women now touched her as she went by. They openly cupped her breasts, a few suckled her nipples, mostly women, and more than most parted her wet sex and played as they desired with her sex. Fingers slid in and out of her, her wetness was consumed with the alcohol, a chaser to the rum.
They slipped into her and pulled out a glistening finger. They licked it clean and drank vodka and whisky while they dipped for another.
She was on the edge of orgasm in no time, but this was forbidden. She pulled away when the edge was too close and went to the next groping.
Of the gathering of their friends, none left. None were offended. None left without touching, caressing, arousing her.
Her knees grew weaker. Her breath came in gasps, almost sobbing with the need to finish the soft torture her friends had begun. When the second queue came she was too relieved to be self-conscious.
Mac Davis stated in no uncertain terms that she was “One Hell of a Woman” and she nearly ran to the bed in the middle of the room.
She flung herself on the mattress and spread her legs wide. She thrust two fingers in her slit and pressed them to last knuckle. She pulled back out, her free hand grasping at a breast, her legs twitching with need and pressure built from agonizing hours of being groped.
Her hips lifted and fell, lifted and fell, waiting another agonizing era for permission to finish. The guests gathered around her, watching, the men straining at corduroy crotches and women radiating sex like waves of heat.
She waited for her Master, but no permission came. It was too close, too hard too much need, she called out “MASTER, PLEASE!”
Her edge was painful, consuming, but the crowd felt her need, knew her desire, they felt it too and they rode the wave with her, some touching themselves, some touching each other. They looked from her to her master and back again, begging him to release her, to release them all. They begged him to make her last just another moment longer. Just another moment. And one more.
“COME” her master ordered and she screamed.
Her cry rose from the mattress like triumph and primal release. It gathered their need, it took them in a grip of iron and steel and made them feel her orgasm, made them feel the lightning running through her body, made them know what it was like to masterbate in front of a crowd .
Someone groaned. Another whimpered. Some dissipated into the background to explore each other. Some applauded.
She lay there replete, legs spread, wet sex puckering and opening.
She smiled when her master placed $11.00 on her breast and kisses her tenderly.
“Double or nothing?” he whispered.
The tall grass tickled her feet as she tried to figure out just where she’d gone wrong. Shifting in her bonds, easing the pressure on her wrists, she tried to not feel the bite of the rope on her skin or the soft caress of sunlight on her naked body.
Under the blindfold, she couldn’t tell exactly where she was, but she could picture what she looked like: legs spread and tied open, hanging from a heavy branch by her wrists, back red with raised welts from His belt, her wet sex still gaping from His use.
The pleasant nothingness of subspace had started to wear off and she felt the drop starting to come on. He’d never let her drop without aftercare; she started to worry that she’d pushed too far, too hard and really made him angry this time.
It had seemed like good fun at first, but maybe telling Him He wasn’t really a Master was a little too much. Maybe saying that He was too old… uh… and that remark about being too tired to get it up…. Ok, so maybe she’d said too much.
On the other hand, being drug into the woods, stripped, whipped and fucked had been glorious if a little frightening at the time. But then he’d left her there, tied up naked and staked open for the next hiker or picnicker to wander past and find her…. Enough was enough. Wasn’t it?
She wanted to say she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant all that, but the gag was damn effective and he seemed to be gone anyway. The emotions of the oncoming drop and the fear she’d gone too far threatened to take over the pleasant lassitude of the session when she heard footfalls behind her.
A hand grabbed the tender abused flesh of her ass and squeezed hard. She cried out in pain and in fear; whoever it was hadn’t said a word, “Master?” She tried to say through the gag but it sounded like a grunt and groan.
The hands squeezed her breast, also covered in welts from His belt, ran down her belly to the dripping mess of mingled fluids coming from her sex.
Whoever it was walked around her, wrapping his hand on her neck and she felt the pressure of a cock on her opening. “MASTER?!” she called through the thick cloth and could barely make out her own voice. The shaft pressed in her, it was different than His, it was too short, thicker, and somehow stiffer than His own rigid member and then the cock took her, slipping through the wetness and sliding into her core.
The hands pulled and pinched, slapped and caressed as she was fucked while her wrists screamed raw from the bite of the ropes.
She came as he did; convulsing and screaming into the gag, feeling hot sperm fill her again.
The unknown man went away, leaving her there.
When her heart had started to calm and her breath became regular again, her Master arrived and cut her down, picked her up and carried her gently to the car. He held her in His lap and stroked her hair and kissed her gently.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered into his chest, her hand floundering on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Hush, little one,” He rumbled, His deep bass voice vibrating in His chest and into her head. “It’s over now, you’re forgiven.”
“Master?” She didn’t want to ask the obvious question, but couldn’t not ask either.
“Was that you?”
“Was what me?”
She could feel a catch in her throat. “That second time…. Was that you?”
He paused a while. “Little,” He growled, “I will never let anything happen to you that would hurt you, and I will never do anything to you without being very careful of you.”
“That’s not an answer, Master.”
“No, little one, it’s not. Let’s go home.”
Ok, so it wasn’t really a bad spot. Why her Master had suddenly decided to fly to Mexico in the off-season still mystified her, but the house he’d rented on the beach had its own pool and wet bar and as far as out of the way areas, it was pretty well kept up.
She was hesitant at first, the beach was public, though sparsely populated, still a few locals would walk along going from one tourist spot to another selling wares and trying to look honest. They stared at her as they walked by, they all did and at first it made her feel vulnerable and self-conscious about herself and the almost-there bikini her Master insisted she wear for swimming.
But stare is all they did; the protected patio was too daunting for all but the most dedicated to bother just to ogle a tall blonde in dental floss.
Some few lingered, and one or two of those called out to her, as though she would leave the expensive villa and run off with a beach bum selling sweaters in 100 ° heat.
She’d worked hard for her body though, as much to please Him as for herself and she was proud of the results, and she did please him. That much was evident in every look he stole her way and every touch he gave her.
He’d gone off to find something, he was vague on that, but while he was gone, she was determined for some time in the sun. Standing by the pool, she slathered suntan lotion on everything that was exposed, meaning everything but nipples and labia in that swimwear. She could see a couple of locals watching her openly from the beach and couldn’t stop herself from putting on a bit of a show.
Stretching her leg up and out to rest on a table, she ran both oiled hands down the length and back again coating the leg from hairless crotch to toe. Careful not to reveal too much, she kept the outside of the leg to her audience and began oiling the side of her belly, working around and under the thin fabric to oil her breasts and get the bikini wet with sunscreen and clinging to her skin, contouring around her hardening nipple.
She finished with a long stroke up her neck and topped it off with an oversized floppy hat. She lay back on the chaise no longer caring if her audience was still there.
She must have napped because suddenly she felt her arms pulled tightly down and a gag slide between her teeth. Too startled to react, she could only sit there as the gag was pulled tight and her wrists locked to the feet of the chaise. She was blinded by the bright sunlight (where was her hat?) and could see nothing. This was rendered moot when the blindfold closed off her sight completely.
Reacting now, panic and fear that the audience had broken into the house and assaulted her while her Master was away she screamed into the gag and thrashed her legs. Each one was captured and tied, leaving her spread on the outdoor furniture.
Her bikini top was untied and removed, her nipples popping up as the air caressed them. Her bottoms were removed next and she lay naked to world. She heard the squirt of the sunblock bottle and four rough hands coated her skin again, missing nothing. They played with her nipples and her shaven sex until the fear gave way to a physical sensation that she couldn’t stop or understand.
The heat in her rose and she began to move her hips to the teasing fingers that prodded and poked.
Then they stopped. Her hat was replaced over her face and her Master’s voice said “Back in a bit.” And then her Master and the stranger left.
MASTER? She tried to scream into the gag once more and reconsidered it. She wasn’t sure how well the foot traffic on the beach could see her, but she didn’t want to call too much attention to herself either.
The hot sun beat down on her body and she considered her situation, tried to bring a visual to mind. Spread, shaved, naked, oiled, she was an adolescent boy’s dream, and openly visible to anyone walking by. A small but increasingly vocal part of her dared to revel in the exposure and enjoy the exhibitionism of the moment.
She found herself moving her hips in anticipation and only belatedly did she realize that there had been TWO pair of hands, not just her Master. Who did he have with him? Who’d been touching her naked body with Him?
I wasn’t too long before she discovered the answer.
They were back. “Let’s not get too much sun,” her Master growled, “bad for you to burn this…” He smacked her shaved sex.
They worked together, both men. Her Master untied her right arm and leg, the stranger untied the left. Before she could reach for the blindfold and gag, they traded her limbs, forcing her to roll over in the chaise and was retied hand and foot. They proceeded with the suntan oil through her muffled protestations.
When they reached her ass with the lotion, they worked it in very carefully, sensually into and around her ass. There was a different sound, another tube, but not the oil being squeezed and the familiar warmth of KY flooded her round brown hole.
She whimpered. Seriously? Would…COULD He?
“Be my guest” her Master said at her side and two strong hands spread her ass cheeks and an oiled cock pressed against her opening. She gasped and held her breath. She refused to believe it was real, but the cock slipped into her ass, the viscous KY guiding it in to the head.
At the flare of the tip, the cock seemed to lose momentum and her ass stretched and strained against the new intruder. It filled her until she gasped and begged into the gag and still it came, filling her ass and stretching the walls of skin around it.
It pushed in until she felt his balls touch her, the pubic hairs of his sex tickling her parted sex and the burning, fullness of her ass made her curl her fingers into fists and cry from the pain and pleasure and plead with a stranger to fuck her, use her, begging like a little slut in front of her cruel, wonderful Master to be used by this unknown cock.
He pulled out again, slowly, every movement running through her, igniting her like lighting through her brain. He thrust back in hard, savage, the lubrication saving her as he pulled out again and again and again, tempo increasing, gripping her oiled body as he plowed her into the thick padding of the chaise.
She could feel her orgasm rising, pulling from her core as he used her, long deep thrusts, fast shallow thrusts until it all became of a piece and the feeling of his release in her ass sent her off the edge and she came screaming into her gag.
He pulled out of her ass and wiped his cock on her ass. She could feel his cum oozing out of her and running down her crack and caressing her labia.
She was still shaking when her Master untied her and led her inside.
She pulled off the blindfold shakily but there was no one there but the two of them.
“Who was that?”
“A friend. We are going to a party tonight, he’ll be there.” Her Master murmured. “He’ll be there “
She stopped and looked at her Master. “How will I know who he is?” She asked.
“You won’t.” Her Master laughed and sent her to shower.
I have a wonderful guest post today, from Lacy Grayson writer of the LUX stories and more. She’s offered to grace my blog with this gem, Enjoy:
Running from my own wedding was something I thought I’d never do.
Especially not my wedding to Julian. I’d worked to long and to hard to get
to that point with him. But, somehow when Trevor said ‘let’s go.’ I
couldn’t run fast enough.
We slowly walked out of the church, everyone thought we were grabbing a
quick smoke. After all, wedding jitters.
We ran across the lawns the back lawns where my family wouldn’t be looking.
He hailed a taxi after we’d been unnoticed after two blocks. My heart beat
like a caged animal in my chest.
Once inside the cab, Trevor told the cabbie to take us to JFK airport. As
the cab picked up speed I felt Trevor’s teeth in my neck. Desire overtook
me I moaned sliding onto his lap.
“My whore.” He whispered in my ear. I could tell the cabbie heard by the
arch of his eyebrow. I didn’t care I was Trevor’s whore.
I demonstrated this by spreading my legs as his hand rubbed my excited
cunt through my thong. I wiggled my ass eagerly loving his growing hard
My lips found his in a very wet sloppy kiss, we were giggling like
children as my hands moved like a well oiled cock hungry machine
unfastening his fly. Freeing his beautifully thick and diamond hard cock.
Deftly I lifted my long bridal gown’s skirt. Moving on top of it rubbing
against him feeling his fuck stick through my satin thong. To me this is
the most arousing thing in my sexual play book at this time.
Trevor cut my fun short pulling the cloth aside, sinking his cock deep
inside my warm slick pussy. My loud moans filled the cab. By now Trevor
was just displaying me and his control over me to the cabbie. Trevor
lifted my skirt’s back so my round plump ass was exposed
“Shake it baby, shake it for Daddy.” Trevor growled in my ear. I moved my
ass side to side and back and forth over and over. Riding his cock like
the fucking Kentucky Derby.
A screaming orgasm ripped through me sending off Trevor’s cock on the
floor. Trevor’s cum squirted on the hem of my dress. His laughter boomed.
Needless to say the cabbie didn’t make us pay.
I love writing. I must.
The soothing scritch-scratch of the pen nib across smooth paper or the martial beating of the keys on the computer are soothing and if I am not careful, I will lose myself in their siren call.
Words stand in audition, nervously waiting for me to choose the right one here, place one there. I love to see an entire chapter change by the use or exclusion of a single word or changing the emphasis on a sentence.
When I am done, I’ve entered a zone that is very zen-like, something akin to the null space a masochist will feel when the sensations are done right and the trust she feels with her Master can overtake the natural fear she has of being so helpless.
Writing is freeing. Having writ means nothing.
It’s as appealing as a used condom. There is something I wrote in passion and in tenderness or rage or humor, my emotions are expunged and laid waste on pixelated paper. So be it.
Others tell me that my writing is “good” or some similar words, so I post them, collect them, sell them, give them away. I write within what I believe: safe, sane, consensual unless it’s a total barbaric fantasy, even then I tone it down because BDSM should be about the relationship, not the toys.
And the crickets deafen the landscape with their unafraid chatter.
A boi who claims to be a man, a child in Master’s clothing posts an article where he’s abused a girl uinder his control while she was tied and blindfolded by betraying her trust, and the entire community flocks to that site to roundly (and rightly) condemn and assure each other that we’re not like that. During the battle cry of the misunderstood, someone will raise a voice and cry into the night “WHY ISNT THERE ANYONE WRITING HEALTHY STORIES?”
I cant DRAG anyone to my blog. I post a link and people start bitching about spam. I reply to the whining cries with “I AM!” and then it becomes unwanted advertising for my product. I don’t even monetize the blog.
The kink community has joined the conservative Christian community in a single effort: making sure that the movie Fifty Shades of Gray is advertised over and over again to as many people as they can reach. Why? Because it shows the bad side of BDSM, the controlling, misogynistic use and discard of a person.
Why is there no one writing healthy, grammatically correct stories of BDSM? Because no one reads that.
When a “friend” from a social media site looks me in the proverbial eye and asks “why is there no good fiction or advice from a Dom?” I throw my hands up in the air and walk away.
I have five views on my blog. My big article was about FSoG. I had 32 people visit because I talked about someone else’s bad writing.
Why are there no good stories? Every Wednesday, #WickedWednesday comes out with DOZENS of intelligent well-written stories, articles and even pictures from people who DO understand what it means to live in the shadows of loud ignorant people who espouse the same titles as we do. FSoG and this idiot boi who blogs like a 12year old failing English and posts his pict like a twilight angst model for acne medication are the kink community version of Westboro Baptist Church: an insane fringe of media sluts that make us all look like idiots.
Why are there no good stories my dear friend? Because you have no interest in them. Because they don’t make you mad. Because you forget you’re lamenting in the face of one of MANY who TRY to maintain some dignity and respect for the same life style you’re trying to keep out of the mud.
I love writing. I must.
I certainly don’t do it for the money.
I certainly don’t do it for the recognition or the fame.
I could easily write something that goes against all I believe in and write it like a highschool dropout. Imagine not having to go back and edit. What a time saver.
But if five people in the world are going to read what I write, then I am writing for me. I don’t want to read FSoG, or blogs by Billy the Dom. I have little enough time fighting insurance companies, Comcast, and other organized stupidity. I’ll write for me, and you’re welcome to read along.
But if you ask once more why there are no good stories, you’re no one I want to know.
(by the way, I didn’t edit this. This is a rough draft. Maybe that’s what I needed?)
p.s. a little editing here and there. I couldn’t stop myself.