Feeling . . . worthless

The mental and emotion wave goes up and down, I know it does.  As does everyone who rides the same emotional wave.

I’m riding that wave tonight.

The wave is different tonight to the usual nights. Usually I’m feeling sadness, grief, heartbreak and maybe anger or tension,  or something like that. 

However, tonight I’m feeling . . . Unworthy. Not because of my mind or thoughts or emotions but because of my body. My physical appearance. 

I’ve let myself down and now I want nothing more than to cut the fat off my body and reveal the me inside.

Up until a few, maybe 5/6, years ago I was around 13 stone.  So I was big but not massive. Anyway, when I moved to where I am now I slowly began to lose weight. I didn’t do anything special but simply didn’t pay attention to what I ate or anything like that. I went down to 11stone. So, not small but also not big.

I was rather happy at 11 stone. I found myself looking nice in clothes. Although I didn’t like what I saw under the clothes it was a lot nicer compared to my 13 stone body. I could feel my hip bones,  my ribs, yes it easy still covered in squish but I could feel them.

Now. Right now, I can’t feel them and I feel disgusting.

I feel ugly.

I feel pathetic.

I honestly do.

I’ve been looking at myself in the mirror for the past day or so and can’t believe the way I look.


I look big.

I look sloppy.

Dips. Curves. Creases. Shallows. Lumps. Bumps.

I feel nasty.

I feel weighed down.

I don’t need anyone to tell me to love my body the way it is because I don’t. 

I don’t feel comfortable in clothes anymore. I feel every inch of me move when I walk. I feel every inch of me poling out into the world like a giant red thumb.

I feel so small but the biggest small there could ever possibly be.

How can I have such a caring mind but be so uncontrolled with my eating? 

How can I succumb to these unhealthy habits with such ease? I know I eat for emotional support and it’s pathetic.

I feel disgusting. 

I feel like every step I take is nasty.

I leave a nasty foot print behind myself.

I leave a trail of nasty in my wake and I don’t know what to do about it. I want to be back where I was and I want to appreciate that 11 stone body I had.

Two stone I’ve put on.


I can’t keep doing this to myself.

New – part 1


A lot of people in my home town steer clear of me. They think I’m weird, or strange or just plain freaky – sometimes it’s even a combination of everything together. But I’m none of that stuff, not really. 
Okay, maybe I have a touch of a morbid fascination with knives and have maybe once or twice been seen at a midnight showing of some horror film, but who hasn’t?
Most people, Amelia, most people. 
Yeah, well . . . I don’t care. 
Okay, I do care that’s why I tend to keep to myself a lot. Just keep my head down, my feet straight and my mind focused on my job. 
I’m a hair stylist, or more precisely a colourist as I’m wicked with creating beautiful hues and tones that blend perfectly together. I get a few customers, mainly teens and stuff like me but that’s alright as stretching my wings occasionally is better than
doing it every single day. 
I say that for purely selfish reason of course. If I had to dye people’s hair beautiful colours each day then it’d leave no time for me to do my own. 
At the moment my hair is sort of firey. It’s mainly deep reddy brown but tones down into flame orange at the end. 
I think it’s cool and matches my curls perfectly, but my mom and dad were less than impressed this morning. So, I’ve had to hide it. It couldn’t be completely hidden but I have my hair in a high bun so it just looks like I’m a red head. 
Which isn’t so bad. 
I guess. 
Maybe it is. 
I don’t know. 
If I spent most of my time worrying what they say or the people around me say, then I’d probably never get out of bed, nor would I let myself be who I am in his podonk little town. 
I’m not completely me, you know there’s a piece missing and I have no idea what it is. 
I’m not big on experiencing new things, so I haven’t tried a lot of stuff, like . . . kissing, theme parks, or stuff like that. The only things I do that are ‘new’ is my hair and my writing. Even then that’s not new. 
Yeh, so I’ve never actually had a boyfriend. Not a real one anyway. 
My parents think I’m a lesbian, my school people thought I was a combination of lesbian and asexual, and you know what? I haven’t denied or confirmed anything. I guess I should as I’m not a lesbian, nor am I asexual, I’m just . . . shy. Just shy. 
There are boys at this party, technically it’s a wedding but I’ve just been looking at it as a giant party and have had my fair share of cocktails and cake. 
Anyway, there are boys at this party and most of them are the pretty boy types that laugh at anything that isn’t the perfect ten in their books. 
The perfect ten consists of . . . I don’t know what the perfect ten consists of. Do THEY even know what it consists of? I don’t think so. 
So fuck them. 
I don’t care about them, they can laugh and have as much fun as they like before I care about what they think of me or my pretty hair. All I care about is sitting with my little plate of food and talking to the ancient man next to me who’s repeatedly told me
he likes my hair.
He’s said it literally five times. 
Poor fella. 
I’ve been trying to engage him in conversation but it’s kinda futile as he keeps either falling asleep, asking for his wife, *cough* who’s dead, or complimenting my hair. 
He’s cute.
However, no amount of cuteness will be able to stop him from being just that touch annoying. But that’s not his fault. So, I merely smile and turn my eyes from him to look around the entire white tent venue which is white everywhere. 
I though white was a sign of purity? Of virginity? Humm, let me tell you, the bride whom is my olderrrrr sister, isn’t a virgin nor is she pure by any meaning of the word. 
She a hoe!
Only joking. Or am?
We may never know. Unless you ask her bedroom walls. 
Anywho, no more sister bashing as she’s now reformed and on her way to being a god fearing lady who’s new husband is a MINISTER! Yep. Hoe meet minister, minister gets hoe to join his church and become a minion . . . not a cute yellow minion either, a horrible
enslaved one that tries to drag people down into their depths of god loving worship to leave the rest of us fearing for our lives . . . HELP MEEEEE!
Yeh, I’m not religious. I respect religion as long as it’s not shoved down my throat or spoken about every second of every day. 
Leave me be people’s. 
But, ah, people don’t lot leave me, of course they don’t as my sister is giving me the stink eye – I haven’t even done anything! – the pretty boys are laughing in my general direction and some man is staring at me. 
Look away. 
I do as I’m told and look away from the man, seeing my plate which is ohhh so interesting and still full of food. 
Sandwich here I come. 
Yummy sandwich which is making me feel a little queazy. 
Fuck you little ham sandwich. 
“How’s your FOOD, NORMAN?” I only remember halfway through my question that Norman, the ancient guy at my table, is half deaf. But he hears me, looks up at me, smiles and compliments my hair. 
Awww. So sweet. 
I give him a giggle before looking away. Looking back towards . . . ohh, he’s still looking at me. 
‘Hello’, I whisper. Which is stupid because he’s half way across the tent and now I just feel like an idiot. An idiot who’s looking at the staring man. 
I feel like I should do some ballsey, you know? Umm, wave, or flick my ha. . .okay I can’t flick my hair. Should I wave? Cuz he’s kinda still staring at me. 
He’s sitting at the grooms family table, looking super smart in a suit and I think he has glasses on. It looks like he does. The only thing I know for sure it that he’s cuteeeee! Okay, not cute in a Norman way, but cute as in why is he still staring at me?
Does he have no shame?
I’m guessing not as he still looking at me. Like his eyes are boring into my brain and it has a unexpected whimper leaving my lips and my thighs clamping together. 
Ohhh, THAT’S never happened before. 
I have a bubble in my stomach, a little bubble that goes ‘bleeb’ to rise up inside of me. It almost feels like a burp but I know it’s not a burp as burps are more ‘burh’ inside of me. 
So what the hell is a ‘bleeb’? Some new adult feeling that chooses now to rise up? But for WHAT purpose? 
Humm, purpose? Anyone have a purpose I can use for this ‘bleeb’ and the mans eyes on me?
Maybe he knows seeing as he’s the one that given it to me. 
If I had balls, of which I don’t, I would go and ask him and demand he release me from his ‘bleeb’ spell so I can eat my food in peace!
Oh wait. No, the food sucks. I can’t eat the food. 
Humm, maybe the food has given me the ‘bleeb’? Must be. Rotten food equals a dodgy tummy. 
Mans staring eyes do NOT equal a dodgy tummy. 
Problem solved. 
I can not stop looking at the man. 
I can. 
Any moment I will stop looking at him. 
After my eyes have searched his face, his beard, his hand holding his drink – lucky drink – and finally his eyesssssss. . . Pretty eyes. Pretty blue eyes. Pretty crystal clear blue eyes that have me whimpering and my tummy ‘bleebing’ again. 
Ohhh, not food.
Mans eyes. 
Mans eyes make my tummy ‘bleeb’.
The man is staring at me and I’m staring a him. But I need to get away, so I do. I force my stupid legs to move it or lose it alllll the way home. 
Thanks fuck. 
No bleebs in my bedroom now, nothing but colourful walls, lots of pictures and ho-ly-shit on spaghetti. . . The-the-the man! He’s-he’s-he’s ON MY FUCKING WALL!
Not strung up or anything like that, but on a picture. A picture from a magazine, on my wall. 
Oh my god. 
Picture come with me. 
I stare at the man, and the picture and everything while trying to remember where precisely I got the picture from. 
Ummm, I-I-I can’t remember!
Pretty picture though. 
Who the fudge is he?
I mean really?
Okay, be serious about this Amelia, he’s not from your side of the family so he must be . . . BINGO! He’s from my sisters husband side of the family. 
Okay, but that doesn’t explain a lot and nothing explains anything cuz nothing makes sense and I’m just confused as to who he is. 
But, ah, my confusion stays and only gets a thousand million times stronger as I go to work, pick up my broom and TADA blue eyed magazine man standing at my work station. 
But my head tips like a puppy as I look alllll up and down him. 
The man likes suit. 
I wonder if I could lick his suit?
Errr, bad Amelia. Bad. 
Who the fuck wants to lick a suit? I hear somebody ask and I raise my hand, inside of my head of course as I’m not so crazy as to actually believe the voices in my head are speaking out loud.
That would just be crazy. 
I wonder where I could get a straightjacket from?
Wait, the man is speaking . . . “. . .be at Antonio’s at one. Do not be late.” 
What the fucks an Antonios? Who is this man?
Ohhh, it’s not a man. It’s a shop. A tea shop with oh my god CAKES!
I want a cake. 
Cake here I come. 
I get my cake and sit down at a little table. 
Mmm, but I don’t get to eat my delicious cake as the magazine man from earlier grabs my plate and walks away from me. 
Nice, the guy just ignores me. 
Oh my god what is happening to my brain?!
I’ve turned into a complete god damn moron. 
A moron who’s going for her cake. 
I follow the man, going to the other end of the rather busy shop to sit at a little table which already has cakes and tea and awww, cute little tea cups and saucers. 
“Sit,” my ass does as it’s told and I sit down. I try to reach for my cake but the magazine man hands it to a passing waiter before sitting down opposite me. 
I feel like I should run away at this point, I mean there is a little voice in my head telling me to run away, but for some reason I stare at the man and demand for my cake to be bought back. 
The man doesn’t answer me, not with his words anyway, but with his hands sorting out the tea and stuff. 
My butt can’t help but wiggle, I honestly can’t stop it’s wiggles, as I wait for tea while questioning myself about why I’m not questioning this man or even asking who the hell he is?
A more important question should be why am I doing as he tells me to do? A complete strange and I’m like a frog hopping for him. 
That’s not healthy. 
But screw healthy as I HAVE CAKE!
Mmm, delicious cake that tastes even more delicious as the man hands me a little fork so I can eat like one of the posh people around me instead of my natural born animal. 
I scoff my cake like a lady before sitting back in my seat with my second cup of scrum-diddily-upticious tea and staring! at magazine man. 
That can’t be his name, can it?
“Ummm,” well done Amelia, NOW you’re lost for words? What happened to this running commentary inside of your head? Huh? Let it come pouring our of your mouth like a broke faucet. Come on. 
Come on. 
Go on. 
“You haven’t questioned me once. Why do you think that is?”
Ohhh, man has a pretty voice. No! A handsome voice!
The bleebs are back. 
“Because I’m an idiot.”
The man smirks and ohhh bleebs are stronger and my thighs are wet. 
Errr. I hope I haven’t just peed myself. 
“You’re not an idiot, darling. . .” DarlingdarlingdarlingdarlingHECALLEDMEDARLING! Ohh god I-I-I- think. . .I’ve peed. I must have peed. 
Peed in a fancy restaurant surrounded by posh people and a man FROM A MAGAZINE!
And here I though my life couldn’t get any more embarrassing. 
Go me. 
Maybe I do need Jesus in my life . . . Or maybe the man in front of me is a vampire!
A fucking vampire . . . Wait, if he was a vampire then wouldn’t he get burnt in the sun? Would he even be able to eat his cake or drink his tea?
Yummy tea. 
Yummy tea for a vampire. 
Vampires have good taste. 
“You have good taste in tea. More cake please . . . Wait! Why did you give away my first piece? I wanted that.”
“It wouldn’t have been anywhere nearly as satisfying as the piece I gave you. You seemed to of enjoyed it, did you?” I can only become an idiot and nod. 
The man smiles and I pee again with a whimper that is audible and the man hears. He smiles even brighter and I’m on a never ending carnival ride of pee, whimpers and being an idiot. 
“What are you thinking?”
Absolutely nothing. 
“You’re a vampire. Can’t you read my thoughts?”
Well done, Amelia. You’re a credit to your kind. 
I blow a mental raspberry at my mind while STARING at the vampire. He looks somewhere between amused and I dunno, aroused? What ever the hell aroused looks like?
“Why do you say I’m a vampire?”
He’s stupid for a vampire. 
“Cuz I’m like,” I wave my arms while making some really stupid vampire noises and why is no one stopping me? I should NOT be all to have control over myself. 
Control. Yeh like I have control over myself. 
“I’m not sure what you mean, darling.”
“Because I’m turning into a moron around you, mr vampire magazine blue eyed man. Who the hell are you anyway? And I want my cake back. Can you get it for me?” The man shakes his head and awww, I want cake. 
I wonder if clicking my fingers will make the cake waiter come back. 
I’m about to try but I’m stopped by vampire magazine man leaning forwards to look at me over the rim of his glasses. 
Over-over the top of them. 
How do I have so much pee in which to pee out?
“Listen to me, Amelia,” HE KNOWS MY NAME, “there is a connection between us and it has nothing to do with me being a vampire. . .”
“Are you a vampire?”
“No.” Yeh he is, “you seem to be loosing your head a little, darling.”
“I lost that years ago. Now, tell me about this magazine. . .”
The man is ohhhh so patient and doesn’t stop staring at me until I finally button my lips shut from asking a butt load of questions. I ask and he answers and then I forget. 
But I haven’t forgotten his name . . . Maximilian – if that’s not a vampire na–
“I’m not a vampire, darling.”
I often wonder if I speak my thoughts out loud. 
Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. 
Who knows. 
Vampire man does. 
I pee again as the man moves, coming to sit in the chair besides me. He doesn’t touch me but I want him toooo. But he doesn’t, he just stares at me again while talking obviously. 
“There is something about you, Amelia. Something I wish to explore.”
SEX! He’s means SEX?!?!?!
“I’m not speaking about sex, but something deeper, more intimate. Would you like to explore with me?”
I feel like I’m gonna explode!
The man is looking at me and it’s making me pee and whimper. He hears it and smiles gently, making me smile and ohhh, he’s so pretty. Handsome. Handsome pretty. Pretty handsome. 
Fuck it. 
“Explore? Explore what?”
“Something special. Meet me here on Friday, four O’clock.” I nod a little, making the man smile as he stands up. 
Ohhh. I miss him already, but he only just goes after putting some money on the table, but not before saying, “no more cake. I’ll see you in two days.”
Anything for you mr vampire. 
I need to go home. 
Home here I come. 
Okay, the other day I wasn’t quite thinking straight. I mean to be honest I was completely fucking bonkers and I’m not sure why. 
But now, I’m as sane as it’s going to get and I’m ready for my little get together with Mr. Deacon. 
I’ve found out a couple of facts about him; the first that he’s not a vampire and that makes me feel like a complete fucking idiot. 
Maybe I should have idiot stamped on my forehead?
Nah, that would only make him think I’m even more crazy than he probably already does. 
Anyway, the other facts I’ve found out are; not married, no children, never been divorced, owns a big company doing lots of stuff, has a good education, apparently loves his suits and it’s ummm, older. 
Older as in forty. 
I’m twenty two and he’s forty. 
That’s not THAT big of an age difference, is it?
My mom seems hell bent on me ‘accommodating’ Mr. Deacon, as she put it. Accommodating? What does that even mean?
I think it basically means if he says jump I should become a frog and hop away. 
The bitch is trying to pimp me out. 
My own mother! Can you believe it?!
In all honestly, I’m kinda, maybe not too bothered about him being older cuz he’s been invading my brain since two days ago. Yep. Two long old days ago. . .when I acted like an idiot and peed. 
Okay, I didn’t pee myself. I was just . . . wet. Obscenely wet and I feel myself getting wetter right now as I walk to Mr. Deacon. 
I made sure to dress properly together. Umm, I feel kind silly but I wanted to look smart seeing as I knew Mr. Deacon would be smart.
So, umm, I’ve dressed in a long black shirt, it’s actually a mans shirt so it covers my ass properly. On my legs I have black shorts. My feet are covered in my dr martins and I have a leather jacket over my black shirt. 
Umm, I think Mr. Deacon approves of my outfit as as soon as he saw me he stood up from his table to stand tallllll above me. 
Oh god I didn’t realise how tall he was. 
Very tall. 
Oh god my thoughts are going astray again. 
I give myself a mental slap while keeping the both of my hands behind my back, holding onto myself and umm, I guess waiting for instruction from Mr. Deacon to make the first move, I guess. 
I don’t know. 
His eyes sweep up and down my figure, seeing me and making me blush under my make-up. 
God am I thankful I’m wearing make up; lots of foundation, cat eyes and burgundy lips. My hair is down, flowing around my shoulders and it’s a little different to last time as I’ve made my roots and a few inch of my hair darker so my hair goes from brown, to
red and down to fire. 
It sounds kinda strange but it blends together really nice. 
Well I think it does. 
Mr. Deacon thinks my hair is nice, I feel him gently caressing a strand as I sit down. He only feels it for a second before sitting opposite me with a smile on his lips and the table already laid out with tea and the same cakes as last time. 
I’m about to open my mouth, wanting to say it’s good to see him but he cuts across me and almost demands for me to remove my jacket. I stare at him for a moment, deciding if I should or not and I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t. 
It’s a little warm in here after all. 
Slowly, I slip my jacket down my arms, letting it pool behind me on the chair. As it pools I reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone to place it onto the table between us. 
My eyes stay on Mr. Deacon, watching him as he watches me. Before watching him as he picks my phone up from the middle of the table to place it onto the corner near him. 
I want to question him, ask him what he’s doing but I can’t seem to find my words, nor my strength to do anything but watch his eyes. 
Seeing them almost hidden behind his glasses but visible to my eyes. 
He stares at me, it’s a soft stare but it cuts me into little pieces, all of which float towards him. I feel myself floating towards him and it scares me. Scares me deeply, so deep that my hands begin to shake and my breathing hardens. 
Mr. Deacon notices, I see his eyes see my changes and it makes him smile, while it makes me worried? No, not worried. Ummm, concerned he is in fact a vampire. 
He doesn’t say anything, he merely pours us both some tea, making mine perfect with lots of milk and even more sugar. 
He’s remembered. 
Of course he’s remembered. 
“Thank you, Mr. Deacon,” I say quietly. Almost on a whisper but just loud enough for him to hear but no one else. 
He smiles and sits back in his chair as I keep my shaky hands on my tea cup and saucer and my back straight. 
Must remember to keep my back straight. 
“So, you’ve found out my name?” He questions, his voice catches me a little off guard, but I nod and bring my tea to my lips, taking a little sip so I don’t have to speak. My hands are a little shaky, the man sees and I think it pleases him. 
“You’re nervous.” His words are a statement, not a question and I can only nod in agreement while praying to find my words soon. 
“What are you nervous of?”
I found my words, well, word. 
My word makes the man smile and it makes me bite my bottom lip in something of worry and I think hesitation. This man is making me hesitant, not because he’s worrying me or even frightens me, but because I’m unsure about his want for me. 
With as much strength in my body, I lean forwards, attempting to reach for my phone but Mr. Deacon beats me to it. He places his hand over my phone, cupping it in his giant hand and making my little hand stop dead in it tracks. 
“I need my phone.” I say while trying to make myself reach forwards, but I’m slightly afraid to touch him, not for fear he’ll hurt me, but fear that I’ll fly off the handle. 
Mr. Deacon shakes his head and I whimper while sitting back in my seat properly to place my hands back around my tea and hold onto it. 
“It’s impolite to be distracted by anything but your company. I am your company, Miss. Henderson.”
Ohhh, he can talk. 
I nod a little in agreement and watch as Mr. Deacon releases my phone to place his hand back on his tea cup. He takes a little sip with his eyes on me and other hand below the table. 
I’m guessing on his lap. 
“Can-I’d like to put my phone in my pocket. Can-can I?” I don’t know why I’m asking for permission but it seems I am. 
Mr. Deacon shakes his head, making me frown a little but I wipe the frown off my face to shake my head gently in exasperation. 
“You are confused.”
“Yes. I’m not sure what’s going on here.”
“We are having tea – just like we did on Wednesday.”
“But why?”
The man smiles and leans forwards, coming towards me and god I’m grateful the table is between us. 
“Because we wish to explore on another.”
Oh god I’ve peed and whimpered. 
Mr. Deacon knows I’ve whimpered, he heard it leave my lips and saw it as well. I try to cover my tracks by brining my tea to my lips but it’s no use. He and I both know I’ve whimpered. 
“You do wish to explore with me, don’t you?” I nod rather frantically but I’m confused, so confused. 
Gently I place down my cup, letting it sit on the saucer for a moment so I can place both of my hands in my lap and keep my eyes upon Mr. Deacon. 
“I’m not in the business of exploring, Mr. Deacon.”
I’m not even sure what I mean by my words. 
God I’m confused. 
Mr. Deacon smiles again, a big beautiful smile that chips away at me. 
“Everyone is in the business of exploring. Tell me, have you ever explored yourself?”
Ohhh, fuck what is he talking about?!?!
“What-what are you talking about?”
Mr. Deacon looks down my body, going to my little breasts to have them thrusting out a little and a whimper leaving my lips, again. 
“Exploring yourself. Your body, Miss. Henderson.”
Oh shit.
He’s-he’s talking about . . . masturbating. 
Oh this is about sex. 
“My body is none of your concern, Mr. Deacon, and I don’t think it’s very appropriate tea conversation.”
“I think it’s perfect tea conversation. I like to think of it as civilised debauchery.” 
Sex, drugs and rock and roll most certainly come to mind. 
“I’m-I’m not. . .interested in debauchery, Mr. Deacon. I-I don’t know who you think I am.”
“Mmm, who are you, Miss. Amelia Henderson?”
I shrug a little with the bleebs in my stomach again, except there not just in my stomach but travelling a little lower and lower to get to my exceedingly wet panties. 
This-this is worrying me and I want to leave, but I can’t leave. I can’t physically force myself to leave. 
Oh god. 
Mr. Deacon leans forwards, coming closer to me with a smile upon his lips and his eyes looking at me over the rim of his glasses. 
“There is nothing to fear, darling. . .”
“I’m not afraid of anything. I’m confused.”
“Confused about what, precisely?”
“You. . . I-I only saw you at my sisters wedding. You was staring at me . . . Then you come to the salon and ask me to meet you for tea. For what purpose? To explore. I’m not exploring anything with you. I-I-I don’t even know who you are.”
“With exploring one another will we find out exactly who we are and who one another is.”
“You’re talking about sex. I’m not sleeping with you.”
Mr. Deacon chuckles light while shaking his head, making me frown and it only deepens as he places a book on the table and slides it over to me. 
I see the beautiful red cover and good lettering, I can’t read what it says because of the lighting glare, so I just turn my eyes back to Mr. Deacon with a frog in my throat and my heart pounding. 
“This book is me. Inside you’ll read about who I am, what I am, and the way I live and love. . .”
“You wrote it?”
“Yes. This is me. I am NOT only interested in sex, it obviously plays on my mind as I’m sure it does your own.” Deny. Deny. Deny. Deny. “This book is something I’ve been working on for years and you’re in it.”
How-how am I in it?
“How am I in it?”
Mr. Deacon quirks an eyebrow while taking the book back. I want to reach for it but I don’t want to touch him, too afraid, so I merely keep my hands in my lap and my eyes upon his own. 
“There is something about you, Miss. Henderson.”
“There is nothing about me, Mr. Deacon.”
“I beg to differ. Even if you can’t see it, I can and I want to explore it.”
“I’m not having sex with you.”
My words make him smile and his smile has my cheeks becoming a thousand times rosier. 
“Not yet you won’t.”
Cheeky shit. 
“Not ever, Mr. Deacon.”
“So you say. Yet, here you are, still sitting across from me. Do you not find me attractive?”
“I don’t find arrogance attractive.”
“Ah, arrogance. Is that what I am? Arrogant?” I nod a little but begin to question wither or not he’s actually being arrogant. Maybe he’s just assured? 
Mr. Deacon comes forwards again, leaning towards me with a little tip of his head and eyes diverting between my eyes and lips. 
“I know what I want, Miss. Henderson, and I won’t stop until I have it.”
I’m slightly afraid to ask my next question but I have too. 
“What-what. . .”
“What do I want?” I nod and Mr. Deacon smiles brightly while pointing a finger towards me, “you.” He says simply to have the bleebs swarming my body and my head becoming fuzzy. 
It’s so wrong that I want him to reach across the table, grab me and kiss me until I pass out. 
Gently I shake my head while reaching a hand onto the table, first picking up my tea to drain the reminding drops before gently brushing my index finger across the cream of my untouched cake. 
“You-you can’t . . . have me, Mr. Deacon.”
Even I don’t believe my words. 
My word make Mr. Deacon tip his head down, looking deeper into my eyes only to give me a little smile. 
“Are you taken by another?”
He must be a fucking vampire. 
I’ve seen True Blood. 
Gently I shake my head, making the man across from me smile just that little bit brighter. 
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Married?” I frown and shake my head gently. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?” I shrug, not answering as I don’t want to. It’s none of his business and I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to. 
Instead of answering I bring my finger to my lips, sucking the cream off before deciding I want to eat my cake. So I do. I bring the little plate closer to dig into it with the little fork made for children. 

Stupid tiny fork. 
“You are a stunning girl, Miss. Henderson and I would like to court you.”
Raising my eyes up, I stare at Mr. Deacon, seeing him looking back at me softly. 
“Court? What do you mean ‘court’?”
He smiles gently, “it means to date and explore with one another.”
“I’m. Not. Sleeping. With. You.”
“No one had said anything about sex, Miss. Henderson, and the sooner you realise that’s not what I’m asking for the sooner we can begin to get to know one another.”
He’s confusing me. 
“So, you don’t want to sleep with me?”
I must say I’m a little. . .disappointed. 
Mr. Deacon smirks while tipping his head, “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of sleeping with you. However, there are many things I wish for us to explore that are not-sexual.”
He does want to sleep with me!
I’m relieved. 
“Non-sexual? You mean like holding hands and seeing movies and stuff.”
Mr. Deacon laughs gently while sitting back in his chair, still with his eyes upon my own. Making me crinkle my nose a little while trying desperately to think of something to say that could be more. . .grown up?
“Holding hands and seeing movies are apart of it. But there is something deeper I wish to explore with you.”
“Mmm, you are a good girl,” what am I four?, “and I think, with the right training you could become something spectacular for me.”
Training?! For him?!
What the fuck is this?
“What the fuck are you talking about? Training? Training for what?”
Mr. Deacon raises an eyebrow while leaning forwards. His face changes to something that resembles my dad when he’s trying to be strict with me or my brothers. 
Ohh, it’s scary and a little bleeb at the same time. 
“Don’t not swear.”
I frown, not liking this conversation or this man anymore. He’s just confusing me and it hurts a little. 
So, with a huff I stand up, sliding my chair back as I go, to quickly grab my phone and my jacket. I don’t say anything, nor do I look at Mr. Deacon, I just walk out of the tea shop with a tiny little confused tear in the corner of my eye. 
He’s confused me. 
I-I-I don’t understand what he wants. I don’t understand what he’s trying to say to me. His-his words make absolutely no sense. 
You know what? Fuck him. 
I’m not even going to bother trying to figure him out or figure out what he wants. He can go stuff himself and leave me alone. 
I make a quick stop off at home, just quickly grabbing my bag, which I stupidly left at home this morning, before heading to the most beautiful spot in the entire world. 
My little hide away. 
A place which is mine and mine alone, no one knows about it, at least I don’t think anyone does as I’ve never ever seen anyone here but me. 
My hide away is actually a little cliff, buried deep in the woods. I have to walk for about half an hour through the woods before coming to my little clearing, a beautiful little clear that has nothing but grass and a few flowers. However if I look over the
edge then I’ll see water down below. 
I’ve actually made a little path down to the water, so I can go in if I like, but I don’t want to right now. All I want to do is sit and relax in the sun. 
Which is exactly what I do. 
The sun is cooling down, but not enough for me not to warrant taking off my jacket nor my shirt, leaving myself in my shorts and pretty pink floral bra. 
It feels. . .amazing to simply lay down, relax and think not of Mr. Deacon, but of myself, of what I want and need. 
I don’t know what I want nor what I need. 
Who cares?
I most certainly don’t. 
What I do know is that I’m going to dye my hair when I get home. I’m thinking of either black or maybe pink and black. 
Humm, pink at my head and black down the length of my curls. 
Mmm, sounds pretty. 
The only problem with dyeing my hair black is that I’ll either have to bleach it or let it grow out if I get bored of it. 
Ummm, I don’t bleach my hair often so it shouldn’t cause to much damage if I decide I do want to dye it something else. 
With my mind on my hair, I shift my body gently to lay on my front and push my breasts into the ground. Mm, it feels good, feels fantastic actually but I can’t help overcoming the feeling that it would feel even more fantastic if I had somebody here with me. 
If Mr. Deacon was here with me. 
I wonder what he looks like with his shirt off, or even naked. 
Mmm, he’s tall. Very tall. So, I’m guessing his body is long; long legs and even longer torso to almost completely cover my body. 
Mm, his weight pushing into me, pushing me into the ground as his lips press against the side of my throat, kissing gently but a little wetly and passionately. 
Deep kisses that mark my skin. Little darkened patches across my throat to let me see where exactly he’s paid attention to me. 
Pay attention to all of me. 
I bet his attention is spectacular and so gentle. Humm, maybe not so gentle as he seems a little forceful, not really in a bad way but a way that gets him what he wants. Wants. . . He-he-he wants me. 
He said he wants me. 
Umm, why does he want me?
I-I don’t understand why he’d want me. I’m nothing special, nothing unique or anything. 
In fact I’m an introverted nerd with too much time on her hands and far too many dreams, hopes and aspirations to even know where to begin. 
Where do I begin?
Do I begin with Mr. Deacon?
Do I allow for him to, umm, what did he say? Ah, train me? What ever that means. 
Should I let him take my lips, my body, my, umm, virginity? 
Should I?
God knows I’ve never thought about anyone really taking me, even wanting me really. No one has ever given me a second glance, they always look past me to the beautiful girl behind me. 
I’m not the beautiful girl. 
I’m the girl with too many lines on her skin, too few interested, too few hobbies that make her not leave the house or too few friends that make her sit alone each night even when everyone else is out partying, clubbing and whatever else. 
I love to dance, but I can’t dance and I don’t dance. What do I do instead? I write about dancing. I write about a man and woman writhing together, dancing with their bodies, their hips, their lips and their hands. Dancing, writhing, grinding and being together
in a deep intimate way. . . Wait! Is THAT what Mr. Deacon was talking about?
Ohhh, he must have been. . . That-that means he wants to teach me to be a. . . ummm, a lover I guess. 
A lover. 
He said he wants to court me. . . Court, not date, but COURT. 
I wonder what the difference is. 
Ah, my phone has all the answers. 
‘Courting differs from dating as it done so with the intent to marry at the end. Courting is typically a year long affair, by which time the gentleman will ask for his brides hand in marriage. Occasional the groom will ask the brides father for her hand, but
generally speaking that practice has died out.’
Court to marry. 
Whow momma. 
Hot damn. . . Wait! Do I want to marry Mr. Deacon? How can I know if I want to marry him, I may not like him. Well. . . I do like him. I like him now, I just didn’t understand what he wanted from me. 
He-he confused me and I walked away like a god damn chicken. 
Well done, Amelia, well done. 
I couldn’t help it, not really. I didn’t know what else to do. . . What if. . . No, Amelia, no what if’s. What IF’S do not exist. The only way you’re going to find an answer is to speak to Mr. Deacon. . . Will I have to call him Mr. Deacon when were married?
I hope not as they will be a little weird. 
Can you imagine him sleeping with me and me calling out Mr. Deacon in the middle? That would be a little weird. 
Humm, would I take him name?
I think I would. 
Amelia Deacon. 
Mrs. Maximilian Deacon. 
Mr and Mrs. Maximilian Deacon. 
Very, very, very interesting. 
I’m most definitely taking his name. 
Whow my thoughts have gone coo-coo. 
Get back on track you silly girl. 
Okay, track . . . I wonder where the train is? 
Wait, there is no train. I AM the train and as the train I need to figure out which path I’m going to take. 
Hummm, fuck it, I’ll take a nap instead. 
Night world. 


Story is mine. Characters are mind. Please don’t not reproduce. All mistakes are mine. No flames please.

Fisherman Part 1

Okay, first off let me tell you my dad is an amazing guy. You know he’s pretty quite, super friendly to everyone he meets and treats me like a princess, even when I don’t deserve it.
Usually people think that daddy’s some mean roughty toughty guy, and I guess to a certain extent he is because he doesn’t put up with shit from any one AND and spends five days a week on his own finishing boat.
Yup, daddy’s a fisherman and he’s pretty darn good. If he doesn’t catch enough to sell then we eat the fish ourselves for dinner.
Mmm, delicious.
Usually he catches loads, more than enough to sell at the market for national transport.
You know, we live in a super small fishing town. There are like three people here, hehe, only joking. There’s close to five hundred, most of them are kinda old. Not daddy’s age old, but ollllllder. Daddy’s fifty five, so he’s a little old but nothing compared to our neighbour who wakes up in her coffin and requires the sacrifice of a small being to help sustain her thousand year old body.
Anywho, everyone knows everyone else’s business, it’s like the law or something. But they don’t know something that I do.
I’m not suppose to know this stuff, but I do. When I was much littler than I am now, nineteen, and was snooping for presents in daddy’s room. Well, it wasn’t just me as my older brother was with me too. But he didn’t see what I saw.
Just me.
My mom died like twelve years go when I was like seven and my brother was fourteen. My brother, James, is now twenty six and living his life doing stuff. I dunno. I don’t really talk to him much as he’s working for some big corporation company that takes him all over the world. Last time we spoke he was going to Japan and meh.
I didn’t care.
I obviously sounded all happy for him, but me and James don’t really get along. I don’t know why. But then again James doesn’t really get along with daddy either. In honestly I think he blames daddy for what happened to mom.
She was in a car accident. A really bad one where her car span off the road and into the ocean. She drowned.
Poor momma.
That was a super long time ago but I know daddy feels sad about it. Or maybe he feels guilty, I don’t know. All I do know is that he’s hiding a massive secret from me. I don’t care if he hides it from James because he’s an ass, I just don’t want him to hide it from me.
Soooo, I’ve come up with a sneaky little plan.
Now, you may ask about this plan, or even the secret plan in which I’ve deviced to get the secret out in the open. However, I can’t tell you the plan because in all honesty I have no idea really. It just involves a film, which is hilarious by the way, then a sneaky conversation as to pry little tiny droplets of information out of daddy. Or maybe we’ll just talk.
I dunno.
NOW! The reason question you all probably have is which film, hehe, okay, FINE! You want to know the secret and the secret is . . .
“Annabella, what are you doing?” I jump twelve feet in the air at daddy’s words and quite forcefully expel myself from my spot on the couch to stand up and pray to jebus that my plan hasn’t been foiled.
By the look on daddy’s face it would seem he thinks I’m just crazy.
He’s got a raised eyebrow and a squishy face!
“Your face is squishy.”
Now he has two raised eyebrows.
Hehe. Silly daddies.
“Have you taken your medication, darling?” His words are teases and super funny. They make me giggle and I only giggle more as my squishy daddy takes himself to the couch only to have me plastered to his side.
“Hi, daddy.” He chuckles as me and look soooo happy.
I snuggle into daddy, trying to steal his fluffy warmth.
Ohh, let me describe daddy for you. Umm, he’s tall, like six seven or something like that. He has pretty blue eyes and a beard. Yep. Oh, and he wears narly old jumpers and sometimes smells like really bad fish.
Elhhh. . .
“Which film would you like to watch, oh crazy daughter of mine?” Hehe, he’s so funny. But I don’t answer, ohhhh NO, I just stand upon my bunny slippers to jump over the coffee table and then on the DVD player. The dvd is already and I can’t wait to see daddy’s reaction.

I’m staring oh so decreatly at daddy. You know, I have an eye trained upon him as the other stays on the film. Okay, well, my eyes turning in opposite directions is pretty much impossible soooooo my eye balls are going from the screen to look out of my peripheral vision. Cuz, you know, I ain’t no bird or fishy, oh, or hammerhead shark cuz you know they can make their eyes go in opposite directions and it’s kinda freaky. I ain’t that freaky.
I ain’t.
Daddy’s been smiling at the film, I think just because it’s hilarious but maybe it’s because he wants to tell me his secret. Come on daddyo. You know you wanna!
After the film tho.
Anywho, I’m laying besides daddy, or more likely on him with my head on his shoulder and my knees on his thigh so I’m scrunched up and completely snuggled.
Snuggles. I love daddy snuggles. They’re the absolute best.
Daddy gives me lots and lots and lots of snuggles and give me even more if I’m sick or I just want them. Once, when I was littler, I spent the entire day snuggled up with daddy on the couch. I was sick, pretty sure I had the plague, but I stayed with daddy on the couch and even when he had to get up to make drinks and food I clung onto his back like a turtle shell.
I think that made daddy happy, that I was so clingy and stuff, cuz he didn’t stop smiling for the entire day! And I was glad about that cuz the day before, James left for college and stuff and I know daddy was sad. I guess he’s still sad now but he still smiles.
Daddy is still sad. I think he’s lonely to be honest and I know he’s scared of me going away to college but I’ve put my college plans on hold to get a job in town. It’s nothing fancy, just something to keep me busy while I figure out a plan to get daddy a boyfriend.
Yep. That’s daddy’s secret. Ummm, not the boyfriend bit as I don’t think he’s had a boyfriend before, but umm, him like boys. No! Men. Yeh, men.
Daddy’s gay.
Now, I hear you ask how I know this and well, I’ll tells ya.
Back at the time when I was looking for Christmas pressies, welllllll I might have come across a letter. It was addressed to mom from daddy and I maybe kinda read it. Yep.
I read the entire thing twice before gently putting it back and telling my brother to go away. I told him it was just boring adult stuff and he believed me.
Anyway, the letter basically said that daddy was sorry for what happened to her. He was sorry he couldn’t have been there to protect her or be there to hold her hand and tell her that he loves her. He said that he loves her with all of his heart and then he told her that he’s gay. That he’s always been gay but him being so doesn’t diminish his love for her or their marriage.
I must have read that letter a thousand times since then. I’ve memorised it.
However, last time I went to read it, it had gone. I searched for it but couldn’t find it anywhere so I’m guessing daddy got rid of it. But if I know daddy then I know he’s sent it to mom in his own way. Maybe he burnt it so the smoke can carry it up to mom, or maybe he places it into the ocean where her ashes were scattered.
Either way, I know he did right and I’m glad I memorised all the words. I’ve been tempted to write the words down again, but I keep thinking if I do then somehow it won’t get to mom and i want her to have it and I want daddy to have closure and stuff. I want him to be happy so much it hurts my heart sometimes.
My poor daddy.
I don’t feel sorry for him, never that! I just feel that he’s sad and I don’t want him to feel sad anymore. I want him to find a boyfriend and live happily ever after.
I think he deserves that much. 
Soooo, when the movie finishes I turn off the screen and flop around on the couch to rest my head on the arm and wiggling my bunny covered feet on daddy’s lap. Daddy’s smiling brightly, a really big pretty smile that is aimed allllll towards me.
“Did you enjoy the film?” I ask daddy.
Daddy nods a little with his hands playing with my bunnies, “it was very good. What made you pick that one?”
I shrug a little in answer as I can’t very well tell him of my plan.
“I dunno. It was funny tho, huh?”
“Very funny. I’ve never seen The Birdcage before. Have you?”
I nod and wiggle my bunnies, “yep. I think it’s sooooo funny but really sweet. Don’t you agree?”
“I do, my darling.” A moment of silence and my mouth opens to say something along the lines of “gay?” but daddy doesn’t give me a chance, “would you like some tea?” I nod unthinkingly and daddy’s off the couch and walking to the kitchen.
Humm . . . Ah! Let’s follow him.
I do follow daddy into the kitchen and sit myself on the counter to swing my feet back and forwards while trying to get the courage to ask daddy my question. But I’m not really sure how to ask him, you know? Maybe he doesn’t want me to know. But why not? Why wouldn’t he want for me to know? I’m pretty nonjudgemental and just blahhh. In fact I don’t even mind when two men kiss, I actually like it . . . but that’s for another time. NOT now!! Nah ah!! No way hosey!
Hum . . . I could just say, “yo, daddyo, guys or gals?” Or or or the old classic “are you gay?” Or maybe something a little more subtitle like “my best friend is gay. What do you think of it?” not that I have a best friend who’s gay but meh. I dunno.
“Darling, you’re lost in your thoughts again,” daddy’s words make me squeak to turn into a mouse.
WHOW. At least I’m not a chicken.
I giggle at daddy and take my tea from his outstretched hand. I keep the cup in my grip while I look at daddy’s smiling eyes and smiling lips. He looks happy but I know better.
“Daddy, can I tell you something?” I’m just going to let my heart do the talking instead of my brain, cuz incase you haven’t noticed my brains missing a few screws. Hehe.
Daddy nods and rests his back against the counter opposite me, still with the smile on his lips. “You can tell me anything.”
I hooope so!
I nod a little and look down at my tea. I see it looking yummy and delicious so I take a small sip to gain back my courage before looking back up at daddy. He’s looking a little concerned and ah poop!
I’ve just gotta say it.
“Ummm . . . I know . . . your secret.” I tried to whisper my words but apparently it’s not quiet enough as daddy heard. His body says so as his eyebrow raises up and body leans just a little further back from my own.
“My secret? Which is?”
Oh god!
Maybe he doesn’t want me to know. Maybe he’s not gay. Maybe I’m just an idiot and should be institutionalised.
Send me to the loony bin and do it NOW!
“Annabella, speak your mind.” That’s me, Annabella. It’s Latin not Italian. I always thought it was cuz, well, you know it sounds it. But nope. Latin. But I guess most words derive from there so maybe.
Shut up!
“Ummm, when I was little I found . . . the note you wrote to mom.” I stop talking to just stare at my tea and take lots of little sips so I can’t talk any more. I don’t wanna talk cuz I’m scared. But daddy’s not scared as he comes to me and puts himself in my eyeline as my eyes stay looking down. He’s got a little smile on his lips and I can’t help but match it, just a little.
“Tell me what it said.”
“Tell me what the letter said. . . The one I wrote to your mother.” Daddy’s gone crazy but I nod and recite the letter word for word. I kinda stopped my sentence a little when it came to the bit about him being gay but I persevered until I got to the end. When I get to the end daddy smiles and raises up to stand tall above me. My eyes follow his own. “I’m sorry I read it. I didn’t mean to. Me and James was lookin for presents and stuff.”
“I always wondered which one of you read that.”
“Huh? What?”
Daddy smiles brightly and shrugs a little, “I always assumed James read it and that’s why he acts . . .” Daddy waves his hand in dismissal so I finish off his sentence and call my brother an ass to make daddy chuckle, “. . . Your brother has his reasons for the way he acts as he does, darling.”
“Because he’s a prick. I told you we should have sold him when we were younger, but you never listened.” Daddy gives me a glare that tells me I’ve done wrong, so I shut my lips before smiling innocently.
“Your brother never got over the loss of your mother, and he blames me.”
“It’s not your fault, daddy. James knows it’s not. He’s just selfish.”
“No more ill talk of your brother. Now, do you wish to discuss the contents of the letter?” I nod and smile, making daddy smile in return. Briefly the smile goes, only for a little bit tho as he turns around to sit on the kitchen island in front of me. He takes in a deep breath before brightening his smile, but he looks a little nervous so I jump right in, bunnies first.
“It’s alright if you’re gay.”
Daddy tips his head gently, “I am. . .” Say it! Sayyyyyy IT! “. . . I’ve always been gay,” he said IT!, “darling. It was something I simply tried to repress.”
“That’s not good for you.”
Daddy huffs out a chuckle with a little shake to his head. “No. It’s not. . . How do you feel? You’ve read the letter, a lot by the sounds of it as you’ve said it word for word.”
I giggle and nod a little, making my daddy smile while beaconing me over to him. Immediately I hop down off the counter to jump into the island. Or more precisely I jump onto daddy lap so he can hold onto me.
“I may have read it more than once, are you mad?”
“No, my darling, I’m not mad. I’m a little suprised you’ve memorised it. How many times did you read it?”
I shrug a little, making daddy’s smile stay, “I dunno. Did you throw the letter away?”
Daddy raises an eyebrow, “when was the last time you tried to read it?”
“Umm, last week. Maybe. Are you mad? I promise I don’t snoop. I just read the letter. But it wasn’t there.”
“Why do you continue to read it even if you’ve memorised it?” Ummm, I dunno.
“I’m not sure. I guess it’s more personal. I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologise. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Good. Did you throw it away?”
Daddy nods with a smile, which he presses briefly into my forehead, “I carried it around with me for about two weeks . . . I thought it would be easy to get rid of but it wasn’t . . .” I just nod a little and keep listening, “. . . Anyway, last night after I dropped the guys off, I went back to the spot where your moms car was found. . . I just put the letter in the water. I know it’s maybe a little silly but it’s like I’ve given it to her, and it’s my letting go of it.”
“Do you still love mom?”
Daddy nods and I nod a little too as I turn my head to rest it against his chest. Daddy’s arms tighten around me and I just hold onto his arm. “I still love your mother with all of my heart, darling. . . My being gay doesn’t stop me from loving her at all, and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her. She lives in you, and your brother. She is you both.”
I nod and swallow hard as now I miss her. I was only little when she died but now I miss her.
“I miss her.”
“Oh, darling. I miss her too, so much. But do you know what?” Shake my head but it stops as daddy grips my cheeks to turn my eyes to his own. I can’t help smiling and neither can daddy, just a little bit. “You are your mothers daughter, Annabella, and no matter what happens she’ll always be in you, your brothers and my hearts. We’re a strong family, baby.”
I nod and launch forwards to wrap my arms around my daddy’s neck and hold onto him tightly as he holds onto me even more so.


Story is mine. All mistakes are mine. All characters are mine. Do not copy nor reproduce please. And no flames. 


Something is happening with my boy. I can feel it deep inside of me. Deep inside of my bones and mind I can feel something is happening to him.
That may sound wishy washy or what ever but I know my boy like the back of my hand.
All day his messages have been overly short and with a very strange undertone to them. I’ve tried not working myself up into a frenzy over this, however as the days progressed and the messages have become shorter and dare I say sader the more concerned I’ve become.
No longer can I simply sit by and just let these odd feelings stay inside of me.
However, the feelings get stronger the closer i get
To his parents home. The feeling of something bad arising and oh god!
I know what’s happening!
He’s hurting himself.
Without even a backwards glance nor even a concern to turn on the lights in the dark home, I head straight upstairs, by passing all rooms but that which I know my boy is in.
Without missing a single beat, nor a moments breath, I’m swinging open the bedroom door only to be greeted by nothing but an empty bed.
Panic raises up in me and only continues as I blindly close and lock the door but with my eyes solely focused upon the closed bathroom door. I can see light streaming under the door itself and know my boy is in there.
Indeed he is.
The sight of me has him screeching and throwing away a blade.
The sight of him has me growling and immediately falling to my knees to wrap my hands around his wrists, stopping any and all of his movements to just stare down at this boy whom is my heart and my soul.
We stare at one another. His eyes almost completely gone beneath tears and mine following suit.
He struggles against my grip, wishing to pull his body free from my own but it does nothing but shift our combined bodies a centimetre or two, if that.
I growl out a question to him, nothing but a simple word; why.
Such a simple questions but so difficult to answer for him.
He doesn’t answer, not with words anyway. Instead his body shakes, all of his muscles writhing for freedom under his skin. I feel them but ignore them to move his muscles of my own accord.
Gently, but rather forcefully, I bring Harrison to his bed; making him sit down upon the edge with nothing but a look from my eyes into his own. He sees my look and complies with a nod, a nod which tells me he’s not going to move and is going to stay in compliance with my unspoken demand.
With him sat and waiting for me, I head back into the bathroom, taking myself away for nothing but a moment to not only take off my suit jacket and tie, throwing them onto the vanity counter, and gather a wettened wash cloth and that’s all.
For now.
With the wash cloth in my hands I take it back to my boy. Without a word nor look to him, I can’t give him either, I grip his left wrist gently and turn until the marks can be clearly seen.
Marks upon his forearm.
My stomach tightens at the sight of cuts buried beneath blood; yet I do not stop my movements of ridding the blood away and cleaning the self inflicted wounds.  I don’t stop the cleaning, not until each slice has stopped bleeding and I know what each are free from contamination.
With the wounds cleaned I again take myself to the bathroom, this time throwing away the wash cloth but with eyes set upon the blade laying limp and harmless upon the floor.
With a growl I snatch it from the ground, condemning the thing for ever being invented, but I don’t show those emotions. I try to rid all fearful anger emotions off my face as I get some antiseptic cream and a bandage.
I take it all back to Harrison, still without a word I cream and bandage his arm, ensuring all cuts are taken care of a nestled safely under my care, and I can assure you each are.
Without a care I practically throw the left over cream to the floor before reaching for the blade. Harrison whimpers at the sight and tries to stand up, wanting to get away from me, but I don’t let him as I grip his wrist and rather forcefully pull him back down.
His eyes well up in tears again, forcing me to swallow my own, but I ignore them both to raise up the sleeve of my shirt before pressing the sharpness of the blade to the spot upon my forearm which matches his own.
Harrison cries out and launches forwards to grab the blade and quite forcefully throw it away. As soon as I feel his skin touch my own I’m releasing another growl and gripping his wet cheeks harder than I should. I stare into his eyes, seeing his pain and my god it breaks my heart but I do nothing but shake my head and get just a touch closer to him.
“Every time you cut yourself, you cut me, do you understand?!” My voice is vehement, passionate and highly stressed. Harrison hears it but chooses to ignore it to just sit and sob in front of me. “You take a fucking blade to yourself again and I will show you the pain it causes me! THIS,” I say roughly as I grip his bandaged arm, “is NOT the answer.”
“I-I. . .” Harrison mutters out.
“Sorry,” I finish for him. He nods frantically with his bottom lip wobbling and hand daring to wrap tightly around my thighs. Holding onto my as I do him.
With a deep breath, I release his pained arm and instead brush a hand through his floppy brown hair, needing to touch him so he can feel not my disappointment but feel my pained love for him as I speak my words of; “do not say sorry to me. Say sorry to yourself . . . You do not deserve to be hurting your flesh in this way! Why?! Why, when you were meant to phone me! I told you you could phone me at any time so why not this evening?!” My boy shrugs, a long drawn out shut that speaks of defeat and tiredness.
I allow for his tiredness to over take him but I join him; not before stripping both of our bodies bare and getting under the covers of his duvet.
Harrison’s entire body shudders as I bring him to me, forcing his body, almost, into the cavern of my body which he immediately settles into. Of course I too settle into it, with my hand firmly in his hair and the other wrapped around the flesh of his unharmed arm.
I make sure to hold onto my boy tightly, unwilling and unable to let him go even as he falls into slumber. A slumber which I soon join.

Story is mine. Do not reproduce or copy please. All mistakes are mine.

The Most Amazing

I have always thought and felt if you as my possession. That simply has never changed. That may come off as harsh and even one sided. But that is how I see you and feel for you. I don’t want you to make choices, to have to think for yourself, be even reasonable for you own being. I want that to be all my choice and choice for you.

If one day I want you to be my pet you will, another to be a slave you will, another a 50’s housewife that is what you shall be. Cause I simply informed you to do as I said. And you will happily comply to make me happy and to relinquish all your control over to me and taking the thought process out of your hands to know that I was the one who advised you on what to do.

If there is something I disliked or I am not satisfied with it was because I was unclear in the interpretation of my expectations of you. If I was clear and you still did not follow them then you will be punished.

  1. I want you in great physical condition, for your own health, mental well-being, and for anything I choose to run you through I want you to be able to perform. You must have that conditioning.
  2. Your presentation to me will always be neat, never sloppy, hair done, at minimum light makeup and lipstick, your nails will always be done and not in black!!!

iii.            You will always wear panties unless directed otherwise.

  1.  You will always be clean and ready for use in all areas, your soap, deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, mouthwash will all be approved by me.
  2.  You will always ask me for permission to enjoy time alone to touch yourself.
  3. You will ask me for permission to see friends.

vii.            You will pick up a hobby and complete it for your very own mental well-being and to find peace and comfort in the accomplishments.

viii.            All clothing will be approved by me.

  1. I want you to learn how to walk in high heels.

You will have daily task that may repeat over on themselves but that is simply for your benefit to help you conform to what you need.

You have always been my possession a piece of property, an extension of myself that I control.

Legally owned slave?

Legally owned slave?

I want to be bought and paid for, as strange as that sounds. I want to formally and legally no longer be an A, but a F, legally a Mrs. F. His bought property. So he possesses a legally binding contract not only from the government, but also from my family.

I want for my one lifelong love to ask my father, and brother, for my hand in marriage. Then I want for him to write a contract not only for he and I to bind one another together, but also a contract to my father for them both the sign in an informal binding contract of Him owning me until the end of time.

I want out contracts – marriage certificate, ceremony of roses, and my fathers passing of my hand to Him, displayed in out bedroom, or maybe in out grotto. I want these as proof. However, I also want for the proof to lay permanently upon my body in the forms of private burn brands, tattoos and piercing – what ever he sees fit. What I see fit and would utterly adore and do need are his wedding and engagement bands, a third band which are identical to ones He also wearing and one that Olivia has. So we are all together. A family. Another ring would be a submissive ring to wear on my right hand. This one pink and overly sparkly – all rings and other jewellery to represent my worth to Him.

My identity to be stripped away – hair/clothing/make-up/jewellery etc. so I become the image of that which we both desire. To become the slaved and adored wife of a great husband. A great husband whom is Dominant, Master, Daddy and King.

He is king. I am His queen. The Lion and His Lioness.

I Am

I am a woman. A strong woman . A strong elegant, classy and feminine woman. A woman who is strong yet submissive to the one whom buries me. My one lifelong love.

I have struggles over my head, and some days those struggles may be stronger . However I must remember that those struggles cannot, and will not, own me. I have the mental strength to be the woman I want to be. The woman I truly am inside. And the woman my one lifelong love wants, needs, desires and deserves.

I am a strong woman. I am a subservient submissive, masochistic, primal slave and bratty little prince. I am a mental health sufferer – anxiety/depression/mild safety paranoia/dermatillomania

I am a writer – about family/life/BDSM

I am a woman with dark tendencies and needs but I know my heart is pure, and kind, and respectful to those who are kind. I give respect to those until they give me a reason to no longer show it.

I am a caregiver – of peoples, animals and life.

I will be a cannabis advocate and business owner.

I will be a housewife, mother , wife, and a legally owned woman.

I need to build up my self worth. My self-esteem. My confidence. My self-discipline. My self-care. My self-love.

I need to take care of myself.

My one lifelong love is in a struggle of his own and I shall never give up on him for we are bonded forever. If he chooses we aren’t suited or his mind tells him to go another path then we shall part ways. I will be broken but I will not stop his happiness in finding another. I will never so selfish to hold him back. All I know is what I feel deep inside of me and that is to never give up, and always fight.

What lies inside of can only be understood by that one person who has the same inside of him. He does. He has it inside of him and I pray that he doesn’t lose it and give up that part of him. I wont give up and will wait until he sees the light at the end of the tunnel. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and neither of should forget that.



I know these journeys of ours are difficult and stressful, but I want you to know that no matter where the journey takes us I will always be your friend, your biggest supporter, and you will always be my love.
I want you to know that even though you are my love I won’t hold anything against you if you figure out I am not yours. You deserve happiness and if that leads you into needing two women then you know I will always support you even if I’m not one of those special ladies. You know I won’t be able to be one of those special women so If you know you won’t ever be happy with just me then I want you to find those two women of your hearts desires, and I hope Kim is one of those if you’ve grown to truly love and adore her.
If you’ve grown to love other, and want her in yours and your baby’s life then I know you’ll all be so happy together.
I will support your relationship if you choose her.
I don’t want to hold you back from living your life to the fullest, just as I don’t want to be held back from the life I need. There’s no reason either of us should settle for a life less than we deserve. If we’re not soulmate then we’ll find ours, I know we will.
If you’re scared to decide because you fear what the future holds then I want us to come to decision together, a decision that is best for us both. No matter what I will always be your friend but I will choose myself and I will choose to forever be your friend but no longer your possession. You will always be in my heart, my hearts love but I we will move on to something greater and so beautiful.
I want to be a slave, your slave but I can’t be any less than a slaved wife, mother and sole lover. I cannot and will not be with anyone but one person and my one person can only ever have me as their one. That fantasy of me wanting to be with a woman is gone, for me that’s never going to happen now.
We’re both responsible for our own actions and we are both accountable for how we handle ourselves with one another. Neither of us are perfect and there’s no reason to be perfect. I don’t want perfect. Perfect is boring.
Even if we’re never lovers again I will always be here to help you conquer anything you desire. We can be strong together and know that will never change. We will always be our own little sickness army even if we take our separate paths. I will always be in you and I know you will always be inside of me, nothing will ever be able to take that away it will merely be there as a presence even through the toughest of times. I know you will grow to love and trust again, and I hope I am the woman who gets to receive it as I know it’ll be like a force known to no other. But if I’m not that woman then I know whoever she is she is very lucky, and I hope she treats you like a king, and you treat her as your queen.
I want to be with you. I want to have the life we spoke about together. I want to wake up every morning next to you and fall asleep next to you. I want to be the woman that makes you happy and that can fulfil all your dreams, hopes and aspirations. I love you so much, I honestly do. My love for you means that my main concern is your total happiness, but not at the expense of my own heart, and that means I am willing to let you go to find total happiness and completion in the arms of two other women, if that’s what you so choose you truly need in your heart. I want to share what I have inside with you, I want it to be all yours, and I want you to be all mine, but it’s alright if you need something different from what I can offer. There’s nothing wrong with that.
I want your meanness, the cruelty and whatever else but I also need the love. I need the aftercare, the tenderness to know I’m not just a piece of ass to you, that I’m more than a slave, but instead of a loved and needed lover and partner.
I need all your energy not just the sexual part. Being in a total power exchange relationship needs to have love at it’s centre otherwise it is just unfortunately use and abuse, and I know that is something you’d never want.
Possessor, you need to heal yourself, I can’t do that for you, not that you’ve ever asked me too, but love is a powerful force if you can let it help you heal. I know in time you will heal and grow into an amazing man, the man your mom has spoken about and the man that would make your grandparents so proud. A man that your baby will be so proud to call her father, the man she will base her future husband upon.
The love is a powerful force. The love I have inside of me for you is so strong and I know it can grow into something more powerful than either of us could ever imagine, but it can only grow if I love have your love in return. It can’t all be about me giving to you, and you not giving due to your personal trauma. We have to take these experiences and grow. You need to have trust in me, trust in yourself, to know that I am not going to hurt you. I am not going to reject you nor ever put you in a situation like you’ve been in before. I am not that type of woman. I realise you may be scared of the happiness I can bring into your life and the potential for it to be all taken away is scary, but isn’t the reward greater than the fear of holding back? Isn’t it better to take that chance and believe in us to be willing to fall into me, and allow for me to fall into you?
These chances aren’t for the faint of heart, they’re not for those who aren’t strong and only want to get stronger. Nothing will be perfect, but it doesn’t have to be. We can go through difficult times, through times of wanting space away from one another but why would that ever detract away from all the love, true trust and happiness that it could bring. Love is so powerful and it is scary but I am never going to be afraid of it. I am not going to be afraid of our sickness nor the potential for hurt. Know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will never harm you; not emotionally, mentally, physically, or spiritually. My heart is pure of intention and you know I will support anything you need. I will 100 percent support your dreams to be a physician’s assistant, a marijuana grower, a circus clown, a cross-fit trainer or anything else you feel that you want your life to bring you. If you need those two women then I will support that, but as your friend.
Just know that everything will be alright in the end.

With these letters, I’m writing to you and information I am giving you, is all the things I need in a man who loves me, I am not going to be settling for any less than I know I truly deserve. I deserve the love that my heart needs and if your love is different from mine then you know what? That’s okay. It is scary, but this journey isn’t something to be afraid of, we should never fear one another nor our paths if they bring us closer to one another or other people. Saying that, I know that if you do choose me and you cheat on me I will have no problems in walking away from us, our lives and whatever we grow together. Cheating isn’t an option in my opinion and no longer will I accept any mental/emotional instability as an excuse for cheating. If you’re not healed and all your baggage is left at the door, then it won’t work between us – that’s not to say we can’t through things together but you need to know I am not your ex, I am not like any other woman out there. I am me. You say your heart is selfish, greedy and needs to have two women, and that’s fine if you truly need and want a polyamorous relationship, but to me it’s something I don’t understand and won’t ever pretend to understand and it’s something I cannot and will not put up with. And rightly, or wrongly, I believe that its fear talking when you say you need two women, I am sorry if my words are wrong but I can only say what I feel and what is honesty inside of me. None of this is to ever be unsupportive not reject your true desires. I just don’t want fear of me, or what I might be able to bring you to hold you back.
Don’t let your life be lead by these ‘moments’. Moments leave, they aren’t permenant. Think of the bigger pictures; of where you see yourself in five/ten/fifteen/thirty years. What do you see? Who do you see? Think beyond the bounds of the harassment shit, think beyond me, beyond the temporary fixtures in your life and just think of where you want your life to be. Whatever you think of make it true, make it the true honesty and the best future you could ever imagine for yourself.
Maybe there’s a possibility that all your fantasies, or our, or anyone elses fantasies may not come a reality but its up to you to decide which you can live with, or live without. We all need to deal with the realities of the situation, no matter how painful, because you know what? Living in a fantasy isn’t living. I speak a lot about making my fantasies become reality and I believe they can and I will do my utmost to have my fantasies become a reality. My fantasies are attainable because I’ve worked so hard to deferinciate between those that can be accomplished and those which are just for my minds eye in the heat of passion. Fantasies are heat of the moment passion, perhaps they last longer than a moment and if they do then there is no reason why they can’t become a reality if they’re reasonable and attainable. You spoke about being scared that your thoughts will never become a reality, and I do understand that fear but you, inside, need be strong in yourself and know the difference between what can be achieved and what can’t be and don’t be afraid of the answers. I want our Stockholm, it may be different to the image you have inside of your head but so what? Relationships are about compromise, about love and faithfulness and devotion and about being on the same team through everything. I don’t want to have arguments but im sure as damn not gonna let a moment go by where we have a disagreement and let it turn into something massive. It serves no purpose. You have to release your ego, save it for others but not me, I don’t want your ego to come between us. Every man has an ego, yours is about self-preservation and pride and not showing your vulnerability to the world but none of that is of any use between us.

Submissive prayer.

Submissive prayer.


In Sir I trust.

His word is scared, and honest.

Never shall he lead me astray. He is loyal, honest, kind, strict, primal, and above all else, the man that will take care vulnerability.

My submission is a gift, and one I gladly give to Sir, for he shall lead me to darkness and bring me back safely under his arm.

His domination is a gift, and one I treasure from the bottom of my heart.

My heart, my mind, my soul, my everything belongs to him, and in return he shall be my all. My only concern, my only worry and the only person of great importance.

I have faith, and trust him to never lie, never manipulate and always be fair and kind with me.

In times of worry, or anxiety, I shall repeat my submissive prayer and centre myself with Sir in the forefront of my mind.  He shall be my comfort, above all else. I shall seek solace in him, I shall confide my deepest fears and darkest fantasies, and I know he will treasure my gift, as I will his own.

My prayer beads are the same as Sir’s, they are bonding us together, and are there as a reminder we are together in our journey of expression of our deepest, darkest needs, wants and desires.

We are together, and I give humbled thanks into this beads, as thought they were Sir’s ears.

Thank you, Sir, from you humbly devoted pet.



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