If you were to show an enema on your snapchat what would you show? Whole thing? Just what goes in?

sillysexystupid-deactivated2020:

I dunno! I try to keep my snapchat kinda tame (I piss outside/drink my own piss/try to gape my ass/fist my cunt… “tame” lol but still!) bc I don’t wanna freak out anyone TOO much. Not everyone is gonna be into the gross things I’m into & I wanna keep my snapchat enjoyable for everyone so. I don’t know.

You are the gross thing they’re into, silly.

Chris Cornell (1964-2017)

Okay, Universe… now you’re just fucking with me.

My favorite Soundgarden memory is of me and Lady Macbedtime playing Road Rash on the original PlayStation for hours on end, and when we were done, just letting the game sit on the title screen while it looped through a soundtrack containing Outshined, Superunknown, and Rusty Cage.

My favorite Audioslave memory is of hearing Cochise for the first time, and excitedly assuring everyone that rock wasn’t dead in the new millennium. Which I suppose is also one of my worst memories, since I turned out to be completely wrong.

RIP, Chris Cornell

Had a dream last night you were spanking me with a hairbrush. I asked if this counts as cheating on my boyfriend and you said no. I said: ‘keep the jeans on, that way it doesn’t count as cheating’.

Silly boyfriends. They should worry less about me getting into their girlfriends’ pants, and worry more about me getting into their girlfriends’ heads.

My dick has never once taken a woman from another man. But those things I whisper in her ear when he’s not around, the way I make her feel like a scared little girl who just can’t help herself…? That shit will absolutely ruin her for him.

Girls are programmed to overlook, excuse, and forget bad dick. Bad thoughts, on the other hand? They hold on to those forever.

Which is my way of saying, I don’t think a little denim is going to preserve your virtue. Given that you’re writing me, I suspect you’re running a quart or two low as it is.

Any advice for getting over your first daddy/Dom in your first bdsm relationship?

I feel more broken than before he and I started. And I’m grappling at straws here to try and not end the pain. Your posts always made me feel comfort – hope you don’t mind me reach out..

Endure the pain, sweetheart. Seriously, you have no idea what’s out there for you.

Once upon a time, I was dumped by a girl who was my everything; I fell in love with her the day we met, and was obsessed with her for years. When she left, I felt like dying, and kept searching for something to make me feel better.

The ex was really into BDSM, and had sought my enthusiastic participation at a time when I was still firmly on Team We Don’t Hurt The Precious Womens; the conflict didn’t break us up, but it didn’t help. In a sad attempt at re-establishing my masculine bona fides in the wake of The Dumpening, I sat down and wrote a first-person description of what I would do to her if she ever offered me another shot at roughing her up. As fate would have it, I subsequently discovered she was dating someone new, and I was so righteously pissed off that I completely forgot about my plan to seduce her with my personalized Fifty Shades of Post-Adolescent Nonsense… it went into a drawer.

But that wasn’t the end of the story.

Because as a part of my self-medication, I bought a 2400 baud modem, hooked it up to my phone line, and started paying $12.95/hour (not counting long distance!) for the privilege of downloading 16-color porn GIFs and dirty stories from the pre-internet. After a few weeks of that, I remembered the little story I’d written, and thought, “Hey, I wonder if anyone would think that was any good?” So I uploaded it.

And waited. For a month. No one cared. I was literally one day away from cancelling my account and becoming some sort of white trash monk.

And then a bored girl I’d never met –on a boring college campus in another boring state in front of a boring beige computer– decided to send me a message when she was supposed to be studying, telling me how hot my story was, and how she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I will kiss that bored girl while tucking her in tonight, as I have every night for decades now.

What I’m getting at here is, you don’t fucking know what’s next. You have no clue. So don’t give up without a spectacular fucking reason.

I want you to cry.

Not just a little, nor merely a lot; I want it to be always, and forever. I want you to weep rivers that mark your cheeks with their sediment, carving your anxieties into the soft terrain of your skin. I want your tears to impinge on every moment of your life, every aspect of your existence, until they taint even your joy, and you can no longer tell loss from love. I want you to drown in your weakness while I skip pebbles across the glassy surface of your saline grave.

You can do it for me, if you really try.

I believe in you.