Mark's Journal

Apologies

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 20:59:34 GMT

With apologies to those who had the chutzpah to actually get a journal, in part, to read me, here, I'm sorry, but I am no longer updating, here, at all.

That sentence looks redundant, twice, but, oh well.

I have been updating regularly, in almost all public entries, at:

http://littlegirllover.insanejournal.com/

Dangit

Sat, 08 Sep 2007 12:24:22 GMT

Ugh. I hate that last night..fucking..somehow..hurt.

I'm reading The Tao of Pooh at the moment, or, I mean, last night I was, and that should've helped me deal. Maybe that's the lesson. We did not really have a set plan to talk, anyways (all I'd said was that I was gonna wait for her), so I don't suppose I could consider myself bumped.

And I am positive it only just feels that way, anyway.

I must prepare myself, as I am, like, all but positive (somehow, 'cause of the whole "universe must teach its lessons" thing) I will be bumped by the same person so far as our semi-plan to meet this weekend.

Mkay.

Lol, I am trying to figure out if I should mention any of this to her.

It's great it's not jealousy, anyway, so that is way cool. I'm thinking that might be one of the lessons. If she and him were not just friends, though, and intimate, I cannot imagine jealousy would not be a part. Totally cannot. I can only be so noble.

Reasons to mention it:
1. Because it is?
2. Because it would be easier to mention it, than to just shut the fuck up about it?
3. Because if I don't mention it, and act as if it did not matter at all, it would be a form of lying, or playing charades, or be, in my head only, an elephant in the room?
4. Because the "next time" it will be even harder to deal?

Reasons not to mention it:
1. Circumstances were out of her control (though in my head, I say, "not really."), and we definitely did not have a set plan to talk, or anything more, anyway?
2. Because I will look like an idiot.
3. Because it comes with the territory, and I ought take whatever territory I can.
4. Because I ought to train myself to deal, and be good, and noble, and not any kind of jailer.

K. I'll just do my best. I'm glad she doesn't have internet service at the moment. I guess the best I can do is not count on anything, but go ahead and count a little more on that which is actually planned.

After all, less than two weeks ago, I was completely at the mercy of existing circumstances. But, then again, that was precisely what kept me protecting myself by not falling too hard for what I could not change, or for whom it seemed I could not have.

I had assumed conversation (and more) last evening, though - that is where things fail: upon that assumption. Gonna have to watch that assumption stuff, tough.

Alrighty, writing this did not really help me that muchly, but at least I have made a record of it.

Ongoing Record Keeping

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:47:46 GMT

Journal entry made not as a part of US Code 2257 record keeping requirements.

Notable text messages of last evening:

From her:

"I wanna come [here, to me]..Aching hardcore to have you all the way."

"..omg..She's walking around my living room freshly showered wearing nothing but a tiny tube top and a see thru lace thong I let her borrow..[about an 18+ girl at her place]"

"I'm trying to act totally natural that I just saw her bare cunt and watched her put lotion all over"

"I wanna talk to you...I wish she would take her hot self outta here"

"You're everything, too."

From me:

"Heh, looking at Mapquest..there's a ramp to [interstate] at [road local to her]."

"Aww..that's the one I wanted to see YOU in!..."

"...was busy thinking of your own bare cunt..and I like it, so much, that you like cunted ones, and their cunts, too, at least as much as I."

"Lmao...a sentence you might never hear me say..I love you"

"You're everything.."

***

So yah, when she had mentioned this girl's bare cunt, it had got me thinking about her own bare cunt, and the things we did not do, and the things I did not take and give while I was up there..and how things had been, thus far, so far as our shared phone playtimes, too.

Those playtimes, and those climaxes, yes, had been shared, but so far, they had been shared as in the context of us masturbating together, and not really, for me, from a standpoint of actually making love to/fucking her more directly..and intimately.

It had already been, after all, this big giant step sharing such things with an adult, with no fantasy child even involved, even the one might reside inside that adult.

So, thus far, it had been, for me, a situation of "mkay, baby, we are both aching, for whatever it is we ache, so lets do this together." And in the moments and the flashes, yes, it had been her I was fucking over the phone. It had been adult her, and adult her body and mind, and in a sense, because of our..shared location and state of mind, us, alone.

However, I had not tried it being really us, really us on the same damn page, nah. I'm not even sure why, but I am positive much of that had to do with fear. Fear of failure (to climax - for the intense truthfulness of adult), fear of alienation, and fear of "losing her," for the possible failure in any of these departments.

So I contemplated, while she waited for her oh so hot friend to depart, what that would be like, the completeness, etc. I contemplated the things I had not done while I was up there. The things I had never done, period, over the phone.

When her friend left, and she telephoned me, I told her about all of this - some of which, I do not think she completely understood. Then, when we fell into our place, I approached it from that standpoint, of really being there, of really making love to her, and not just sharing a climax.

It was total loveliness.

Totally.

***

K, update and record keeping complete.

[Also, for greatestjournal, I copied many missing entries from insanejournal to here, from 8/15 to the current]

Random

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:44:25 GMT

Frente! is so cool, and pretty, too:

Not Given Lightly

Hello my friend
It’s morning, time to wake now
In body, in mind
Entwined will have to break now
But I need your flesh
Your warmth to stay beside me
Oh how I wish
You could be deep inside me
Show me your eyes
Your low most tender feeling
And I’ll give you mine
Be truthful and revealing

And it’s you that I love
And it’s true that I love
And it’s love not given lightly
But I knew that it’s love
And it’s you that I love
And it’s more than what it might be

When we’re alone
I cannot always face you
Maybe my mood
Won’t let these arms embrace you
But that doesn’t mean
My love’s somehow diminished
Give me the time
To show our love’s unfinished

And it’s you that I love
And it’s true that I love
And it’s love not given lightly
But I know that it’s love
And it’s you that I love
And it’s more than what it might be

And every word I say is true

What can I say?
The words destroy all meaning
There’s only cliches
To get across this feeling

This is a love song
For john and (? )’s mother
This isn’t easy
I might not write another

And it’s you that I love
And it’s true that I love
And it’s love not given lightly
But I knew that it’s love
And it’s you that I love
And it’s more than what it might be

Lol, I promised "random," right?

Just one of the many pretty artists I did not know before I met the one before this another.

The other day I was remembering her, and how one of my friends, in his thirties, asked me, rather plainly, ('cause she was only 19 at the time, see), "she makes you feel young (I was 42), then?"

I did not have a definitive answer, except to say that I really didn't account for her age when we were together: we just were.

And so, yeah, I was thinking this over the other day in regard to this current another, and my answer was lots more crystal: it's not she makes me feel younger, it's that she makes me feel, period.

Smiling..she texted me last evening, before our nine o'clock when the minutes plan lets us talk at length. It didn't take long for things to get out of hand, sexy text style. Laughing, and I am sorry for the tmi, or loi, but this is my journal, so I wanna quote one of those texts that was the beginning of the end..

At 8:23: "Maybe you wanna pull the crotch of my lil girl panties to the side and see how fuckin smooth and dripping I am for you?"

I managed to make the call at 9:11, and I'd say before 9:20 or 25, we were splashing each other with our juice.

Prettiness for us.

Confession, Not on a Sabbath

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:42:39 GMT

I confess, sweet darling, I love you more than the local eight year old. Yes, I confess.

Incredibly, amazingly, so.

All of you. And, I ain't really got a clue, entirely, of exactly why.

I don't mind.

It's something inside. I have to say, though I always thought I ought to hope for someone different, someone lots more like me, someone who lusted for her (local eight year old) like I do, somehow, I am so way pleased it has not turned out that way.

'Cause like, then...then we might miss out on loving each other, lusting for each other, fucking each other, opting instead, for "her," in lieu of ourselves.

Smiling. Fuck yes, baby, fuck yes, of course...

Your a-cup or less, does not hurt a bit - but it just turned out that way, and far as physicality goes, it was your face moved me way before I saw anything below your neck (how glad I am of that)- and, lol, my first glimpse of that bit below your neck, even, was of a faked up c-cup plus.

Or your bare-shaven, tiny cunt, taut pert ass, sexy tan lines, blue eyes, the color of your hair, the way it lays, its texture, the softness of your skin at your shoulder, the perfection of (lol, do not laugh), your belly button, yup -and fuck, your mouth, your mouth and your lips and your teeth.

The taste and scent of you.

the tone of your voice.

There's a million other things I could confess, of course, of course, in this same general vein.

The way ya think. The way other women move you, even other men. How you found me, and fell in love and lust with me. And the whys: those I know, and those I don't.

Your
fucking
tenderness.

And every single thing I don't yet know about you, too.

Oh fuck, just everything.

Smiling. How does this happen, I wonder.

"Never" is a big word, apparently

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:39:58 GMT

It's always like this: you know just what you want to say and just how you want to say it. But then, once you got that listener in earshot, you give it your best shot - and it ends up coming out like a line from an old song from the Police, leaving you to wonder at your complete inability to form intelligible sentences, even the simplest of these: I love you, I want you, I need you.

"You're never going to be able to move here, and I'm never going to be able to move there," she said, however many paragraphs into our conversation.

"I see," I replied, "I didn't realize 'never' was a part of it."

I don't remember what either of us said after that in regard to never - but definitely knew how I felt about always.

I talked about how fair I could not be to her, in her (and my) present condition: she in the early days of a breakup from a way long term thing, me wanting all of her.

"Maybe I should just leave you alone for a year or so," I thought out loud, "maybe that's the best I can do."

"Are you looking for a way out?"

"No, but I don't see a way in, right now [and I so want all the way in]."

There was then a hang up from her end, and I thought to myself how she had mentioned earlier in the conversation that I had never been mad at her yet. I still wasn't, but, later, I did promise her a spanking ("goose") for that bit.

I confessed (and agreed with her), later, that my statement that the 46 could never be fair to the 2_ was a pretentious one.

Then we made love the best we could at a distance of several hundred miles.

She sounds so lovely when she cums.

"It's what I wanted when I came here, tonight," I managed, without a stutter or flutter, leaving out my "oh baby, I want you in every possible way."

I promised to do my very best and still not to hold anything back or play any game of charades.

Last, in today's trilogy

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:36:29 GMT

Core components, however, are not expected to change.

I don't mind this.

Furthermore, There's More

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:35:11 GMT

"[Yanno, 'cause I did say, lo these seven years ago, that I was gonna keep a record and all, so someone, someday, maybe even me, would know what ever happened to me.]

So yah, there's more. Of course, there's more.

Allow me to ramble, then, dear journal, stream of conscience-style.

I was always afraid to call anyone, period, on the phone.

And, for the same reason, my greatest fear, always, through all of this, was that when push came to shove, I would not be able to be ""there."" There, at girl lover, and that that would be such a huge disappointment for her, and the end of us, and some super scary horizon for me.

So yeah, you bet I am amazed that is not even a requirement for her (though yes, sure, I thought it was), more amazed, still, that it isn't for me, either.

***

And I can't stop dreaming, either.

Or fantasizing, either.

I'm all in."

Must Write

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:34:03 GMT

"I don't know what, but I..definitely..must write.

I'm not sure why I am having such supreme difficulties in putting things into words, these days. Certainly, this is not any kind of problem I have encountered in any substantial way in the past.

How do I get there? How did I always get there? How did I force my mouth open in the past?...when ...I'd say what I felt..and..it was part of what made her fall in love with me?

How did I do that?

By saying to myself, ""fuck it, I have nothing to lose...I have nothing, so I have nothing to lose,"" then just let fall out of me whatever it was wanted to fall outta me, then think to myself, ""and if, somehow, those things that fell outta me, someday, gain me something to lose, well then, cool.""

That's how I answered that very first letter from her, after all - and I damn sure was not looking to gain her.

Exactly like that.

Certainly, in mid-May, I did not have anything to lose, least of all..her.

And even though, now, it seems so, still, I am afraid to think it.

However, that staying silent bit has not been my preface and paradigm to this point; has not been what has given me all the beauty I've thus far discovered.

Laughing..seems silly to change anything, now.

Just 'cause someone loves me this way.

Still. It seems I've said all the words I can. It really does.

Now, there just are no more words that are not redundant; no more paragraphs that are not repetitive.

There's is just John Williams' mournful music from Schindler's List, coincidentally playing as I type.

And her.

And those ""I love you"" words.

***

Anyway.

What inspired this?

""Wouldn't you rather have someone you could fuck as if she were six? or eight?""

It sure is what I always thought, yes. It really, really, really is.

And yes, somehow, there is something about..the paradigm... younger/older, littler/bigger, naive/knowing, bare/furry...that is always, always, always going to move me. I thought it was the deepest part of me, though, the most core, the most indestructible and permanent: my only touchstone.

I never fucking saw you coming, though, baby - you blindsided the fuck outta me.

I don't know. It just never, ever occurred to me that something could exist at a level lower, or higher, however one looks at it, than that stuff, there, than that eight year old cunt, self. The best I'd ever hoped for was a peaceful coexistence of love with that stuff, never imagining something or someone might be more important.

Or could be.

No wonder it shakes me so. No wonder at your disbelief, considering my own.

Now, Secret Garden is playing.

Never thought it would look like this. Never knew these kinds of flowers could ever grow here. I really fucking didn't. No wonder I can't believe my senses.

There's nothing else to say. There's just I love you.

I never imagined, and I gotta fuckin tell you, I got no idea what I ever did to deserve it.

But k. That is all."

Update

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:32:52 GMT

With a nod (or, more like, a vigorous nodding of the head) that it is impossible for me to be...fair?, much less look away, I like this.

And, I am really liking Nick Cave's "He Wants You," too."

Oh, and oh wow

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:31:32 GMT

"And I just got, just now - I mean, found you'd sent 'em - the two texts you'd sent late last night.

I'm glad. Happy for you, both.

[Retro, 8:05 PM; these texts being the ones saying she had broken up with her very long-time boyfriend; that statement, however, is not about me, but rather, just a recording of the facts.]"

I Tripped, Baby

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:29:58 GMT

"Retroflections on a trip.

Maybe I did know, maybe somewhere inside, I knew I couldn't not touch you.

I know, for sure, that somehow, somehow I was lost, from the moment I read the words in your letter of late in the week before I made the trip, ""you better hug me way tight,"" or words close enough to that effect.

I don't know. I guess people do the best they can with what they got.

So anyway, yah. I was late (as usual) leaving, and read your text, asking ""when,"" as I pumped the gas into the car.

""Gas and cash and gone,"" I texted back. I was automaton, already.

You never answered that one, and as I mounted the ramp to the interstate, I managed to key in and send, ""on the highway, now!""

I didn't mind that one wasn't answered, either. I thought to myself, ""perhaps, she is sleeping to get through the hours - and if, instead, she is running, that's okay, too,"" and just kept driving.

I did not think, not even for a second, about what would or might happen once I arrived. I decided I would next text you once I was in [metro area]. I thought, at first, that I would do that at [earlier metro area,] but once I arrived at that one, I just kept going.

Since I was listening to music, I had the phone in my crotch so I'd feel it vibrate if and when you next rang or texted. It didn't move at all until I was about 30 minutes away. I still wasn't worried. I don't know if I ever would have become worried. I decided, quite early on, and well before you said, ""please come,"" that I didn't know the end, and damn sure couldn't predict it, and had left that off, long ago. My plan at the point was to get there.

But, yah, you texted, anxious and waiting, ""how far?"". It was nice. It saved me the moments of anguish I'da felt when I pulled over to send the next text, which would have been only to ask if you still wanted to see me.

""30 mins?,"" I guessed, back.

""Call me when you get here""

""K.""

30 minutes later I was on your street, and pushing the phone's talk button.

Hi, are things okay, etc., arrangements of how to get from my car to your face, then the last possible chance I would ever have to be anything resembling fair: ""hey, it's still okay to say you don't want to, even now, honey.""

It was the last thing even remotely close to a stop sign.

Then, the walk, in a haze, around to the back of your building.

There was someone sitting on the stoop, a female, but I didn't know if it was you or not. I remember glancing away, briefly, at about ten feet out, down and to my right, then up again, and you were on your feet, and into my arms.

I couldn't draw a blank at that point, not if I wanted to with everything I had.

Manipulation, seduction, or just plain chemical romance, whichever, but drawing a blank, staying blank, coldly withdrawn, was not an option. You asked me to come, after all, and not any charade of me I might have been able to pull off. You asked for me. I wasn't about to give you less.

As if I could have.

I couldn't stare straight ahead in the car, and look at the road or the passing buildings, or at my reflection in the glass, not while you were in the next seat. Anytime I turned from looking at you, it was only by matter of force.

Yup. If I coulda pushed a button on that dashboard to explain the rudeness of my stare, your radio woulda played ""Can't Take My Eyes Off of You.""

But, then I mighta screamed at the top of my lungs, that refrain, ""oh, pretty baby..""

What a time. And that's just the first 20 minutes or so."

So yeah, omg.

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:28:56 GMT

"Wow.

Ain't gonna be able to capture all that in any kind of journal entry.

Nope.

On my way back home from my visit with this beautiful person and in that beautiful place, my feeling had been that I might as well come back here and make a journal entry that just said something to the effect, of, ""Wow. Okay, I'm out, now, and all done, here.""

I have no idea why we both thought it'd be so easy to stay back from one another, even as we embraced; I really don't. No idea why we kidded each other and ourselves that that would be oh so possible.

No matter what it looked or looks like from the outside, I was, indeed, convinced, by the time I embarked upon the trip up that that would be both possible and would be the eventuality.

I was so wrong, and I am so glad.

Not because I/we ended up having sex, though - but because I have a feeling about how things might have felt last night, and this morning, and in the days to come, had we not. Maybe I am only privy to that feeling, however, because of the fact we did - after all, otherwise it'd be just a lifeless dream of what might have been, instead of the warm vibrant facts of what is.

We made it all the way to just before dawn.

Mkay, though, I was right at the subject line, at the ""omg"": there ain't no way I'm going to be able to capture in any substantial essence even a small fraction of what our 15-hour visit with each other was, consisted of, meant, means, or might mean.

A summary?

K.

""How old was I when you came?""

""2_"" (there's a whole number gets inserted at the blank line)

I'd say that about sums it all up, yup.

Single word summary?

""Totality.""

But yes, I could write forever.

I better soonly get started on that."

Today

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:27:33 GMT

"Oh boy. Today is the day.

It's been over four years since I ""met"" someone this way, real touch-style.

I'd be way lying if I said I was not at least slightly nervous.

But, today is the day, in just about ten hours, depending on traffic and rain and perhaps, other things, known only to the universe.

Laughing. I wonder how it will all be. Today, tonight, sometime tomorrow, and in three weeks, three months, three years.

She's sweetness."

Spring to the cherry trees, huh???

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:26:11 GMT

"Laughing.

Smiling.

Grinning.

Shaking my head.

Muttering, ""spring does to the cherry trees, indeed""!

Laughing so much. Oh my god, that doesn't begin to cover it, not even a petal.

Dare I say, ""not even 2 or 4 of your soft pink petals,"" dear?

I love you, [name], I love you so much.

I might be crazy for that, but somehow, I don't mind.

Somehow, I do not mind a bit.

Kisses, baby."

And it's Weird, Mhm, Yup

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:24:37 GMT

And I miss her, even as we have been talking via telephone almost daily.

I'm smiling (probably just wryly, though) as I write this. What was it, then, my observtion of several moments ago. Oh yes, that was it, the ironic parallel.

What an ironic parallel, how much I want her, in all the ways, and yet, her age of majority aside, I have way too strong a suspicion, I guess, that I just can't have her. Laughing. So funny - with those under that magic 18 number, I don't have to even second guess a thing: I know I ain't allowed to have those, rightly so, in any way at all.

And yet, here she is, and all I want to do is love her, and every single thing that comes with that territory, and still, the push it back exists - for good reason - as she is, really, no more available than the preteen down the street.

Still, though, I do let her in in the quiet in between times; she's never been anything but beautiful in those moments.

And yes, fuck yes, you fucking bet I wonder how fucking scary things are going to be ~~when~~ if this - this, whatever it is we are doing - finally presents enough impossiblities to close any doors still remain open a crack at the moment.

I mean, yah, it would be okay. It has to be okay. There aren't options for it not to be.

I miss her voice in its vulnerable state.

In any case, I can't imagine the visit would not be a good thing, regardless. At the very least, a necessary thing.

Admittedly, this is one seriously random journal entry - but as always, I'm trying to keep some kind of record.

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:23:20 GMT

Not exactly word hangover, but dang, the things I say (errr, and do, too).

Notation of text entry at last Thursday, aside, barring happenstance, the meeting will still occur, shortly, shortly, shortly, now.

I'm cranking on work, so I don't have time to write about the text mesage conversation that followed that hasty entry, or the camping trip with the boys, or other things.

I sure do like not boring, though.

For You, Little Baby

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:22:18 GMT

Fucking Words & Me

Or, if you prefer as a title
For this little write up, here,
Words, and pedophile me,
Unless that is too harsh,
And you wish I'd tell you a lie.

How much easier it might be,
then, right, to love me for me,
To love me forever, darling dear?
Or, to believe I might you.

There ain't no fucking metre, here,
Or really, even eloquence, to say the least.

Those guys, Neruda, and Cohen and Cummings,
They got all the words: they own them.
Where I just have those I borrow,
toss, sophomoric, and cavalier,
On one more funeral pyre,
One more banned book burning.

There's a fallacy, here, see dear,
In what I might see, worship and adore
To the end of days, were you mine.
Or is it, were I yours,
Or us ourselves?

K, so I'll toss me on up yet another
Silly analogy.
Maybe.

Is all poetry, especially that written by the common,
To would be lovers, bits and pieces of oneâ€™s heart,
Ripped out and splattered, sloppy on the page,
Smudged and bloody and by the time oneâ€™s done
Unrecognizable?

Tolstoy, I think it was, said something like,
One ought not dip one's pen in the inkwell
If he doesn't intend to leave some part
Of himself on the (finished or unfinished) page.

Right. Right. And if I break it into random
And arbitrary lines and stanzas, I donâ€™t think,
Not really, that it makes it more pretty,
Or ugly, or anything more than words.

So what was that analogy, any old way,
That drifted through my head, yesterday?
Ugh, never mind, laughing out loud
Just, never mind.
Seriously, that rhyme was so not intended.
Please believe me on that much.

I was thinking of all those tiny tight asses,
Of course, yes, which I saw at the water park the day before.
But underneath that, I was thinking of your texts,
And those flat chests, untested flesh and feeling.

Oh fuck, I really ought to give up,
But nah, what was it you said
In those delivered words, besides
Sorry, no, I don't think so?

That you wanted, that you needed
To be the center, always, of my universe.
That you could never, ever compete,
Not in the long run, with that so taught,
Fresh bottomed little girl, right?

How they would, how they will
Slay me always.

So yeah, I was lying there thinking
Of just some words I might use
To make some pretty comparison,
Some worthy analogy.

And there were roses, fresh in the spring
And early summer, so light dew running
From the edge of their petals,
And sure as you and I to fade and die.

And the thorns, especially,
those were well in attendance
In those thoughts, too.

And I thought, well, maybe someday
Maybe someday I'll be able to combine
Those parts and say something pretty,
Make some play on those thorns.

What was it though? It skips me.

Something like, oh, what?

I can look at it, I can even smell it,
But only you can soften those thorns
To the point I might hold it close to me,
Wrap my arms round it and crush it
Into my chest and self, and not bleed.

Mkay, though, darling dear,
I ain't no poet, and it is highly unlikely
I ever will be, so I will cut, now
To a more real analogy.

That one, that rhyme I intended,
By matter of demonstration.

So, let me tell you something, though,
As Neruda would say.

Let me tell you something not as
Pretty as he would unlikely be able to do,
About the things went on as I wrote these words
Ostensibly, and sweetly, to you.

Again, a rhyme to reiterate, which, is a redundancy, too.

Neruda, Cummings, or Cohen,
Has any of these ever included
The words "cock" or 'cunt" between
Their lines of love?

Smiling,
Your sweet dripping cunt,
My hard aching cock.

K, though, I'll cut to the chase, now,
Of all these stanzas and words.

While I wrote 'em,
even though I didn't know
This is how it would turn out,
I paged through pictures of ones
Like those I saw at the water park.

Here and there along the way
I saved one, two, maybe 30?
Here and there along the way,
I let my guard down, too, and let myself
Ache.

Sure are pretty, yup.
Sure are taut, yup.
And, oh my god, how round and small.
And, I can only imagine how
They must smell, let alone feel.

At the end of all that, though,
Even though, right now, I could so
Let my guard
All the way down,
Settle for that
Picture; horny, settle for that thorny
Thorny, beautiful rose in a garden.

Pump, and splash,
Hot semen, up and out of my cock
And down over my fingers,
And onto my thighs.

Smiling.
Is this where I should say
You never promised me a rose garden, dear?

Maybe not, but oh how I can so see it.

Anyway, yah, point is,
At the end of all that beauty
And all this silliness
I only wanted you.

Your smile, your eyes, your self.

I still do.

I dunno. They're only just words,
So what can you do,
Except make a demonstration
Of just how inadequate they are?

Maybe I should write some more of them
Even though, I'm pretty sure it does not really matter.

But I will, because I haven't a whole lot else to do.

Smiling. Fuck yes, baby, fuck yes at 2_.
How could I not?

And at 40?

The thing is, its not about loving her in you,
Or fucking her, in you, or having her in you.

Rather, it's about you, and me, and us.

At the end of the day,
""of love,"" Cohen might say,
(and, here's where the fallacy I mentioned at the top comes in)
at the end of all these words
She has very little to do with anything,
And has fled, and is gone, as always.
Where, you remain.

K, giving up, now.

Almost.

"Fuck me, daddy, fuck me now."

When those words, and that sentiment
flow not just from your mouth or fingers,
but from your eyes and smile and self
That beauty will never fade.

I love you.

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:17:29 GMT

[Text sent, 12:30 AM, August 17]

"Okay, and its okay. I guess I could ask, out of curiosity, you're staying for life, then?"

I will write more about this tomorrow or Saturday.

Or..I dunno, maybe a bit now. I'm busy - gotta be ready for this appointment on Saturday.

I dunno. Lol, heh, definitely had that coming, I suppose. I can never be mean enough, though. I might have to learn it in the future, or for the future.

Those with existing attachments ~~ought~~ shall not be permitted in my heart.

I think it will be a good policy. Certainly, an honorable and well meaning enough one.

< smile and sigh, I suppose >

It's cool. As my step dad always said, "you'll have that."

Okee, must get back to it.

If you

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 14:39:04 GMT

[I getta kick outta numbers; the ones at the time of day, above, being the same as those recorded at the birth of that first born son, the subject of the previous entry.]

I have woken up the boychildren, and surprised them with a kinda sorta sticking to my word thing, and asked if they'd like to go mini-golfing - having earlier in the week, dealing with the disappointment of me having rescheduled the camping trip for the second time, for yet another weekend in the future, I promised we we do some things during the week (this among them) to make the time go quicker in getting to the next promised weekend.

***

We (Another and I) had a several hours long conversation again last evening.

At its close, the topic settled on "what are we doing, here," given various and sundry and very real limitations. There seemed to be some conclusion, though I don't think either of us would call it that at the moment, that what we are really doing is just failing to say goodbye.

***

For now, though, something prettier.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda

I'm so sorry, baby boy.

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 14:02:23 GMT

I keep trying not to write about it, but it persists in its insistence that I do.

I suppose that is likely a good thing.

Goodness, I guess it is really hard to actually write out how much you might suck, or have, at some certain thing.

Oh well. What do you have to lose but to trot it, err, drag it, on outta your mind and onto the page.

I'm sorry, baby boy.

I'm sorry. I fucked it up. I didn't do as I promised I would, and now the summer, the only summer you (we) will ever have between 6th and 7th grade is all but gone.

It makes me terribly sad.

I missed the summer before that and the summer before that one, too.

Oh baby. I am sorry.

"Yeah, honey, we will do lots of things this summer. We'll camp three or four times. We'll go to the pool lots. We'll take a bike trip, maybe a camping bike trip."

Aww, the fuckin dreams we had. And now, school will start in just a few short weeks.

We went to the pool. Twice.

We'll camp for the first time this weekend.

We didn't do anything else. He spent most of the summer on Runescape.

Goddammit.

I hate myself for this.

We'll never have this summer back.

He won't be a preteen next summer, anymore.

He'll never have another preteen summer.

I wonder if he is beginning to think dreams are not worth it.

This was the summer we were to do the 50-state tour together.

He must think I am a complete idiot.

I love him so much, and yet, I couldn't manage to even preserve a teeny portion of all those early-June dreams.

Nah, instead, I spent June dicking around with the stupid livejournal debacle - oh, how that will seem so not worth it down the road, compared to the loss of the things we might have done and shared.

I was right; that really sucked writing this.

Tired of missing things. Tired of missing life.

***

This entry was about my older son, my first born.

Friends with Daughters, Me with Sons

Mon, 13 Aug 2007 14:20:39 GMT

One thing I had intended to write about, back in the eljay days, was about a very narrow subsegment of my group of eljay friends at the time. I can't remember, but I had maybe 135 people on the list (that had friended me first, or in the rare case that I friended them first, had friended me back).

While plenty of these had found me, I'm sure, through an interest like Lolita or the like, there was a pretty fair chunk of them that had some distance between themselves and that.

The subsegment, though, that I'd meant to write about, was the group composed of three, five, seven? I don't know - but not very many - lj friends who had young daughters of their own.

One of these was a guy, two others I can recall were women - and there were others.

Of course, in general, I did not know the fact of their parentage to a daughter 'till after I got to know them for a bit. No doubt, though, considering the nature of my public posts over there, they generally knew plenty about me before they clicked the add friend button.

And yet, they stayed.

Nah, lest one leap, these were not (too small a word - easy to miss) the type, as I am sure an anti will want to believe to be fact, who wanted to "share their daughter" with me, or anything remotely close to that. Those are out there, yes, and we have spoken, and our viewpoints on that sort of thing have differed.

Naw.

I was always amazed by their stayingness. In the early days, these are the names I would take an attendance for after I made some particularly brutally honest entry. And there they were, time and again.

And...

I was slayed entirely (I don't give a fuck, as per usual, if someone thinks that melodramatic) when one or another would post a picture or five of their daughter. I never commented upon such entries, however, as it seemed it might be impossible for someone to separate my commentary from the rest of me.

And yes, to be honest, of course the occassional fantasy has wheedled its way into my head on occassion - why wouldn't it?

But, I never friended boylovers back. I knew it might have hurt them that I did not. Nor did I ever stop by their place and explain why I did not. Maybe they knew. After all, it was no secret I had sons, and was decidedly not a boy lover. I am generally not concerned about "fairness," however, and my own sons, I think, hate when I point that fact out ("the world, [son name], is not fair) when they compain about something not being fair.

So yeah. Fairness and equality aside, I saw it as a pretty dangerous thing to friend such a one back. It wasn't that I was ever worried they might fantasize about my own sons: I haven't any doubt that has happened in the real world, after all. And that, never to any detriment or harm, or certainly to any diminishing of their innocence. It was always just how it might "look."

In retrospective light of those ones at lj who had/have courageously or cluelessly stayed, though, in spite of some fictional or real similar danger, I do now.

(And nah, btw, I'm not downplaying the danger anyone faces in "staying," but I assume we all assume our risks for reasons our own.)

Updatey

Sun, 12 Aug 2007 20:39:16 GMT

[Which update, I believe, shall end up consisting largely of a letter to this..one..this another. So uhhh, yeah, I would, umm, were I were you, and not her, I would kind of be prepared for and expect the kind of things one might find in a private letter between two lovers or would-be lovers. A little different from a journal entry, I would expect.]

Smiling.

Dangit, baby, you got me. And now, now, I end up hungering for you earlier, each day.

It's so nice. I always say that: it's so nice.

It's easy, yep, maybe more easy for me, than you, to put up a curtain, a wall of calm detachment at times. But...dang..you create the tiniest crack in that wall, and it's just what one would expect, if one knew how the physical mechanics of walls and water pressure work: one little breach, and everything, all the volume behind the wall, the damn, comes bursting through, fastly eroding that little opening and dissolving the entirety of the wall in its wake.

So yes. Yes, baby.

Of course, of course, of course, I was hungry, last evening, having just returned from a two-hour stay at the local swimming pool.

Mkay, person other than another, this is where you might wanna cut and go, because I am staying to the end, and this is both a private letter and a journal entry, though I don't mind if you read, either.

Of course, honey.

Everyone of those dozens and dozens of the scantily clad, narrow hipped, flat or nearly flat chested, and round bottomed ones, were still lodged firmly in my mind by the time I dialed your number, yup - though they'd all been pushed way back, by then.

Of course.

And we talked, 'till time was almost up for you and I, 'till your words, "I thought of another thing," came over the line. Then, so quickly, yes, it was you, leaning against me, in my lap, and facing away.

"I'm so wet," you said.

Fuck, honey, your bare wet cunt felt so good in my hand, and how I wanted you all the way. My middle finger was inside you, your hard clit against its backside, the balance of your cunt flesh thrusting against the backs of the rest of my fingers. We were almost out of time, though. So, I kept my zipper up, just felt my pulsing cock through the fabric of my shorts. And, ached for you, from that way deep place in my chest, somewhere directly between my heart and hard on.

I wanted to drink you. I wanted to feel your hands in my hair as your midsection...bucked against my mouth..wanted to feel your..baby clit against my teeth..as you splashed, and gushed your girl juice into my mouth.

Wanted it all of it, yes.

I love our newness, darling.

I love..that I don't know..things. So, these are not questions, but rather statements of facts that I love about his newness.

(Also, I think I make this entry, I think I write this letter, in part, without a doubt, to deal with this ache and this hunger.)

I love that I don't know whether you would want me to stand before you, with you on your knees, and look in your eyes as I pumped my warm cum into your wet mouth - or would you want it on your cheeks, darling. Or, would you want me to pump it hard, cockhead against the pucker of your ass, against that tiny tight opening. Or, as you held your bare pussy open, fingering your clit, and waiting for my juice to coat the fleshiness of your swollen pussy lips.

Or would you want to, sweet darling daughter of mine, pump your daddy's aching cock with your own little hand - watch his eyes as he neared his joy?

I love you.

Would you want to squat over me, look down at me, your hands to the back of my head, my hands cupping your tiny tits, pinching your baby nips, and pour your sweet quim in my mouth, sweet baby?

Or, I wonder, have you ever thought, would you want to whisper, as you slowly rotated your body around, over my face, "my ass, daddy, lick my tight little asshole, daddy," and feel my firm hands on those little round cheeks, while your own worked your sweet swollen clit?

Do you want to pee into my hand in the shower?

Would you want to lie, clothed, face down on the bed, honey, have me lift your dress, expose (what I know must be, will be) your beautiful ass, crouch behind you and whisper, "aww, baby, let me." And at your, "okay, daddy, yes," put my aching cock between your soft cheeks, hold both your hands in mine, and hump my little daughter's soft bottom, between her cheeks, gasping for air with my face buried in the scent of your hair and neck?

Oh baby.

I want to cum.

Now. But I have a feeling I won't - go there.

As I said, last night, "I put off playing, so that I can ache, because the ache is so, so sweet."

***

Last night, when I got to my apartment, though, because your voice sounded so fucking sweet as you worked yourself, before our time ran out, I decided I would play. There was your voice, yeah, and damn, as mentioned at the top...honey...all of that stuff from the swimming pool was all still there, behind the damn.

I'm thinking how nice it would have been to have been able to write all of this in a letter to you, sent to an email you owned, without any fear of anyone but you ever being able to see or read the words.

No matter, though, I go with the flow. I go with what I have. And if that offends someone's sensibilities, well, I warned you, this is a private letter, posted publicly only so my lover could read it.

As you probably know, having read my journal for 18 months before you wrote me, these alone playtimes rarely involve an all grown up person, certainly not at the start - it's just not the way my head (and cock) will work.

Briefly, for there is no real reason (save for the would-be niceness, mentioned in the paragraph, above, three before this) to embellish and detail much on this, I play alone, generally on my back, lights on, since I like to watch myself cum, sometimes some cotton panties, smaller sizes, perhaps laid on my stomach, for me to cum on, when I do.

So yah, last night, the fantasy began with some small girl in a skirt, sitting on my stomach, err, no, my crotch, my cock laid back under her mound. She was a knowing type, I guess, since she giggled, hands on my chest, and said, "I can feel your penis, underneath my pussy," causing me to arch against her little soft mound, and respond, "yes, and I can feel the crack of your pussy on my penis, too, darling."

It proceeded from there, then. The memory is rather foggy, now, but I recall her saying, as she laid on her tummy, "hump me with your penis, like my daddy does, hump my little bum with your hard penis, and make it squirt white stuff on me, like daddy did."

Anyway, the reason I wrote this last bit is simple. At the end it was just you. there was no imagery, really, at all. It was just you. It was not your face, or your cunt, or your ass, or tits, or even your voice. It was just you, and it was just all of you. And I covered my chest in cum.

I love you.

I don't mind a bit the things I don't know, the things we can't have right now, or the things we may never have. But I don't mind one little bit, either, showing you what I have, what I am, and what you mean to me, already.

I'm alone right here, right now, and how I wish you'd text or call, yup.

But it's okay. The ache is good, and sweet, and never goes all the way away.

Alrighty, lol, I should get a grip and end this letter now, so I will.

Kisses, hugs, squeezes, and all sorts of lovins, baby.

Love,
Mark and Daddy (even Mister, or brother, or uncle, if you might prefer).

Hmm, C'est Interresant (Boring Nerdly Stuff)

Tue, 07 Aug 2007 00:36:27 GMT

Hmmm. I thought something was a little suspicious, mhm.

I recieved an email, earlier, with just "testing" as the subject line.

Maybe I should not have opened it, but okay, yah, I did.

So it arrived from sender: cdkscully@gmail.com

Which, a Googlectomy reveals as linking to six or seven sites, all of which, are somehow connected to key generators, cracks, hacking and whatnot.

One example: www.oday-warez.com/g%20mail-download-serial-crack-keygen-torrent.html

Among the available downloads on that particular page (and I have no idea if the names mean what they seem to indicate they mean) are the follwoing, to name one:

Hacking GMail (ExtremeTech)

Smiling. Alrighty, then.

So yah, if ya get an email from this scully fella, I guess it might be nothing, or something.

As promised, though, nerds are so boring.

I Don't Make the News, I just Report It.

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:00:09 GMT

Laughing...okeeeeeeee...., under other circumstances, I might be inclined to friends-lock this entry [at insanejournal]. However, considering it is a news story, and not one published only and just in an 18+ magazine, I think it is important it be disseminated like all other news stories.

Shall I give you the quotes, firstly, or the headline?

Both are as juicy? (LMAO)

Let me make mention, first, how 'bout, that Germany is the country wherein "ageplay" is a crime punishable by up to 5 years in the slam.

I say that, because the news story is out of Germany. Even better, the publication about which the news story is, is one of the German government's publications.

K.

The headline, then: "German Government Publication Promotes Incestuous Pedophilia as Healthy Sex Ed"

And now, 'case the reader does not have time to go over and have a look, a few of the juicier tidbits from the publication in question.

These quotes, then, are from one or the other of two 40-page booklets, entitled, "Love, Body and Playing Doctor" by the German Federal Health Education Center.

"'Fathers do not devote enough attention to the clitoris and vagina of their daughters. Their caresses too seldom pertain to these regions, while this is the only way the girls can develop a sense of pride in their sex,' reads the booklet regarding 1-3 year olds. The authors rationalize, 'The child touches all parts of their father's body, sometimes arousing him. The father should do the same.'"

Grinning.

(Btw, the news story itself is published at a website that leans Judeo-Christian, anti-abortion, and anti-stem cell research, so the commentary is arranged accordingly, including a quote of a quote from G.K. Chesterton: "When men cease to believe in God, they do not thereafter believe in nothing, they then become capable of believing anything." )

More, (from the news story, itself):

"The pamphlet advises parents to permit young children 'unlimited masturbation' except where physical injury becomes apparent."

(Lol, an idea the writers of the story find preposterous, indeed.)

"Another product of the [government agency] is a song book aimed at children of four and slightly older which includes several songs espousing masturbation. The song-book entitled "Nose, belly and bum" includes one song with the following lyrics: 'When I touch my body, I discover what I have. I have a vagina, because I am a girl. Vagina is not only for peeing. When I touch it, I feel a pleasant tingle.'"

Now that, all religio-socio-political debate aside, is pure cuteness.

Lots of the rest of the article is dedicated to the idea that as soon as one stops believing in G_d, all morality is O-U-T.

Source: http://www.lifesite.net/ldn/2007/jul/07073008.html

(Oh, btw, a day or two after the story broke, the government pulled the publication)

***

Smiling, mkay, that's all for now. 'Cept I'll make my own note that I will take this into account as regards my own "daughter," the non-biological 20-something woman, and be sure to pay LOTS of attention to her clitoris and vagina, since sometimes she does arouse me, as her non-biological father, too.