Tuesday, November 09, 2004

The path metaphor. When Lauren and I were talking online Sunday night, I was helping her deal with a personal crisis. She dealt with it very well, considering all the emotional turmoil it was causing her. She did it without crying and I am very proud of her. So very afterschool special of me. Anyway, mostly she had to take her own advice and make herself good before she is good for anyone else. I think everyone should make an effort to do that. We embellished on our own little path metaphor (original idea from a friend) and agreed that it was a very good theory and that we are going to try and stick to it. The path metaphor concerns relationships. In life, everyone is walking their own path and none of them lead into one another. None of this 2 become 1 crap. If you want to intersect with someone else's path (i.e. be a part of their life), you have to take a step off of your path and onto theirs, otherwise known as 'making an effort'. You cannot walk on their path with them, nor they yours, because you cannot live someone else's life. You have to live your own and walk your own path and handle your own obstacles. I guess the problem would then be, if you step off of your path to temporarily join with someone else, what do you do if they also don't take that step off of their path to be with you? Social equity theory says, the relationship will be inequitable (costs outweight benefits), so get out. Get back on your own path and keep taking one step at a time. What do you do when someone is walking on your path with you? I'm not really sure. That's complicated. I guess it depends on what kind of relationship it is (romantic, platonic, etc). How do you deal with someone living in your shadow? How do you go about getting that person to step back onto their own path and start living their own life again?
I need to make myself a better person. How exactly am I supposed to go about doing that?

In the meantime... She would start out by rubbing your back, slide her hands inside your shirt, feeling the warmth of your chest. She could feel the quickening beat of your heart and would know how excited you were by her. She would start sucking and licking your ear as she slid her hands down your pants. You would be so entralled by the sensations from her tongue that you wouldn't immediately notice her tiny hands wrapped around your cock. She would take her hands out, cup your face, twirl her fingers in your hair the way you like. She'd massage the tension out of your neck while she eased the ache in your lips with kisses. She might have given you a drink or two before getting invited back to your room, just enough alcohol so that your sense of awereness would be dulled slightly. She would get you both naked and you would be able to smell how much she desires you. You would bring your mouth down close to her pussy and breathe on it so she can feel the heat. You would flick your tongue on her, causing her to jump. You would run your hands over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. You hold your cock just in front of her opening, but not going inside just yet. Your hands move up to caress her neck. You hold her down, choking her, cutting off her air supply. She gasps for air and you remove your hand, slapping her with it while you drag the head of your cock across her clit. You'd force her to bend over a piece of furniture and grab her by her hair so that her back arches as much as possble while you fuck her hard. You would rake your nails across her back, splitting her skin and drawing blood. Wiping it with one finger, you reach around and ram your finger into her mouth telling her to taste her slut blood. You would hear her whimper and you would throw her back onto the bed, slapping her for not enjoying the taste of her own fluids. You would tie her arms to the bedposts, then tie off her legs. You would grab a candle and drip wax over her body, starting at her neck and working your way down. As soon as a drop hits her on her swollen clit, your mouth would engulf it, soothing the burn, but not letting her cum. You would climb over her body, straddling her chest. She would get to watch you jerk yourself off and you would cum all over her face. You would walk out of the room... only to return a moment later to untie her, grab her by the hair and throw her out the door naked, bleeding and covered in your cum, followed by her clothes. You shut the door in her face, ignoring her confused look. After about 30 seconds, you can hear the rustle as she dresses herself and the sniffling as she cries, humiliated. You wait about 30 more seconds, then you open the door again, drawing her into your arms, telling her that she is everything to you. Not a whore, not a slut, but your beautiful princess and your angel. She would press her face against you and cry with the relief that you still love her. She needed to feel that pain, she needed to submit to your desires, she needed to give herself to you. When you threw her out, that was when she thought that you didn't want to use her for your pleasure, that you really thought she was all those names you called her. She would bask in the light of your love. She would respect and love you for your control and for your acceptance of her. She would love you for who you are and you would love her for who she is.

*stupid link of the day* Plastic Wars: ever wanted to know how to really play with little green plastic army men? Yes, it seems there are tactics. JeN's mind ejaculated @ 11:46 p.m. | | permalink