I absolutely love the online community.

Where else can we try to connect to other people yet forget they are in fact people; human; flesh and blood and bone; hearts pulsing; breathing; living; feeling people.

How is it one can see a profile online and assume because they have a user name and are signed on that they are there to PLAY. Or that somehow anyone can just demand attention. Why is it so many do not take the time or effort to even read what someone has taken the time to put on their profile or in their journals? Why is it so difficult to understand that when one such as myself states I am not well' that it doesn't matter the size of your dick or your wallet, the fact remains that "I am not well!"  and why is it that most can not respect that simple answer, that they require more information, more information to determine if they should move on or not. When did we all become so disposable?

The online world has created many self-centered egos who measure lifes accomplishments by where their dick has been instead of what they may accomplish with their brain and heart.

Merely a piece of cloth, just a scrap left over from some other project.  Gently stuffed, sewn by hand, carefully, meticulously, resembling a small figure.  Careful attention paid to giving this figure all the features a man would have, arms, legs, hands, feet, even genitals.  Just big enough to wrap her hand around its waist and be able to squeeze hard, hard enough to make her hand ache.  Finishing touches still needed, some strands of hair taken from a hair brush from a late night encounter, small swatch of the dirty t-shirt left behind yet another late night encounter, must give the figure some character, make it as real as possible.

Not one to normally feel such hostility, she takes her time calculating this, making sure every imaginable detail can be replicated, she has the need to vent and since she is unable to do so in real time face to face, any way to that will be close to reality will have to suffice.  Threaded needle in hand, finishing the last stitches, she grimaces at her creation, this will do nicely. She lifts the figure to her nose, takes in a deep breath; the same shirt that brought her comfort has now personalized this effigy.  And with that thought she chuckles, an evil sense of justice has now started to set in.

A piece of rope, once used to tie her delicate arms intricately, she managed to get a piece after he sliced it off of her, now she will use it to bind this image of him.  Carefully using every piece, she manages to hog tie this miniature version , she paid careful attention to even the manner she tied the knots, making sure it was as if she was a skilled Domme able to free her captive as swiftly as she trapped him.

Small piece of duct tape, she sighs, knowing all the uses she has experienced with such a simple and handy tool of choice.  She takes a small piece of panty, a pair he had once sliced off of her in another heat of passion, she wads it up, placing it where a mouth should be, and strategically tapes it to the effigy.  Little creature looks amazingly real, gagged, taped, bound, at her mercy.

Anger has begun to burn deep from with in, the challenge is to be able to let it out effectively.  If she was dealing with a full figure this would be so such easier, she needs a punching bag, wants and needs to cause great pain, needs to see the blood, sweat and tears, needs to be able to see the agony and distress, needs to hear the gagged screams and see remorse, none of this will she get this way.  It doesn’t matter it will have to suffice for now. 

She will have to be more creative with her means of torture and venting.  She gets out small tools, once used for delicate crafting, back in the day when she had the time and motivation to create from her imagination works of beauty, things that she adored and admired. Now these will be her tools of justice.  She plugs in the hot glue gun, funny how they can call something “low heat” but it still burns like a hot iron.  Places the small hand tools in a neat row so she can easily choose from them at a glance.  She lays out a towel on top of a piece of thick cardboard, crimson in color, perfect for such an occasion, once used for holidays, but now the color of all she has felt for months.  Next she cracks open a new case of silk straight pins, once bought for a garment she was creating for him.  Her hands have begun to tremble, not like her to feel such strong desire to create pain onto anyone but herself, but this is different, she has no choice, hate has overcome her. 

To her left, a simple but handy staple gun, one that she has used many times before, easy for her delicate hands, just the right grip to easily put things in their place. But today, this tool will be just another way to enhance her frustrations.  She grabs it, places the doll face down on the towel making sure it is centered, pulls at the small piece of fabric between it’s legs, resembling his testicles and quickly uses the staple gun with a single shot to his balls to the piece of cardboard.  As quickly as the staple gun goes off she drops it, almost in disbelief of what she is doing.  She pulls the doll up by the head, wishing it was a handful of hair and laughs as it dangles from the board she just stapled it to.  This is perfect, if she can’t nail him to the wall this is the next best thing.  She takes out a few straight pins, needs to impact this small replica, places 3 straight pins into it’s back, wishing it was a knife, wanting to see it flinch and try to move.  Pulls the dolls head back, wanting to hear the cracking of it’s neck, and places 2 straight pins where eyes should be, allows the dolls head to rest back on the board held up by the pins.  She would enjoy kicking right about now, a swift kick to the stapled balls to the wall, but since she can’t she takes a pair of tweezers and squeezes it as hard as she can, so hard her hand starts to go numb.

Fire is burning even brighter now.  Glue gun is heated fully now, she takes the tip, still a little bit of glue left in the tip and starts to dot the hog tied ass of her victim, she can hear the fabric singe a bit. Excitement has begun to set in, cries, her own screams and cries she can hear in her head now.  Takes the tip of the glue gun and runs it along the bottom of the small feet, jerking she can see the jerking, toes moving, wishing she could see the redness of the trial left behind.

Voices in her head louder now.  Takes another pair of pliers and grips each nipple she was so careful to create through it’s shirt, clamps them in place under the doll.  Takes a few more straight pins and places them in the bent thighs of the doll.  She can’t overcome herself, emotions surfacing that she has ignored buried deep into her thoughts.  Streams of tears now falling freely, breathing is now erratic, body is trembling, she sits there looking at her creation, curls herself up and screams.

All alone, no one to hear her cries, she screams into the darkness, closes her eyes and can see him wishing she had the opportunity to just be able to tell him how she feels.

“How dare you, how dare you do this to me.”
“Make me feel, make me care, make me love, bring me back to life then leave.”
She begins to rock, pain has taken over her body, chest is heaving, can’t stop the sobbing. She screams into the night…”I hate you, I hate you for doing this to me.”

Everything she has ever felt, everything she been through comes flooding through her mind she can’t feel anything but the pain, the gut wrenching pain wishing it was a knife, something tangible creating such pain.  Sobbing she rocks, holding herself tightly, whispering now “I hate you, I love you, why, why, why did you do this to me? Please don’t leave me.”

“please don’t leave me.”

 ~m.a.l. 2010

Deep in the corner

No light to come in

Shivering cold

Blood flows no more

Closet so small

Yet she sits

Knees clinched tight

Wrapped in her own

Cries unheard

Tears flowing strong

Wounds to her core

Open wide

Truth the slayer

Burning blade

Slicing her world

Dismembering her soul

No solace

Safe haven destroyed

Only comfort is her breath

Drifting into the darkness alone

~m.a.l. 2010

How do I rank in your life?
Where is my place?
I’ll never be number 1

Not with a wife

I’ll never be number 2

Because of your child

I’ll never be number 3

That best friend isn’t me

So where does that leave me?

So if I’m not the first person you think of as the day begins

Or

The last person you speak to before the day ends

Or

The one you call when you need to talk

Or

The one you call just hear my voice

Or

The one you turn to for help

Where does that place me?

Where do I fit in?

How would you rank me?
I need to know

I can’t settle for anything less then being the best

And that includes this

Being number 1 in all of it

Be honest and tell me the truth

No need to lie

I would die for you so tell me

Where do I rank in your life?

~m.a.l. 2010