Going Down?!

Auburn St 03301
Auburn St 03301

These are a few of my favorite things:

Chocolate Chip Pancakes?

And chocolate milk?

To get married to someone, probably a guy!  If it were a woman, well, Mum doesn’t want to know…she wouldn’t go to the ceremony, anyway!

Sometimes I like it rough, sex, that is.

To take care of my daddy…And, make Mum happy as can be that she adopted me!

To be awkward and shy and get someone’s attention;  preferably not my mother, maybe someone her age, though.

Fantasy, porn, masturbation, self-gratification and a good vibrator on a cold winter’s night.

Hot soap and water to clean above mentioned vibrator, named Max, with.  Works like a charm every time if you just keep the maintenance up.

I love to giggle and find the most innate things interesting.  Leave the intellectual stuff for someone else’s take-out.

Martha’s Vineyard is my home away from attic.  Mum and Daddy pay for everything.  I can be big and bold and in a two sizes too small bikini and no one says, ‘Ambien, put something on, you’re embarrassing yourself.’

Beckett Couvillion the third, mastered canine with a higher IQ than my college GPA.

My sentence as a not-really-a-lesbian, the cross I must bear and least favorite activity!

And, note to all, I will not offer this to anyone again.  I offered it to Penny from Texas and Kate, the married bitch:

Are you sure I don’t have to…my gag reflexes are fucked up.  I couldn’t do it with guys either.  But I could give it a shot if you want.”

Similar responses though miles apart:

The way you do it doesn’t really do much for me.”

Last stop on the Ambien Grace Love line:

So you’re ok with me not eating you out?  I’m glad that worry is over with!”


Treasured Trash

Personal Ad (revised)
Single White Female is bi-anything. Good with bedroom tools and manipulation. I have a heart appetite for a hearty appetite. Photography is my ambition but I lack motivation.
I am 5′ 3″ and approximately 160. Dyed blonde hair, bald as an eagle everywhere else. I will not go down on the first or the last date. And, my orgasm is my responsibility. My date is not required to help.
I am heavily sedated most of the time so please just leave a message with my mother if you are interested.
If you are a woman inquiring about my status my mother will automatically hang up the phone; so don’t even bother calling.

Ambien Grace, Concord NHWhat You Shoiuld Know

My Space

Mother Theresa statue, Struga
Mother Theresa statue, Struga (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Trashy and TrashedIt appears that I may make a resurgence via social media. I’m not sure if my Mother, Theresa, would approve. That last time I hit the internet-social media wave, I had to bow out not so Gracefully.
Shut down. Turned off. Let go. Mum wanted it that way.
I try so hard to meet with her approval. I dress in a way that takes the edge of my over abundant curves, yet, she, Mum, prefers I let that show.
Again, nude photos may arise from the dead. I’ve killed so many lives with my stained way of thinking. Just a few months have gone by since my lesbian sobriety.
Theresa smiles at me now. Happy! I am in her good thoughts.
Now and again, I think, hey, she really isn’t my blood. She is not my kin. She is just a professor from UNH that took my soiled past on 22 years ago.
Could it work? I do like older women!
It’s a shame Mother Theresa isn’t on any social media sites…we could have had a different connection.

I’m not OK with Gay!

Identity on CrackIf I were to die tomorrow, found by an unknown and the parents were called in for questioning, if Mother Theresa and Father Floyd needed to identify the body; they would not know want to look for!
Up at the Cinema on the heights I currently sit, awaiting the fantasy film of the week. I am invisible, I am alone and I am no one to anyone around me.
What worries me is this;
My mother picks out my clothes. She won’t let me wear men’s jeans. We have matching shoes. She makes my appointments for spray tanning during the winter months because as she puts it,
Ambien, you just look so pasty and unhealthy!”
Theresa does not allow me to wear hats for hats remind her of gay people. She gives me my chore list in the morning and I receive no ‘Atta girl’ until the list is done.
When I volunteer somewhere to make this world a better place, Theresa has already told me that I am not allowed to touch the paperwork.
My mother dictates where I go, who I see and my sexual identity.
My father. Well he just balances my checkbook?
For all outward appearances in the tiny theater awaiting Bella my heroine, no one would know I was a college graduate. My life is planned; therefore, I need not worry.
Yet, worry I do. I know it is unusual for anyone to tell another adult who they can and cannot love. It is just that I don’t think I care that much.
I live for the Bella’s of this world, the Pocahontas’s, the Twilight’s last gleaming and eternal love affair.
Do I have a need to ride off into the sunset with a woman? No!
Women and I don’t mix because my mother tells me so. They are too controlling, too wanting of my attention and too much a female and not accepted by the moral majority.
But, Mother, the sex is good with women!
When I sit alone in the dusty theater watching an actress on the big screen, I hold my breath and think, I could do that! I could nail her!
Are women attractive to me? Certainly not! Older women, younger women, women friends should never be allowed to enter the forbidden zone, sex devientcy!
So, I make the most of it with toys and the occasional, masturbating in the back of the movie theater. I am quiet in my rhymic responses to myself. I arch and ache at the ‘once upon a time’ scenario.
I’ve been told by many that I don’t stand a chance with a ‘real’ relationship. A ‘real’ relationship would require giving of one’s self and understanding that identity is part of the process.
As the Twilight begins to open, I wonder about my mother and me. Our sordid relationship. She is just out of reach, just one Clonapin short of stealing my identity.