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Unexpected Betrayal

18 Mar

couple-arguing
I just woke up. Three hours sleep in the past two days is actually really good given what I discovered and the emotional roller-coaster I rode and still continue to ride.
I rubbed my head, it was pounding. My eyes hurt, they were puffy from crying. I cleared my throat, it was scratched and hoarse from all the yelling. More importantly, my heart….my heart….well….I don’t think I no longer have one as it’s now shattered.
I glanced around the apartment. There was glass everywhere and sentimental objects of mine were now broken, but I didn’t care. On the surface one might think the apartment which my boyfriend and I shared was ransacked and robbed. I only wish that was the reason for the disorder.
I glanced at my phone. I had received many texts from friends asking:
“Priscilla, I am worried. Are you okay?”
I appreciated their concern but it was now a topic I no longer wanted to discuss or think about. I now pleaded the heartbreaking flashbacks from the past two days would only disappear. I shook my head still in disbelief and shock despite the proof that proved otherwise. I laid my head back on my pillow, repositioned my back on the uncomfortable couch that I recently made my new bed and draped the blanket around my shivering body for comfort pretending it was a friend holding me to reassure everything would be okay.
My mind was still clouded by all the questions and emotions that I still pondered. I could ask myself again and again the questions I wanted answers to such as:
How?
Or
Why?
But instead of trying to make reasoning of everything, I had to face the truth…. and the facts.
I had to ask myself, “Priscilla what are you going to do?”
I didn’t yet have an answer. I still wasn’t thinking clearly. I pulled the blanket over my face, closed my eyes when the first tear fell, then another and another.
Now I know how it feels. So….. this is what it feels like when the one you love betrays you.
************
My boyfriend and I just finished hanging a heavy mirror in the entryway I brought two months ago when I moved in to “his” but now “our” residence. When I saw it hung steadily on the wall, I sighed and finally felt at home. We were both exhausted and hungry so we began to prepare dinner.
We were in the kitchen preparing fresh vegetables when my phone lit up, it was a text from my cousin. I responded when my boyfriend said “Stop texting your other boyfriends,” a phrase he used at least once a day. I laughed as usual and shook my head as we proceeded to cook.
He was frying meat and I was chopping lettuce for our taco dinner with our Maltese , Abby, (the new addition to “our” family) who was lurking at our feet searching for scraps when my boyfriend said:
“I meant to tell you the other day, my friend Kristen is best friends with your friend Tucker. What a small world,” he said with a chuckle.
“Who’s Kristen? Do I know her,” I asked casually?
“Don’t think so. It’s a chic I met on the dating site we met on. We went out once but NEVER slept together,” he said in addition to mentioning they were Facebook friends.
I was curious if I knew her since we had a mutual friend who I hadn’t talked to in six months. I pulled up my boyfriend’s friend list on Facebook and asked:
“Which one is she,” as there were four Kristen’s in his friend list?
He pointed to a specific woman with a profile picture of a landscape.
According to the picture and limited information on her page I couldn’t confirm if I knew her so I clicked the “add friend” button. I disregarded my phone on the counter and returned to my boyfriend to help cook dinner. A few minutes later my phone lit up and at a glance I noticed it was a notification she had accepted my friend request.
I skipped looking at her pictures and immediately started to message her when the messenger window revealed she was already typing to send me a message. I continued to type when I received her first message:
“You need to talk to your man, not me!”
I was a little taken back by this comment but didn’t read anything into it. Instead I replied:
“I did, Chris told me you guys met from the site and your best friends with my friend Tucker. I was wondering if I knew you,” giving a smiley face symbol at the end.
I put my phone back on the counter to finish chopping lettuce when she replied:
“Why did you send me a friend request?”
I felt slightly attacked and was unsure why. My boyfriend was beside me stirring meat with his ears plugged with ear phones listening to music when I wiped my hands, picked up my phone and said:
“If you’re a friend of Chris and Tucker then you’re a friend of mine.”
Seconds later she sent the following message:
“Again, why did you send me a friend request?”
I was still slightly confused. Why did I feel like I’m being interrogated?
I repeated my previous message to her question but this time I added:
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal. If you don’t want me as your Facebook friend then unfriend me. Sorry for the bother.”
I laid my phone yet again on the counter about to walk to the refrigerator when she wrote back:
“Want to do lunch?”
What, I thought?
Now I started to have serious doubts about this woman. I scrolled up to reread the series of texts wondering if this woman was bipolar when I replied:
“I guess but I’m a little hesitant now lol.”
She quickly replied:
“There’s a lot you don’t know. Call me, Chris has my number.”
Instantly I knew I wasn’t going to ask Chris for her number as he would ask a lot of questions, questions that I didn’t know so instead I replied:
“He’s dozing off and not going to wake him,” I said lying. I ended the message with supplying her with my number.
Moments later she messaged:
“Chris just texted me.”
She gave her number and insisted I call. I announced I would after dinner.
For the next twenty minutes I was antsy and curious as I wondered if something had happened to our friend Tucker. I excused myself from my boyfriend and went to our sunroom to smoke when I pressed the send button on my phone to call the woman I had not yet met.
When she answered I couldn’t help but notice her tone of voice wasn’t as perky as mine and it sounded as if she had something serious to say, so I remained quiet and listened. There were several pauses in her voice before she proceeded to say:
“I don’t know how to tell you this.” It was then I learned when someone starts a conversation with this sentence it’s never good.
My eyes started to burn, the only thing that came to mind was Tucker had passed being the last time we spoke was when he learned he had cancer. I listened to her stumbling again when she told me what I had LEAST expected to hear. The more I heard the less I could see, followed by loss of hearing and an overwhelming numbness throughout my body. Finally she concluded with specific details, followed by sending me picture texts and a recording that supported her accusations.
I heard enough. I saw enough. I then entered a state of shock. She was still talking when I interrupted her and said:
“Let me leave and I will call you back.”
I pressed the end button on my phone before I waited for her to reply. I walked back into the apartment where my boyfriend was sitting on the couch watching TV. I went into the bedroom and grabbed my purse with one arm and scooped our dog in the other. Thankfully my car keys were visible on the dining room table instead of me searching for them as usual. I had no plan other than to quietly leave and not say a word. I knew if I opened my mouth I wouldn’t be able to control what I might say and thereafter. I was three-fourths from the front door when my boyfriend asked:
“Where are you going?”
Calmly, I turned around, looked my boyfriend in the eye trying to fight back tears when I said:
“Kristen told me everything. Don’t deny it, she showed me all the proof.”
I had no expectations as to how he would or should react, but this was the moment my heart shattered.
You see, he underestimated how well I knew and understood him including the meaning of all his facial expressions, laughs and awkward silence. It was at that moment, he didn’t have much to say, and in fact he was speechless. He didn’t have to explain, his face said it all. He was guilty. It was a look I will never forget and still haunts me to this day. I started to feel faintish when I excused myself from his presence and continued to walk towards the front door as I originally planned.
I knew I exited the gates of hell when the door slammed behind me broadcasting a loud echo throughout the hall but I didn’t take another step. I turned around, reentered the apartment, laid my purse on the foyer table, carefully placed my dog on the kitchen floor and charged towards my boyfriend who was still sitting on the couch.
This was when I blacked out.
I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure I said something like:
“You fucking cheating asshole. You bastard, I hate you and hope you go to hell.”
I don’t remember if he responded or the following order of events. It was then when I remembered grabbing my first object, the granite stone statue my father gave me when I was five-years old. It shattered when it flew across the room hitting our apartment window leaving a large crack. Next was the picture of my grandmother and me, taken just before she died. The window now had another but larger crack. I continued to throw candle holders, vases, bottles of wine, anything that was breakable and would break that fucking window.
I was on a mission.
Finally the academic award I received in college went flying. It hit the window, glass shattered and it bounced back two feet from where I was standing. I paused when a gust of wind and showered the apartment not noticing my right hand was covered in blood. (It’s not good when you live on the 31 floor on the corner of a skyscraper and your walls are all windows from ceiling to floor)
I took a deep breathe when I realized I was the big bad wolf who huffed and puffed and almost blew the apartment down and would have had I not taken a moment to breathe. I was shocked by my reaction and I’m sure my boyfriend was just as shocked from what he too just witnessed.
I continued to scream at him before charging again to the front door slamming it shut to call the “woman” he obviously wanted to be with. To avoid waking up neighbors and preventing my boyfriend from easderopping, I escaped to the stairway. I sat at the top of the stairs and called the woman who should be my enemy but was now my friend. We talked for the next hour, the more questions I asked and answers I received, the more things started to make sense. My phone began to beep that the battery was low so I ended the conversation with a promise to call the following morning.
I decided to retire from the stairway and turned the knob when I realized it was locked. I had never entered the stairway so I was unaware I needed my key fob to exit. I started to call my boyfriend to rescue me but no answer. For the next ten minutes I walked down 13 flights of stairs when I saw a door that was slightly open which was my sigh of relief for an exit. I approached the elevator, the doors opened, I entered and the doors closed behind me. I pressed the button to the 31st floor when I realized I didn’t have my fob to travel back up to my apartment. (We live in a very tight security building which contains three different keys for different access and I didn’t have any of them) I pressed the button pointing in opposite directions to open the elevator doors….. but they didn’t open.
It was 2:30AM Wednesday morning and the chances of a neighbor entering the elevator to leave or return home was very unlikely. Needless to say my only option was to press the red “Help” button on the elevator.
“Are you in trouble,” the operator asked?
“Yes the elevator won’t open,” I proclaimed.
For the next fifteen minutes I followed the operator’s instructions in hopes for the doors to open but no work.
“I am sending the police and fire department your way.”
I sighed heavily. I plopped on the elevator floor and rested my back against the doors. I grabbed my phone from my pocket which revealed three percent of battery.
I hesitated before I re-examined the evidence. It was hard but I persevered. I wanted to make sure my eyes were NOT playing tricks on me, but they weren’t as I hoped they were. The first picture text revealed itself.

IMG_5511

I sighed.
I scrolled to the second.

IMG_4787

My eyes began to water. I scrolled to the third.

IMG_1303

I closed my eyes when the first tear fell yet again.

I closed my eyes and shifted my thoughts back to earlier that day.
“I have a headache,” my boyfriend proclaimed to the sexual advances I was initiating, not including his distant behavior which shortly followed. I was aware he had a meeting with distributor at noon which was not unusual. However, I found it odd he got ready an hour before his so-called “meeting” when he usually waits till the last minute to dress. I now know his “distributor” was her. I couldn’t get her words out of my mind.
“We met for lunch today, that’s when he confessed he had a girlfriend.
“Damn Priscilla, what a fool you are. You couldn’t see the signs,” I asked myself?
Truth is now looking back, I still don’t think I would have…..he mastered the art of manipulation.
I glanced back at my phone to listen to the recording from their date earlier that day when my phone begun to power off. However, I remember the conversation percisely. Phrases such as:
“I don’t like her.”
and
“It will not last.”
and
“I don’t love her.”
It kept replaying in my mind as a broken tape recorder. What excuse does he have I thought?
It was then I really needed a tissue but my shirt was a substitute.
At the time I had nothing more to do but cry and think before I would be rescued. As a result I had plenty of time to ponder on what I would do next, but I was still confused despite the evidence that was very clear.
Then my thought process started to shift. What would I tell my best friend who would me the same story seeking advice?
Well….that was easy. I would give her a dumbfounded look if she even made an excuse to stay with such an asshole. And there I was….that woman who would be an idiot to those around her if she even considered staying.
I didn’t, nor do I want to be that woman.
The elevator doors opened. Police and fire personnel were standing before me. For a moment I thought about asking if they could rescue me from a broken heart. I was escorted to the floor of my apartment when I personally thanked the firefighter for his help when the elevator doors closed. I cautiously walked back to my apartment.
I briefly hesitated before turning the knob to my front door.
‘Priscilla, you have a huge decision to make,” I told myself.
I entered my apartment and the front door slammed behind me leaving another echo throughout the hallway.
The question is…..am I going to be “that” woman who accepts forgiveness OR will I be brave and persevere for a greater and brighter future?

Always remember, You’re Just Part of the Pussy Collective

30 Jul
GUEST BLOGGER
 
I got involved with a player against my better judgment. I first observed him drunkenly stagger out of a bar with some girl he had just met. He took her home, and one-night standed her—then never called. He did that sort of thing routinely.
He chased me until I went out with him.  He was educated, funny and had a great job. Like most players, he was charming, and we had a blast together singing Elvis songs. From our first date, we were inseparable. We went everywhere together. I completely forgot about his being a player until….
We had been seeing each other for three months. We had pet nicknames, and had both said, “I love you.” We seemed to have a genuine connection—or so I thought. It was time to take our relationship to the next level.
We’re asleep in his bed, after a hot night of passionate first-time sex. I’m a light sleeper, so I instantly wake up when he slips out of bed. He doesn’t go to the bathroom or to get a drink of water. No. He gets up to call another woman.
While I’m laying in his bed in the pitch dark, I hear him say in a baby-talk voice, “I love you. I miss you, sweetheart. I wish I could be with you right now.”
I lay there, in his bed, stunned. I thought we had something special. I thought we loved each other. I had also asked him pointedly a few weeks prior if there was anyone else he was still interested him. He denied it. “No, baby, there’s no one but you.Why would you ask such a question?”
I didn’t confront him that night. I waited a couple weeks until his phone bill came in the mail. It was hard to pretend everything was okay during that time when all I wanted to do was scream at him. I used the bill to find the phone number, and searched through his address book until I matched it with her name.
I also discovered something else shocking from looking over his phone bill. He had several women he called regularly. In fact, the same exact minuteI left his house he would be on the phone to some other woman. He literally couldn’t wait 45 seconds for me to be out the door before he had to speak to another woman.
I wanted to see how much of a liar he was, so I set him up. Armed with my new information, I asked him again if there was anyone else. I hid how angry I was. I gently urged him to go ahead and tell me, that I would understand.
He lied his ass off, categorically denying it. It didn’t even register in his head that I might have overheard him talking to her. So, he was a liar and a dumbass.
Finally, I couldn’t take his lies anymore. I snarled, “I heard you call Ashley and tell her you loved her!! What was that about?!”
The Liar weakly sighed. Once he knew the gig was up, he freely spilled the truth. He showed me Ashley’s photo, and commented on what a “nice girl” she was. He’d met her over the summer on vacation, and they had a two week fling. It was winter when he made his infamous midnight call, and he hadn’t seen her since. He kept repeating how “nice” she was, as if I was somehow didn’t measure up. I dumped him right there.
Later on, I found out from mutual friends that The Liar had sex with a woman in a hot tub when he was on the phone to me. (I didn’t know this at the time he called, because he pretended he was alone and missing me.) Turns out she was a hooker his friends had bought him as a practical joke. I was lucky I didn’t get AIDS.
This is what you get when you become involved with a player—there’s always other women. You’re never going to be The Only One. Like the Borg from Star Trek, you’re just one of many. You’re part of The Pussy Collective. You’re nothing special. Your designation is Number 234 of 567 of The Unipussy Matrix 01.
I’m not sure how many readers would get the Borg reference. The final blog will have images to go along with the story, cause I love to do that.

Internet Harassment is a CRIME

14 Jul

I was advised by my attorney and law enforcement to make the following post.

It appears as though you “hater’s” are slightly ignorant, in more ways than one since some of you continue to bury yourselves in a deeper hole by lacking the knowledge, and meaning of the word “harassment.” I would like educate you trolls about the laws associated with “Internet Harassment.”

Keep n mind, I am only trying th “help” you, NOT “hurt” you! (That’s right, I couldn’t nor would I do or say to someone what you have done and said to me. In addition, there is no such thing as internet/blogging laws on improper use of grammar.)

I was given the following link from the police station yesterday morning. I copied and pasted the link below into this post.

http://www.wisegeek.com/what-are-internet-harassment-laws.htm

Internet harassment laws make it a criminal act to use the Internet to threaten, torment, stalk, intimidate or otherwise distress a person.  Legislation and enforcement varies from one jurisdiction to another, but Internet harassment laws are put in place to protect potential victims from the trauma of cyberstalking, cyberbullying and other forms of internet harassment.  In some regions, provisions have been made within broader harassment laws specifically relating to the Internet and other forms of communication.

Legal definitions of Internet harassment vary slightly from one region to another, but most jurisdictions agree on the basic principles.  Internet harassment is an attempt to use email or another form of electronic communication to torment, threaten, stalk or perform some similar act that would cause distress to a reasonable person.  When determining the difference between simple rudeness and criminal harassment, authorities are likely to consider issues such as the attacker’s apparent intent, the frequency of the remarks or postings, evidence of premeditation or information gathering,  whether others were encouraged to participate in these acts and whether remarks or attacks were directed specifically at the victim. 

For those found guilty, the penalties for violating Internet harassment laws depend on the severity of the attacks and the jurisdiction.  Harassment convictions can result in fines, community service or a prison sentence.  If the victim made previous attempts to make the attacker stop, or if the attacker engaged in other illegal activities such as hacking to harass the victim, sentencing is likely to be harsher.

 

 

Before 1990, there was little that could be done legally to deter harassment in any form, whether through the new internet, over the phone, or even in person.  California was the first state in the United States to pass anti-stalking legislation, with other states passing similar laws in the following years.  These laws, written long before the days of text messaging and social media websites, were designed primarily to prevent predatory stalking.

In 1996, the U.S. Congress passed the Communications Decency Act.  This act, originally written to protect the public from harassing phone calls, was rephrased to include any telecommunications device.  Although some other clauses of this act were found unconstitutional because of an infringement of free speech, the articles on Internet harassment were not challenged.

Even with the Communications Decency Act, most anti-harassment legislation is done at the state level. California was first to address cyberstalking in 1999, and many other states have passed specific Internet harassment laws.  Still others have made provisions in existing anti-harassment laws to deal with Internet communications.

Other countries have passed Internet harassment laws as well.  For instance, the British Parliament passed the Malicious Communications Act in 1998.   International cooperation has been effective in addressing other forms of Internet-based crime, but issues surrounding jurisdiction remain problematic with the Internet, because even the way the crime is defined by various Internet harassment laws can vary greatly.

I REST MY CASE!

 

Lesson Learned: Why I don’t give strangers a ride

19 Jun

I woke up at 6AM in my new apartment. I had just moved the previous day and I was exhausted!! I needed a cup of coffee but my coffee maker was hidden in a box I couldn’t find.

I grabbed my keys to go to the nearest McDonalds…..still in my pajamas but I didn’t care, I planned on going in the drive-thru. I was almost at my car when my new neighbor introduced herself. She was short, petite with blonde hair and big boobs. Similar to my appearance but a good foot shorter.

“Hi, I’m Reagan.”

“Priscilla,” I replied.

She welcomed me to the community and pointed out the nosy neighbors to avoid. When she saw that I was leaving she asked:

“Do you mind driving me up to CVS so I can get my prescription?”

I knew exactly where CVS was, it was a block away, next to the McDonalds. It was only a block away, she could have walked, and she should have but instead I said:

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

I dropped her off at CVS, went to Mc Donald’s and when I was about to head back home I wondered if she needed a ride. I looked around but didn’t see her walking. I made a loop into the CVS parking lot and parked by the front door. I waited for ten minutes but still no sign of her. Maybe she was doing some additional shopping I thought.

I turned my ignition off and went inside. As soon as the electronic double doors open I see her in a fist fight with the manager. Why I didn’t walk out and leave I don’t know. My instant reaction was to pull her off this woman.

I heard the manager say:

“I smell alcohol on you.”

Followed by:

“I’ve called the police.”

Again, I don’t know why I didn’t leave, but instead I grabbed my neighbor, we got in the car and I asked:

“What the hell was that about?”

“They wouldn’t let me pay for my prescription with my father’s credit card,” she replied.

It made no sense to me but whatever.

I started the ignition and while backing out of the parking spot I could see the manager through the glass doors and on the phone.

You could see our apartments from the store and as I was getting on the main road five police cars passed us in the opposite direction.

There they go I thought.

Before I could blink one was behind me with red and blue lights flashing.

FUCK!!!!

What did this woman do, I thought? Does she have drugs on her? Did she steal something? What is she not telling me?

When the officer approached my window he immediately asked me to get out of the car.

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?????

“Officer what is going on,” I asked?

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he said?

I told him the story, he told me to sit down on the curb and I watched him join the other officers who were now talking with her.

The officer approaches me again and asks me to stand up. I did.

“She has a completely different story. She says the two of you are good friends,” the officer said.

“WHAT????? That’s bullshit, I just met her.”

The officer gets closer to me and asks:

“Have you been drinking?”

Drinking as in alcohol, I thought? It’s not even 7AM, I have coffee in my cup holder not a fucking beer.

“No officer of course not,” I replied.

“Step over here please,” he said.

Great, I thought. I had been through this eight years prior and he was about to have me perform a field sobriety test. Why the fuck does he think I’ve been drinking, I thought?

I wasn’t drunk, didn’t stumble or wobble. I was sober ,but he didn’t think so.

I was handcuffed and placed in the back seat of the squad car.

In the meantime, these jackass cops believed my neighbor’s story, gave HER the keys to MY car along with my cell phone. Gave my valuable possessions to a woman I didn’t fucking know!!!

Once at the police station they take me to a room, turn on the video camera, asked me to do a sobriety test all over again followed by questions.

Once again they asked how I knew that woman. My story didn’t change, I told the truth.

They didn’t believe me, one of the officers said:

“Do you not understand why we don’t believe you? It’s hard to believe in this day and age someone who give someone they don’t know a ride.”

I’m sure I had a pissed, dumbfounded look on my face after that comment.

“Give me the breathyler so I can go home,” I yelled.

The officers looked at one another and replied:

“We are not giving you that option, we want a blood test instead.”

“Blood test, why,” I asked?

“We think you’re under the influence of something.”

Okay, first of all I watched my cousin die of AIDS because of a an improper sanitized needle. I have no problem with needles or blood but trusting the needle is sanitized is a different story.

I have a problem when the hospital sticks a needle in me and I’m certainly not going to let the county jail stick a needle in my arm.

I refused and I went to jail.

When I got out, my car was safely parked at the apartments but I never retrieved my phone. I went to the CVS and spoke with the manager. I asked what had happened and she said the woman went ballistic because the card she tried to use came up as “stolen.” I informed the woman “I” was the one arrested and she was shocked.

“You were the peace-maker. I gave them the description of the other woman, not you,” she said.

The next day I visited with a lawyer.

“I want to take this to trial,” I said.

“Well, let’s just hold off on making this decision right now. Let’s look at your video tape first.”

I leaned towards him and said:

“NO, I am going to fight this because I am innocent.”

The next time I visited my lawyer’s office was to talk about my video tape. First of all, there were two tapes, one at the scene and one at the jail. The video tape at the scene was never found but after six months, the video tape at the jail finally appeared.

“So what did you think,” I asked?

My lawyer leans back in his chair, with his hands folded and said:

“It was one of the best tapes I have ever seen.”

I smiled.

“However, there is only one problem.”

“What’s that,” I asked?

“You look too happy having been arrested for a DWI.”

And it was true. I wasn’t angry or hostile in the video but rather calm and cooperative.

I said to my attorney:

“What good would it have done if I got angry, yelled and called them names? They had already arrested me, they were not letting me go. I had a smile on my face because I knew I was innocent.”

The case drug out for another year and now it was the morning of the trial.

I was nervous but not really. I had faith justice would be served.

Then my attorney approaches me and says:

“The prosecutor has decided to drop the case because the main officer was recently fired for falsifying a police report.”

THANK GOD!!!!

It cost me $15,000 to be a good Samaritan, but partly it was my fault.

Then a year later the unexpected happened. I went into a convenient store and was standing in line when I noticed the officer standing in front of me was the same officer that had arrested me. In fact he was the dumbass who made the comment about people not giving strangers a ride in this day and age. I had remembered the name on his badge that day, Officer Barrett.

So I said:

“Good to see you again Officer Barrett, do you remember me?”

He turned around and said:

“No sorry I don’t.” (Perhaps he didn’t recognize me because that day I had no makeup on, hadn’t combed my hair and was still in my pajamas.

“It’s okay, I figured you wouldn’t,” I said. Then I continued:

“You arrested me about a year and a half ago at 7AM for a DWI. The case was dismissed because your fellow officer was fired for falsifying a police report.”

He said nothing. He just stared at me….shocked was a good word.

“So officer tell me…..how could I have been drunk when I recognize your face and remember your name?”

Can you top this story?

12 Jun

When I lived in Florida the best part of my day was when I left for work, and HATED pulling into my driveway every evening as I entered back into the gates of HELL!!! My live-in boyfriend at the time DISGUSTED me and I don’t throw that word around lightly.

He didn’t work, couldn’t because he had just been released from prison, a small detail he lacked to tell me when we met. He was a slob, thief, lazy, lazy and lazy as he played video games all day while I was worked to put food on the table.

So how did he manipulate me into believing he was everything I desired but was really the EXACT OPPOSITE? It was a combination of my own stupidity and a powerful emotion we call “Love at First Sight.”

I was 1200 miles away from family and friends in Texas and I felt trapped!!! If I did leave he would have no means to survive, not to mention all my furniture was in Florida. I very well could not pack all my shit and furniture into a Uhaul and disappear before he woke up. Nor would I feel comfortable driving that far of a distance in what I would consider to be an 18 wheeler. One day I was about to say FUCK IT when he helped make my escape a WHOLE lot easier.

I came home from work one day to our dog jumping, happy to see me and a boyfriend who was high as a kite playing video games in the recliner.

“How was your day honey,” he said in passing still focused on his video game.

It was great until I got here I thought, but didn’t say.

My usual routine was to make dinner (yeah he was too lazy to do that too), take a shower and go to sleep until the most beautiful noise sounded which was my alarm clock, so I could yet again exit the gates of hell.

Except this particular evening things played out a little differently…..

“Come here,” he said as he put his controller down, moved to the couch and patted the cushion next to him.

Ehhhhh…..do I have to I thought?

I did as he wished but approached him in a less enthusiastic motion.

Then he attempted what I was afraid he would do……a kiss.

Ehhhhh…..and of course I played along.

He abruptly stopped the kiss and asked why I wasn’t into him anymore.

Ehhhhh……do you really have to ask I thought.

Then he said……

“I want to make love to you.”

Ehhhhh…..I knew this day was coming soon. It had been two months since we were intimate and I cherished every moment his dick was NOT inside of me.

Please,

Please,

Please,

Please,

He begged.

“Fine,” I said just to shut him the fuck up!! Except I was not going to fuck him, I would give him a blowjob instead because he came much quicker this way.

I swallow the chunks now arriving in my throat as I stick this disgusting person’s cock in my mouth.

I didn’t suck slow at first as I usually did, instead my mouth had become the energizer bunny to make sure this dick came as quickly as possible.

CUM MOTHER FUCKER CUM!!!!

“Wait, wait,” he said.

WTF I thought? Now I have to get back in my “sucking a disgusting dick mode” all over again.

“I’ll be right back.”

I watched him jog to the bedroom then quickly reappear.

He kneels down in between the couch and coffee table, takes my hand into his, slides a gold band with a diamond around my finger and says:

“As you were giving me a blowjob I noticed something was missing on this finger. Will you marry me?”

I dashed to the bathroom.

Needless to say I didn’t finish the blowjob, I never wore the ring and I left him two days later.

He still wonders why I left him.

My Best Fuck EVER!!!!

11 Jun

I arrived at the parking garage of the hospital near the emergency room entrance about to visit my parents. I was anxious to visit them if only I could get out of the FUCKING car, something I’ve done thousands of times but NOT in this condition.

I swung my feet on the concrete pavement, lifting myself with my legs that were numb and arms that were about to fall off. The last time I couldn’t get out of the car was when I ended the night as my first day as a stripper wearing those six-inch stripper heels. Three minutes later I’m now standing up. I can somewhat breathe.

I cautiously walk towards the light exiting the garage. I am going to kill my Pilates instructor! I believe she hasn’t been hard enough on me. I follow the light, the sun beaming outside the garage if only I can get there.

Oh Shit!!! I dropped my keys.

Nice and easy, nice and easy I thought. My abs felt like rocks, my arms are swinging and my thighs are about to give out any second if only my nails would loop around my key ring that helplessly laid on the pavement.

I believe in GOD. There is a GOD, right? If so, please help me!!!! I don’t ask for much.

I slowly stand up and my back pops, ohhhh….I will deal with that pain later.

Now I am in the sunlight and out of the parking garage. The light gives me the “walk” signal and of course I walk. After about three steps into it the “walk” sign changes to “stop.” Yes, I know I’m a little slow but if I can survive last night than I think I can live another day if only I can make it across the street.

Horns are honking.

Shut your pie hole I yell!!

A line at the intersection is now forming waiting for me to cross the fucking street. Geez…you Texans really are horn happy, be considerate for someone who is hurt and making their way to the emergency room.

Yeah, I saw that asshole….there really is no need to flip me the bird!!!

Okay, I’m across the street. I made it. I’m alive…..still.

Now I have to walk across the side of the emergency room to the main entrance of the hospital. Alright….give me a second, I’m getting there.

Geez, grandma….do you workout, I thought as she strolled past me on her walker? Perhaps I should ask who her Pilates instructor is.

Ohhh noooo!!! Ohhhh nooo…. there are kids running towards me…..noooooo….noooo……don’t hit me!!!!! Please!!!! If you knock me down I won’t be able to get up!

Whew….close call but I’m still standing.

Now I am at the entrance of the building.

Awww…thank you sir for holding the door open for a weak and hurt young woman. I know your about 50 years older than I but one of these days I promise to repay the favor as I always do.

Ohhhhh nooooo!!!! Hold the elevator, hold the elevator!!!

Oh, your such a nice, kind young man I said to the five-year old boy. You are so sweet to your elders.

I think I need to write a thank you letter to the person who invented elevators!!

Five please, I told the young man.

Ohhh….okay so a few pit stops. People off, on, off, on….okay…I’m leaning against the elevator rail now not sure if I can make it to the fifth floor just standing still. Then….the light for the fifth floor lights up. FINALLY, I thought NOOOOOOOO…..hold the elevator doors please! Moving a little slow but I will make it.

I enter the floor and the doctor and nurses are looking at me. Hey guys, I brought you 50 pizzas yesterday, the least you can do is DON”T ASK!!!.

They smile and look away.

Only twenty more feet and I’m in my mother’s room.

Now five, four, three, two, one….. and I plop into the chair next to my mother’s bed. Yes, if one didn’t know better I had just ran a 10k marathon. I huff and puff, relieved to finally be sitting down.

My mother turns her head towards me and says:

“Priscilla, what happened to you?”

Huh, I asked?

The bruises on your right arm she said nodding with her head in a weak voice.

I look down and well……OH FUCK ME!!!!

So what did happen last night?

Well….a few weeks ago I reblogged a post from the MLF Diary titled “Pin Me.”

Oh was it ever smoking HOT and made my pussy wet!!!

The night before, I told Mr. WordPress Blogger:

“Remember that post I sent you?”

He replied, “Yes!”

“Well…I desperately need and want that done to me.”

He was a little hesitant at first and said:

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

I cried out…… NOOOO…..PLEASE….PLEASE….hurt me……I BEG OF YOU!!!!

So here’s what happened……

Pin me down, (Oh you did and hard.)

throw my legs over your shoulders, (Is that the reason why my thighs are numb?)

choke me out, (I yelled more, more, more…..okay I died and you brought me back to life when you teased me with your cock.)

call me your whore, (Well….you said that amongst other words I had never heard.)

slap my ass, (Yeah, your hand left marks.)

grab my wrists, (Is that why my wrists are red?)

shove your cock in me, (Well I feel like you shoved it, grinded it, swirled it and other descriptive words that aren’t yet in the dictionary.)

fuck me hard. (Oh….is that why I feel like I gave birth to an unborn child?)

bruise me, (One, two, three, four, five…..and still counting.)

beat me, (The bruises are proof you did that.)

hurt me, (I think you all know I’m in enough pain to believe that happened.)

make me not walk. (What should have been a 7 minute walk from the parking garage to my mother’s hospital room was actually 45 minutes.)

fuck me till you cum, (Oh you did and it dripped out of me STILL two days later.)

pull out and shove it in my mouth, (Yup…you were shivering and about to stick it in my mouth.)

cum in my mouth, (My mouth, face, chin and hair.)

in the back of my throat. (And….my best part…..yes, it was the best fucking desert I ever had.)

I was interrupted….

“So what happened mother asked?”

“I’m sorry mom. I was a bit distracted,” I said.

Oh, that I said nodding to the bruises on my arm. That’s nothing. I just slightly fell down the stairs,” I said without thinking.

Mother’s head slightly jerked upward.

“You fell down the stairs,” mother yelled out?

Oh shit, now she’s worried.

It was either that or tell her the night before I had the BEST FUCKING SEX EVER!!!!

Mr. WordPress Blogger: I love you dearly 🙂

My Tits are a Legend in High School……

3 Jun

The auditorium was packed, the band was playing and I stood amongst my fellow high school cheerleaders during a pep rally. I was performing a cheer when I saw one of my classmates imitating me by stuffing tissue paper down his shirt. That was it, I had enough!! Some women may think I am blessed to have a small frame and LARGE natural breasts but I have always thought I was cursed with natural 36DD and it goes back to elementary school.

The curse of my large breasts began on my mother’s side whom have all had breast reductions. Yes, they may look great to you men but really they are a pain in my ASS!!! It’s hard to find a dress that accommodates both your waist AND breast size, a bathing suit with an underwire and you can never wear the cute strapless tops because you ALWAYS HAVE TO WEAR A FUCKING BRA!!!!

I was in the 6th grade when my male home room teacher approached me after pulling me aside beside from the rest of the class and said:

“Priscilla, you need to wear a bra.”

I was wearing a white turtle neck that day so perhaps my early development revealed too much. Then in middle school a rumor started that I stuffed my bra, also due to my cursed tits. One of my junior high teachers again pulled me aside after class and suggested I not wear a padded bra.

“I’m not,” I said lifting my shirt to show her.

There was a lot of heartache, pain and tears about these rumors in middle school and as a result, my mother transferred me to a different school in the middle of the year. In high school I tried out for the cheerleading squad, don’t know why, but I did, and made it. Some of my former classmates remembered the rumor in junior high and continued to carry out the legend. It was not a very good time for me in my life, it’s not like I could prove I DID NOT stuff my bra I thought.

Then that day, during the pep rally was when I had my breaking point. There is only so much I could take, and when I saw him in the stands stuffing tissue paper in his shirt I threw my pom-poms down, backed up to where the band was standing in front of the entire school and……….

Yes, I lifted the top of my cheerleading uniform and flashed the ENTIRE school.

Yeeeaaahhhh…..I was kinda expelled but at least I proved my point!!!

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