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2:54 p.m. - 2003-04-16 Is there such a thing as an intellectual orgasm? Maybe. Like details in your slowly fornicating with the lobes in My brain, unfortunately it keeps Me awake. I hate being awake. Its true I am a philisophical thinking slut, mentally. Im either thinking of ways to tie women up, make them beg and then leave them whimpering. All while thinking of other vague subjects. I spent hours reading entries, before I was doing survey after survey. Was sort of stimulating, I got to learn why people ask wierd questions. I like wierd questions, I get to give wierd answers....and make up personalized anecdotes. Somehting Im glad to say Im quite good at.So.....if Im always trying to get into someone elses head, by either reading entries, taking surveys, or simply by listening to them talk, cuz when Im not talking, Im listening. Imbedding the sillyest details to memory. Ones some people would forget, but nooooooooooo I remember. I could write poetry about vague details ive heard somewhere, and make it fit. Remind Me to do it sometimes. "is it more dangerous for Me to get in your head, or for parts of yours to be in Mine"-GOG Where was I, oh yes.....being a mildly amusing sadistic boyscout. Dont look at Me like that, its been said. When Im not thinking of various forms of sensory torture, Im practicing on willing volunteers. I shock Myself by how many women, are willing to subject themselves to the sound of My voice. And dammit, Im good at it. You would think that a woman in the throes of orgasm would make any red blooded man reach for His zipper, furiously rubbing His meatstick and getting rediculously sweaty in the process. I knew I was unique. Without missing a beat I can make My subtle demands, call them a slut and still gain satisfaction. Maybe I can work for a 900 number and let the money roll in. There was only one time I actually participated for any length of time, sorta lasted for 9 hours though. Thank goodness for unlimited calling. But what a phone call, I had 6 orgasms, stretched out. I felt like a pervert, I probably was, and I did it in My parents livingroom. While they were home upstairs. Im such a sick, sick man. Idle thoughts thrown onto in this case cyber paper. I like idle thoughts, alot. Tis the reason My attention is fixed to a particular diary. Not to scare anyone, but I could without prompting listen to her ramble for hours and when she finished, recall it all. I see all these details floating around in diffrent places, and I slowly piece them together. People often dont realize the hypocrisy they write sometimes, Me included. How critical we are of others but we sometimes fail to keep to those very same standards we place on others. I often regret each and every entry in here because I felt like some detail was missed, a phrase off key or some tidbit I forgot to mention. Ive never felt the need to wirte this badly before. I must be ill. Why do I want to rant nd rave, read other peoples thoughts, and then try and express My own. To perfect strangers, vouyuerism for the soul perhaps. Drama, heartache, bared for all to see. Im going to break character for a moment, and say something rather to the point. When does a good deed stop becoming a good deed? The correct answer is, when a reward is expected. I dont know your name, and I dont need to. Think Me a looney, wierdo, whatever....I always speak My mind. I cant help but feel drawn to your less than obvious pleas for help. Deny it if you want, I know better. And no, I dont know you. But I know people, and why we feel the way we do. As good as sex is, it will never fill the emptyness you so eloquently write about feeling. Something for nothing doesnt seem to register for you, you in your way are looking for something else, and is hasnt come yet. (of course through the course of My reading I might regret even this statement) There seems to be no constant in your life, other than the daily task of living. Sordid details aside, I couldnt sleep last night, I was restless. I would hold you, the little girl who makes puppets, and it wouldnt cost you a thing. Maybe its a selfish request on My part. All I can say, is I have seen My hell many times before, knowing I was an outcast, and diffrent from everyone else. Condemnded to maybe be alone for a reason, but I never stopped caring about others. Why would a "Master" bother to care you ask? I feed off of interaction, emotional contact. You have stimulated the secret parts of My mind I locked away. And I dont care if you criticise Me for it, in My opinion you have earned that right, by simply letting Me read your thoughts on thse pages. Maybe I am some fluke, trying to get something I can never have. Simply knowing you know somewhere out these someone is reading what you wrote, understanding through another set of eyes, and feels for you when you cannot. For some reason I feel like I have already doomed what might be a fruitful, if not brief spiritual connection by speaking like this. But again, long shots pay off big sometimes and Im willing to risk rejection for the one chance to just talk to you. I take what I can get, and I am grateful. I sense another verse coming on. "handprints say you care"-GOG Handprints, not unlike footprints they are a mark on things that were. Also the random slapping of some girls rear has a certain satisfaction to it, like I provided a small diversion, and maybe it got her wet. Who knows. Why do people ask me to train them you might ask? Even men, gay men asking me to make them adult puppies. Alright, enough of that visual. There is a lurking feeling in My mind that I am commiting a no no. Girls who asked to be "taken" but struggle, thats a big one. yes its concentual BUT......what if they lie. Who are they going to believe, the soft petite girl, or the tall brute who is a sadist and Master by reputation, Hmmmm......see My point? Fortunately My brain still registers "no" means just that. Im not some horomonally charged pedophile with roaming hands. If it can be called pride, Im proud of what My appitites are, and My affect on those who seek My talents in that area. Sex aside, its more than just physical contact, its about release. I take away the control and instead justify all the hidden desires to just feel, without guilt. Hence the handcuffs. Cant stop when your bound can ya? Although I dont like bruising, as a welt has no appeal to Me. I know that some just dont like too much sensation, be it slapping, hair pulling, or flogging. Suede floggers seem to have a hypnotic effect on some girls. Wear leather, or Drakkar....decisions, decisions. Which brings Me back to the visitor I had last week, little lucy. No shame now. Walking to the beach, in the freezing cold might sound like a bad idea, but I thought My heart was going to pop. Maybe it was an excuse for her to hold Me, shivering, but I felt like I needed to anyway. She deserved it, and an asshole somewhere went wothout Me pummeling him for ripping her heart out. I got to pop her tattoo cherry, that counts for something right? And I really should have spanked her more.....regret is a bitch. I really need to stop writing so damn much, I will seem like a whiner, if I dont already. but I hope this made sense. GOG
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