Pickles for my Cookie

From the archives  Every morning I send a gratitude text. Even when I'm struggling to be grateful. Even when I'm struggling to realize, that the hurt will make me stronger in the end.  Today I'm grateful for your hatred, mean comments, and knives that cut deep.  Here's the deal. You act like I don't know I'm overweight. I do. I'm well aware, and I know that your thoughts and opinions of me are none of my business. But, that doesn't mean that it hurts any less.  It's not like being overweight is fun. I know what being a buck10 is like. I know what it is like being where I am at now. No one is a worse critic than me.  "Well your face is pretty"... "Do you think anyone is going to want to do a scene with you looking like this?... "You'd be so much prettier if"... Now, none of these things are excuses. But when you are struggling to love yourself as is, having someone throw "french fries and shakes" or "dairy c...

I'd like to start and end my day the same. To be in your arms, on your chest, in your nook. The space between your chest and bicep. To feel your breath, and lips on my face. On my neck. Your words in my ear, and your heartbeat on my cheek. I'd like for your hands, fingertips, lips, and teeth to know every inch of my body. To be known and understood. To feel your heat. Bound, blindfolded and used relentlessly. Poked, prodded, fingered, fucked, bit, scratched, slapped, choked, kissed, spit on, made to cry, beg, plead. I don't want to make decisions. I want to please you, and in turn be pleased.Teach me how to be a good girl. Show me what I'm missing. Ruin me Daddy, so that I think everyone else is full of shit.  My body would melt into yours. To find pleasure in the pain delivered. To find pleasure in the delivered. To find love. To find lust. To be yours.  With Love, AJV