Report

I felt heat mounting inside when i came,
just as my Mistress ordered me to,
i was twitching and gurgling,
her shape occupying my view,

then i felt release
and the distinct scent of fear

It is 21:20.
I'm rubbing my cock and my left nipple.
And fantasize about mature women stringing me up.
I will strangle myself auto-erotically tonite.

I am going through old pics.



I have been negligent,
i have tried to be normal,
I feel frustration and guilt now,
as i am just a nasty boy, who deserves the noose.

Winter....

Warm season defintely ended with the first fall of snow.
No more mary janes and ballerina flats to turn my head. Shiny polished boots are okay though.
I enjoyed a last rise in temperature two weeks ago, when i had to queue at the cafeteria behind a girl wearing soft white ballet flats, with angular caps and a outward turned sewing line. Additionally they had some athletic ornaments. (Anyone knows a online shoe glossary btw?)
I fantasized about going down on my knees and licking those well done crossover of style shoes, instead of talking to the girl who herself didnt look very special.

Neither did i reply to the compliment received from an elderly lady, inside an elevator(!).
Its my fault as always. It's my shyness. 

I will meet the noose today and i am rather anxious about it.
Only that this is what i need that.  

Return of the fetish

I didnt have much privacy the last weeks and months. I couldnt resist to do some collecting, but i couldnt carry out IT... And it kept working inside me. I began to feel more an more uneasy over the time. Got nearly into some kind of depressed mood.
Since i have been taking the chance to do it again, everything is back to normal. I am active again, and like to go out.
I dont really understand why the fetish has such a massive effect on my daily life. Probably thats because its a way to canalize the flow from my dark side, which otherwise penetrates my feelings?
Sounds weird?
It surely is....

One more thing.
Have been watching Donnie Darko recently. Mary McDonnell plays the mother. Never watched "Babylon 5" and didnt get she was stand with a fist.
She would do great as executrix:

• She is emotive,
• She dresses formally,
• She is visibly a mature woman, but nevertheless hot
  

I shall have a slideshow of her photos on the screen, when meeting the noose.
That is to be tomorrow.
For now i leave pretending to be an ordinary guy towards my friends.

Persistent incertitude....

Tonight i successfully strangled myself autoerotically.

I havent been really active recently. As i had little alternatives. But I didnt miss it too much, anyway. I let dally away several occasions. And it was ok, it wasnt like something was lacking.

Nevertheless i kept up good old habits. But the thing is, collecting just doesnt get me into the mood anymore. And i just realise now how essential that is, to act it out, i really need the pictures!

But all the lurking aroung photosites (flickr, deviantart, modelmayhem) or online fashion catalogues (next, nordstriom, albamoda) nearly doesnt get me anywhere, this inner certainty about the necessity to be done by a mature female, i touched it again today, but it is fading, it looses its structure and all the pictures melt down to be no more than those of erveryday women, not executrices, and thats right what they are respectively are not.
The key of understanding the importance of collecting, is that the women all are untouchable. This is weaker on the screen than the direct perception of respective women eg. in the street, but the virtuality of the pics reinstates some of the untouchability, and if they have this i-am-looking-down-on-you-look or - even better - wear the right shoes, it's like it should be.
As said this is fading, and with it of course my actually living it out on myself.

I still recur to it in my phantasies, but this too is loosing power. I am gradually putting off my strange masturbational sex live, replacing it with plain regular sex live. Thus getting normal somehow, really being surprise by such a turn. Even my ballerina-fetish detaches from the death-fetish.
I am not sure about all that. But i like it. It feels alright somehow.
But I am still not sure...

Path of honesty

Another topic i have been suppressing... lately.
The role of the drug.
All the time it has been something for me to directly access my dark desires. Which are with me all the time. But which are covered in some way, i do not really understand.
But recently, the drug doesnt open anything anymore. The soft haze doesnt convey any special atmosphere anymore.
And now i think, probably it's that the drug can no longer keep open the gate which probably would have been closed already.
So how proceeding.
Cleaning up.
And walking along.
Will it be this way...?

Recent developments, continued...

I have been mobbed recently by female collegues.
"Who wonders?" one might think by onesself reading this and heaving in mind past stuff. And that might be actually right. It's probably that I am especially sensible for such gradients of power. Probably manoeuver into it just by myself.
But it's not what i want to talk about (nonetheless probably should do later on)...

The experience of being degraded by women, getting to feel their collective feminine power, just re-triggered my recently lost sexual desire for terminal submisson. To be erotically asphyxiated, practically meaning: auto-erotically asphyxiated, to write it down!

Moreover what I have already confessed so far, keeps on working inside me, changing me somehow. I only dont know yet into which direction.
Nevertheless what i wrote down in that regard isn't something i wasn't aware of already. I knew quite well about it, probably all my concious life long. But i kept it to myself.
But that writing it out into the anonymous internet actually mattered to me is quite a surprise.

By the way...
It's anniversery time just once more.
Hope you enjoyed it so far. To those who commented, wrote emails or i had the fun to chat with: Thank You for your fair words.

Recent developments

Since I started to tell the full truth, the urge to get asphyxiated has totally flattened. I still did it the last weekend, but it was like I had to convince myself first to actually do it.
So is this the consequence of confessing?
Only that this has not been my original intention.
And for the time I doubt this will last longer than some days...
Normally when I put up the right setting, things are coming by themselves, without me really wanting it, but rather plainly following. But the normally felt evidence of the necessity to be punished has faded. Even the collecting doesn't stimulate anymore. Less than that, it has become rather boring.
Probably it's been only because I was very active recently, took my chance, as long as it is offered to me. And now it just has become too much?
Time will tell...

Anyhow will I continue to follow the path of honesty...

Try honesty!

To resume it: I feel inferior and I am delivered by my sexuality. That's why I have to strangle to death in the noose. But this still isn't the whole truth! I am still trying to go on in hiding what has to be revealed. It's that I still fear your contempt. But I won't neglect your right to know who you are dealing with any further:
So how did I get it? When has my sentence been passed?
I do quite well know how. And I therefore should better express it.

Of course all of this is to find in the development of my personality. And it starts at the very beginning of every born individual. In my case, there was the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck.
And all my later life was not essentially different from its start. The umbilical cord remains wrapped around my neck tight, only that it's of emotional fabric now. I am attached by my mother's appendix to the world of her thinking, I have been nurtured with it and I still feed from it, I am a bubble floating inside her mind.

My mother is a woman, who always put her personal wishes and feelings after the necessities of real life. A life which is hard and without relief. And leisure always being the first step to demise.
In that sense she raised me. And she had quite an effort with me!
As i was a bad boy! I did things wrong all the time, I broke things along with her feelings. That's why she had to punish me as a matter of routine.

But there was more than just that!
I was a very egoistic child! And always tried to impose my will on her, even by using arguments to trick her into something different than her original intention. But she knew quite well there was no need for her to resort to such measures like arguing. There was a quite more effective way to prove me wrong:
She unveiled my dependence on her. She let me feel just how much I was at the mercy of her will, let me, exempt from her provision, struggle a bit, let me fail, all along with my point of view. And she probably wouldn't deny having received some joy from the scene: me creeping back to her, apologizing and submitting myself to her superior will, pleading “Please mother, excuse me for having been bad. I will never do it again!”, as soon as she wished to hear such a statement from my mouth.
Of course I had to repeat that very often!

Moreover, I permanently failed to acknowledge how much I occupied her. My weak efforts to disburden her only kept her even more busy, because I just never did it right. How much easier would it have been for her to just abandon me, to leave me behind, to my fate, or even fulfilling it by herself, terminating my pitying existence. But out of her inexhaustible generosity she kept on nourishing me. Despite the fact that I didn't deserve anything from her.
But it doesn't even end at that point!

Not only that I have been a miserable child and still am. I also threatened to become just like my father, and be rude and abusive towards woman. My father had detached mentally from his family and all related duties early. And she would never allow me to become like he is.
So she eagerly worked on suppressing any expression of manhood, taught me to see it as something disgraceful, something I had to avoid actively by myself and submit to females' categories.
Naturally I only failed once more, since I am male in the end.

And I could quite well feel my mothers silent disappointment with me, over my failed existence. That she would have been right in terminating my pitiful life for good. That this was in her responsibility, as the one who gave birth to me, putting me to death again as well. Even I accepted my fate, waited for the day, when she might finally come for me, placing me under a solid beam and stringing me up from it. Relieving me from my life in her unmeasurable generosity.
As much as she wanted it to be this way, and furthermore, as my mother, had any natural right to do so, this is still a patriarchal world we live in, and male controlled courts deny maternal law... She couldn't but let go on my miserable existence.

And here I am and moan: “Oh mother! Why didn't you string me up when there still was a time and place to carry it out? Why did you hesitate? Don't you really love me, still not having hanged me? Why did you let me wander this unwelcoming earth instead of relieving me from the pain of living?”

About things that changed...

I said, I feel dried out, and that is still true.
Nonetheless, there is still something left to say:
From the beginning on, the age when i started to be aware of my sexuality, it had that deviant turn. My fantasies always revolved around asphyxiation, especially hanging.
But originally it was me to do the hanging or at least i imagined female victimes. In my fantasies i strung up all of those special girls, i just cannot tell what made them accurate in my point of view. But it were definitely some strange kind of girls...
It's only later on, around the age of fifteen things changed. And I remember quite well what was the cause: One of my highschool-teachers. She was somehow cold and strict. And she also dressed that way. So i started to fantasize about being her slave. Kneeling in front of her, licking her shoes, licking her between her legs, being beaten up by her, and so forth...
And finally being strung up by her...
So what was the difference between her and all the other girls? It was that she was untouchable! I would never get her, not only because i was toob timid, but because it just wasn't possible! And the distance between her and me was uncountable times larger, than to all the girls. And that made my desire for her just the more unjust and crying out for punishment, so a capital one seemed just to be what was necessary for me.
Further on I spread this kind of fantasy to many other woman around me, who were distinctly older than me. And that is my desire until now!
Nevertheless I also kept to be the violator in my dreams. But that part diminished with the time passing by. I only cant remember at what age this actually faded out.
I can enjoy the image of a woman hanging today. But this just isn't my thing anymore...

I built up a virtual identity...

You can find me on Youtube, you can read from me on Assoziationsblaster, and of course here: Dolcettish.
Digging deep down in the dark side of my personality, I bring up what has been lying there hidden. I do this too in a mere virtual manner.
There's nobody out there I know physically, or who I met from face to face.
But who I am must definitely stay hidden.
It is a virtual community I am navigating through.
And it isnt.

But may I do the decisive step one day?

And how it really is....

I found a photo of her.
And it is on my screen
anytime i strangle myself now.
Dreaming of what never may be....

When I changed trains...

... I saw a pair of beige ballerina mary-janes passing by. So I raised my look to see a woman of about 45 years of age trailing a light blue solid case behind her.
My attention was already hooked. I continued looking after her, she was passing two hot thirty-somethings, who I ignored.
She had the right age for me.
And she wore the right shoes!

I kept looking over to her.
She was spotting the train. That's when our eyes met.
I looked aside hastily.
Then I forgot about her somehow as the train was arriving and i got into it and looked for a calm, probably empty compartment.
I found one instantly, went into it, closed the doors.
I sat down and stared out of the window watching the accelerating landscape passing by.
Suddenly the cabin-door opened and a pair of soft ballerina mary janes blocked the passage. Beige as said they had two parallel straps running around her arched up inset, merged halfways with a compact floral knob.
“Here free?” she asked and
“Of course!” i responded.
She sank into the cushion, crossed her legs, displaying her exciting footwear.
She looked like the commonplace rural housewife, just with this girly-attitude, again common for women about her age and origin.
I got distressed a bit, knowing her shoes would irritate me during the whole journey.
I stretched out, laying myself down while alternately spotting down to her soft mary janes and dozing away.
Suddenly she was on her feet, putting her trolley off the luggage rack she had put it up earlier.
She opened the shiny blue casket, uncovering a only one third filled case, holding diverse entangled pieces of clothing.
She carelessly pulled out a bra and accessed a scripture holding notes. She put back the bra and lifted the trolley back on the luggage rack.
That's when i realized i had to ask her if she would like me to lick her feet and to kiss her shoes.
I went out to phone someone, when i realized all the other compartments where totally empty. And she must have come into mine deliberately!
I returned and laid down to rest a bit, not without catching some view of her ballerina mary janes. My! These two elastic straps running around her inset, a fine seam traversing it, dippsy-doodeling along the borders of its bands.
I dozed off while she worked with the script.
I understood she would never allow me licking her feet as I ought to be. But I had to try how far i came!
So i rose up an began talking to her.
She reacted upstaged first, but then grew milder, honestly communicating with me. And I did my best too.
I learned she was a violinist who played in a small opera house. And she was travelling around much. So we talked about music, travelling and foreign countries.
While we talked I eagerly drank from the view of her footwear. Our talk had aroused her feet, awoke them to nervous activity.
She was constantly pushing her toecap against the cushion of the opposite bench, as soon as she expressed her thoughts.
And I was so grateful for her doing.
Finally she put one leg over the other so that her rubber sole pointed directly to me, displaying transparent ochre rubber, chased with floral patterns. She let her foot rotate around her leg, bending the soft leather covering her vigorous skin.
I unvolontarily got a stiff one, listening attentively to her words, following the physic reactions that the passion for her work provoked from her foot. The worn out leather covering her big toe revealed this as her habit.
I was ready to voluntarily go on my knees and lick its sole once she ordered me.
But of course she didn't!
We kept talking for some time. Then she left the compartment to phone. She only came back for her trolley case then finally left under some pretext.
I wondered if she had felt that tension too. That she originally liked flirting with me, but eventually realized I kept staring on her shoes, therefore decided to end interaction. Perhaps she only recoiled from the idea engaging with me, for some unknown reason, perhaps due timidity.

She got out one station before me.
She passed by waving only a brief good bye over to me. I responded adequately.
But then she came back, pulled open the door again and wished my a really cordial Good Bye.


So she did like me!

I wonder if she lies on her bed now, imaging how it could have been to invite me, letting me pleasure her for that one night.
As a fact she didn't

That's why I am declaring hereby I shall humbly receive strangulation by the noose, keeping the afterimage of her imperious footwear on my mind.

She must be disgusted if she read this.

What I've told no one so far...

All happened near Villefranche de Conflet. It was late summer and really hot. I was twenty-one back then. And I was travelling alone.
And so I was wandering up the Pyrenées feet through all this sort of mediterranian vegetation, dried out, perfume of oily leaves in my nose.
I saw or heard absolutely nobody around and therefore considered myself to be totally alone up there.
I came to a tree.
It was small and crooked. Gnarled like a dried up wiper!
I sat down beneath it, covering in its shadow, contemplating.
Fixed to one main branch stretched out horicontally above my head.
And i made a decision.
First I got undressed.
I looked for a bold stone, but one i could still move. I dragged it under the tree.
I sat down again, eagerly starting to fabricate a nice slender noose out of belt an shoe-laces.
I took my time, as if i would need no more of it, i was totally in the present, i merged to the one act i was preparing for.
I stepped on the stone.
A rather unstable position!
I slung the belt around my bare neck, pulled it tight.
I went on my toes, balancing, fixing the loose end on the branch.
Strung myself up good!
I only had to step off of the stone to dangle helplessly.
I needed one hand to keep up, to not lower myself into the noose.
Somehow i had become ready. I felt the need for me ending from the noose. I felt the final purity of things to happen. A sensation of righteousness!
Then I began to wank myself off with the help of the hand left free.

I could have ended things back then, as i should have. I could have died in purity!
But I didnt.
After having ejaculated, i calmed down again, tied myself loose.
I untied the ligature. Put my cloths back on, sat there, contemplating.
Only some ten, perhaps fifteen minutes later, a group of hikers passed by my place. We greeted each other, the shiver gurgling down my spine. They could have been the ones to find me lifelessly swinging from the branch, or even witness the last shivering of my strangled to death body.
But this is not the point!
The point is, that this has been one of this strange moments in my past, when i chose life. Even if it was more by accident.
That's why I'm now still sitting in front of the screen typing.
It would have been no mistake to hang myself.
It would have been right!
Neither is it wrong for me to still live.
It's just different!
I think this was the last time, i succeeded in convincing myself to really hang to death. I believed me. That it would be possible to go straight down the path, right into the end.
Living on is sheer compromise. I lost my purity.
I have grown older now. Being no more than only one of these millions of anonymous deviants stalking online, seeking the kick, seeking the game, the illusion!







Just fed up westerners problems....

Why I am put on by the sight of female feet in ballerina mary janes...

As it just happened: I see a girl wearing yellow Lacoste Antibes.
I state the growing sexual arousal, the need for me licking the soft leather covering her restless toes.
That's when i realize i must not do this under any circumstance, she would never tolerate that.
And that i should better be punished mercilessly for my wanting to.
I know the sling being the only answer. Nevertheless I hesitate.
Sedating myself with the drug and scribblings like the present one.

But why is it only mary janes are pushing my desires? Why not any other type of shoe, why them?
A mere rhetorical question....
Because i know it already, i can feel it , since i can read it from their shape, from its impact on my flesh! So first of all: this style combines athletic attitude with superior female elegance. One might say that beeing the one essence of ballerina type shoes/slippers.

Mary Janes now are thought to originally be girls shoes. How to explain that? Anyway they convey some sort of decent elegance, contrasting with the oppulence of some lets say highheel pumps. It's the nearly incidental expression of femininity, It's not focused on it, it's casual (behold that word!).
As if it never came to minds of women wearing them, that a deviant one like me could be aroused by viewing them. And of course they're well aware of that only pretending not to be. And now that's the essence of modern mary janes's shape.

But lets delve somewhat deeper into the meaning of mary janes slippers. In ballerina style ones, the only thing that distinguishes them from plain ballerinas is that one strap running from one side to the other, and by that crossing the alignment of protuberant female sinews. It's like to appease the energy flowing along female feet. The more, in most cases the strap is flexible - technically to ease putting on, but in reality - to abut on female's feet forms, to conform to their aspiration, snuggling to their orientation, while symbolically (and only symbolically) trying to hold it down; as a mere allusion.

It's because the shape of the ballerina mary jane underlines female self-determination, which by the way prohibits my inferior wanting. Even by humbly licking her ballerina covered feet clean, i shall never attain her liking nor only her attentiveness.

Voilà the inner logic of my shoe-fetishism!
Now is that an answer???

2 Years of Praying to the Hangwoman...

... and still she didnt come for me!

And neither did they...
They didnt even cancel the account.
Or delete the content.
Or at least send me a warning... anything...
I must admit it: I'm honestly surprised!

The reason why I started this blog was to express my pathetic sex drive, becoming yet another weirdo to spam the net with all his dammed up frustration from his depraved desires not beeing satisfied. Even if I polished this blog up a bit lately, put on positive content, joined the community and so on, it's my personal piteousness which is giving the base of my activity here.
And I wont deny it...
No, I'm prowd of it!
Its what i've declared from the beginning!
And I wont stop!



Furthermore it has been a real conent-related concern, i started this blog for. There's really lots of asphyx-related stuff on the internet, communities, chats, pics, manips, videos... anything....
But - although things may have changed slightly - it's basicly about guys who do the dirty work, and girls enjoying the suffering. Try to look for women to string up their worshippers: Nothing, Rien, Niente, Nada, Nix! There have been some approaches (like The Female Executioners group on Yahoo), but if you see or read about guys hung well, its mainly gay content (which is interesting too, but simply not arousing if you're hetero).
As there has been not much, i decided to start something myself, put together the sparse material from the net and so on.
As already mentioned, things have changed a bit lately, it's no longer impossible to meet people with this special kind of orientation.
I really am glad about that, and beeing a part of it.

Finally a cultural notice: the blog orginally in German only, has gradually switched to English as main posting language. I tried to keep up bilingual blogging for some time but it turned out much to complicated (had an english journal, which i deleted meanwhile).
I always wanted this blog to be internationally readable. And yes i am able to write in English, but simply put it's much more easier to express oneself in your mother-language. So I will keep stories and some other texts in German, but try to write more english.

And to return to the beginning of this post: i always hoped using german spared me from the watchfull eyes of online voce-squads.
At least gradually...
I hope beeing wrong in my paranoia...

That's all for the anniversery!
Finally, I would really be glad reading something from you!

Ein Anblick, der sich in meine Erinnerung eingefressen hat

Eine Dame der Oberschicht in einem Theatercafe:
Sie hat kurze graue Haare, die temperamentvoll frisiert sind.
Ihre Haut ist sorgsvältig gepflegt.
Die Krähenfüßchen zieselieren Muster um ihre Augenpartien, wie kunstvolle Verzierungen.
Ihr schwarzes dünnes, jedoch in eine steife Form gebrachtes Oberteil unterstreicht ihr Reife und Eleganz.

Und dann ist ihr Rock so knapp!
Dass einem der Blick entlang ihrer Beine hinabgleitet, über die sie weit offen stehende Netzstrümpfe gezogen hat.
Und ihre Füße stecken in weichen schwarzen Ballerinas.
Vom Unterleib aus abwärts strahlt sie ein so junggebliebenes Verlangen!
Als wäre sie zwazig, bestenfalls 25.

Nun, was ich mich ständig fragen muss: was von beidem sich nur in ihrer Leibmitte durchsetzen wird?
An jener Stelle, an dem die stoische Reife auf die frisch gebliebene Antriebskraft stößt...
Was sie wohl privat so mit ihrem Ehemann treibt, der so weich und gefügig wirkt?

Und unwillentlich muss ich davon tagträumen, dass eine destruktive Verformung ihrer Lustgewinnung in Gang kommt!
Ach ihr schalen Träume, ihr!


entbehrliche Randnotiz:
Vergangene Woche habe ich das Gewicht meines Körpers zweimal der Schlinge übergeben.
Das ist etwas viel...
Aber schon gut so!

U-Turn

Die Droge mach dich an wie eine Glühbirne!
Eine von den diesen Frauen, an denen du täglich vorbei läufst...
Wäre sie doch nur bei dir, so ganz plötzlich!
Und es bräuchte nur einen horizontalen Balken, über den Sie die Kordel lüpft,
dir dann die Schlinge über den Kopf zieht, und dich dann in die Höhe zerrt.

Dabei mag sie dich ja,
sonst wäre sie gar nicht hier!
Aber was sie an dir mag ist nicht deine Existenz,
sondern dein qualvoller Abgang.
Sie ist verzückt von deinen nackten Beinen.
Aber nicht etwa, weil die so reizvoll anzusehen sind,
sondern weil es der Anblick deines hilflosen Gezappels ist,
an dem sie sich weidet.

Von der harten Schlinge gewürgt,
gibt dein entblößter Leib alles,
aufgeknüpft wie ein Hähnchen, gehst du ab wie ein Karnickel.
Aber das Getier hat ihr schon längst nicht mehr gelangt.
Glasig aufquellende Mannsaugen, blau angelaufene Gesichter,
das ist es was sie noch scharf machen kann.

Und irgendwann wird ihr Feuer ganz erloschen sein,
und sie wird sie sich einen neben den anderen knüpfen,
wie nasse Höschen an eine Wäscheleine,
ohne davon noch gestillt zu werden.
Was sie nur noch unerbittlicher macht.

Noch vermag der Anblick, Du!, wie du erbärmlich abgehst, sie zu besänftigen.
Aber du konntest die Enttäuschung in ihrem Auge feststellen,
schon als sie deinen zuckenden Leib in die Höhe zurrte.
Du wardst schon abgeschrieben, noch bevor dein konvulsivisches Fleisch den Gipfelpunkt seines Seinssinnes überschritten hatte, dein geopfertes Leben, schon im Ansatz vergebens.
Lebendig schon so anrüchig wie ein Kadaver.

Während ihre Gegenwart dein Dasein ganz betrifft,
bist du für sie nicht mehr als ein Zählstrichlein nebst des nächtlichen Journaleintrags.
Während du dich ihr als ganz hingabst,
verstattete sie dir jegliche Berührung, jegliche Nähe.
Du durftest nicht mehr als von Distanz sie zu bewundern.
Und mithilfe der Schlinge hat sie die Distanz zwischen eurem Fleisch absolut gemacht.
Ein hochreaktiver Vorgang, der dich geschwind verbraucht haben wird,
der dir aber während einen kurzen Augenblick lang eine Bedeutung in Aussicht stellt,
zumindest für die Dauer deiner Agonie...
Ach, wenn sie einer weiteren Nummer auch nur noch das Geringste abgewinnen vermochte!

Aber stattdessen ist auch dein Abgehen nur mehr Enttäuschung,
bist du nur Verschwendung,
verächtlich weggewischt,
wie das Ejakulat, das dein krepierender Leib im Moment des Todes abgesondert hat,
der dann schlaff um die eigene Achse schlingert

Anhaltendes Schweigen

Es ist viel Zeit vergangen.
Während der du nicht gepostet hast.
Warst du in dieser Zeit denn abstinent?

War ich die vergangene Zeit abstinent?

Ja und Nein...
Es war wie der Schlaf, der vieles zudeckt.
Ich war nicht aktiv! Teils, weil ich nicht die Energie aufgebracht habe, etwas zu produzieren.
Aber es hat sich in meinem Kopf fortgesetzt.
Auf Sparflamme sozusagen.
Ich will dieses Blog aber auch nicht auslaufen lassen.

Im wirklichen Leben bedarf es auch nicht notwendigerweiße nur der Schlinge.
Es gibt auch subtilere Empfingungen.

Es reicht zum Beispiel auch schon,
wenn sie mich in ihrer Hand hat.
Und sie dabei nichts als zärtlich ist.
Das allein ist oft schon sehr überwältigend.
Es muss gar nichts Gewalttätiges sein.
Aber es kann auch sein...
Das ist gut so...

Die üblichen Tagträume, gefolgt von Selbstmitleid

Sie sind überall!
Und wie immer sind sie echt!
Nicht nur zweidimensionale Abbilder, die über den Screen flimmern.
Es sind athletische junge Frauen, mit flachen Ballerinas und schnittigen Frisuren, es sind stilvoll gekleidete Damen.
Heute: Eine Asiatin, so um die 45, elegant, Bluse und knielanger Rock, hohe Schuhe und glatte Beine. Wie wäre das, wenn die dir einst den Schemel unter den Füßen wegträte.
Nur die interessiert das doch nicht.
Keine interessiert das...; nie!
Es ekelt sie an.
Und froh wären sie, wenn sie wüssten, dass du es still und heimlich in deinem Kämmerchen machst und sie mit deinen zudringlichen Hoffnungen verschonst. So aber bist du für nichts anderes als einer der vielen unguten Glotzer von der Straße.
Keine, die dir verpassen will, was du verdient hast.
Keine, die die Salutation deines Glied entgegennehmen wollte.
Abgehen sollst du; alleine und einsam. Das ist schon richtig so.
Das passt zu dir!