The word desperate

John, John, John, my whole world view has been shattered. Welcome to the secret confessions of a true slut. I earned a new slut badge this morning. I deserve a piece of slut cake with some slut ice-cream. I won a slut crown. I passed the slut test. I won the role as the leading slut. I'm doing a special slut dance. I'm singing a slut song. I finished the slut marathon. When I die, I'm going to slut heaven...or slut hell.

This blog post is a cruel test. I'm turning 33 in a few days. I'm tired of letting men say fucked up shit to me. There are certain buttons that a man can push that make me snap. Dusty hit the wrong motherfucking button. This is not the first time he hit the motherfucking button. I'm fucking crazy. I can't work. Half of my life I'm so sedated I have a hard time getting to the toilet to piss. My family is dead. I can't have k**s. I don't have a cell phone. I don't have a car. I don't have one single friend in Florida. My life would break most people. I wouldn't change a thing. I am happy. I have one thing that keeps me going. I write. This blog is who I am. When you fuck up my ability to write there are ramifications.

I do love dusty very much. But he hit the motherfucking button. I told him I posted poetry. He decided to read it. I don't know why he gave me a sermon. Out of the blue he busted out with 'lynn your really desperate for male attention.' Dave, I know you will read this. Knowing a man said that to me is going to piss you the fuck off. Dan, it's going to piss you off as well. Both of you have been reading this blog for a long time. It is not some desperate plea for attention. Most men never read this damn thing. I'm just a girl who loves to write. Once you enter my world you are forced to see me run from attention. You get to see me chase off men who give me the wrong kind of attention.

The word desperate fucking hurt. I talk about women on xhamster who are desperate for male attention. I bash them hard. I used to have nude pics and videos. I took them down to get less attention. I didn't want to look desperate. I only have pictures of my face and my art. I do have a really nice body. I don't show it. I don't want a lot of attention. I don't need it. I write this blog to make friends. Two of my closest xhamster friends are women. Lately, I can spend most nights talking to a wonderful new female friend named judy. I can handle most insults. The moment you slam me with the word desperate you have just stepped knee deep into a pile of fresh steaming shit. I'm not desperate. I'm a fighter that wins most battles.

You beat your sweet ass I tore into him for that comment. He backtracked and claimed he was just joking. Dusty does have an off-kilter sense of humor. I would've written it off as a misinterpretation. But he kept hitting the motherfucking button. His next comment was 'I'm just making the observation that your stories about stealing boyfriends, kissing a lot of boys and exchanging glances mean you are seeking male validation.' Jesus Christ, that pissed me off. I'm not a stupid girl. Male validation is the same thing as male attention. I will call a man out on his bullshit. He wasn't making a joke when he said 'I was desperate for male attention.' He lied to cover his ass. And I don't put up with lies.

He doesn't know me very well. I have a problem that has always affected me. I absolutely rebel against all forms of male authority. I have attacked every male authority figure I've ever encountered. My father could not control me. No male teacher could control me. No male co-worker or boss could control me. No boyfriend could control me. I don't know why male authority figures make me fight and rebel. I only follow orders from women. It will be a cold day in hell when I chase male validation. The day I need some man to validate my existence is the end for me.

His 'proof' I seek validation pissed me off. I've had a damn good life. When I tell stories about stealing boyfriends, kissing boys and exchanging glances I'm just talking about my life. I stole boyfriends to use them and drop them. It was the opposite of seeking validation. I was taking cocky men down a notch for shits and giggles. I kissed so many men. It wasn't for approval. I'm addicted to that moment when a man breaks down and needs to kiss me. I'm not trying to validate my life when I kiss a man. In my small town I had a blast getting that kiss, marking a man off my to-do list and finding the next conquest. I'm no angel. It was a power trip. The only validation I wanted was control. I didn't care if a man loved me or hated me. I wanted to see them break. I will admit that flaw. In the prime of my life I didn't give a fuck about validation. I didn't want a boyfriend. I wanted intense moments of passion. My mom taught me there wasn't a damn thing wrong with kissing boys. If I had a daughter I would tell her to kiss as many men as possible. Life is short. Few things in this world will ever beat that moment when a man simply has to kiss you.

Exchanging glances. I can't believe he acted like that was a flaw. I'm a motherfucking writer. I talk about the way men look at me. I talk about those moments when I lock eyes with a man and feel something. When a man checks me out in a grocery store I don't feel like I'm a beauty queen. I feel normal. A part of me will always be the fat, balding, badly dressed misfit with a severe facial deformity. Trust me. It doesn't get much worse than that situation. I thought dusty could be happy for me because I beat those problems. Stealing boyfriends and kissing boys had nothing to do with validation. I am honest. That moment when a hot man who should've been out of my league is staring at me is validation. It is validation that I'm not a monster. It is validation that I prayed for a small miracle and god hit me with a huge gift. I should be chewing my face like I'm on meth. It was supposed to be an irreversible condition. My shrink called it a goddamn miracle when that problem disappeared. Exchanging glances with a man is all the validation I need. It reminds me that my faith in God changed everything that made me hate myself. It reminds me that all things are possible. Fuck dusty for twisting that piece of happiness into proof that my blog is a desperate plea for attention.

Then he made the snarky remark that I was 'positively itching to write erotica again.' I'm a smart woman. Nothing pisses me off more than a snarky remark about my writing. Erotica is not a rash that I need to scratch. I know damn well he was insulting me because I write sex stories. He doesn't like my erotica. He never has. It burns his tight little asshole that I started doing it again. I got snarky back. I told him I was truly sorry for not writing about muffins. He told me he liked muffins. Then he put me on the witness stand to ask two questions. Why do I write erotica? and why do I flirt with men? He doesn't know me very well. When I feel pressure to justify my actions to a fucking man, I become irate.

I made it simple and he was shocked. I told him if he had a problem with me writing erotica our relationship was over. Guess what. Any man that makes me choose between writing and earning his love can't have me. I write erotica because I'm good at it. I get high as a fucking kite when I'm writing about sex. I don't do hard d**gs. I don't drink. If you want to know the truth, I haven't had sex in three years. My d**g of choice is erotica and I am an addict. I beat more than one actual d**g problem. I beat alcoholism. I beat any urge for a one-night stand. I will always write graphic sex stories. If he wants to read about muffins he better find a new woman. I have never stopped doing something I love to make a man happy.

It's kind of funny he tried to portray me as a woman who is desperate for attention and male validation. I should've written more stories about the hilarious ways I tortured male authority figures who tried to control me. I put so many male teachers threw mortal hell. One teacher used his classroom to promote Christianity on a daily basis. My mother taught me that nothing is more important than the separation of church and state. A public school is not a church. I took that teacher down so damn bad he almost got fired. I humiliated him on a regular basis. He kept up his daily sermon.

One day I cornered him. I made him admit he chose to teach at a public school for the sole purpose of making teenagers accept jesus Christ as their lord and savior. It was against his religion to lie about his agenda. He was pretty screwed when he said his mission was to teach c***dren that jesus Christ was their lord and savior. I walked out of his class and went straight to the principle. I told the principle he was infringing on my religious freedom. That teacher had to face me in front of the principle and simply beg for a second chance. He vowed to stop preaching in the classroom. He wasn't a bad man so I agreed not to keep fighting to get him fired. I warned him I wouldn't drop the issue if he didn't change. After that the teacher basically licked my ass. He never missed a play I starred in. You earn respect when you don't tolerate a male authority figure abusing his power. That is one simple example of what I do to men who try to control me.

I've worked my whole damn life. Every boss I had was a man. When I was yelled at, scolded or abused I walked the fuck out. Most of my jobs I worked at for years. I'm a damn good worker. I mostly worked for two competing dry cleaners. I was a fucking expert that could make or break a damn business. Either my boss called me to apologize and beg me to come back to work or I immediately moved to the competition. I switched cleaners damn near ten times. My bosses didn't hesitate to rehire me over and over. Both men knew I had loyal customers that followed me. I'm also a perfectionist. I could work eighteen hours doing heavy lifting when it was over one hundred degrees in a plant. Women used to pass the fuck out doing my job. Grown men who tried to do it would pass the fuck out. I am no dainty, delicate girl who is scared of hard work. I truly have a great body because ten years of intense labor gave me serious muscle tone.

I'm only seeking disability because my mental illness warped my damn brain when I turned thirty. Suddenly a combination of Xanax, ambian, three sleep inducing anti-depressants, Tylenol pm and alcohol stopped putting me to sleep. It happened to my uncle at the same time. We had the same shrink. It isn't some bullshit joke that we were both taking a combination of pills to sleep that would be lethal for a normal person. My uncle was the most wealthy man in town. He was a financial consultant for some of the most mind boggling conglomerations on the planet. He could intimidate people to do damn near anything. He worked my shrink to prescribe us both that lethal cocktail of pills. We both hit rock bottom when that cocktail stopped working. We both had a decision to make. I decided to go to nursing school. No program on earth would take me on a lethal cocktail of pills. My shrink put me on a brand new pill the director of the nursing program couldn't research.

I watched her try to research it. The damn pill is an anti-psychotic which shuts all doors in my life. This pill is also for PTSD. I lied my ass off that my medicine wasn't an anti-psychotic. I got in the damn program and I fucking rocked. My anti-psychotic leaves me so sedated I take a hardcore stimulant. It's not fun to be comatose and then spun out. But, I fucking manage. My uncle wouldn't take an anti-psychotic. Mental illness in my family is no joke. His son is schizophrenic. My uncle would not take an anti-psychotic like his son. It killed him. He lasted three months without sleep and blew his brains out with a shotgun. Life can be a real bitch sometimes. I needed him to stick around. I have simply accepted the fact that I'm one crazy bitch. But, I'm happy. I write. My uncle taught me not to take bullshit from any person who hurts me. He would laugh at dusty for dropping the word desperate in my lap.

My uncle gave me enough male validation to last three life times. He bought half of the damn town just to prove a point that he was a self made man. He bought the only three story house in town. It was a bed and breakfast resort before he moved in. He had a multi-million dollar yacht and he paid a crew to be prepared to sail with no notice. He took over companies and brought them out of bankruptcy. He specialized in hotels. But he took on projects if they sounded fun. He had a blast running Tower Records which makes me smile. He dated playboy bunnies. Each month he bought at least fifty thousand dollars on wine. In college I was one of his secretaries. I watched that man spend three hundred thousand dollars to buy custom tailored suits. He loved hot waitresses. One of his favorite hobbies was buying a ten dollar meal and leaving some nice girl a five hundred dollar tip. He put his step daughters best friend through college because she was a single mother. She wept at his funeral because he saved her damn life. He had a habit of fixing people's teeth that he barely knew.

He was one of the people that earned a fortune to predict financial situations. He failed. He did not predict the depression and banking crises of 2008. He lost every dime he earned. When he blew his brains out he was truly penniless. My mom used her unemployment check to buy him a tombstone. She wasn't going to let her brother get buried in an unmarked grave. Everyone fucks up sometime. He just fucked up big time. I used to tell him about making a 98 out my nursing exams. The best validation he gave me was simple. He would tell me 'Of course you made a 98. Next time make a hundred. Your too damn smart to miss a test question. Nursing school is easy. You could do it with your eyes closed. I know you want to be a nurse. But, we both know you could do better.' A week after his funeral the woman who raised me died. I went into shock. I dropped out of the program because I hated healthcare. He is right. I can do better.

I'm waiting for my mom to save up money because she finally got another job. She is an RN. But she is sixty two and it's a damn miracle she was able to get a job. Very soon, I'm going to go for it. My art can take me places if I bust my ass to promote it. I don't know what the future holds. I am just as smart and innovative as he was. I hope to be the next millionaire in the family. I want to make him proud. All the validation he gave me taught me to dream big. He was pretty damn shallow and vain. He would be giddy to know life threw me a curve ball and suddenly I'm beautiful. Real beauty comes out when you face hardship.

I wasn't bald, fat and deformed when I was able to work at a dry cleaners. One of the reasons I had the ability to switch jobs was the fact I was sexy. Some very wealthy older men chased me hard. If I wanted to have an easy life it would've been easy to be a rich man's trophy wife. I preferred manual labor over being a hot young trophy. I'm not fond of wealthy men. I want to make it by myself. My uncle would've told dusty he was damn lucky to be living in London. He knew me well. If dusty told me I write because I'm desperate for attention to my face my reaction would've been simple. Me, my uncle and my mom have a little problem with v******e. I would've beat the dog shit out of him for that statement. I'm going to try to forgive him.

Right now, I want to bash his face in for making me have one day when I planned to stop writing because he made me fill like an attention seeking slut. People in my family pull guns on people. My mom had a few moments when she snapped and bashed in my dads head with a cast iron pan. My cousin barricaded the house and planned to murder his three brothers. A swat team had to bust in the door and he pulled a gun on the police and did hard time. My schizophrenic cousin snapped when he was in the navy and cut a lot of people with a knife. He had to be airlifted off an aircraft carrier. My uncle decided to kill his step daughter's boyfriend. She lived a few blocks away. He was in a bathrobe and barefoot walking down the road with a shotgun. She was smart enough to call the police. My uncle was good friends with the chief of police. He got to my uncle before he reached his destination. The only way he got my uncle in the car was by telling him 'look mr. hawthorne youre a very wealthy man. If the k** needs to die, hire a hit man to do the job.' They drove him home with no punishment. The k** was furious. He was truly scared my uncle would have him killed. We are all so crazy that we snap.

I let dusty know he fucked up and there were ramifications. He is no longer allowed to spy on my xhamster page or read my blog. I made him swear on the fucking bible he would never read another blog. He is cut-off. A part of me hopes he breaks his vow and confronts me after he reads this blog. I will tell him to fuck off and forget he ever knew me. I can walk away without batting an eyelash. And I cheated on him last night. That is why this blog announced my status as a happy slut. It wasn't planned. It just happened. Ironically, male validation hit me so hard, I may never be the same. I'm tired and I won't write a blog worthy of the night I had. I'm determined to give it a shot.