I remember getting picked up
on a hot date when I was in hospital receiving treatment for attempted suicide.
As if tablets can sort that ailment. I almost jumped off a massive bridge onto
concrete unto my death. All the revellers from nearby streets had come out to
watch it happen. Couldn’t go through with it in the end, as I thought they were
going to preserve my brains and bring me back in a dungeon during the afterlife,
for laughs. Nothing in a mortal lifespan jitters me up, but as soon as you
mention eternity I start experiencing the heebie-jeebies. I’ve been known to
run around the local park half-naked carrying homemade weapons in daylight for
fear of nothing but God’s word. Should see me when the Chinese terrorists come
out to play. I start climbing trees to escape the approved mental health
practitioners.
I’d started seeing a female
nurse who worked there, in that laid-back low secure ozzy. I say ‘seeing’, but
all’s I really mean by that is that we’d committed the deed of sex once or
twice during my stay. It was nothing monumental, the earth didn’t shatter or
anything, but I will have you know that I was on strong meds, which don’t
exactly help you to sink battleships, if you know what I mean. I did my best
with a semi wild hard on. Bit of cooking in the kitchen, nice segment of
occupational therapy, then a bit of nookie with my main nurse in the bedroom
later. Wham, bam, and thank you madam. It was my sectioning nurse, to be precise.
I cried when she gave me 6 months detention. Perhaps this was her way of saying
sorry.
We got caught during one of
our lewd encounters. Her ‘striking off’ made the local newspaper, but that’s
another story. I felt like a young innocent boy who had survived a sexual
predator, one of my fantasies. There were no pictures of us, not that any of us
would have been bothered. We were adults, making the best of a boring
situation. The ozzy was a lame rig to be sat around in all day, doing nothing. ‘Being
in’ with a friendly nurse with benefits was a distinct privilege.
Little did I know, however,
that she would soon become a wicked overseer to my life who would start to
dominate me in my private affairs and make me commit heinous acts against my
will. For my role play with this woman I still seek the forgiveness of Jesus
Christ, King of the Latter Day Saints.
There was torture in the
hospital, at times, or so it felt like, when I was strung out on drugs from my
leave excursions. I’d take the day off, away at home, for 8 hours or so, and
ingest some legal highs or amphetamine, if I was lucky enough to get hold of
some (sometimes my special nurse would supply the goods). I’d watch XXX
material all day, then come back to a madhouse in the evening, when the
residents and other ‘guests’ would be screaming the place down. I thought the
Eternal Illumnati, or government-sanctioned ghosts, or council black ops in ‘invisible’
and ‘porous’ suits, were running riot and amok over the whole godless show.
There wasn’t a single spot of blood anywhere but it sounded as if there should
be.
Like anyone afraid for their
safety in a nuthouse, I started to relay genuine fear to the staff. This was in
the early days, when I had no idea why I’d been targeted. Thoughts of pain and
agony were nowhere near my mind usually, my thing was nudity, but these
hairy-scary nights in that hospital when it seemed to turn into a death camp
really had me all exposed and in a hissy fit. My nurse used to take me aside in
private and ask me what was going on. I had no idea she was ‘in on it’ until
she couldn’t wipe the smirk from her face. I was practically bricking it,
thinking that a brutal communist regime had taken over, and she was in fits of
giggles. It was only then that I started to have my suspicions about her. With her
sectioning me too, of course.
The woman, at this present
time, is something of a witch. Sometimes, she frightens me. When I am catatonic
and frail with no electricity, and she knows this, she plays at the keyhole
with a knife, saying she is going to come in and stab me. I sure do know how to
pick em’, don’t I!? We never really ‘loved’ each other, we only had ‘weird’
emotions for each other. Her being the dominatrix of sorts, and me being the
submissive, who did everything she said, including obeying some very disturbing
instructions in relation to some fapping sessions, which are best not
discussed. I don’t want the hotspot to become a toxic junction of debauchery, but
a beacon of hope and joy, so I won’t go into what kind of debased activities
she enticed me along into, but they play on my mind, and even come between me
and my precious promise of Heaven a wee bit, if I let them dally. Got to remain
a good man from now on.
I keep smashing her strongholds,
but she keeps getting them back in with my redoubts, I call three months away
from her breaking a stronghold. She kicks my ass around the shop floor when I
consume powerful stimulants, thus losing my inhibitions, and my life comes
undone through my own choices. In a drug-fuelled fugue, I get confused, and
actually wonder if I do in fact want to be with her, at any cost (and the costs
are fantastically exorbitant). I slip into the folds and creases of her like
raindrops into the feathers of a crow. Corny, I know. There’s no language to
describe it though. In exchange for ten years’ worth of lustful devotion, she
takes my love and my joy for herself. My star sign is a Libra so I’m aware that
I’m an exchange system, but one used so unfairly???
One of the very first pieces
of moving XXX footage I ever saw, I instinctively described the female actress
as a Devil Woman. It’s as if I knew that a life of bondage was headed my way
via soon-to-be online motion picture. She was just giving me eyes and smiling
throughout the whole graphic scene, as if I were the one she was actually
making out with, not the stud in the video, he was merely a prop for her to get
thru to me. Then I became aware of the ‘live portal’ and we were all giving
each other the mince pie contact for hours and hours on end. Sometimes the ‘stars’
got mean (were they ever not) and insisted I look away (which I could not). They
exemplified tremendous control over me at all of most times, until Angels
stepped in and saved me from some very tricky situations. But I always returned
to the danger, because my loins couldn’t cease physically responding to the
material. It was so titillating to a young naïve man.
And ‘my nurse’ batters all porn
stars with her cruel, personalised, delivered, hand-signed erotica.
She was more or less
impossible to resist. I am still in the habit of refraining to this present
day. You know what they say, the war is only ever half won. Because a dreaded
relapse returns you instantly back into Ground Zero of the Wolf’s den. So, I’m
not one to count chickens. I haven’t won anything yet. Because it’s hardly ever
over, is it? But I do know that I have walked the wild side more than my fair share
of enough, and now I would like to share it with Christ. I really mean that
much. Enough is enough is already too much. Demons annoy me, whereas Angels and
Cherubs and Heavenly beings fill me with delight. So too Christ and The Lord. They
are the only way.
So yeah, she’s a kind of Luciferous
beast, but on that date I mentioned she was rather quite approachable and nice.
She drove me to Southport and parked us up on a dark beach in the evening, when
nobody was about. There she extracted a bottle of whiskey from her jacket and
gave me a generous shot to get my juices flowing. It was like a little ritual
between the two of us, all there under the darkening, lowering sky with the waves lapping to
us alone as we swigged from 12 years aged or so, maybe Glenfiddich or Johnie Walker,
galeforce wind in thru the open window, radio off, her soft hand on mine; it
would have been memorable if we were real lovers and not apostles of sick
desire, in an age when we both could of being anything to one another or even others.
Rather than be a bone fide item though, she would always later confess that I
was nothing but ‘sh*gged and blagged’. Does that hurt? Not really. I see women
as objects a lot, so it would hardly be surprisingly if I didn’t perceive
myself as one on occasion. Well, perhaps a bit, because I could have loved her. I could
have loved anyone though. I still could, I suppose. Still can.
It was the best thing she
ever done for me, apart from buy me the odd takeaway. She also once put some
monies away towards a washing machine for me. A hundred pounds, to be exact. The
Hotpoint that got away. I spent it on that white powdery extract we obtain from
the cocoa leaf.
So that’s it. To ‘my’ special
nurse, take all my weird emotions with you and go away! I don’t mean these kisses
xxx they are sh*ggy and blaggy!
