Being a “braver Junge” as my father put it included swallowing down his cock until I felt I needed to vomit. If I did, it surely was not him to clean it up and I surely was not to use a cloth for it. Cynically, I’d say it was good for me that he did not let me eat regularly so that my stomach was empty quite often and I did not have to gulp down lumps again, but gastric juice was not so tasty, either.
I am sorry, today I’m in quite a bad mood and Yoga was not to improve it. We had to pump the stomach and that did not turn out to be comfortable and now I suffer from heartburn and memories LOL Yoga still triggers a lot and so does dummy sucking. After I came home from Yoga I just wanted to be beaten and fucked real hard, but of course John’s not here anyway. Sometimes I think of hurting myself, but I never give in to it. I do not smoke but I just continued to stub out cigarettes on me just like my father did, like a stupid, uncreative asshole. I was used to it and in a weird way things seemed to get better by that. I liked the pain and I liked the thought that I had damaged my ugly, worn body. Living by the rules John gave to me is not easy, not at all, but on days like today it’s so hard that I think I’m on the verge of dropping. But of course I won’t. I know it’s just the triggered feelings that drive me insane.
I had a hard time coping with so many kind things John said and still says to me. That he likes my voice, that he thinks I have a pretty face with beautiful eyes, that he likes the way I taste and smell. To tell you the truth, I still can’t believe this. I don’t mean he’s a liar, it’s just that I can’t believe he really could think that of me. Ever.
Love, I am weary. Wishing you were here with me, just to have you near, listening to your breathing. Wish I could sleep in your arms. Don’t bother, I’ll be ok. Guess I’ll prep some porridge.