If you ever wondered how crazy some people are, but are afraid to ask because you know the answer even if it is not in your favor. Well, then, I have a nice little surprise for you.
Category: Writing
This is an early draft copy of Chapter 9, P9 nine Dom of The Jessica Files by Punis Russi. Much like we are doing with The Other Side by K.W. Turner, we will be releasing a good amount of the chapters of this story from time to time.
Please, enjoy.
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Part nine 9 of The Jessica Files, Dom. This week, we get caught up with Sir and Ma’am and learn a little more about The Department of Rules and Contracts, aka DORCs.
It was a beautiful Sunday in spring, which here in Arizona runs from February till it hits 100*. That’s anytime between the end of March and mid-May.
Jessica and I had gone out to a local bar one day to have a couple of drinks and watch the San Francisco Giants and the St. Louis Cardinals in a doubleheader.
We didn’t go out very often, mainly because of my desire to be home. We were having a great time, but then…
I noticed this lady who seemed to be eyeballing Jessica out of the corner of my eye. And it was kind of annoying, but it wasn’t harmful then.
As it got into the late afternoon, the lady decided that she would come over to our table. I wasn’t sure what to expect at first. She was of average height and weight, average looking.
Once she arrived at the table, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But then…
The lady points at Jessica and says, “I am claiming this woman as my own for contract.”
I chuckled, and Jessica slowly lowered her hand underneath the table to put it on my leg because she was nervous. But Jessica knew the rules and the procedures around something like this.
“Miss, I believe you are gravely mistaken and overstepping your bounds. I recommend that you leave immediately,” I forcefully stated to her.
Again, the lady proclaims, “I am claiming this woman as my own for contract.” But this time, she’s staring at me.
I calmly say to the lady, “You fancy yourself a Dom? Well, then, you know the rules about this, don’t you?” I stared at this lady, stupid enough to try to claim shit like this.
I mean, I’m sure as fuck of the contents of that section, as it was always crucial to me. So this is going to be interesting.
The lady looked back at Jessica, trying to stare her down, but Jessica just looked down at the table, squeezing my leg more and more as this shit continued.
“You’re a Dom, right? That takes precedence over gender orientation. I do not want to say this a second time… You need to turn around and walk away before I slap the ever-living shit out of you.”
“You can’t slap me. I’m a woman.”
I quickly stood up, and everything else stopped in the bar. You could hear a pin drop. I’m guessing they know what’s coming; ain’t nothing good is the answer.
I told the lady, “I will give you a choice of the outcome here. I offer to buy you a shot of whatever you would like up to $100.”
Damn, that’s a pretty generous offer right there in my book.
“Or I’m gonna slap you so hard the DORCs will be able to identify your body by my fingerprints.”
The lady freezes; I’m unsure if she was trying to calculate how hard I would hit her or what she wanted for a shot. I start a slow count in my head … one thousand and one, one thousand and two…
“I would like the Dalmore 18, please.”
As I was cocking my arm back to lay waste to this thing trying to circumvent the DORCs rules, I lowered my hand to my pocket and took the one hundred dollar bill out. I always kept a hundred-dollar bill in my wallet for shit like this.
I’ve had that hundred dollars in my wallet for many years now. Most people apparently like being slapped.
The waitress finally comes over now that things weren’t going to turn sour. “How would you like that, on the rocks, neat…?”
I turned to the waitress; I handed her the one hundred dollars I had initially noted and pulled out another hundred dollars. “I think she wanted a double, right?”
“Yes, that would be very kind of you, sir. Thank you.”
“Miss, you made the right choice. But, don’t ever let it happen again because some Doms are not as forgiving as I am.”
The lady looked down at the table in my direction while I presume Jessica was nearly panicking.
When the waitress returned, she handed the lady a colossal drink of whatever the fuck it was. The lady looked down at her drink, swirling it around in the glass.
Finally, the lady looks up at me directly, not quite in the eyes, and says, “I’m sorry, sir. She is just so amazing.”
And I replied, “I believe it’s time for you to go.”
Jessica and I finish our drinks, and as we are ready to go, we signal for the waitress, and she comes over again.
She says, “Thank you so much for not hitting that person. We don’t want any trouble here, and we appreciate the lengths you went to prevent an incident.”
I chuckled … Incident. The bigger problem, and she and I knew it, wasn’t any violence; it was the fact that the DORCs would be here really fast, and everybody would have to endure dealing with them.
“Could you bring us our bill or tell me what I owe to save time?” I asked
“Call it $40 out the door, tip included, fair?” she stated with much uncertainty. A LOT.
I handed the waitress forty dollars and said, “Thank you, have a wonderful evening.”
I turn to Jessica. “Are you OK, my love?”
“Yes, Sir. But Sir, were you going to hit her?”
“Jessica, she was a Dom. Do you know what the rules are?” I paused.
“I think so, Sir,” she said in a very deflated way.
“Jessica, U.S. Code 14, The Department of Rules and Contracts, Section 4, subsection 6, paragraphs 3-5, clearly note that another Dom is not allowed to poach a sub at any time, anywhere, for any reason, ever.
“Paragraphs 6 and 7 outline that I am within my rights as a Dom to take the necessary actions to protect myself and my sub, in that order, by whatever legal means necessary.”
Jessica perked up. “Yes, Sir. I remember now, Sir.”
Usually, Jessica waits for my hand to be out before she grabs mine, sometimes palm-in-palm, but pinky hooks are our favorite. Of course, it helps since we live in Hell. OK, fine… Phoenix, Arizona
As we left, Jessica held my hand tighter than I thought she had ever done before. I thought I knew why but would be surprised by the events.
As soon as we got outside, I ordered a RydemNow. While we stood there, Jessica turned towards me, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “Thank you, Sir.”
I turned towards her, not saying anything but curious about what she was thinking.
“But, Sir, your hands belong on me and no one else!”
I smiled at Jessica.
“Sir, as per U.S. Code 14, The Department of Rules and Contracts, Section 4, subsection 6, Addendum R that was dually agreed to and signed by us….”
Wow! She knows her shit. Damn, I love this woman through and through.
“Sir, that addendum says that I am yours, and you are mine, and we shalt never touch another.”
“Yes, Jessica. That’s for threesomes or for either of us to fool around on the side. It’s not for this.” ”Oh, I see, Sir. So is that why we didn’t hook up with ‘eXXa’ when we had the chance?”
I thought about how the spelling of her name, using the letter X instead of the letter M, made it so annoying to pronounce. And to be honest, it just irked the shit out of me.
I stared intensely at Jessica, happy with her thoughts but unsure of where she was going. I wanted to bring out more and have a happy yum-yum time.
“Jessica, I love you. I only ever, EVER, want to be with you. You and only you. Aside from the Gatos, you are the only thing that matters to me. I love you. You are mine as I am yours.”
Jessica squeezed my fingers again, a little more complex, more joyous. “Thank you, Sir. I only want to be yours, for now, and always.”
“Well, my love, when we get home, we’ll swap your collar and ….”
I noticed her hand again rise up and gently clutch her outside collar. I know it means the world to her, as I know it fucking means the world to me. That collar is my love for her.
I often was disappointed when she did that, but I’d never said a word about it as best as I could remember.
It was something I had crafted for her, something no one else could or would ever have. It was unique, like her, and meant the world to me, like myself to her. She was just so amazing.
“Jessica, once we’ve swapped your collars, I will put my hands all over you!”
Guess what we’ve got for you? And… go…
This is an early draft copy of Chapter 3, P3 three Contracts of The Jessica Files by Punis Russi. Much like we are doing with The Other Side by K.W. Turner, we will be releasing a good amount of the chapters of this story over the coming weeks.
Please, enjoy.
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Part three 3 of the Jessica Files, Contracts. This week, we get caught up with Sir and Ma’am and what the framework of contract life is like.
Every day with Jessica is a treasure. I can’t express how much I love her, I can’t express how much I know she loves me. Through action, statement, and known intent, I know how she feels.
I mean, she has signed many contracts with me as my love, as my subservient. As I have done with her. Without a doubt, we both know where the other stands on almost everything.
It’s in the contract, stupid.
Yes, that’s a term that gets thrown around in this household. We used to find ourselves pulling out the thick document known as, umm yeah? “The Contract”. If it weren’t in there, we needed to negotiate.
And that is something we did from time to time. Something would come up, we’d identify it. To the contract, we’d go. Was it something that needed to be amended? A new entry?
We’d negotiated so many times in the past, that it was so easy now. Fuck, Jessica and I had done so many addendums that it was often a difficult time to ensure they were merged forward.
But we always got it, Jessica and I. We always did. Why? Love. And the threat of legal bullshit.
But mainly it was respected. We were in this together, legally, and we loved the fuck out of each other. I can never recall a negative comment I’ve ever made about her that wasn’t to her.
And she would say the same, over and over, to me. She was my “Ma’am” and I was her “Sir”. I’d have it no other way. I’d kill for her, I’d defend her like anyone who loved anything. And she’d do the same.
I know this because while not violent, Jessica has staked her territory a time or two. Oh, how I loved that. Non-violent, stick her flag in me, fuck you bitches he’s mine.
I’d look at her in awe, smiling the whole way, thinking to myself “How fucking lucky am I? How do I have such an amazing woman in my life? I am blessed. Also, she’s mine. Mine!”
Make no mistake, she was mine as I was hers. There were no third parties in this unless it was one of the cats. All of them.
She loved the boys as if they were hers, which also warmed my heart with love. But like me, she loved the fuck out of Takao. He was something very, very special. I’ve known this for a long time now.
She was everything. And I know I was her everything. I know this because she’d always follow the rituals, live the rules, knowing both by heart. She was a lot smarter than most thought. Typical.
My Jessica was as devoted as you could imagine. When I said “jump”, she said, “for how long?”. She was a smart cookie, and that made managing our lives a lot easier. A lot!
And that made ritual time so much more fun for me, exciting for her, and just a lot of fun that the average person would not see or comprehend. This lifestyle, living on contract, is a challenge.
You had your own expectations of the relationship, and…. you had the legal ones. The ones you agreed to with legal representation, notarized, and filed. That kind of love, if you will.
I can only tell my side of our relationship, but I never doubted from the hug till now, that my Jessica loved her kastle. She loved her “Sir”. I can only lay this out in PG terms.
And I will do this as we progress, but I wanted to denote a few things that I’ve gotten mail about, about some of the contexts of the contract.
- Yes, she is to do what I say, when I say, so long as it is within the purview of the law.
- Yes, anything and everything (again, legal speak).
- Yes, she is a wonderful cook, absolutely amazing in her skills. Jessica might as well have gone to the Culinary.
- Yes, she hated dusting the house as much as I did and it was in the contract that neither of us was required to do so. Unless the rest of the tasks were completed.
- Yes, we would play rock/paper/scissors to see who “got” to dust.
- Yes, she has piercings that I requested of her, as per the contract.
- And yes, she really has wanted to murder my knees. Sadly, on more than one occasion.
I am so thankful to have her in my life, and…. that brings us to today’s topic. It’s called “Do what I say, period.” Yes, there are parts of contracts that we know exist but hope we don’t deal with.
I’m not talking about the “Clean the toilet with your tongue.” type of stupidity. No, this is literally telling someone what you want them to do in clear, concise language. Nope, it’s more interesting.
As with the ritual of exchange inside and outside collars, there are things that you are supposed to do in a relationship, non-sexually, and not in a slave-like manner. Unless it’s a Slave Lea thing.
Not like that doesn’t happen every year on 5/4… Sorry, what was I saying? I got lost in an outfit I had gotten her some years ago, one that can only be worn on that date.
contracts contracts contracts contracts contracts
This is an early draft copy of Chapter 2, P1 two Sleep of The Jessica Files by Punis Russi. Much like we are doing with The Other Side by K.W. Turner, we will be releasing a good amount of the chapters of this story over the coming weeks.
Please, enjoy.
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Part two 2 of the Jessica Files. This week, we get caught up with Sir and Ma’am and see what chicanery they get themselves into, and how things get solved.
Another Tuesday, another day here at home alone with the boys (cats) while I work the day away. Typically those are ten to twelve hours every day, but I’m at work before 6 AM local.
And in all of this time, in candid moments or in those free pass situations, Jessica had never complained or led me to believe the extra time one bed was an issue. I think I know why.
Yes, I have covered this in another post, I have knee problems, and sleep for me is often difficult. I may be something else in bed, but sleeping because of my knees isn’t it.
I have long suspected, but I never bothered to ask Jessica about the three or four hours in the morning that she gets to have the bed to herself.
Is it the snoring? The shuddering of my body in pain? Was it the trips to the shower and back? Yeah, I’d rather not fucking know than poke at that shit.
Just saying, if you regularly slept with another person for whom you were sleeping incompatible (ish) for years on end, how about them a couple of hours in the morning, am I right?
I’m just saying, I feel like Jessica needs those extra couple of hours without me shitting in her cheerios all night whenever possible.
Not because she needs more sleep, she just needs better sleep. This leads to an interesting topic.
Jessica and I were talking one night as I tossed and turned from the pain, she put her hand on my shoulder to help steady me more.
She slid in next to me, and sweetly whispered to me “I’m going to sleep in the guest room tonight. If I don’t, I will murder your knees. And then where would we be?”
She was adorable. I loved that about her. She always was finding new ways to make me fall in love with her over and over. It was enrichening my soul.
But notice, it was Jessica who went to the guest room and not myself, he who is the problem. And there is perfectly cromulent reasoning to it. Really.
It was in the contract. Yup, we negotiated some lines in the contract a few years back. Per the new contract, we got a really, really nice bed for the guest room.
She got to choose the bed, the size, the style, the sheets, everything!. She knew she was to be the only one to sleep on it, aside from visitors.
I was not to sully her bed, and I initialed on that line without blinking. It was almost as important to me that she was sleeping better as me sleeping not in pain.
It’s funny what kind of love and happiness can flourish between two people who were under a contract. It’s liberating. Maybe.
Lights out laying naked together, the air temp perfect. I’ve been there before.
This is an early draft copy of Chapter 1, P1 one Entropy of The Jessica Files by Punis Russi. Much like we are doing with The Other Side by K.W. Turner, we will be releasing a good amount of the chapters of this story over the coming weeks.
To note about this chapter, this was from the second day of writing the series, already this far in. Entropy, folks.
Please, enjoy.
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Part one 1 of the Jessica Files. This week, we are introduced to this redic couple, and see what chicanery they get themselves into, and how things get solved.
I sat at my desk in the den, waiting patiently for Jessica to get home. I often found myself lost in my thoughts on Tuesday evenings since she worked a late shift at her day job. The rest of the time, it was a more standardized day shift.
I knew that she would follow the same routine like any other day when Jessica got home. But Tuesdays were memorable for me. I could think out what I wanted more than any other day. Due to that fact, my level of enthusiasm was higher.
Jessica and I have been together now for a while, and it has always been on long-term contracts. That worked for both of us as it provided a level of stability that we both craved.
Two cerebral introverts, and you’d think there’d be problems. Nope.
The contract was always super tight, expressing the limits of the relationship is clearly defined words and well-understood language. Setting those limits is paramount to the success, short-term or long-term, of such an endeavor.
I’ve been enthralled with her for a long time now; she makes me smile just thinking about her. Her smile, her jovial nature towards me, and the beauty of her personage were remarkable and awe-inspiring. Then as well as now.
Oh, plus she was super hot as fuck.
I made sure that she took proper care of herself; we indicated that in the contract: nutrition and diet, mental and physical exercise, and grooming at a top-notch level.
Jessica never indicated it to be an issue, for if she did, she would have crossed off the appropriate lines in the contract we’d negotiated. She was always so eager when it came to renewal time.
That’s one of the best aspects of contract life; every time it’s up for renewal is another chance to adjust the expectations. Luckily there’s not been any changes over the last five contract renewals. Phew.
It’s also fantastic for parties of the contract to be so happy with the terms that they are re-up without even reviewing it. Jessica and I felt the same way with the words, a glossy, comfortable look in each of our own eyes.
It always makes me think back to the first time I saw her. God damn, she made my jaw drop when she looked over at me and gave me that smile. You know the smile, where you realize you are butter and being melted.
I didn’t engage with her aside from shenanigans that I’d pull while shopping, and our paths crossed. I so looked forward to that, but I never really let on that I intended to make her a part of my life.
And I did, and I am ever so fucking thankful for that Christmas Eve Day event. It was glorious. Jessica was stocking a refrigerated case and had turned around to get some more of the product that she was restocking.
She saw me out of the corner of her eye, as she has told me a time or two, and proceeded to make a beeline to me. I wasn’t expecting anything, to be honest, but the next five minutes changed both our lives.
As she got closer, her smile got seemingly wider. Her cheeks had a slight flush look to them. And her eyes, well fuck, I don’t know if I can express how I felt when I looked into her eyes.
What happened next was utterly unexpected. Her arms started to reach out to me. I didn’t know what the fuck was happening. I felt like a panic attack was coming on, not like that was anything new.
And then, Jessica hugged me. This was no pansy-ass hug; this was two humans’ bodies pressed together in a non-sexual manner. I could feel her against me, like transforming two into one.
We did that explorative dance with our eyes, darting from one focus point to another. I wished we had just kissed then in so many ways rather than waiting the next night, Christmas Night.
She was my gift from all that is above and below. She was the gift sent to ease, perhaps stop, all of the pain that I had.
Jessica wasn’t the solution; she was just a part of the puzzle that allowed me to become one with myself, my existence, all that is, and all that will become.
Jessica made me a human being again, and we both knew and celebrated that. I owe her my life, as I know in other timelines I wouldn’t have managed that.
I am getting ahead of myself here. How uncommon of me.
After the hug, the hug of eternity, we stood in front of each other, not three feet (arm’s length) apart. Jessica was taller than any other woman (IIRC) I had been with.
I had tended to date tiny gals, oh man, the tiny gals. 5’1″, 100lbs with a towel. Stuff like that, it had been my wheelhouse except for the odd bird of Ms. J.
Oh, Ms. J was unique. Like no other that I’ve met. Smart, fuck uber smart. She’s fucking doctor (medical) for the love of Zeus. And she was so much more. And we’ll save that for another day.
Jessica was 5’9 ½,” and I stood a mere 5’11” (on a good day). I’m much more accustomed to a different frame. But that did not matter because, in that moment, I changed.
That was the first of many changes that her presence, essence, gave to me. She was so fantastic as a person; it made you want to be a better human because of her.
We were nearly at eye level, looking at one another as we had a conversation. The type of conversation you typically both remember and forget at the same time.
It was glorious. We discussed our holiday plans, whom we had (in general) in our lives, and the sadness we both held onto at the time. Family. Well, parents.
I won’t divulge it here, but we both have our own shit, just like everyone else. Jessica made me believe that she was trying to own it,
and as we all know, I own my own shit.
That meandered the discussion into our holiday plans. I didn’t have any, for I was on call for some stupid fucking reason. But then again, those clowns…
Jessica told me that she didn’t have any plans, and boom, lightbulb for later. Hindbrain at work, I swear to Zeus that mofo takes excellent care of me. The hindbrain, Zeus ain’t no mofo.
Just as the conversation was getting to be rather interesting, the PA came on asking for her to go to the service desk. In some lives, I let her walk away; in others…
I stopped her as we parted and said, “By the way, my name is kastle. And you are?” as I gestured my hand for a formal introduction. In all this time, we’d never exchanged that.
She stopped in her tracks without my touch; she slowly spun around and said, “My name is Jessica, and it’s my pleasure to meet you.”. With that, I was fucking sold.
I retorted, “It’s nice to meet you, Jessica. Say, since you don’t have any plans tomorrow night, would you like to get together and talk about our fortunes?”.
I don’t think I’d even finished that sentence before she said, “Yes, I would like that. Give me your phone.” And with that, she created a contact entry for herself.
I stared at Jessica, awash with feelings about another human I had not felt in a < strong>very, very long time. And that made me happy, very, very happy.
Jessica then sent herself a text that said one word, “kastle.” I could feel like we’d both hooked each other. I felt like Britt Baker in Pittsburg. (look it up)
And with that, she turned to walk away. Having taken a step or two, she paused and turned around, totally catching me staring at her ass. And it’s fine now as it was then.
And I don’t have to say that because the contract favors me in this regard.
She paused and said, “I’ll call you tonight, ok?”. There was no other answer that I could come up with other than “Yes, ma’am.”
And like that, she walked away, sashaying her ass like she had just won the lottery, and she was riding the wave of emotions that came with it. She’s told me as much a time or two.
I recall wondering if that was the end like it had been with my friend “Andrea” from Florida. That “ass walking away moment,” if you will. Hmm, I wonder if that’ll catch on.
Once I had come back to earth, seemingly hours later, but in reality, a few moments, I texted a friend of mine who was familiar with the Sapphire Chronicles.
She was enthusiastic for me but hesitant to be all in pending that following conversation. I agreed, but I felt like I knew what would come to pass.
I told her, “Dana, this is it. For real. This is a win of epic proportions. With just a hug, I am hooked on a human I have respectfully admired from a safe distance”.
“Dana” knew the quality of the person I was (and am), and she knew I wasn’t about changing the integrity that I value so highly on something so dumb as a piece of ass.
No, Jessica was worth so much more than that now. And then, in a blink of an eye, I heard the garage door open. And yes, her car had an interior parking spot next to mine.
I stood up, moved to the kitchen where she knew I’d be, and counted the paces of how long it typically took for her to come in. It wasn’t bad or anything, just that I couldn’t wait.
I could hear the turning of the doorknob, knowing I would always have it unlocked for her. Except like two times, and you just heard a thud. That was my work-related.
“Sir, I’m home!” she proclaimed as if I weren’t waiting for her in our agreed-upon place.
As she came into the kitchen, I saw that beam in her eyes as I did so many years ago on Christmas Eve. I was lit up like a Festivus pole or some shit.
Jessica put down her jacket and purse, where she was approved to do so (again, contract). I just watched, amazed that this fantastic human was here for me.
“Sir? Shall I…?”
I looked and smiled, knowing that this would be one of the joys that I got out of the day. I paused as she came back around the kitchen island to me.
“Jessica, you shalt.” And with that, she moved the anti-fatigue mat that I had gotten her moons ago to a position in front of me. She knew the drill; she knew the routine.
She stood just in front of me and turned away from me, bowing her head so slightly with her hair pulled up. This is the part that I loved the most. Oh man, just oh man.
I gently reached over to her exposed neck and unhooked the clasp on her necklace, the one I had personally handcrafted for her from things of my past.
That is the way. Sorry, no dopy Mandalorian shit here.
I pulled the necklace off, guiding it above her and then reclasping it.
She said, “Sir, would you put my inside collar on me, please?”. And so I did—Ahh, contracts, how they do things for all parties involved.
With her collar in place, I asked her quietly to please turn around. I checked the fitment to ensure she wasn’t being harmed; that’s very important when doing shit like that.
Lord knows I don’t want to be texting “Larry” or “Debo” to come to help me disappear a dead hooker’s body or anything. Yes, that’s a joke. No, it’s not a joke. My friends would do that with me.
I looked her in the eyes, just staring into them as I had many years ago. I was in love with her as much now as I was then. Time had not changed any of it. Perhaps it made it sweeter.
It felt like 15 minutes, if only 30 seconds. I slowly grasped the well-placed protruding ring on her collar into my thumb and pointer finger.
I always drew great pleasure from our ritual. Remember, contracts and agreements by both parties.
Jessica smiled at me; she always smiled at me. It always made me feel so special, so important to at least another human and not just my cats.
I pulled her close to me, not making a move against the movements. She knew I’d never let harm come to her; that too was in the contract I took so seriously.
She knew what was coming. We both looked forward to it. It always started with a kiss like the first one, love and hope. That never changed between us; that first kiss was memorable.
After that slow, PG-13 kiss (aka no tongue), I slowly released her from my grasp, knowing she knew the rules.
Jessica asked, “Sir, may I?”. She was a veteran of the game; she knew the rituals and the decorum.
I replied, “You may.”
With that, she slid down her pants, doing, “No, these aren’t too tight for me to shuffle.” I took note of that as if I were going to change some part of her regime.
I took the quick, fearful gaze back to me to be precisely that. I had to make sure she knew the rules, and I was going to.
But she didn’t need to lose any weight or exercise more. Nothing like that. It’s just what happens to adults as we age; you can’t stop entropy.
Her pants now down at her ankles, she fixed back on my eyes as she stood in front of me. It wasn’t a showdown; she was waiting on my command.
I smirked and said, “Assume the position, ma’am.” And with that command, she was on all fours with her pants down around her ankles while resting on the anti-fatigue pad”.
“Sir, I was bad today. I left the house without you, and I accept the punishment that comes with it.”
We both damn well knew she left the house for her job, but it’s a ritual that we live by and many others in the contract world.
I replied with my typically “How many times over were we bad, ma’am?”
Jessica softly replied, as she always did, with some arbitrary number of spanks she could take without crying even if she knew she’d had a hard time sitting later.
I used to think of her as a trooper, but as the years moved on, I knew she was as sadist as myself, which is why we were together. Not just on contract but because of absolute love.
Jessica replied, “3?”. I laughed inside at the response like she was phishing for the correct number. And like always, I gave her a “Go fish…”
“Fine, be it 4. But I don’t know why I should have to chan….”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can not allow you to continue like that. You know the rules. You are not allowed to talk to me in such a manner. You should be so lucky not to get slapped in the face.”
She knew I meant it, too, although the idea was gross and appalling. I’d never raised my hand to her like that; I pray that I never will.
Sure, it’s covered in the contract, but that doesn’t allow me to abuse another person. Ever. Even if it’s legal. Legal doesn’t always mean right.
“Sir, I believe I deserve another 4. Please ensure that I get all of them.” I felt like I could have gotten an erection for just that sentence.
“Get up, now!” I proclaimed in an aggressive faux voice. I could see the welts from my slap, so I knew she was all ears.
“Yes, sir!.” And in a jiffy, she was back in front of me, pants still down.
I gave her a deep sigh.
“Jessica, do you believe inside of yourself that I love you?” I hate saying shit like that, but there was a point.
Immediately she responded, “Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. Since day 1.”
“Jessica, should I administer the rest of your discipline?”
Almost as quickly, she responded, “Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.”
I looked her deep in her eyes; I grabbed her once again by the collar, pulling her in towards me slightly more stiffly. I asked, “Jessica, why should I continue with your discipline?”
And as quickly as the other two responses she had given, “Sir, I love you with all of my life. Whatever your decision is, I respect that, and I love you more.”
How the fuck am I supposed to do my job when I have to contend with that?
“Jessica, thank you. Now… assume the position.” And she did so, albeit a little slower this time. I smirked because I knew the game I was playing and wasn’t for right now.
I knew I wouldn’t spank her again, even if she were due three more. Nope, not going to happen. I took a few steps to the side and opened the freezer to grab one of my knee ice packs.
I grabbed a clean dishtowel and wrapped the ice pack with it. I knelt next to her, adjacent to what was my swollen handprint on her ass. I quietly set the timer on my watch for 15 minutes.
I couldn’t see my fingerprints, so I knew we were good.
I kissed where I had slapped her gently and lovingly. It bothered me how things had gone this evening. It wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last.
I sat down on the mat while she remained on all fours. I did not say a word; I gently applied the icepack to the swelling. She knew my compassion; I think that’s another reason she loved me.
And we sat there for 15 min, with me taking the icepack off every few minutes to rotate it. All the while, she stayed in her position. And you see, that was the actual punishment.
I knew that she would rather take the smacks to her ass than be made to sit there for however long I determined she should, knowing she was not supposed to move. Like furniture.
The Outcome… Punis asked me to post this on the site, given how it’s included in most of the books from his series, Tales from the Jessica Files. Like Punis, we believe that this single chapter is the best thing that he’s written, and very probable that any of us has read it.
It’s filled with emotion, pain, love, and, well, Punis’ ability to capture that emotion that really pulls at your core. We’ve all been there, and now we can say all is lost.
You can see more of Punis’ work on his Amazon Author Page.
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P29 – Or The Outcome?
The outcome… I fear that it is something that I can see, and it is so close that I can grab ahold of it. But when I reach out, I realize it is much too far away, and I can’t possibly bridge that gap.
Several years ago, before meeting Jessica, I was in a very different spot. I was looking at two knee surgeries in less than two months. I knew I would put my life on hold, which was scary.
Even though I had been in and out of relationships for some time, I always knew it was because of me and not the other party, but I also knew that pain played a considerable role in my existence. Not just because I’m a Dom, but because I have shit-ass knees. I was always hopeful that I would find somebody who fulfilled me and allowed me to take a deep breath, take a step back, open my arms and accept them into my life. I am not talking about religion, fuck those BLEEPS.
I was fighting an inner conflict between my personality facets and the reality I lived in. I always felt like I could never win, which is why I denote that frequently. But at that time, it felt like I had something within my grasp, only to watch it slowly slip away from me, drifting further and further into an abyss.
What I was trying to grab was love, but yet no matter how far I could stretch, I could not seem to get a hold of it. It always was too far away. And that’s where the subtitle comes from. Fear of not being able or even capable of bridging that gap. The one between the personalities, the voices.
In today’s life, I have my Jessica, and I love her so much. I would kill all humans for her, and I will kill all humans with her. She is everything to me. She is absolute like time. And don’t give me that shit about Einstein… Time still exists; it will always exist, no matter how much you try to distort it.
In some realities, I did not get my Jessica, and I have talked about that at great lengths. In this one, though, I do have my Jessica, and I know that when I put my hand out to her as I reach for her love to pull me back, like from the other side, I know that there’s a part of me that also knows that I was trapped there. I was trapped there for life.
Having spent so much time on the other side, even if it was 49 minutes and change, it was many, many years that I had to live with the constant pummeling of my soul, the constant pain. And I put my life on hold again and again and again. I didn’t have my Jessica. I just had the memory of the girl from the grocery store. She was memorable, to say the least.
And now I can see a wave of pain coming for me. It will be physical or emotional, and regardless, it will be awful. And I don’t know if I can survive this. I don’t know if I have enough strength left to keep going, to fight against that feeling. This is how I felt on the other side when the darkness finally consumed me, and I could not fight it anymore. It’s had won, and I just wasn’t strong enough.
That is where I’m at right now in my life. The darkness is not behind me; it’s all around me, and it’s just waiting for me to make a mistake. It won’t go away, and it was the light that Jessica brought on day one and even still today that was able to grab hold of me and pull me back. It was her love and the absoluteness of her love that saved me.
But right now, in this world on the other side, I don’t have that, and I’m facing down the barrel of a massive surgery, and I’ve got no one to help me. I don’t have anybody to save me. I have nothing. I am on the other side and can’t escape it.
It tears me apart and into smaller and smaller shreds of this guy, and I don’t know what I can do to stop it. There is no light, just ever-increasing darkness. And the ever-consuming darkness that brings the nothingness of life. Yet still, my quote remains the same. I fear that it is something that I can see, and it is so close that I can grab ahold of it. But when I reach out, I realize it is much too far away, and I can’t possibly bridge that gap.
I can never get there. Not without her. And I’m afraid that all has been lost.
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outcome outcome the outcome outcome outcome outcome the outcome outcome
This is a draft copy of Release, Chapter 7 of The Other Side by K.W. Turner, unedited. We will be releasing a good amount of the chapters of this story over the coming week to ten days.
Enjoy.
=============
Faith continues to be an epic struggle for all of Man; else, the darkness creeps upon you, calling your name and misspelling it. Fucking clowns. Like the movie “IT,” but dumber..
I was talking with a former associate the other day. He insulted me and demeaned my feelings towards having lost something significant to me.
He ridiculed me so that if I were a violent person, I would have stabbed him in the throat with my dick. But I didn’t. Nor would I ever. And not just because I’m insecure about my cock.
I allowed this to go on for a while, not just one conversation, but many more over a solid piece of time. It was always a test of faith, even if I was not religious.
As the days slipped into weeks, I ignored this person because I had faith in myself. I had faith that I was strong enough to take anything he could try to throw at me. And one day, I finally had had enough, and I said to him.
“It does not matter what you think. It does not matter what you say. You are inconsequential. You are insignificant. And I’d like to remind you of the age-old saying of “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.”
I had the opportunity to work for CNIPROC.LIVE and what I would be doing would be ethically against my morals, my fabric.
It would be against all of my values, but I was in such a position that I had to take the job. It was taking the job or killing myself. Literally, and there’s the darkness again.
I worked there for a while, and every day I said to myself, “I’m going to quit soon because this is not right. This is immoral”. Eventually, I was ushered out via downsizing, like so many others.
They didn’t give me any hope or faith; they kept me away from that darkness. But then, I lost it all. The job and money. Everything. And I was very angry, confused, frustrated.
What have I done to have been put into a position like this?
What part of the Karma universe did I shit on to get treated in such a horrible manner? What did I do wrong? And I had no answers. Like asking 
how their dinner was.
Then, something amazing occurred to me. I had some stocks from CNIPROC.LIVE, and they were doing pretty well. More than pretty well.
The point where I made money hand over fist over fist, and I could see the cashout, or at least I thought it was a cashout. I had to have faith in that coming to fruition.
But the money, the money kept pulling on me. I could have better toys; I could have better spaces, I could have better access to people and resources. And you know what that stuff does?
It questions your faith and positions the darkness to rule over you, suffocating your existence.
There was a rather significant and negative downside here. Having that money brought access to drugs. And oh boy, the drugs. Someday I’ll talk about that, but know it was fun.
But then CNIPROC.LIVE had a huge scandal, and their stock tanked. That money went “poof.” My benefits are gone. Health Insurance was relegated to using the ACA (Obamacare).
What a fucking shit fuck that is. This doctor is covered; this doctor says no fucking way. I’m sure people understand this one.
I needed a particular drug for my thyroid, and it was getting difficult to deal with the side effects. I had no job; I had no insurance; I was living off selling some of the stocks from time to time.
While all that was great, getting that medication was very challenging. I saw my doctor, and my doctor said they couldn’t give me the medication unless I submitted myself to a battery of tests.
I said, “Are you fucking kidding me? How much do these tests cost?” The response was predictable, “Since you don’t have insurance, at least a $1,000.”
And I stopped. And I wondered to myself again, what the fuck is going on? Is this that slap from Karma?
I started to feel like the walls were closing in again, and I couldn’t take it. My life was being battered and destroyed. I turned to the darkness. Nah, my desperation caught hold of me.
I made an appointment with my vet and I brought in, a few weeks earlier than was scheduled. I’d been with my vet for 13 years, between several clinics. I was so happy and proud when he opened up a clinic of his own.
He was stunned that I was in and asked about that. I told him about my issue, needing the thyroid medication.
I asked him if he would prescribe the non-addictive, no psychotropic or hallucinogenic, or euphoric feeling thyroid medication to the cat in this specific dosage that I needed.
He said no. He said no because that was immoral and ethically wrong. So I didn’t argue with him, I understood, and I know it was a big ask.
I thanked him for at least discussing with me and that I will see him at the next appointment a few weeks later.
And to be honest, all of the subsequent times that I saw him, we never talked about it. We never talked about it. He never mistreated me was always so kind and generous to me.
A couple of weeks later, I found myself in the same situation as I was before. Again, I am afraid of what’s happening or what could happen even though I’ve requested assistance.
This time I had asked for assistance from the State of Arizona the United States Federal Government, and with all of their programs, I was getting nowhere.
I had my Obamacare insurance come up for renewal, and as I was filling out the form, I could only enter the amount of money I was making as my unemployment insurance. I get to the end of the document, and it says
“too bad, so sad, you don’t make enough money, why don’t you try something else because you are a giant loser.”
Hyperbole. OK, that’s not really what it said, but it did indicate that I wasn’t making enough money on unemployment to be a part of the Obamacare program, and it did suggest looking into alternatives.
Medicaid and Medicare are a joke. Which is all great and everything, except none of my doctors accept it. Lovely.
What exactly was I supposed to do when I was in a position like this? I have no one to help me, and nothing was pointed in the right direction? I don’t understand why I am just spinning my wheels and getting nowhere.
It is incredibly discouraging and rather frustrating to be in this position.
And the darkness leaped back into my life, filling cracks in my brain like pouring paint made of some super sticky syrup all over a table.
It never feels like it goes away. It lurks in the depth of my mind, every once and a while knocking at the front door as if to remind me it was there. This darkness never asked me for anything. It just wanted everything.
But I knew it was there. I kept trying to push it away, make it stop. I tried alcohol. I tried marijuana. I tried a variety of prescribed medications. I tried other fun drugs.
The darkness was always there, waiting for me. Waiting for me to make a mistake. To backslide. To admit defeat. To allow it to take over and consume my soul, my essence.
I feel like the darkness keeps calling me, subconsciously at the very least. It is an ever-present pulsing beacon. I can hear it like a counter in the recesses of my brain like it’s beating a lobe to kingdom come.
The darkness, it’s everything you think it would be. It never stops. It will never stop; it knows no way other to be the bringer of pain. It’s a really sad way to think about it.
The darkness will always be calling to me.
For as long as I have remembered, the darkness has haunted me for as long as I have been. It has always been the doubt that clouds my mind. It has always been the anxiety that has punished me.
The darkness is a cloud that brings nothingness. It brings self-desolation and despair. It is all that destroys life. It is all that cripples your mind, preventing you from any happiness.
It is doom. It is sadness incarnate. It is limitless. It does not know time.
A lot of people relate this feeling to “goth” stuff. However, I can assure you that for myself, at the very least, “goth” wasn’t the initiator of this. No, not at all.
Having not knowingly listened to “goth” till the first-time hearing Type O Negative (Christian Woman) circa 1994. I don’t think I’d ever heard “goth.” The whole genre gets a bit of a bad rap.
I have always had this sorrow inside of me. It is always there; it never goes away. It is ever-present. It’s ever crippling. It’s the bringer of doom, more than anything else.
There are times when, much like my knee pain, I have wished that there was something that I could give of myself to make it go away. But then I end up sitting in the shower with the showerhead spraying down my knees.
Nothing makes that pain go away. Nothing makes my knees not hurt. I’ve had six knee surgeries, yet I still am nearly always in pain.
I’m always catering to my knees, those fucks. The pain makes me want to do much harm to myself. I often live my life around them. Around how I know they are going to feel “later.”
Backlinks to other Chapters
DRAFT – Chapter 0 – Lost – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 1 – Backstory – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 2 – Hope With a Side of Fear – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 3 – Fear without Hope – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 4 – Fear with Darkness – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 5 – Darkness and Hope – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 6 – Release – The Other Side |2022
This is a draft copy of Release, Chapter 6 of The Other Side by K.W. Turner, unedited. We will be releasing a good amount of the chapters of this story over the coming week to ten days.
Enjoy.
=============
The paths that we walk, the choices we make, how they permeate through our lives, the pain we inflict on ourselves. Ah crap, I can hear some Redemption lyrics from the song “Release” rattling about my head.
Tired of life and filled with despair
And covered with blood from the crosses I bear
But I’m still standing
– Redemption, The Fullness of Time: Release
So, I went for a walk the other day. While I was out walking, I spent a reasonable amount of time thinking that I have slowly, but surely, been leaving clues for my inner circle about the stark realities of the decisions I’ve made and the task I must walk.
Thankfully, I’m thrilled that I’m doing it, so I am setting expectations for myself and them in the event of the creeping in darkness. There’d be no honest way to release me and the burden I feel on my mind.
Yup, I keep hearing that god damn song again echoing in the back of my mind. It’s lightly buzzing back there, pushing me to investigate myself further.
I find myself feeling very disappointed in people, and yet I find hope in others where previously there was a void. I’ve had friends step up and had “friends” that I had to release from my life because they were incapable of being adults.
And what I’ve been at that, is that people who cannot maintain or have a conversation with somebody without getting upset and name-calling. It’s just not something people can release themselves from. It’s the stark reality of the world that we live in.
That night, I called an old friend whom I’ve known for over 25 years. While we were talking, I brought up that subject. You know, the one about the darkness that was coming for me. I find it hard to explain at times for the uninitiated.
She’s a longtime friend from the short stint where I lived in Florida. At the time we met, I was working for her then-husband. It was Thanksgiving, and he invited me and my roommate “Greg” (I will call him that).
I didn’t know that “Greg” and the boss were old friends from their time working for some interwebs dial-up place in the early 1990s. But, I knew “Greg” from growing up in the area of NY I was from.
I knew the boss was married, but I knew nothing of her. And for the sake of doing this ridiculously, we’ll call her “Andrea.” I’d never met “Andrea” before, so I had no frame of reference.
The boss invited us in, and we were in the dining room, having an adult beverage, and this incredibly stunning blonde walked in. I think “Greg” had to help me pick up my chin after it had dropped.
I didn’t gawk for long, but her southern accent was nearly as stunning as her overall beauty. As the night went on, “Andrea” was friendly to me, but not overly. I don’t want to piss off the boss.
Friendliness doesn’t mean a lap dance, although I would have welcomed it in any other setting. That includes church, in a movie theater, cemetery. You get the point.
I believe I’ve written about her before, elsewhere.
Ok, back to that night. Overall, it was a pleasant time. At the night’s end, “Greg” and I thanked our hosts as we said our goodbyes. I figured I’d never see her again, so it wasn’t heartbreaking.
As time passed, she ended up divorcing the boss. I don’t recall him giving two shits to have released himself from whatever the deal was.
Because “Andrea” was friends with “Greg,” I’d see “Andrea” from time to time when the group would go out to a bar, hang out at someone’s apartment, whatever.
Andrea was never overly flirtatious with me, but she was going through some tough times with the divorce. I’d come to understand that some ten years later.
The one lasting memory that I have of “Andrea” is the last time I saw her when I was living in Florida. It was like something out of a dream, so surreal that it couldn’t have possibly been anything other than a fabrication.
I was with my new roommate, “Terry,” who had moved in when my buddy “Greg” moved back to New York to take a job working doing networking stuff. He had been released from the lease.
That was painful as I had moved there because of my friendship with “Greg.” But, even today, I don’t hold it against “Greg” for doing what was best for him.
“Terry” was cool and from the same general area as “Greg” and myself. However, he was a few years younger than us, so I had not met him until moving to Florida.
“Terry” was a part of the crew that would hang out together on the weekends before “Greg’s” departure after being released from the lease. So he got “Terry” to step into that spot.
Over the next few months, his girlfriend (whom I called “girlfriend” complete with a lower g) had moved in. She was a nice gal, with one slight side note.
You see, she got herself around, having dated “Greg” for a few months. It was weird to see her there. She was kind of like furniture. Look it up.
Well, there’s a second note there. It was weird seeing her walk around naked while being “Greg’s” furniture and not caring. And the same thing when she was “Terry’s” furniture and having the same attitude.
She was a nice person, and I can’t fault her for being an exhibitionist. But, on the other hand, I’m sure she felt as if she had released part of herself to be able to do that.
And she liked Brandy Rai quite a bit. Then again, who didn’t? He was super rad.
Sorry about that, back to the story about “Andrea.”
I was standing there, trying not to stare at a very impressive woman that I had thought about from time to time. What was she like to fall asleep with? Did she prefer holding hands with the left or the right? You know, stuff.
As the conversation about who the fuck knows what concluded, not paying attention as I wasn’t a part of it, I watched as she turned and walked away from me.
Sashaying her ass as if to say “Hey, look at me! I’m something you can’t have.”. Either that or telling me she loved anal. 
Somehow, we have managed to stay in touch for many years now. I have promised “Andrea” a kiss, just a kiss, probably sometime in the last 25 years. Lol.
I don’t recall this promise, but I have faith in her, to be honest, nor would I ever suggest that she should or could release me from that agreement.
“Andrea” and I talked the other night, and I mentioned to her that I had been looking at airfare as I needed to fulfill my commitment to her, even if it was the last thing I did or the last bit of money that I had.
At first, I believe that she was taken aback five by my willingness to openly and honestly communicate, how much value I place on my integrity above so much else, and its importance in my life.
I know there’s a chapter in one of my unreleased books about integrity. Something about a code or some shit.
I think it’s hard for people to understand a good human and the sheer amount of work that goes into it. There’s an immense amount of effort to it.
You have to be willing to stand up for yourself, and you have to be willing to stand up for others. You have to be ready to walk the walk. Who are you, and what do you want to be?
Very importantly, you have to be able to admit when you’re wrong and not because you’re being backed in a corner. So release yourself of that burden and release yourself of that pain.
Because you’re a good human, you will always know the difference between right and wrong.
I find that it is the respect you show somebody to listen to what they have to say and recognize your wrongdoing. Then, you will be released from their doubt and strength that bond.
While we typically don’t want to admit to being wrong, that is a human condition; it is essential to your integrity that you do this.
For without integrity, you are just a shell of a person and more apt to be a piece of shit than to be a standup human. Again, you must release yourself to achieve this level of integrity.
For as long as I can remember, I have tried to walk the walk. I have wanted to be an adult keep my feelings in check, although in private; that’s another story.
But it’s important because people are lunatics and unhinged. They come at you with anger, spite, and vitriol and expect you to do the same. So you have integrity when you do not retaliate, and you listen. You listen.
Sigh, again, dude? Ok, back on track as I tend to get into the weeds.
I have known “Andrea” for 25 years and have repeatedly acknowledged that I am responsible for fulfilling my obligation. Therefore, I think she could understand why it was important to me.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to fly anywhere, let alone to Chicago again. But, I’m going to do that because I am a man. I am a man of my word. That is integrity.
Doing things that you don’t want to do but for the sake of doing them because they are right.
There is a line that one must walk and save yourself. To be the human you are supposed to be, you have to own your own shit. If you can’t, you are weak.
Do you lack the courage and strength to stand in the face of anger?
You would think that I would have something more to say about integrity right now for the amount of stuff that I’ve written about integrity. But the truth is, I can talk about it all I want, but in the end, I have to go to Chicago to fulfill a promise.
Ya gotta do what you gotta do, right?
But seriously, I had every intention to do that, even if it’s the last thing I do. Good and longtime friends are hard to come by, even harder to hold.
And that’s the great thing about having integrity. Your friends know that they can count on you.
If you can maintain those values, the people around you will always know that they can count on you. And they know, they all know, where are stand on something and how important it is to your moral fabric to maintain that.
Backlinks to other Chapters
DRAFT – Chapter 0 – Lost – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 1 – Backstory – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 2 – Hope With a Side of Fear – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 3 – Fear without Hope – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 4 – Fear with Darkness – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 5 – Darkness and Hope – The Other Side |2022
This is a draft copy of Darkness and Hope, Chapter 5 of The Other Side by K.W. Turner, unedited. We will be releasing a good amount of the chapters of this story over the coming week to ten days.
Enjoy.
=============
Lately have been feeling rather hopeless about how the tone can change around here. And it becomes worrisome. Worrisome because of the darkness. It feeds into my fears.
The idea of having a roommate makes me nauseated. I hope that’s the right word for it. The last time I lived with somebody was back in 2008. I had a male roommate who was a referral that my ex-wife gave me.
My ex-wife knew that I needed a roommate. Required might be a more important word than required. She had met him at an indoor soccer game, a league she and I played in. She was always chatting with everybody because that was her way.
Let’s say his name was Coss. Coss was Canadian and just a very relaxed, smart guy, and a good human. So I want that to be the focus here, and I hope that comes across.
It wasn’t so bad, but man, I fucking hated having somebody else around. It wasn’t about Coss, and it was that darkness I have that consumes me and pushes me to hide. I didn’t want always to be hiding from Coss, but that would often happen.
Much like my ex-wife, I know Coss didn’t love that I’d get home and go into my office. I’d decompress for an hour or so, depending on how craptacular my day was. That was less about my ex-wife or Coss.
While having a roommate wasn’t horrible because of Coss’s personality, the extra money was excellent. But I had a $2000 a month mortgage payment, and he was giving me $500 a month. So while it helped some, it didn’t help that much.
If I said, “But that’s 25%, dude,” I would be forced to slap myself.
And queue the shitty inner monologue.
All of this is ultimately my fault because I took some job or made life decisions that were inconsistent with what I should be doing, and therefore I have to pay the price for them. I hope that makes sense.
I thought it would have a different direction in my life, just like everyone else. I thought I was getting away from the darkness, but I wasn’t. Instead, the darkness pulled me back in, no matter how far I ran.
Now I have this big fucking house that I’m renting. I bought a new car, which required me to trade in my diesel that I had paid off. Thus it got me nowhere. I’ve gone nowhere. Sigh.
In a moment of sadness and self-realization, I now have decided that I would start applying for jobs that I am so incredibly overqualified that the likelihood of getting an interview is minimal. On top of that, any offer would be so minimal.
That is because no sane manager or director will hire somebody with 15 years of experience, highly experienced, for a job where they’re answering emails all day for customer support. It’s just stupid.
My alternatives, though, are nearly as unappealing. I have to figure out how to bring home a certain amount of money, just like everybody else. I have to figure out a way to survive because my ultimate goal here is not to kill myself.
The ultimate goal is to get back to where I was, but if I get to that point and I know, I know what I have to do.
Elsewhere in my book, I make comments or notation on my fears with suicide because I do enjoy Dante’s Inferno and would it change to have the usefulness of the idea.
And in the darkness for me, that would take me to the seventh level. That isn’t a hotel, and nowhere anyone who had any hope or delusion of it being anywhere that the darkness would not find them.
I got to thinking about it one day, and I mentioned the topic to The RevCD. He’s one of the few people that I look up to, and I have the utmost respect for him. He’s a super fantastic human, and I value his opinion immensely.
He asked me why I thought so highly of Dante’s Inferno and
I’m talking about all my tattoos to see, and the tattoos represent pain to me because I have so much. I have full sleeves, a full vest, a full lower on my legs, and my back is about 30% done—330 hours or so at this point of tattoo work time.
At the very least, for this event, we’re talking $40,000. – $45,000 easy of money that I put into myself, but I, from a technical perspective, pissed away money that I could be living off of right now.
Let’s be real here, I still would’ve fucked around with that money anyway and got myself into the position I am now. Inevitable.
I think this is because I often feel like the walls are getting closer and closer and closer. Closing me in, strangling me and my life. It keeps putting me into hopeless positions where some of the decisions I have to make are a little less appealing.
All of my apathy aside, I wonder to myself, “What is it going to take to turn things around? What is it that I’m not doing right? How do I keep succeeding at failing at everything I do?” Does it lead me to know where? Or is it putting me right where I’m supposed to be?
What I mean by that I am curious if I am paying the price for something I did or didn’t do, for the actions that I have taken or not taken, and how much more do I have to pay for this, how much more of this shit am I supposed to handle and deal with before I break.
I ask it that way because I feel like I’m being punished. While millions upon millions of people in the United States are suffering like I am, there are millions upon millions across the planet who are suffering like I am.
Growing up, I was a huge fan of the Punisher comic book by Marvel. Not the movies because they kind of weren’t great but yeah. I appreciated his tenacity and determination to make people pay the price for their misdeeds when the system isn’t.
Now while I don’t condone his murdering of lots of people, I do entirely grasp and understand nay I get it. However, I don’t believe I have transgressed in such a manner that the punishment is so intense and relentless in my life.
I recognize that how I feel is dependent upon what is around me, the transpiring events. And that is the same to be said for so many people. But fuck them. Just kidding.
It presents a specter above and beyond what it is now that I am dealing with. Its black cloud brings me pain, suffering, and misery.
I don’t feel like I can ever be pleased, and it’s not just because of some of the things that I have lost in my life, just like everybody else. But not everybody else has mental health issues, and I would want to say I’m thankful that they don’t.
I wonder. I wonder what I did wrong. If you could hear me speaking right now, it would be incredibly somber and self-reflecting or self-reflective. I always want to make myself a better person, and it is a driving factor in my life.
But now I have no drive. I have no desire or push, or motivation to get there. I feel dead inside, and while I’m not scared of this facet, it is a bit concerning because my friends aren’t exactly helping me. How could they?
Meanwhile, Good sister is doing a fantastic job of taking care of some financial sides of things. It is challenging to maintain any positivity and maintain my brain.
I mentioned this to Debo a few weeks ago while we were doing technical stuff at his house, and I commented that I was concerned that I was losing my mental acuity and technical skills because I was not using them.
One of the reasons why I felt this way was due to a project that I had started working on a specific and specialized system build, which had been slowed by parts being delivered that I had ordered off of eBay.
I had ordered a new video card, upgraded processors, a wifi card, and a few other bits in the hopes of building a system that can replace my iMac, the one I’m dictating on right now. Potentially a second system on top of that for downstairs as the video card in the kitchen is just going to shit.
The punishment that I’m getting or taking is often related to having to sell or part with things in my life that are part of me, that defined me and embodied who I am.
The paintings, the DAC, the tube amp that I love so much, the diamond engagement ring that my ex-wife gave me back so I could sell it (that lays around my neck). That one hurts a lot. And then my computer. These all represent things that are part of me, and it hurts.
I find myself questioning myself and what I have done, what did I do that was so egregious that I’m being punished in such a manner that I feel like I’m falling apart, and I just am having such a fucking hard time dealing with it. The darkness increasingly tears at me.
When you start thinking about or planning out how you’re going to commit suicide and then work on getting all the things in place to carry that out, you know you have issues. Or at least you should know!
And the last thing I had wanted to do was bring harm to the gatos.
Another aspect of this is the consequences of talking openly and honestly with your friends. They either don’t want to hear it or are afraid of it because it is tough to deal with that fact.
What I don’t understand, and I’m not second-guessing the motives of my friends because I care about them and they are essential to me, and I enjoy them is that either they’re not taking me seriously or they don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.
The only thing I can do is hope that I can find what I did so horrible that I am being punished the way I am or find a way to break out of this. But, unfortunately, I don’t see either of them being plausible or possible, for that matter, at this time.
I think of what I write on my blog, and often it’s just something that comes up in my mind, and I say, oh, that reminds me of this song, and I write a couple of hundred words about it I posted. Then from time to time, I come up with good ideas or ideas and write about them.
This morning I posted up a rather lengthy blog about Anesthesia, which is my absolute favorite song from Type O Negative.
I noted in the first paragraph the following quote “In case you didn’t know, Anesthesia from Type O Negative is my favorite song. That includes every Dream Theater song, ever. It holds powerful meanings to me and in my life.”
And as I go through, a couple of bits are of interest to help give context to what I’m writing today. and here are a few quotes from my post:
- I fucking feel like everything is a surgery now. I feel like parts of me are being destroyed, removed.
- My whole life, my whole world, was destroyed to block the pain, to relieve myself from it. To make me comfortable, comfortable with this horrible shit. I don’t feel anything.
- I am fighting the future; I am fighting the past. I cannot win the present.
- I am so broken now I dissolve into a mess of alcoholism, drug use, and substance abuse. I am trying to find a way to NOT FEEL ANYTHING! I don’t want to feel anything.
If those quotes do not give you enough background or understanding as to how I feel and how it is that I think I have no hope, how I cannot win, then there might not be enough words to do so.
I let those feelings soak in that day. It hurt that I felt so sad and lost. I know that I want to go back to normality, but what is normality?
And just like that, I realized I was so fucking far into my head that I could see myself from afar. Just drifting.
Backlinks to other Chapters
DRAFT – Chapter 0 – Lost – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 1 – Backstory – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 2 – Hope With a Side of Fear – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 3 – Fear without Hope – The Other Side |2022
DRAFT – Chapter 4 – Fear with Darkness – The Other Side |2022
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