Old Entry: Don’t Let Me Get Me

Metal Babies

I’m not sure what possessed me to dig into the archives of Pennington_Hall over on Xanga land during the years 2006-2007.  But I did.  I also don’t regret a thing!

I know sometimes it’s hard to look back because we believe if we do glance towards the rear that we’ll lose sight of going forward.  Other times we don’t look back because it’s ridiculously shameful to analyze your mind-state to the kind of person you were at the time and what decisions were made and how well you handled (or didn’t!) things and what words you chose and how little you knew about training and finally, how fat and out of shape you were.

There was a time where I was horrible when it came to training.  I mean mentally and physically.  I would skip the gym because of bad weather.  I would skip the gym because I was angry.  I would skip the gym because I was happy.  I would skip the gym because I got into a fight with my boyfriend.  I would whine throughout an entire set when the muscle itself was burning.  I didn’t like the burn so I would stop in the middle of the set when it became difficult.  I didn’t want to push through.  I wanted to work halfway through not the whole way.  I would often ask myself, “How are you going to get muscles when the tough gets going if you leave it untouched? ”

Half of the year I would stop going to the gym completely because I was simply unmotivated, depressed and lethargic.  I knew how to discourage myself.  Than to add fuel I was both immature and close-minded to everything surrounding fitness.  I didn’t start out always loving every workout or every exercise of every set of every rep of every burn of every resistance making me fight for what I desire.  I didn’t always start out every workout with confidence and I didn’t always want to fight for results to take place.

There was a time where I didn’t train unless my brother or a friend would come with me because I was super self-conscious and was unsure of my form if no one was there to watch and guide me even though I trained my brother and ALL my friends.  I came up with the programs for us and tailored it depending on peak times, muscle soreness, lagging body parts and such.

Many times I would tell myself, “What makes training hard is trying to get muscles because that’s more difficult than being a cardio lollipop.  Why am I even trying?  It’s no wonder why everyone stops. ”

Oh, yeah, I considered myself to be a part of the Average Joe up until 2008.  This was the first year where I went to the gym religiously.  I didn’t take a half a year hiatus and from there a new chapter of Training Life began.  I never thought to check up on things until right now.

Here’s a  old noob entry.


The Affair of Coworkers


I go to work and perform repetitive duties.  All around me, for the most part, I see the matching dire attitude and hopeless behavior.  I see worn out characters attached to a status of a title and zombie-like conformity in their soulless eyes.  There is no beauty ladies and gentleman, there is no savior.

I see the same faces, and to some I cringe in an imaginary mode of arthritis and to some I overlook their presence like a Debbie-downer and others I welcome to the stage an infamous sun-beaming smile to deter blurs.  I preserve a high guard but play each and every card hard.

These scripted actors and actresses live outside their personal lives and live their personal lives with a past due account.  They’re miserable looking for a way out of their life debt with the company of tequila, marijuana and shameless sex with one another.  They’re all parasite routs.

I’m lost with how I became caught up in wearing nail polish because my female coworkers are in the midst of a competition I don’t fully comprehend.  I don’t make up well.  I rather hold on tightly to my personality than exist catty.  I guess it’s why I have nil lady friends.

I flirt with the crowd all day.  Young and old, fat or thin, dork or douche, I light the world of their features and make them red and forget the next word that was to come out their meek mouths.  And what confident woman doesn’t enjoy the feeling of being well-endowed?

Than when I turn my back there’s a callous jealous cunt waiting for the right moment to knock me off my pedestal.  But the odd thing is I know in return there’s this sickness unfathomable in her chemicals of wanting to lick away at my pussy.  I find all of this and more fairly amusing.


Erotica: Meltdown


I would undress for him at a snail’s pace because that was part of his personality that ached. He took pleasure in time because it’s all he had in the world, particularly when I would stand in front of him, nude and unmistakably transparent, offering every part of this body of mine.

He sat with a calm edge on the black chair taking in the view; an expression throughout his face went about, a sigh of silent relief and reached for me like a sculpture of a goddess with his sensible fingertips. And what stuck out to me the most was just how amused he was by my full breasts and how he would open his mouth and lick his voluminous lips like some kind of wily crook. With packed intention and strange focus in his eyes I felt his burning desire right on the nerves of my nipples. I felt exactly how he wanted me to feel aroused and as if his soaked tongue had already curled up into the pleasure-button at the center of my breast.

I couldn’t help it; this form of teasing enthralled me within its sweet sweet torture. It excited me greatly and the wetness couldn’t be contained, my pussy blossomed more and more and the moisture continued to slip out my outer lips making me both embarrassed and flushed. Why hasn’t he touched me yet but with his look I cried in horrible silence? The skin on my body yearned for his touch, I felt water swarming in my eyes and my heart hammered in every part of my limbs. I couldn’t hide my chest or control my breaths from rising and falling. I became deeply transparent and here I stood in front of his growing magic.

He woke me out my thoughts and sentiments by letting his desire loiter throughout my entire flesh and pinpointed his fire heavily through my bosoms. He took them into his hands and kneaded them like loaf taking turns with both to circulate the blood in its entire dough of roundness than pluck upon my nipples kindly to make them respond in frenzied vibrations. He would pinch them upwards and outwards and down with sincerity to make them flattering straight until they stood like tips of pointed arrows staring at his pupils wanting to assault him.

It’s what he ached for, I could hear it in each time he plucked and pinched me how he moaned agreeably and hummed to the rhythm of his own touch than to the rhythm of my own lively body. His hands opened up similar to a promise and caressed me in every delicate technique imaginable and in every inch, of every line, of every beauty mark, of every developed callus, of every pore and every blemish he left not one undiscovered. I shivered as if this foreplay was my first time and buckled in my knees and became bowlegged. It felt almost helpless, the way my body stood in a fire and my nipples cried out in a fury while my wetness treaded jumpy down my legs. I wanted to scream loud enough for the entire city to hear: PLEASE JUST FUCKING TASTE ME ALREADY!

I gasped and tripped forward, my breasts dangling like chandeliers right before his hazel eyes when he pulled me in, a bear-hug around my lower back inching me closer and into that black chair. His face buried in my breasts, he groaned sensationally as he rubbed his brows, eyes, nose, cheeks, lips and chin in between and around them. My eyes widened, he must have heard my call and he slid his thick lips and kissed and sucked my sizzling skin, neck and clavicle. The suction noises he made drove me insane but crazed was how he made sure to avoid my nipples. Why? Why? Why for these pleasure-buttons are hurting in horny ferocity?

meltdown 2

But than he inched me back and stuck out his tongue while his hands held my forearms heavy to keep me in place and he poked my nipple with the tip of it. Poke, poke and poke than switched to the other, poke, poke, poke. I glanced down at him in a state of fascination and wept inside my vagina. My areola shrank in size and his tongue went back on my nipple and varied on multiple pressures and stiff licks to make sure my nipple would move a tad during action.

I almost died surrounded by the commotion of every physical sensation. My body I couldn’t keep from moving but he held down my arms and squeezed the life out of my wrists if I thought about getting out of hand and by this point he sucked slowly outwards letting his tongue twirl as he let go only to come back for more. Than he sat me on his lap in a riding position and he growled a loud moan and voiced, “How could you be this wet for me naughty woman? How could you be comfortable to smear all this pussy juice on my legs? I believe I’m in love with you” and engulfed me he did in a firework make-out session.

To be continued..


You Disgust Me

imagesYou disgust me!

You disgust me like fat people without appreciation to their bites of food.
It’s completely delicious I have zero time or reason to savor and drool.
You disgust me like the weakness I see in my mother.
It’s better to be honorable with lying than it is being comforted by truth because it smothers and smothers like draining relatives, like awful older abusive brothers.
You disgust me like the love I showed you without conditions.
Will I ever learn to love again without suspicion
at the feet of my own volition?

You disgust me plain as day.
You disgust me like working without pay.
You disgust me.
You disgust me.
You disgust me.




”Even the right is wrong.” – Coldplay

I’ve always been the type of person who believes in doing right.  I’ve always considered seeking out justice and being the fairness in somebody else’s life.  I’ve always been the type to defend others from bullies.  I’ve always done my best (and many times continue) to do the moral thing first.  Yet over the course of years sometimes being right isn’t always the key and sometimes being fair gets no one anywhere and sometimes life is the big bully and you can’t rescue everyone from it.

Than, with maturity, you start to question, if there’s such a thing as morality.  If it’s all just insubstantial words spoken or a running character to maintain, something meant to structuralized but its actually out of order because it was placed here centuries ago, so what do you really know?  There isn’t anything new under the sun and you start to break down choices, wonder about freewill, question karma and you start to roll with punches and what if’s and dig into the heart of half truths and it starts to decline into a big pile of shit.  What do you know?

I always believed in respecting people’s marriages.  If I knew the guy was married I wouldn’t converse or look his way ever again.  I’d remained proper to myself and my principles and even when the guy couldn’t I would do it for him.  I’d respect his woman without knowing her and I wouldn’t dare think, fantasize or dream to cross the line.  It became a blank page, a thought to never entertain.

At some point I remember growing bolder and leaving my strictness moral code behind.  I’d flirt with a married man who at the time was one of my instructors in trade school for Automotive Body & Repair.  I recalled wanting to get extra credit and doing whatever I could to achieve it.  So one day I decided at a whim to brush my breasts on his forearm right on his podium as class was being dismissed.  It was there when I received my extra credit.  I knew men were stupidly head over heels when it came to woman’s sexuality and I took full advantage knowing he was of very mature age.

I knew to an extent I was wrong.  I never once thought I was for the most part entirely leading him on even when we went out to sit down and eat once.  Than one day he invited me to the teacher’s lounge and openly kissed me without warning and without fear of getting caught.  On his end he kissed me passionately while I froze in his mouth right at the beginning.  See I felt bad for him so I kissed him back and made it under a minute.  I kissed him because I knew he desired it blindly.  I felt nothing for him and I felt nothing out of the kiss itself.  I broke away afterwards and never flirted with him or another married man again.  He later apologized.  I give that to him.

Ah, but over the course of the past two years I’ve been questioning this marriage life and who created it?  And if a piece of paper in fact means anything like uniting two people until death does them apart?  And if you know the marriage situation well – what makes it superior and what makes it sour?  There are numerous ways to rationalize this person’s greedy needs and the other person’s greedy wants especially if the marriage is arranged.  Being human, being married in itself is multifaceted.  And isn’t everything a dependent on something else?

Now on a side note but very much related I seen one film in my whole life (thus far) where they showed a marriage affair and how the people within benefited from it.  It’s unlike the many negative connotation affair subjects out in the world.  The film is called:  Waitress.  (And yes you should see it!)  I can’t for the life of me memorize whether if this film or my own mind has led me down to the road of immorality.  But somewhere along the line I’ve made an agreement with myself on how nothing is what it seems and I’m pretty much exhausted of perpetually playing the good role in life.

Over the course of weeks I’ve been speaking with a married man.  I’ve recently listened to him confess about being unhappy when I asked him bluntly.  We now speak a decent amount in person when he comes by to my job.  Other times we briefly text and mention how we hope the day treats one another nice.  He buys me coconut water almost every time he visits because like most people he doesn’t understand why I don’t drink anything except water.

Today however became another marking when I invited him to come with on my break and he casually revealed how he doesn’t remember the last time him and his wife have sat down in a restaurant to eat and simply chat.  She works long hours and when they catch up on seeing one another it tends to be only on the weekends.  He also made the mention on how he feels as if he’s emotionally cheating on her with me and how he’s conflicted about doing the right thing.  He’s torn between his heart and his mind. Part of him wants to seek the opportunity but than people would get hurt.

And here I am tempting him with every text, with every smile, with a casual hug, with a stroll around the neighborhood, with his buying me lunch, with every acceptance of his coconut water and with my saying yes I will go to dinner with you and to the movies and yes you can arrange a chauffeur, just say the time and place.  And it’s all because there’s this part of me that (besides my own little void at this moment in my life) I like and its wanting to make a(ny) person/people happy.

Life is too short to always feel the negative, the sadness, the suffering and life is too short to always wonder what if and skip on opportunities that may in fact have been there for a reason even if meant in some theoretical way to get a divorce.  No one knows anything because nothing is what it seems.  And even though I can’t make the entire world content, I can rescue a few despite the face of a short or long-term immorality.

Stay tuned? 😉