Workoholic

that house fire on the farm was no accident. someone was behind it. I can't say who but I have a fair idea who the little sneak arsonist was.

that house fire on the farm was no accident. someone was behind it. I can't say who but I have a fai...

I'm Not Visually Beautiful. I'm at the age of living vicariously through any place but myself. When you pass through and naught beyond, person to person, you're left to reap substance from solely the mirror. Like everyone, I have good and bad days. I'm in the early years of youth. Suspended at the age of forced presentations and rehearsed dissertations. The elasticity of my skin doesn't attest. At the right position, softly-lit, I can convince people – especially myself – that I'm stunning. With clear, striking azure irises and inviting blood flow to my cheeks and lips. Admittedly, my beauty has not yet been tumble dried beyond wear. This morning, I weighed two-hundred-and-one pounds. 36•31•44. I'm not delusional – I resent being weighed down (yes, pun) by my insecurities, though. Standing 5'9", with good posture & strong wit, I can dominate the room. Graced with a Scandinavian taut waist and rounded hips, sometimes "fat" can be confused with "curvy". Without a supportive bra, my b****** lay, nipples to hades. If I'm completely nude, hunched over, they sit on the most blubbery part of my abdomen. An n-shape on my breastbone does not indicate the curve of my rib cage – instead it's an inverted slope created by the elongated separation of my tetes. If some unknown force muddles the warmth of my skin, translucence reveals blue veins trailing, tracing below my flesh. Stretch marks make it seem like I'm bursting at the seams. Picture an eleven-year-old girl with a body that's already changing in all of the confusing, ridiculous ways that it does during high-hung hormonal growth. The bane of my existence was gym class (well, aside from having a bedridden mother and an absentee father). These bright red, humiliating scars appear – thick & illusive. Disorienting. The fat on my thighs divots in cellulite riddled clumps. It wrinkles over my knee, the cartilage and bone desperately wishing to support, though squandered in attempt. My ass, creasing over my thigh – flat in comparison to my stomach. It goes without saying that being overweight isn't fun. Vanity aside, it negatively impacts everyday functioning. By common rules of physics, I exert more force than somebody with less matter to host. My stamina is depleted with less provocation, my face shows more signs of being flushed, my deeper-set crevices invite more sweat and filth buildup. When I'm seen exercising publicly I know their first thought is either "It's not worth it, just give up" or "How brave of her!" Speaking of which – yes, I can be extraordinarily lazy. Failure by design of plan, my manner of exercise hasn't been carried out in a sustainable fashion. I've gone two weeks of two hours a day on the elliptical to two months of sitting on my ass. I've managed consistency, to some extent. Steady routines lasting a few months at a time. My dietary habits follow a similar pattern. My lowest weight was 175 pounds & that was two years ago (my highest: 223). Ever heard of a fat vegan? I also have bipolar disorder & rapidly changing moods don't make for an undeviating. This doesn't belie the fact that being "skinny" can also be a source of embarrassment for some people – especially men. There are just about as many outward expectations placed on men. I also heavily (again, pun) disagree with the vilification of slim women. Be it naturally or with a concerted effort. I encourage you to keep in mind that thinness is no indication of overall health. I'm not a "fativist", but I believe that those who exercise to the best of their ability and make a conscious effort to eat nourishing earn the right to treat themselves occasionally – or at least enjoy their food. In no way do I endorse the consumption of processed, mass-produced food. I'm not to the point where I revolt those who I am attracted to. I've been involved with good-looking, intelligent people. Words like "voluptuous", "gorgeous", "fine", "sexy" have been thrown around. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that information. Just absorbing the kind words would invite apathy, settling. I invite whatever harsh words this confession stimulates. Be it the sway of my other positive qualities or simple politeness, my friends (and partners) keep it to themselves. I can't remember the last time I was outright condemned for my appearance. I appreciate the anonymous honesty. If not for my looks but for my overwhelming obsession with looks. I am sixteen, anyways.

I'm Not Visually Beautiful. I'm at the age of living vicariously through any place but myself. When ...

sub guy I am a widower, I'm 43 with a 7 yo daughter. My step son(24), who was like my own son, died in an auto accident 4 months ago. He and his GF "Kim" (not her real name)(23) had a son who is now 19 months. 2 months ago she told me she could no longer afford the house they were renting. My daughter loves her and her son is great. I offered to let them move in with me and we could help each other with the kids and she accepted. Now comes the twist. Two weeks ago she found a contract that I had printed out for my wife and I. It was a comtract of ownership where my wife would be my owner and I would be her slave. Two weeks my mother-in-law took the kids for the weekend so we could get a brake. I took her out to dinner Fri. night and we had a great time with food and drinks. After we got home she opened a bottle of wine and we sat and talked. Thats when she told me what she found and showed it to me. I was at a loss for words and she said it was OK. Kim then told me to look it over. When I looked it over I saw me as "slave" and Kim as "Mistress". She said she thought about it and decided that I still needed an owner. She said she would not force me to sign it, she already did, but she wanted me to sign it and I wouldn't regret it. I was stunned, she is beautiful with an amazing body, she could have any guy she wanted. Why me? Well the way she was looking at me, I couldn't resist her. I picked up the pen pen and signed it, she just smiled at me and said "good boy". She took the contract, put it away ans said "now you belong to me". She sat in a chair made me stand in front of her and said "strip for me slave and show me my property". I did as she commanded and enjoyed it. The rest of the weekend was her training and disciplineing me. That was two week ago and since then I have been obedient. Sometimes she disciplines me just for her plkeasure and I love it. She doesn't know I'm confessing this or she would punish me severely, ok, I might tell her. there is something sexy about a 23 yr. old woman owning me, a 43 yr. old guy, that turns me on. I will do anything she tells me to do, wear anything she tells me to wear, do ANYTHING she tells me to do. I just can't resist her and I liove the fact that she is my owner and I am her property, her s** slave. If u want a coppy of our contract, email me... herslave69@yahoo.com and I'll send it to you.

sub guy I am a widower, I'm 43 with a 7 yo daughter. My step son(24), who was like my own son, died ...