The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

[sweepthefloor]

There is a life to do. Sometimes, you have to take off your own belt and beat life into submission. There is schoolwork that needs writing, and a car that needs new tires. The work minutes need typing, and I don’t have a secretary to interpret my notes.

When life brings me to my knees and I find myself kneeling before no-mans cock, I am in the best position to pray.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Dating Janey tips #1: Don’t forget at the last minute to remove the large cheap hoops from your ears, and replace them with the big ball silvered studs he sent in the mail. You might think his secretary picked them out, but you just never know for sure.

 

[Sir_Winston54]

Dating Janey tips #1: Don’t forget at the last minute to remove the large cheap hoops from your ears, and replace them with the big ball silvered studs he sent in the mail. You might think his secretary picked them out, but you just never know for sure.

But hoops make such good handles...

 

[sweepthefloor]

But hoops make such good handles...

My ears are so tender!

 

[sweepthefloor]

See what I see through rose colored heart eyes. Taste what I taste with sweet coated apple lips. Spin what I spin, in cotton candy dreams made of warm pink panther insulation that we staple to the rafters of our bread house made of ginger love.

When the love moon is over—you can rub my face in the dirt from out back, or even bruise me by accident. It won’t matter, cause these heart eye glasses are magic. And even when I hate you for it, I will stand and fight a losing battle, and then love you madly more.

 

[sweetmoonbeam]

And even when I hate you for it, I will stand and fight a losing battle, and then love you madly more.

Stunning.

Sometimes I wish this thread was a movie.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Stunning.

Sometimes I wish this thread was a movie.

It is a movie and we are the all-stars!

 

[sweepthefloor]

The two-lips are rising in the in the dirt. It’s hard to imagine something so pretty blooms from the pain in our bellies. We survive on the sustenance of the flowers. This is bleeding heart country, and we don’t have any gauze.

It’s difficult to believe that true beauty grows in between rocks.
Who says dandelions are the real weeds? I grow fields of them in the back yard of my dreams, and make wishes all life long. That is how I blow nights.

I pull out my prickles, but remain a thistle. That is purple milk for the love liver, and I am full of sap.

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

It is hard to resist this romantic read you write.

The honey suckles are the snacks. We can wear pony braids for a day just to enjoy the after kink frizz. We are the gardeners, and our tangled finger tools are digging for dirty earthy worms. Hope you don’t mind a little wiggle slime, cause I might force a pile of worms in your hand just to watch you scream.

The fright washes off down the street at the iced tea cedar wood water lake. I will take you there, to the virgins hole- the place where the innocents go, to blow jobs and finger role. We can swim all day in the sunshine between the trees. There is silt sand between our toes, and in the cracks of our asses. We jump into that water looking pale as ghosts, and exit as dripping wet soft tea colored honey dippers.

Heart spackle! Tender tinder is what you are, and I am not afraid of splinters. There is a campfire burning bright right here on this page. I tell the scariest stories, and they are all true.

I am a firm believer that what we resist persists, so I confess that I am conflicted about trying to help you with your strains.

I would love to play in your wind tossed crumpled hair. I long to breathe in the sweat that collects in the folds of your tresses to see if my clever nose can find the notes of my own honeyed breath I left there moments ago. Please, Sweet Janey, do not worry about the effects of the humidity as I always keep my dentin finished crimping iron with me, and will be happy to frame your soft face with jagged edges and then crown it with honey colored satin ribbons.

I suspect these squiggly terrors you are tempting my voice with are in fact your own wriggling finger worms trying to find a dark place to rut deeply into. Do all of your captive worms have such sharp nail heads? I admit that I am burning hope that I will find out. I should warn you though, that the crystal cocoons I have hidden in my belly will crackle if I scream. Wait...I wonder if you knew that already? I wonder what color you have painted their wings?

Refreshing idea to swim together in the pond of our innocent stories of exploring the sun marbled valleys and fault lines of the murky below. I for one will chose to keep the gritty souvenirs you have purchased for me as they will remind me of you as I shuffle my feet to dry upon the shoreline, flushed but no longer blushing.

If your fearless phalanges refuse gloves, then I shall bring my best tweezers. I wholeheartedly embrace the task of digging out the pieces of me that irritate you, but please forgive me my trembling hands as I am unsure of just how deep to dig at your discomfort, or if you wish for it to ease at all.

 

[Sir_Winston54]

Wow. The two of you interacting the way you do...




Just: Wow. The mind is blown.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Wow. The two of you interacting the way you do...

Just: Wow. The mind is blown.

She blows my mind too, and leaves me typeless for a while. She sure is curious.

 

[Sir_Winston54]

She blows my mind too, and leaves me typeless for a while. She sure is curious.

I like the new AV. It's kind of like your diary posts: clear and precise in many ways, yet open to interpretation according to one's mindset.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I like the new AV. It's kind of like your diary posts: clear and precise in many ways, yet open to interpretation according to one's mindset.

Thank you SW. I googled searched 'LOVE' and that was the image that I chose off the page. I like it.

I like the clean bright laces.

 

[sweepthefloor]

#13

Me loving is like kicking a soccer ball. I get in goal. I see the net when I open my eyes.

There is a #13 on my back, and like the striker, I face the enemy defender—to the end, and when I score, I score big.

Me loving is like kicking a soccer ball. Sometimes I am not in-goal at all. I just like kicking the ball.

There is a #13 on my back, and I am mid-field. Sometimes, I am not really sure what I am supposed to be doing, but when the bugs itch my legs-- I know something is not right, so I start running around.

 

[sweepthefloor]

The joy of waiting for the car at the tire/lube place is the quiet man Mark, the one with the black eye, black beard, and thick arms.

I want to touch it. Also, he has a tattoo on his arm of a girls face with her mouth shut with thread. How would she suck it? It makes no sense.

When I stare at him, and he looks at me, I think: That's right, I'm writing your story.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I am a firm believer that what we resist persists, so I confess that I am conflicted about trying to help you with your strains.

I would love to play in your wind tossed crumpled hair. I long to breathe in the sweat that collects in the folds of your tresses to see if my clever nose can find the notes of my own honeyed breath I left there moments ago. Please, Sweet Janey, do not worry about the effects of the humidity as I always keep my dentin finished crimping iron with me, and will be happy to frame your soft face with jagged edges and then crown it with honey colored satin ribbons.

I suspect these squiggly terrors you are tempting my voice with are in fact your own wriggling finger worms trying to find a dark place to rut deeply into. Do all of your captive worms have such sharp nail heads? I admit that I am burning hope that I will find out. I should warn you though, that the crystal cocoons I have hidden in my belly will crackle if I scream. Wait...I wonder if you knew that already? I wonder what color you have painted their wings?

Refreshing idea to swim together in the pond of our innocent stories of exploring the sun marbled valleys and fault lines of the murky below. I for one will chose to keep the gritty souvenirs you have purchased for me as they will remind me of you as I shuffle my feet to dry upon the shoreline, flushed but no longer blushing.

If your fearless phalanges refuse gloves, then I shall bring my best tweezers. I wholeheartedly embrace the task of digging out the pieces of me that irritate you, but please forgive me my trembling hands as I am unsure of just how deep to dig at your discomfort, or if you wish for it to ease at all.

Let’s play resistance! I always did love a struggle. The kind that leaves us weak, attenuated things like a vaccine that prevents true harm.

I wish for no ease at all. It’s the pain of this world that keeps my mind awake, my eyes alert, and my belly bracing for the next life lashing. When I don’t have my own hurt, I absorb the pain of others like the dirty dish sponge I left in the sink. I wring my brain out, and the tears stream a gray matter on the face of our being.

You can dig as deep as you want but the truth is buried right beneath the superficial layer of our pink blush. The only part of me that I hoard deeply in my treasure chest isn’t worth dirtying the surgical tools for. I lost the key anyway.

I would love a honey colored crown that are the braids piled on the top of my heavy head. The water makes us light as we swim on makeshift rafts, the ones that the construction workers left behind. I’ll rub your back with a mixture of oil, iodine and innocence. We will stare at the trees with our rose-y colored glasses, and not really think about mans search for meaning.

Your crackling cocoons will bloom on their own, and believe me: I will watch. I won’t let you scream as you morph into butterfly. I will stuff your mouth with cotton candy dreams to pass the pain off.

And I will tell you: All pain ends eventually.

 

[sweepthefloor]

He said: I like to make pretty girls lick my asshole.

 

[sweepthefloor]

And because he is an ironworker, and I decided I would marry an ironworker one day, I said: It’s a good thing I am not that pretty. I will be your ugly wife, and while you are fucking making love to my plain body, some other pretty girl will be licking your asshole at the same time.

He said: Right on.

 

[Sir_Winston54]

I've been jonesing for more Janey Jones.

 

[CaresseDArcy]

I've been jonesing for more Janey Jones.

Me too!!! Was happy to see some more Janey today!

 

[sweepthefloor]

I've been jonesing for more Janey Jones.

is the whip kiss fix

Me too!!! Was happy to see some more Janey today!

Aw thanks! I have a fondness for fiddle-like things.
---
Life is about to put a leash on my sexual pranks. I am trapped in the rusty locker in the hallway. I hope I don’t forget the combination to my lock.

Maybe I will get lucky and some kid will get sick of fiddling with the lock, and hit it with a fist till I pop open and fall out of the grade-less papers.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Whenever I get messages on the online dating website from guys with usernames like: Niceguy4u.
I reply: I don't like niceguy4me, sorry.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Then I feel guilty.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Janey Jones, always sucking the nice guys dick, cause they like blowjobs too. And because they never expect it, and sometimes even tremble, it all becomes so tender.

 

[sweetmoonbeam]

Whenever I get messages on the online dating website from guys with usernames like: Niceguy4u.
I reply: I don't like niceguy4me, sorry.

Then I feel guilty.

I wouldn't. You're being honest. As a "nice guy" he ought to appreciate the honesty.

Besides, what are the odds he's really all that nice, anyway?