The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

[Curious_in_Cali]

I don't think beating me is part of Nick's massage therapy.

Ah, there is the rub. Hmmm... you seem to be beating yourself up enough over the decision to let him, could that be enough just for today?

Please consider letting him ride about on your tender skin with his meaty skills. Just call yourself John if you need to organize the ethics in your mind... but please, find a way to enjoy it.

If you do it right, you can also revel in the shame of having enjoyed it as you walk away... I think that is much finer than getting a lollipop or a sticker.

 

[eastern sun]

I don't think beating me is part of Nick's massage therapy.

I highly encourage it, sweepea.

I took myself to a Chinese massage parlor on the upper east side, and got something just short of masochistic sex. I found myself taking spontaneous yoga poses as he worked me over (the pain was that intense) and he just kept going, wrapping his body around me to get more leverage, and striking the soles of my feet.

You find the right guy, and he reads your body like a book.

I don't think a lot of people let them cause such excruciating pain, but when you do, man oh man, the Chinese and Koreans will go for it.

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

The first thought that came to my mind when I read the first few sentences is the Intra-Aortic Balloon Pump.
(link with a 42 second rationale) And I am smiling. What a curious cardiologist you are! You could have invented the technique!

I can almost feel you swimming up to my aorta, with a red balloon negating the effect of heart failure.

I must admit that I would make a horrible cardiologist. Try as I might, I am not so skilled at actual heart repair. I do think you might be on to something though, as red balloons are definitely smile making and smiles are very good for the heart indeed.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Ah, there is the rub. Hmmm... you seem to be beating yourself up enough over the decision to let him, could that be enough just for today?

Please consider letting him ride about on your tender skin with his meaty skills. Just call yourself John if you need to organize the ethics in your mind... but please, find a way to enjoy it.

If you do it right, you can also revel in the shame of having enjoyed it as you walk away... I think that is much finer than getting a lollipop or a sticker.

I really considered it, all the nurses at work rave about it. I always stared at them with a confused look and thought: I would never relax enough to let it happen, and also, if I wanted a massage I'd go buy a boyfriend from the thrift store, a part-time lover. I'd pretend to be normal for a few hours a week.

Maybe Nick is easier. I can start out with just the top, and not take my pants off.

I highly encourage it, sweepea.

I took myself to a Chinese massage parlor on the upper east side, and got something just short of masochistic sex. I found myself taking spontaneous yoga poses as he worked me over (the pain was that intense) and he just kept going, wrapping his body around me to get more leverage, and striking the soles of my feet.

You find the right guy, and he reads your body like a book.

I don't think a lot of people let them cause such excruciating pain, but when you do, man oh man, the Chinese and Koreans will go for it.

I always knew there were men that can read people like open books. Surely, I must be an easy read, a dime store romance. The kind from the print shop with the front page ripped off, the kind the workers bring home as faulty for the whole family to enjoy for free!

The Chinese massage sounds brutal! I am glad you experienced it. Now I am having a fantasy about this Chinese man nurse I was very close to at one of my jobs. He was so rough and tender with me. I bet he wanted to Chinese massage me. The last day I worked there my co-workers had a party for me with lots of food. He didn't even look at me, he just kept eating with his face down. I kept saying: Nurse Zen! Don't eat your feelings! It's gonna be alright!

When I remember him now, the picture is of me at the nurses station on the phone with him behind me trying to pull my scrub top down to cover my butt. He said something like: Clothes too tight. He was always trying to cover up my butt. I think he wanted to possess me! I want Chinese nurse butt massage.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I must admit that I would make a horrible cardiologist. Try as I might, I am not so skilled at actual heart repair. I do think you might be on to something though, as red balloons are definitely smile making and smiles are very good for the heart indeed.

I was just thinking while driving today about how it feels for a surgeon to cut to attempt cure for the first time, into the vulnerable flesh. The whole process of all things surgical is complex. It's actually pretty amazing and risky. I had the chance to witness cardiac bypass surgery. It was an outstanding choreographed silent scene.

And when I do love, I will think of the surgeon. I will steady my hand and take another hand into my own. I will throw no sharps, and surrender.

Believe it or not, balloons frighten me. It's the noise they make and the will to pop in my face at any moment. I think that you are pretty good at heart repair, if you have the drive to salvage mine that is all the skill you need.

 

[jomar]

...

Chinese nurse butt massage.

Let's start a band. It will be cathartic.

 

[eastern sun]

When I remember him now, the picture is of me at the nurses station on the phone with him behind me trying to pull my scrub top down to cover my butt. He said something like: Clothes too tight. He was always trying to cover up my butt. I think he wanted to possess me! I want Chinese nurse butt massage.

Yes. The Chinese rub your butt like it's not an erogenous zone.

But it is. Or it can be.

Or maybe I'm giving myself away.

 

[YourCaptor]

I decided to get a professional massage, everyone at work does it. I bravely called the place to make an appointment.
The receptionist said: I can schedule you in with Nick, at 2:30pm, is that good?
I quietly closed my calendar book blushing and replied: Can I call you back when I find my day-planner?
She sounded confused, and I hung up immediately.
I am just not ready to pay Nick to pleasure me.

Your perverted mind makes you shy.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Let's start a band. It will be cathartic.

Let's do it! I will be on drum, bass or spoons.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Yes. The Chinese rub your butt like it's not an erogenous zone.

But it is. Or it can be.

Or maybe I'm giving myself away.

It sounds good. The muscles that cover my hips will love it. Sometimes I want to dig my fingers in that spot and rip them out myself. Also, my lower back would love it. During the transfer of comatose patients from stretcher to bed sometimes I just stretch over the bed grabbing the bottom sheet, and tell my co-workers: oh wait this feels good. Then the tech or someone will usually kick me out of my stretch dream. 1...2... wait! Ok, 3.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Your perverted mind makes you shy.

Shy or afraid.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Mirror Mirror on the door, why are you so cracked? Oh, that’s right. I kissed you with my red lips, and then punched myself in the face. That was fun.

 

[eastern sun]

Mirror Mirror on the door, why are you so cracked? Oh, that’s right. I kissed you with my red lips, and then punched myself in the face. That was fun.

I you.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I you.

I you too for the accepting Eastern Sun that you are. That warms me up.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Love is spray paint on walls, and newspaper ads for the weary.

A man named PJ loved me. I don’t know if I loved him back, but it was a constant. I enjoyed his animation. I didn’t always know what he was talking about because the visual of his worded passion, the wringing of his hands, the distortion on his face distracted me from sound. I couldn’t hear my very own pantomiming PJ, but his gesture: I knew! I could understand.

PJ talked and played with my hair, then I would give him a blowjob. Maybe I was the Anthropologist on Mars, but the blowjob was predictable.

The last week I spent in that city, he picked me up in the dark. We drove under the bridge, our secret place. When he parked in our spot and put the high beams on they lightened a concrete wall. The red spray painted graffiti revealed: PJ Janey.

He gave me a flower. He told me that every year on Valentines Day he would take out an ad in the newspaper to remind me, wherever I may be in this world, that he loves me.

I left. I never checked the newspaper the following year, or any year after that.

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

I was just thinking while driving today about how it feels for a surgeon to cut to attempt cure for the first time, into the vulnerable flesh. The whole process of all things surgical is complex. It's actually pretty amazing and risky. I had the chance to witness cardiac bypass surgery. It was an outstanding choreographed silent scene.

And when I do love, I will think of the surgeon. I will steady my hand and take another hand into my own. I will throw no sharps, and surrender.

Believe it or not, balloons frighten me. It's the noise they make and the will to pop in my face at any moment. I think that you are pretty good at heart repair, if you have the drive to salvage mine that is all the skill you need.

Ah yes, the love surgeons and their cutting remarks. To carve and slice away the growths that shouldn't be there would be a relief I suppose. I would ask to be awake though, as I would want to watch them leave or I would probably suffer indefinitely due to my fascination with phantoms.

Love is a surrender. When 2 hearts surrender to one another the tension of trying not to fall turns inside out and seems to sucks them in together in some sort of crazy making black hole. Falling in love is easy in that you can just surrender and get sucked. We do not fall out of love though, getting out is more like being vomited amongst half digested goopy bits of forever hopes and someday dreams.

Or maybe we become the cancer in the heart of our beloved only to be removed by heartless steel under the bright lights of the truth... then we send this mutated version of ourselves to be biopsied. I anticipate the results but unsure of what to hope... to be benign or malignant...I am not sure what would be better a self discovery.

Your heart has the lovliest weeds Janey. I wouldn't pull them. I would instead indulge a swim among them and let the pollen burn and scrape at my eyes until I am able to water your soil with my gratitude.... in hopes of encouraging the the rarest of sproutlings to claim their space in this world and bloom. I bet those blooms would be intoxicating to inhale.

Balloons can give the gift of fear too. Maybe that threat is what makes me smile... I never really considered that before. This new balloon thought is making me smile. Thank you.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Ah yes, the love surgeons and their cutting remarks. To carve and slice away the growths that shouldn't be there would be a relief I suppose. I would ask to be awake though, as I would want to watch them leave or I would probably suffer indefinitely due to my fascination with phantoms.

Love is a surrender. When 2 hearts surrender to one another the tension of trying not to fall turns inside out and seems to sucks them in together in some sort of crazy making black hole. Falling in love is easy in that you can just surrender and get sucked. We do not fall out of love though, getting out is more like being vomited amongst half digested goopy bits of forever hopes and someday dreams.

Or maybe we become the cancer in the heart of our beloved only to be removed by heartless steel under the bright lights of the truth... then we send this mutated version of ourselves to be biopsied. I anticipate the results but unsure of what to hope... to be benign or malignant...I am not sure what would be better a self discovery.

Your heart has the lovliest weeds Janey. I wouldn't pull them. I would instead indulge a swim among them and let the pollen burn and scrape at my eyes until I am able to water your soil with my gratitude.... in hopes of encouraging the the rarest of sproutlings to claim their space in this world and bloom. I bet those blooms would be intoxicating to inhale.

Balloons can give the gift of fear too. Maybe that threat is what makes me smile... I never really considered that before. This new balloon thought is making me smile. Thank you.

I appreciate these analogies, and words. I once knew a man who thought he loved me. He was not happy inside with me, but he could still not let me go.

I told him: Sick dogs eat grass and puke it all over the place. You are the sick dog, and I am the grass that your belly cannot digest. You eat the grass because you have a stomach ache. This vomit is your love? This is not right.

 

[sweepthefloor]

The book was sold out. In a pissed off rage I decided to break down and purchase a nook. It wasn’t planned.

I told the salesman: If the book that I wanted wasn’t sold out, I wouldn’t be buying this right now. Where is the instant gratification?
He said: What book?
I replied: Fifty Shades of Grey

We discussed the three different nook options. He covered the details and said: With nook friends you can share your books.
I said: You think I want friends to know what I read?
He said: Everyone has their thing.

I said: It's time we stop-
He said: Huh?
I said: Hey what's that sound?
He said: What?
I said: Everybody look what's going down-
He said: What do you mean?

I said: Paranoia strikes deep
He said: Are you ok?
I said: Into your life it will creep
He said: <nothing>
I said: It starts when your always afraid
He said: <nothing>
I said: Step out of line the man come and take you away

He said: You are crazy.
I said: Yes.

 

[sweepthefloor]

My throat is so precious to me. It is my airway! My neurotica led me to believe that there was something wrong with my throat. Sore throat? Trouble swallowing? Angioedema? Are my lips puffy?

I do not like going to see doctors. I went to see the ENT.

I said: I am concerned that there is something stuck in my throat. It hurts to swallow.
He said: Let me take a look. I am going to put this scope up your nose and drop it deep into your throat. You will swallow it when I tell you to, Ok?
I said: This is my punishment for dropping all those NG tubes into little old ladies, huh?
He laughed like crazy, and passed the scope.

He said: Everything looks great.
I said: It’s not even red?
He said: Nope, it looks all-normal. There is nothing there to be concerned about.
I said: Good, I thought I had throat cancer from swallowing dicks, or something.

 

[Sir_Winston54]

My throat is so precious to me. It is my airway! My neurotica led me to believe that there was something wrong with my throat. Sore throat? Trouble swallowing? Angioedema? Are my lips puffy?

I do not like going to see doctors. I went to see the ENT.

I said: I am concerned that there is something stuck in my throat. It hurts to swallow.
He said: Let me take a look. I am going to put this scope up your nose and drop it deep into your throat. You will swallow it when I tell you to, Ok?
I said: This is my punishment for dropping all those NG tubes into little old ladies, huh?
He laughed like crazy, and passed the scope.

He said: Everything looks great.
I said: It’s not even red?
He said: Nope, it looks all-normal. There is nothing there to be concerned about.
I said: Good, I thought I had throat cancer from swallowing dicks, or something.

You made me laugh here.

Sometimes you make me want to cry inside for the pain you feel, while simultaneously making me smile at the brilliance you reveal in your expression of your life. You shine in the dark, and glimmer darkly on the sunniest days. You are a pixelated oxymoron of emotion and humor and thought. This thread is a cathartic conglomeration of cool.

Thank you for being you, and for sharing yourself with us. You build us.

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

Ah, Janey. I want to pet your mind, give it a treat and take it for a walk.

 

[Sir_Winston54]

Deleted for over-medication.

 

[YourCaptor]

My throat is so precious to me. It is my airway! My neurotica led me to believe that there was something wrong with my throat. Sore throat? Trouble swallowing? Angioedema? Are my lips puffy?

I do not like going to see doctors. I went to see the ENT.

I said: I am concerned that there is something stuck in my throat. It hurts to swallow.
He said: Let me take a look. I am going to put this scope up your nose and drop it deep into your throat. You will swallow it when I tell you to, Ok?
I said: This is my punishment for dropping all those NG tubes into little old ladies, huh?
He laughed like crazy, and passed the scope.

He said: Everything looks great.
I said: It’s not even red?
He said: Nope, it looks all-normal. There is nothing there to be concerned about.
I said: Good, I thought I had throat cancer from swallowing dicks, or something.

What did he say then?

 

[sweepthefloor]

You made me laugh here.

Sometimes you make me want to cry inside for the pain you feel, while simultaneously making me smile at the brilliance you reveal in your expression of your life. You shine in the dark, and glimmer darkly on the sunniest days. You are a pixelated oxymoron of emotion and humor and thought. This thread is a cathartic conglomeration of cool.

Thank you for being you, and for sharing yourself with us. You build us.

SW~ The good news is: I have the ability to receive compliments. I am lucky, and you are generous. I also appreciate the esteem you have for me, as a person. It reminds me that I am a person on the days that I feel less-human. The thanks goes to you for letting me be cool, validating our own tears, and then laughing about it all in one sitting.

I would not have guessed with my own intuition that the train wreck of my insides could be so entertaining. I am the little engine that could not, but would continue to try. The caboose needs a spanking red paint coat; we will not be derailed on our way to the yard!

 

[sweepthefloor]

Ah, Janey. I want to pet your mind, give it a treat and take it for a walk.

When the mind goes walking fueled by petting and treats, the heads tongue might lick your face and wet you with cerebral spinal fluid. The dog brain will run ahead, run back to you and smile, and then run ahead again. The game is never tiring.

With a knick-knack paddy-whack, 
Give the brain a bone-