The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

My attorney wants to torture me. He’s demanding five hundred more dollars for work the realtor completed. There is a letter in the mail. I can either pay the money, or go to court.

“Please call me to discuss an amicable resolution.”

He doesn’t want the five hundred dollars. He wants me to blow him. I started crying. I called. I said: What do you want from me?

I am going to seduce him, and reduce him to tears.
 
My attorney wants to torture me. He’s demanding five hundred more dollars for work the realtor completed. There is a letter in the mail. I can either pay the money, or go to court.

“Please call me to discuss an amicable resolution.”

He doesn’t want the five hundred dollars. He wants me to blow him. I started crying. I called. I said: What do you want from me?

I am going to seduce him, and reduce him to tears.
Wear a wire, and get the bastard disbarred.
 
My attorney wants to torture me. He’s demanding five hundred more dollars for work the realtor completed. There is a letter in the mail. I can either pay the money, or go to court.

“Please call me to discuss an amicable resolution.”

He doesn’t want the five hundred dollars. He wants me to blow him. I started crying. I called. I said: What do you want from me?

I am going to seduce him, and reduce him to tears.

Just so you know, lawyers bill in six minute increments.
 
If you were an object I would make you a box with a mirror inside. I would open you slowly and see us together, and then close the lid quick before we both cracked.
 
I started to question my instrumental abilities. He closed his eyes. I put my head on his belly and faced the music that I created with simple words: Do you like lip music?

He will fiddle my mouth with his wand baton. Most conductor sticks aren’t so thick and I figured I’d better lick this quick, or suffer the pains of a mouth stretched wide for accommodation.
 
I started to question my instrumental abilities. He closed his eyes. I put my head on his belly and faced the music that I created with simple words: Do you like lip music?

He will fiddle my mouth with his wand baton. Most conductor sticks aren’t so thick and I figured I’d better lick this quick, or suffer the pains of a mouth stretched wide for accommodation.

When your mouth gets tired, work your pinky down his penis hole...you know, play the club mix.
 
Me: I just like to act dumb on dates because I am secretly hoping the man will slap me around.

He: I will slap you around, and you don’t even have to act dumb.
 
It's another episode of: How can I escape this date after I already said yes?
It seemed like a good idea but now I don't feel like talking.
 
You have such lovely sepia toned heartaches. :rose:
There was photograph of my heart on the table that nobody sits at. I ripped it up into pieces so small it can’t be taped back together. The negatives have been burned. I am splashing around in a dark room with no film.
 
There was a picture of my smile on a wall that nobody looked at. I painted the walls and right over the picture. I am trapped in that liquid latex. The print is ruined, but the walls are doing just fine.
 
I keep jumping into the same ditch, the one I dug myself in the middle of the nights when the world was sleeping. I started this big dig when I was a little girl. It is ridiculous because the climb out rope is my own back bone.

I keep wanting someone else to throw me into a different hole, but I am afraid they won’t send down the ladder when the game is over.
 
It is possible for the victim to travel through life completely unaware of any victimization at all. The only real perpetrator is the one that whispers in the ear about things that should not be.

We lock it up and throw away the key on ourselves. This is done smiling in our little secret prisons.
 
I keep jumping into the same ditch, the one I dug myself in the middle of the nights when the world was sleeping. I started this big dig when I was a little girl. It is ridiculous because the climb out rope is my own back bone.

I keep wanting someone else to throw me into a different hole, but I am afraid they won’t send down the ladder when the game is over.
Someone tried you in a different hole and it didn't turn out well:
.... I ended up on my stomach trapped underneath him. In one hard fast second my pants were down and I felt my asshole being pierced. He put his super hard cock in my little dry asshole with no lube.

I screamed from the shock and pain. I was afraid to move. I thought: Is it going to hurt just as bad coming out? He didn’t begin fucking as I was screaming. He held me tight like a trapped animal. He covered my mouth with his hand. I played dead like a dog till his body relaxed. As he prepared to push in deeper I made my escape and bolted forward towards the headboard....
Oh, wait. The hole we dug as children, trying to reach China. That's the different hole you want to be thrown in. My brain is fried. Would you settle for a hole that starts on the U.S. East Coast, goes straight through the center of the earth and comes out ... in the middle of the Indian Ocean? Eep! And going freefall, assuming you reach and maintain terminal velocity, it will take ~2.5 days to get there. If you really want China, though, you'll have to start your dig in Argentina, and it will still take ~2.5 days to get there.
 
He wanted to know my story so I told him: I am a poor decision maker. Does that turn you on? You can be the next bad decision in my life. The food is great but a full belly makes me lazy to suck dick.
 
There was photograph of my heart on the table that nobody sits at. I ripped it up into pieces so small it can’t be taped back together. The negatives have been burned. I am splashing around in a dark room with no film.

If I could, I'd tenderly gather your heart bits by candlelight and then tickle and nudge them until they flutter about and then settle into a sort of muddled memory mosaic. I would name it "second chance", hang it in a worthy gallery, and then sip tea and wait with you until love finally comes to take you home.
 
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