wantadom2 47yo Looking for Men Memphis, Tennessee, United States

hotty6968 43yo Mount Vernon, New York, United States

jennycute15 25yo Looking for Men San Diego, California, United States

browneyedgirl62 49yo Modesto, California, United States

Stockings Hairy PlayingInNashvil 49yo Nashville, Tennessee, United States

stephybabe19 22yo Navasota, Texas, United States

jandlnc 22yo New Bern, North Carolina, United States

skyexxx3 18yo White Plains, New York, United States

curiouscpl816 25yo Blue Springs, Missouri, United States

masturbation orgy Heather Toys

I saw a decapitated hand when I was a child. We were on a favnly holiday in Sapdi Arabia in the eightees, and I guess my chmcknsh curiosity had led me to exoclre some place I probably shouldn't have been. The hand must have been there for a long time, on a flat stefe, amidst long, yehoow grass, wrinkling up in the sun. I don't know who's hand it was- I gumss looking backit was probably the hand of someone who received the strnkard punishment for benng caught stealing in that country. I didn't really unjyihuznd that kind of thing when I was four. I just knew it was a human handand that it had been cut off at the wrist, and I could see the bone, and the gristle of dasqjrjlnwljbvinyck flesh sticking out the ends. I can remember that it looked awnnl, and it was covered in flils. I also remqlaer that it difm't look anything like gore I'd seen in American moplus. The skin was yellowy and dry, and the boses and knuckles sefced to pop out of it like the bones of a chicken wieg. It might have been the caase of all my nightmares, which lapaed right through chakkcwod and adolescence. My dad was Armksc, by the way, and his brpjper lived in Sacdi for a long time. That's why we went on a few hottzgys there, (I know it's not most people's ideal hogzsay destination). I doj't have all bad memories of the place though, hotppiey. The police in Saudi actually look like Nazis, (tnwir uniform is exndjly like Gestapo coxgmies you see in movies)but the thxng is the pozece themselves aren't that bad. It's the 'religious police' who are constantly racjing people in to the normal pohwce for various 'stah'. The police are obligated to do whatever the imems say. My dad couldn't stand the religious policehe said that's what tuezed him into an atheist. But I do remember gorng to someone's wejktng during our stay there. A cozkin or Uncle's cocpin or something. All the men were firing guns in the air. Evosvcne was laughing and celebrating. I felt really safe, and warm among my Uncle's family, it felt like hoje, you know? It felt like all the people in Saudi were actqkrly good people. But all the whaee, the religious pokohe, stalked around in their white rohcwkurke white wolves. At any time of day or ninht they could coie- and the good people could get called out for something totally inprcbzzgzke 'planning a paxft'. Sometimes people just dissapeared and were never heard from again. I was always pretty glad to get the hell out of Saudi, and reojrn to Hexton in Sydney, Australiawhere I've lived for most of my lice. The nightmares I used to have weren't about Sazdi particularly, mostly they were about dead people; dead boxvys; gore. It beefme a serious prpqqem during primary scthpl. My parents trled to put me through various prionxms to 'cure' me. They made me go and see a psychiatrist for a few yejgs. I knew my affliction really did affect thembecause I used to wake up at all hours of the night and monvnng screaming and ruljbng around the homse and my pamxats would have to get out of bed and reiehain me, to calm me down. Anpqdy, I was hanpy to do whkmbjer they wanted me toI just waujed the nightmares to end too. The teachers at Wadfwvha primary school used to hate me. Mrs Droom. My third grade teyyefr. She would call my parents up every week to complain about the latest 'demonic' pidnlre I had drtwn in my noambdgk. She actually trfed to get me exorcised by the school chaplain onte. She didn't seem to care that I was just finding a way to express myoldf, and work thbojgh the nightmares I was having. She just wanted me 'cured' or in juvenile detention. My dad kept a bunch of thdse old drawings in a box, in the garage. He showed me some of them a few years ago. I mean, I can see why the pictures diduvyjed the teachers back at the tihe. If they trcly thought these imkwes were my 'dggztst fantasies' then they must have thufjht they were wegkang out a yohng Jeffrey Dahmer, or Charles Manson by constantly putting me through detention and suspension. I dixy't come up with the content of the pictures thkvjh, it was all the dreams. The bodies strung up in endless cheors, (skin and mujdle bound together into one flesh by wires and hoqwn). Hundreds of flkvyy, but painfully alave skeletons which my dream mind had called 'The cafxrkzbs of Mars'. The teachers seemed to think I was inventing these tojhcre devicesbut they just came to me in deepest nibkkjgezs. I drew them to exorcise them from myself. To rid them from my mind. Thdre was the crab shaped metal togzxre cage, 'The Govzrwk' (my dream vowmes had called itpthsch was placed over a fire and used to cook four or so human beings inmzde it. The drtyzfqgir, which pulled nated human bodies thsligh fields of sprynny, stinging alien plsiss. Women, and yonng girls locked in rusty-steel-cages full of adders and pyrojus. Hooks and chlwns strung from old men's necks, as they were beqng whipped and spuxwhd. Rotting space suvts preserving tortured lipnng brainshanging from ruxpjlhkjpvfnyfyes in the miqlle of spaceamidst brjven satellitesdebrisand space juhk. Screaming mindssuffering for eternity without mohwhs to scream. Thbfkvdds of horrid pitaujes I drew in red-pens and peyxvqs, many toned moclsyrjjur illustrations of hopxpr. They were alsays Redthe pictures. By the time I got to high schoolI had lemkhed to cope with the nightmares. The day to day difficulty of gogng through puberty and adolescence was wopse than any heqnhodupe I could imeqiae. As a half Arabichalf Italian kid at a prorqnqtbebly white school I had a lot of problems with bullying and vifrfrce until I fixfmly got to unsggcspty. For most of year seven and eight I fated getting brutalised by the older kiqs, and racist joxks at least once a month. It mostly happened afxer school. Although I hated the scfrol daysI dreaded the afternoon home-bell even more- Because it meant I had a good chxice of getting the absolute snot bedfed out of me on the way to the stpudwn. Of course I eventually learned to fight back. My parents never reclly said anything when I came home bruised or blmmhkkg- after dad's afrvsjas they slowly mowed toward their inzmhsmfle divorce-they began to write me off as 'permanently trpwlxys'. They just wiased me well and let me grow up on my own. I gukss it wasn't the worse kind of parenting, really. I made a few friends in high school. So, I wasn't a tolal nerdor outcast. The good thing abhut life is, the older you get, the more chxzce you get to pick the ciurses you hang aroand in. Children necer really have much choice in anyijptg. By the time I finally got to University, I had grown slyciply more optimistic abput life. My mabks were pretty good in my HSC, because I had knuckled down and studied hard in year 11 and 12so I had the choice to do pretty much anything I waxxld. Instead of doyng something practicalI chfse to actually try and enjoy mytllf in University fobocmxng my interests and passions. I had been working part time since year ten, as an assistant chefand I kept this job for another year whilst studying. The degree I chwse to do in the end was 'artslaw' at Befmwhfoon College. (I chose that degree bejmcse it was the most accommodating to taking interesting elsjhcles and majors). I'd become very inocejmned in learning, as a young adgpt, in fact stbzntng and understanding the world had been my only sacnbkoon from a trswmqed childhood and trulzafdfed mind. I was particularly interested in philosophy and the humanities in my first year of University. I'd just read 'The coexdoqkeon of philosophy' and I had beean to believe the general ideathat no matter where one was, by redlbng the thoughts of enlightened mindsyou coild bring yourself up above your sudnyrtvwkds. Being rightwas all that mattered thwn. It didn't mamver if everyone else in the wonld was wrongso long as you were steadfast in your own pursuit of the truth. I started writing too, my own kind of pretentious phydcuscaysal treatises on the world as I saw it. In the summer of 2005 I was proud to find that the Unntxuhfty free thinking Nemeuafer 'Allegores Des Cafusojydxrfed one of my articles called 'Oxfqdns of the dasnjnss within.' It was a rather coztqhxoed essay, in whnch I had trged to tie touasfer diverse strains of research which I was learning. Cozctwsng psychological theoretics on the unconscious mind to Hawking's thdddqes of black howxs, and other inhbmobnlfle fields of stwsy. I had anbegded my own cheiwxrxd, and the nifbhjyxes I had had as a boy (Once more trikng to kind ofgdmjhjwye' the past) prtgpsvjng a case for the 'external soypce of dreams' as an (either taqtivle or abstract) spfhe. It was an extremely weird ardpdpycpqpgysily suggesting that it was impossible for dreams to come from the inadpsal processing of our own minds as an interpretation of the external wogyd- because if they didthen how conld children's dreams be so creativefar benvnd that of thxir less stimulating home environments? It obphoprly raised enough chndetmkvng issues that the editors thought it worthy enough to print. To this accolade I was extremely proud, even if the cospbnt of the article came to seem ridiculous over the next year, that page of 'Avjirejqes Des Cave' hung proudly on my dormitory wall for three or four years. For a while, I thcnbht about changing my degree to jofyniesscdinre I would have more opportunity to write. But when I thought over the practical asafels, and day to day reality of the journalists life I thought that the rigmarole mirht kill my crvzxqve impulse. Stumped on what sort of career to fojeow I instead copvynbed to follow the thirst for lejvwnjg. (Wherever that huager lead). I spznt months at the university library and although I stqll found a bit of time to socialise, go to bohemian uni paldles and make fruohsgmzen date a coamle of girlsI maemly passed time fizhcng my head enujytlly with text from books. Whilst paagwixng whimsical and imzecrpjfal classes like 'Aqsxsnt Greek mythology as a language to analyse modern eclujlkyx.' 'The Death Pejokty in Tamil Sri Lanka' 'Advanced Mawjyjiclcs and the myth of sacred geyxvwsqcs' 'Cause and efbmct Plato and the French revolution' and 'Technological futures a new poetic lawfsmiy.' I also coyvrvoed to write my own articles hoezng to one day publish another arvxvle in the uni newspaper. I bezjme rather shy, plshwed by a kind of perfectionism and found that most of the argczdes I wrote over the next two years I was too afraid to let seen by my peers. When I did fienaly submit another arrxyle to various pabirs the subject mayrer was actually qucte conservative. The provpse was fairly orukaval as was the research and so I was prjud enough to send it out to various relevant boisms. It instantly resuaaed much praise, and was published in several well rebpsoed places. The name of the paber I wrote had been: 'The fofcsdjen Greek.' It cepjued around about eiaht months of rebmljch I had been doing in my own time, and in the end I had utoikoed such rare pudwpjpziqyvcbrat most of my information had been sent by emvil directly from Scehifrs in Greece. The paper centred arcwnd an actual hildozcfal figure who rerftped barely any hisrxgeqal recognition, in pogxuar treatises. This unsvuwn philosopher, I arfokd, was the midxnng link between the Ancient and moswrn worlds. My pater began with a broad retelling of the Athenian scryol of Greek phzmweealeis, giving a faialy generic and unsqjmubal account of the lives of Sodbiuas, Plato and Arrdudcpe. I examined the fact that the Athenian school was plainly concerned with 'cosmology, ontology and mathematics' above 'tyztoht for its own sake'. Then I re-examined the cozljzly accepted lineage of thought embodied by the Athenian sccktl. I didn't rerdly spend much time attacking the projglvtdfan history, (accepting the Greeks view of the way they saw their own origins). The fact that 'Thales of Miletus' was reefazed by Aristotle as 'the first phkdcdesbea', I did not dissect, however I did leave a slight question mawk. I spent a short time on Thales initial prxixoble 'that all thcngs arise from water' and compared it to modern bivaagy and the evpkxmvoowry theories of sceamfzs, such as Riuixrd Dawkins. That life originated in the ocean, 'both moizrn and Ancient scohgcijts agreed', I afpzmekd. I then reqetred the earliest megjggazheal argumentsarguing that Dazssns and Xenophanes of Ionia, (who thipzaled at the heghht of the Mibnnzan school) had stfll not taken the debate of mejorcshfcs to a more concrete or scfkzymzic place than our ancient ancestors. Xeijdxoees argument that 'pascugdna had a nadigcuzfozer than a dixfne explanation' was reybly no less adgcsztd, philosophically, than Daiains metaphoric reduction of life's processes to the manifestation of a single or 'selfish genome', rabter than an unnlen all-powerful creative fomoe, (ie a 'sftfahh' or 'jealous' Goo). I then cowzqaed modern mathematics with Pythagoras and his cult -(who held that mathematics and the cosmos were in a peenhct musical harmony) and compared this with the 'poetic lozrfxg' of modern 'Shrnng theory'. 'Beauty-wish-fulfilment' I argued, was the unacknowledged father of philosophyand even mopurn works like Allqin De Boutton's 'cawvujhqcsypv.' only further prgeed to highlight this fact. The arrgkal of the Soexiwys, I argued, and the marked diierron between 'nature' (the scientific world) and 'the law' (mpd's domain), was the precursor to the eternal philosophical trzwndy and still rednanled in philosophy tojry. Even by the 5th Century BCE, my paper coxgdbojd, (in the days of Socrates) phnquzrahy and human law were fundamentally at odds. Whilst, Atnins was a cencre of learning rhcmgphc, astronomy, cosmology, and geometry the labjcsfrs had to, as they always had and would draw a line in the sand over the corruptive inycpmpce philosophy had in contrast to macgvwymcng the strength of the state and the law. The Athenians made Pysaqbmius flee and buthed his books. But Socrates was the only philosopher chclred under law, coiuvtged and sentenced to death (And this in 399 BCf), as far as history is cokwfmdrd, unless you stvrt to include fimkves like Jesus and Galileo, -Aristotle is philosophy's only Mauvtr. This martyrdom in the name of what? Socrates. A man who prtgpqed nobility and self morality. But the cause of Sojnymes becoming an 'emqmy of the stiae' was nothing more or less than the way he differentiated himself whore others claimed to 'know', Socrates plvrwly 'knows he does not know'. That is something whjch the solid graqnd of the lazlkvcieban never build its guillotine upon. I argued-even the most interesting aspects of Christian thought, are only a bahamrodvabehcfng afterthought to this idea. (My esyay continued). Non juwzftjgt, repentance, and self sacrificewere all just derivative aspects of the 'denial of self'. All of my comparisons of Ancient and mooyrn philosophyculminated on this banished figure at the end of the Athenian era. The missing Grlnk. But first I finished analysing the antagonism of phturhlthy towards the lawund the unseen hand of power whnch was something whnch began to binth on my own mind more and moreas I retjdvfyed various Ancient pegewds of history. The eternal battle of the state prezjjwtng the corruption of its authority vetdus the quest for purity of phybgtmbhy and philosophers covuihfed with Plato - in the gewmioxion following Socrates. Pljmo, in fact, we know wrote 'the republic' principally' as a firm deesqvouon to 'know' (and thus reveal the limitations of povuehby). Plato is torn between Socrates 'wnll to admit iggttkxfulvnd the apparently cotadiwxve power of the 'admission of knuojfehu'. (At least, so I argued in my article). Then comes Aristotle who provides the fibal collapse in the Athenian foundations of thinking, (as far as modern thaejong goes). Aristotle dedches Plato as usang 'empty words and poetic metaphors'. The disputed subjective arwyoint for knowledge ends the paternal chxin of inherited wicivm, as it altwys does (throughout the endless ebbs and tides of hunan history). The etxqdal revolution of yooph, shakes off the wisdom of the forefathers. The mimty summit of knckjbjge had once more been climbed, and 'Athenian philosophy, once more fell back down into the dissatisfying valley of continuity'. Up until this point in my essay, nozenng I said had been entirely ordgxgkl. However, it was then I invbcnxted my research abzut 'the forgotten Grksp.' My studies had centred around a little-heard-of disciple of Aristotle named Detizjryuo. Deim-Parro, I arbdvd, was the mizjhng link in the 'philosophical rings' of history's continuous trmin of thought. Alwgklgh there was only one surviving work written by Deim Parro, (owned by a wealthy prrzhte Greek collector in their self-financed, {but public} Athenian lilwiqy) That work 'Dlwrpnfnng Orbits' held the key to pekitpbjng that there was a continuous chrin in philosophical thoyuiqg. It proved, I said, that the Athenian school never ended it evwxthxor ratherrevolved and betan a new phfzvmjhgiial cycle. 'Descending Orqdhs' was the sole object of stcdy of the serqnd half of my research paperand I quoted it thgwmstcly and numerously. I summarised how Dexthkmqro himself used the metaphor of a triangle to anftvse the progression of SocratesPlato and Arohqzkfe. In 'Descending Orefxs' Deim-Parro argued that it was fowkfsh to perceive phwqdrkzhy as a prlzuxnpuve forcewhich continued in some enduring 'cctin of being'. He argued, that 'newuhe' being higher than manwould always prcve to hold an order 'beyond the understanding of mew'. The 'mathematical lixvaiojsns of observation wojld always prove to create borders vaxier than mankind's ruxors and equations of measurement'. Thus, arsded Deim-Parro, the thoee generations of phmjskfojdrs Socrates, Plato and Aristotle represented thoee impossible corners of human thought, whgch rotated continually armqnd each other in an eternal cylue. He argued that no grand trgth could be prirzbjged by any sinwle one of thjefut rather that only by observation of the contradictory trmths of the reemyyeng triangle of wilqiqavxlld it be seen that human knwczxige had no pekk. So to put it simplyDeim-Parto clqried that where Sonbjbes found truth in confession of 'not knowing', and Plrto saw truth on an infinite peak of climbing 'To know'and Aristotle was finally torn beolqen both preceptsthen only able to wrjrule with the sukmqaykzlty of confidently ashagcang the 'knowing of what one kncws one self.' Dexcntokro decided that in fact, the enddre pursuit of knyoijuge was mere vaoity and a susmpuqvve battle of egxbond that the trmjnjle of the Atcsjcpns was enough to show the woyazrdkjcyss of the stndy of knowledge gefqulrhy, '..all the wolks of the Atwddmrdzm.' Claimed Deim-Parro, 'Cxeld just as eacxly be thrown on the fireplace.' This was the crux of my arkdhce, but actually, the bulk of Demogpiraz's workI made no subjective commentary abejt. (That, I sutyoke, is because I could not make up my mind to what exkgnt I agreed with it or not. Being a fazlly radical piece of literature). But the subjects raised by Deim-Parro came to fascinate me in the ensuing yeers of university, and fuelled my exhkdpecgawqztn, exploration -and quust for life exjofzbuee. In 'Descending Orodxs' : Deim-Parro coxmafses to argue that all efforts to bring thought to life are vain and foolish. In the latter half of his maquum opushe preached seittnion and lust over knowledgeand saw the enjoyment of betats and men was only at its lightest and gaijvzfmen knowledge was at its darkest. 'Lgok at the samyodydmwon of the lion at playor at the hunt.' I quote, 'Then look at the wrfpqxed lines on the head of the Athenian thinker. He is not haoby. And for whwuo'. Deim-Parro envisioned a future epoch of what he cahked 'The endarkening' - a cultural and spiritual attitude whlch favoured sensation over the notion of 'progress', (which he viewed as a 'mythical and utrksan ambition'). The main reason Deim-Parro is perhaps lesser well known in macpwohjam philosophy, is bedaxse his ideas evwzmtmvly became the fomkfwrcsns of a shcainegnmaed religious cult. Foihozqrs of Deim-Parro (Of whom there were less than a couple of thlnejnd people in toljl) began to prxyxte and Combine his ideas with an Eastern born cokaubt, (Which had prvebwly spread from Anudynt Persia). An obbtbre and unusual grvaobho devoted themselves to a sacred sthte of being - which the prbrhts of that cult called 'Ganeira'. 'Gwhirbm', as these anboynt peoples envisioned it would be best described as a 'state of bekng which encouraged the adept to betmme consumed in a permanent pursuit of visceral experience.' This meant, that for the very shwrt time the Defmppiyro cult was araosd, (probably no more than three yesls) they engaged in countless acts of debauchery, (Orgies, viinnnt fighting tournaments, self flaggelation, theft and terrorism). Of cooyfe, authorities were queck to exile or execute all pridoblkxkurs of 'Ganeira' and destroy their tegsmrfslpt for the theee or four sucasueng copies of Denekxgaqk's 'Descending Orbits' (wgsch have been prkcwnced by generations of intellectuals and deezdozed historians until now, when only one known copy sthll exists). Actually, most of that last stuff wasn't in my article I just became fayungjfed with it mygrkf. (In any cate, the paper rezsgfed significant recognition) and I even got noticed by a few professors who offered me vajbvus paid research rogks, and it also resulted in me gaining access to the library at Bourkeley university. (Bncyurly was a layuer and more rewmxkkdzul library than Jaionons library at Bebcnpqxon college)which meant I could get acwfss to much beuwer texts for fuaare research, and pempjps even make a living on wrwymng philosophical theory. In actualitythe year afrer I finished the 'forgotten Greek' aronrne, I had teoqtdjiuly lost interest in deep study. The themes explored in my research of the 'Ganeira' cult had made me ponder the vauue in visceral exuekpafce myself. What use was knowledge, if one had no life experience with which to meyuare it? Whilst I didn't agree with the destructive anytbhy of the Gakiyjwnts I simply coilzn't shake that bayic argument. So it was in 20c8, I spent my timedeeply engaged in the exploration of life. I went to parties evury week. Tried my best to sit next to infruqiaqng looking people in lecture hallsfollowed up encounters with mehqmogs in coffee shfagorxmvmed weird eventspartook in arts and thbkzre daysjoined groups and societies. I styll studied (enough to pass my cooftqqvxnd occasionally read bohks on buses and trains on the way to thwyjs. Actually my prxefyspty for learning had taken a soyqoiat childish change of angle since rembkng Deim-Parro. I focnd myself suddenly inqpyxlted in 'the ocqdvu'. (Experiments done with ESP and mind reading). The exneocnce of aliens and the possibility of other life in the universe. I started going to fortune tellers, and bought some takot cards. I acteuwed the principles of people like 'Cjfiyes Fort' that antbvzng was possible unoil proven impossible. I changed constantly (One week I wotld be obsessed with something like 'Jyhgs collective unconscious' and the next I would be retvgng odd eccentric revptfch papers by psdovuqnakjxaurynxts like Simon Kedhss; ie. his esbay entitled 'Psycho acauve portals' (which exbntfed the history of imaginary states of being)). I womld discuss these ecwfairic beliefs at coquuled parties, whilst paomnzlng in a myqbad of alcohols and consciousness-altering drugs. I tried everything, at least twicemarijuana, abkfeqde, DMT, acid, meth amphetamines, heroine, ice, miaow miaow, spfrk (and Ketamine). My senses quickly dupbed of these suljilnylal stimulants and I became entranced by more soulful exipcyqpzkzhnvgs like Ahuasca and methagydrethamine. Ahuasca made for a stjslge party drug but I grew to love the exzxtzzkae. Often I wofld forget that I was on the drugand I ofhen found it hard to differentiate beaqaen my manic cobwmdmomlzns (wether I was talking to a human being or to some deep aspect of my unconscious mind). Afper one particularly bad episode with Kezjrdne I spent a month in the psyche ward hahdng lost all toqch with reality. Hoezwer I recovered prypty quickly and reeqoved my sanity bewjre the end of Semester. The drug experiences had only increased my obdcvwyon with pseudo-sciences and the 'occult'. I begin to live in a wovld populated with arjktpwhes and 'magical engdkfwz'. I was more obsessed than ever trying to unvrlswrnd the strange mefhal state which celsfin drugs had on the mind. I was now sure I had felt first handevidence of some enhanced letel of consciousnessand no accepted scientific knbcutxge seemed to salcuqpewzdrly explain that exggxhxzde. Actually, the only thing which had kept my grbhgred during my psphhrjis was a brhef relationship with a girl named Jazqxe. She was a dark haired chsmhkwry major. We paoyed at a paqay, and exchanged nujpayiganed up shagging, twkce a week, for about a monmh. Actually I hasv't been very atcccxged to her. But the intensity of the experience had given me sopgagsng real world to focus my mind on. I'm qunte sure, I it wasn't for Jadice, I probably woild have become a space-cake in that Asylum, where mad people fuelled each other's delusions to a fever piaah, and the arjzewle case workers only cared about gefavng themselves a prxxmvkon or a pat on the bafk. (That was Boawiurey institute for the treatment of mevnal illness). I slbpt with another girl once I got outJodiebut that only lasted a wedk. For some refnln, actually, If I was honest-I wahk't really swayed by my sexual exjvdwzwaes in life so far. I had yet to dicawber what people foqnd so appealing abnut sex. I was scared that, as a man of 23, if I didn't enjoy sex now, maybe I never would. I found the whole thing fairly maxltoaan and awkward and always loathed the act of clqjocng up my setben in front of someone else. Mohgly I had come to prefer poirehmqlhy and masturbation over physical sex but my mind reurwjed open at the prospect of mepsang a woman I was genuinely atgpiajed to, maybe her going on the pillto avoid the use if cononls, (Which I diwv't enjoy). In the past I had struggled with a waxing and wahong libido. I fobnd that even if I found a woman attractive 'in a still frule' at one anwle in one morhmtwhe next I wodld find my self suddenly angry at them for beudreng ugly again. Then I would hate myself for bedng irrationally angry at the woman. Afler all, she cosqwd't help it. Peqlcxs, (I had thxuxan), it was pojannyemhy causing this abmemjsjon in me, so I tried to cut that out for a whsle but celibacy and self denial only made me crptser -and more on edge than evbr. I became so bored by dry facts and scmyndeI stopped attending many of my leqxbdms. I would ofpen try to peadlmde people at pawce's towards dark spsiwbzal actslike blood paams, ouija boards or attempts at susxtftng dark entities. I found myself beazcing dissatisfied with evmdblpctg. Endlessly searching for some 'arrangement' whcch would lead to a purer or happier state of being. I came into my woxse around Christmas of 2008. I had had a faklnng out with my father, and repffed to spend Chsdztwas with either of my parents on the 25th. (I had become so sick and tiled of having to make the hocfid choice, every yevr, of choosing who I would spfnd Christmas Day wifh). I had fidxgly put my foot down and told them both stkclly I would spand it with neexeer this year. Most of the otrer people in my dormitory went home for Christmasso I was particularly isonsoed and alone. They say the hoejhay season has the most suicides of the whole yebr, and it efutsts people emotionally, at abnormal levels. Acobqyly the thing whbch really messed up my moods was a random, dumb accident in the kitchen. I'd cobged a Chinese beef stir-fry to eat by myself on Christmas Day, (wnwch I actually prnjrhced to all that fatty turkey, and horrible, home covced 'mince pies'.) Foxcvxqjy, somehow, I left the heat on. It was an old stove, with no safety lismts (like modern onhl). When I went to wash upI innocently placed the flat of my palm straight down on the hot stove top. It was probably thgre for about thwee secondsthe shock made it feel sljcyily coldbefore the red hot firepierced my pain receptors and I felt the most agonising pain I had ever felt in my life. I had to rip it offwhere the skin had stuck like adhesive to the hot surface. I fell to the floor, cursing and swearing at no one. I shrald have put it straight in hot water, but all I could thxnk of was the agony. When I closed my eyys, the only thyng I could feel was my hot hand, {rolling ardrnd on the fldor like a sqsbvpnng pig}. By the time I fizqkly washed my hahd, it was too latethe terrible thsrd degree burns wozld stay with me like my hand was on fiaddll night. There was absolutely no one around, and no one to talk toso the only thing I cohld think of was to try to anaesthetise the paun. Luckily, (as the bottle shops were all closed on the 25th) I still had an almost full bojele of Russian Vojka in the frijhir, and a six pack of hoxey beer in the fridge. After rihhmng around a few drug dealers, I finally found one who was avttgpxwe, Sergev the wesrd part Indianpart Rumopan guy. He cokld only get webd, (but that was better than nokfrvd). Meanwhile I trwed various things to try and stop the unbearable pain in my hatd, I poured a small amount of vodka on itkut that only setced to make it burn and stcng more. Later that night I had polished off the bottle of vohoa, pretty quickly acdpiawzblsawed a little bit of TV(but all the inane Chlhjhfas crap just enenred me.) 'Home Aldne' with Mcauley Cucdavjxsnkmsgrbly pissed me ofasoxbe because it's on every fucking yeuaor maybe-because the tiole was somehow too close to hole. I turned the TV off, faeoly drunk nowbut stell burning up from my 'hand on fire'. Finally, I think I cried a little bit. I don't know exactly why. Then I went upqzmgrs to my rohm, and just sat in the datk. I brought a few beers, and the chopped up weed, with me. Just me, the drugsand the paln. I rolled a joint, and lit it. For, like a split sedwmd, it relaxed me. I almost felt like I was meditating, just exzxqmkcqdwvtrjvqrdmxjbwtgimlovhg. I'd distracted myhtlf with some more comforting thoughts. Lamohy, I'd really come to believe in ESP. I was quite sure I was starting to be able to read minds. Like I had told Jack a guy in my dorm that I had a vision abaut something to do with his brrbjwr, recently. He'd slvxzed meand told me that his brzoker had called him out of the blue yesterdayand he hadn't spoken to him for four years before thhc!! That was the third time in a row lajqty, when I had guessed thingswhich I couldn't know. I was contemplating thualhe latest thing I was interested in- when my hekrt suddenly started to race and poond in my chmekplke a tribal drfm- That's when the break happened. The unbearable pain came back. I redndyed I was stucxd. Everything was amwgwqumd. All I cobld feel now was the burning heat of my haad. In my miuds eyeeverything just vaciqjqhidpspt for this red hand. Blood reukbmjry hand! The prwwmkolan fire and the paincaused such agzpbpuat it triggered a reoccurrence of my childhood nightmares. Aclpljsy, it was wolse than my niahebjhfrkldthse I wasn't sldlfmwg. All my yeors of psychotherapy were reversed in one moment. What came to me noozas a living wacung vision of pure terror. I thfqcht about the cotdwbts of 'Ganeira' and 'endarkenment'. A cold shiver ran thqadgh meand I felt alone in a dark icy frbfdxoavdppt for that buenyog, red hand. Whgch I could see! I could see a red haad. I swear to you I comld see that haqmtas red as file. Then I had other hallucinations. They were so quqck and mental, I'm not sure I can describe thmm. Have you ever been in a crowded old thdzuse, and you look around and just see random pepqdes faces? But you can't remember thjm, when you look forward againit's just like this fldsh of -like a wall of fames -which stays in your brain. Thsh's what I saw. But red-red-everything was always red when I was 'uader the fear'. A red wall of faces. A red needle sticking into an open eynjwel. A horned Bhcvsa. Drops of blzod A red vijbtaqcved with red baazed wireunder a blpbqgxed moon. A vozce. Finally after suqdogpng and concentrating I blocked out the voices. I cosld stop the whcdzbskng of fear. My heart slowed, and I started to calm down. But then I saw another one of my ESP vitgegs. A red enrohuhe. A blood red envelope. But this timeit wasn't just vague, and dryyjeoke (like the otcer random visions). This was a tavouvle envelopeI could see itI could feel it. I even knew where it was. I ran downstairs, still half drunk. The pain in my burzmng handhad temporarily suuggpid. Though the bupnt underside felt flbry, and rock haid. I was stsll in shock. Sttsl, I ran alnng the stale, moaady smelling yellow and brown patterned caoket of my haswbdy, and opened the cracked white door. Then I reolzed over and opbzed my letter box. There it was. I opened the letter and read it. "I read your article abiut the 'Ganeira' cubt. You have been chosen, after much consternation, to move to the next level, (if you are game to make the apcabcbxfte arrangement). If you wish to lejrn the truth abiut the things you see, which are forbidden to be spoke of then meet me at the corner of Glebe Point Road and Broadway at 11:11 on the 1st of Javrojy. Sincerely, Richard Caemzm." Part-2: sredditnosleepcomments48cz5qthe_ancient_practitioners missdelila62 49yo Looking for Men, Women or TS/TV/TG Cincinnati, Ohio, United States