I feel like Atlas, after the world is lifted off him.

It's been a rather good week this week. I went for an interview on monday for a casual job at a company that carries out advertising contracts. Basically, they send out motorcycle riders on Vespa scooters around the city. The Vespas all have trailers attached with mini billboards stood on them.

So, being a love of cars and motorbikes, I did well at the first interview on monday. Was asked back for an assesment ride on tuesday, and totally did awesomely again. And ended up having my first shift on the wednesday! :)

I spent 7hrs riding around Sydney's beaches, watching surfers and stopping to drink lattes and managed, in one day, to get paid more that I would get from my sickness benefit in two weeks. I've got lots more shift coming up too, so it's certainly going to be good for me. I get to work again and earn some money, yet I'm also away from an office, or call centre and actually ENJOYING a day's work.

Yesterday, I got my ass into gear and went into the city to confirm with the government office that my bankruptcy has gone through. I'd filed a while ago, and not heard anything. The girl in the office said all was good though, and they just had a backlog of applications.

Travelling home on the bus, I suddenly felt lighter. Like a massive weight has finally come off my back. I've had to deal with debt in general for so long that it was just slowly killing me, and to have the stress just taken away (albeit via filing for bankruptcy) is just magical for me right now.

This all got to the point where I was sat up in bed last night chatting with a slightly sleepy fdoll about how the last few days have changed my outlook on everything. I couldn't stop smiling - but, it was a different "can't stop smiling" than I'm used to. Usually, that is also matched with fast speech and ideas and plans all wrapped up into a solid manic episode coming on. But this was different. I was (and still am) just... happy.

I never actually knew what "just happy" every felt like until last night, I didn't know what I was missing.

Here's to life. And may all our days end as happy as mine did last night.

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emails are welcome:
erratic.seasons@gmail.com

Choke on that, Bitch.

Something happened today. Something that hasn't happened properly for far too long.

My cock got hard with sufficiently good timing that it was also fdoll's day off from work. Oh Yes. Prepare for a good post...

We'd spent the morning being rather geeky, me playing PC games with her watching her new addiction (The Tudors - some TV show that seems to be softcore porn in period costume lol) and I was walking past her when the urge struck me to grab her head and ram her face into my crotch. It was just a bit of a giggle at first with a couple of dry humps thrown in, but the twitches happened.

Grabbing hold of her hair by the fist-full I dragged her into the bedroom and threw her on the bed. She knelt on the mattress as I stood next to the bed and I then forced her into position. Holding her under her chin with one hand and by the hair with the other I slid my cock down her throat. It's been a while since I have been hard enough to get right down there, so the feeling was more than welcome by me. Slapping and lightly punching her ass and hips with my left hand, holding her head steady with my right as I thrust into her. Feeling her throat convulsing around the head of my cock only got me harder.

Throwing her hard onto her side I got onto the bed and ripped down her pants, with her on her side and hugging her knees I rammed right into her cunt without any worry. Evidently the throatfucking turned her on just as much as me, judging by how wet she was. The first thrust was deep and I instantly felt her cervix she yelped out in pain, which only made me want to go harder and harder. Make her fucking suffer my pent up sexual frustration - she'll LOVE it all.

I held tight to her hip and thrusted and rammed into her tight body with her gasping for breath and letting out occasional screams of pain when I went in too deep. Well, too deep for her maybe. It was the perfect depth from my point of view.

It didn't take long before all this stimulation was becoming too much, rolling onto my side, my pace quickened and I was fucking the hell out of my girl, my slut, she began cumming with perfect timing and I just couldn't hold back. Letting go and feeling myself cum and cum inside of her as her cunt convulsed and milked my cock at the same time.

Now, if you will excuse me... I've got a slut to rape. Again.

Zombie Level Set To Zero

After an eventful and discussion-filled day yesterday, both fdoll and I came to the understanding that I would stop taking one of the two medications that I have been prescribed. The one I'm staying on is Sodium Valproate (a mood stabilizer) which has proved useful in reducing my manic episodes. But the one that I have now stopped is Zyprexa - mainly due to the results it is giving and also due to the doctor that prescribed it too me.

Now, as you know from previous posts, I'm not exactly a fan of my psychiatrist as he seems to be from the old school of treatment - dose seven shades of shit out of you until you either stop complaining, or turn into a walking zombie. Preferably both.

Well, I was verging on being a zombie - I couldn't get up before midday, spent the day practically motionless and without thoughts in my head. I had mentioned this to the doctor who took it as a sign of depression. He asked if I had had worse depression, "yes" I replied, "I've considered suicide on those occasions though". "Ah," says the doctor, "no need to worry then, you have pulled out of low periods before without intervention, no reason to change that now."

So what, I wonder, the fuck are the zombie-makers being prescribed to me for? In fact, they aren't even prescribed, he has a filing cabinet haphazardly filled with boxes of drugs. There is no order to the boxes, and each appointment results in me walking out with another box of medicinal goodness. He never asked how I was doing, he only ever asked how the medications are. Bells should have rang earlier in hindsight.

So, knowing that I was going to have a day of more normal thought patterns, I was in a frisky mood (despite being unable to get an erection - something plaguing me on the nasty pills) and gave fdoll a light spanking in the loungeroom, getting her to crawl into the bedroom where I spanked her cute, sexy ass red.. Applying a little lube I started to slip a finger inside her cunt.. Then another.. Another... Then I heard her say the words every man should hear at least once - I need your fist inside me..

Not in the mood for tease and withdrawl, I know that she needed this, so in my hand went. Urging back and forth.. Enjoying feeling her tight body wrap around my hand. I wanted so very much to fuck her there and then, to brutally force my cock into her. To cover her mouth with the hand that had just filled her cunt while she screamed in ecstacy. Perhaps another night function will return and she will get what has been a long time coming for her.

Dr Pointless and his Army Of Stupidity.

I just got back from seeing my psychiatrist and I'm feeling rather angry with the whole situation with him. He seems to only want to dose me up on medications and never really takes the time (apart from 3-4mins) during the appointment to actually ask how I'm doing.

He, quite clearly, has issue with fdoll's chosen career path. When I have pointed out that we have no money to survive on, he suggests things that are completely out of order. Last week he told me to tell her to "get a couple more clients". What the fuck? Am I meant to be her pimp now? And WHERE are these clients coming from exactly? If they don't go to the house o' pain, how the hell is she meant to relieve them of cash? This week he suggests that she give up her current job and go back to her old job to support me instead. Perhaps this guy is actually taking more of the meds than he is actually giving out.

He said that he wanted to "speak with" her today and asked that she come in for the next appointment. He then suggested another appointment for friday so that he can talk with her. Both fdoll and I are of the opinion that he is going to try to tell her that she isnt supporting me enough etc etc.

When I said that I am getting into depressions to the point of not leaving the house for, practically, days on end, he simply suggested that I admit myself into the mental ward at the nearest hospital. What the fuck?

Note to self: get a second opinion on this mother fucker.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles (and a flogger)

Just a shortish post for today while I sit up in bed with fdoll making me a cooked breakfast (I love breakfast in bed).

I've recently discovered that I am able to still claim UK citizenship, so there is a long term (3yrs) plan that I and fdoll now have to get over to live around the London area (most likely) so that I can indulge her wish of wanting to travel around europe - much easier when you can just drive or get a rail pass instead of spending thousands of AU$ on flights back and forth.

In all honesty, I'm really excited about the prospect of living back in England again. Just the little things get me smiling - my birthday back in summer instead of winter, and having christmas with snow are things that I've missed. Even the roads (and you guys know how much I love driving or riding a motorbike) are something that I've missed.

We won't be living near to my mother (obvious reasons are obvious) but I can see us visiting my sister and her family more than once.

I'm looking forward to all of this, even though it's years away. Damn time travelling slowly.

Why can't we just be able to have money and do it now?

Writer's Cock

I've got a bit of a problem - besides all the obvious things going on in my life, I am finding it hard to write my autobiography.

I've used a great program to 'mindmap' (it's free from here if you are interested), and managed to set out pretty much my whole life into sections and subsections. I've wrote about the very early times but for some reason I just can't seem to keep going past those first formative years of my life. I'm not certain if it's because the topics are quite hard for me to still deal with, or perhaps it's because I feel that I can't write about things in the autobiography format as easily as I find writing in blog format.

In fact, perhaps that's it. I feel that I am in a therapy session with a great listener when I am in blogging mode and feel that I don't get judged in whatever I say. Certainly I've managed to cross a lot of boundaries in this blog with my thoughts that I honestly don't think that I could have done in any verbal way previously. Even now, I still get shy talking about some aspects of sex with fdoll.

I was just about to start a chapter in my book about porn and my fucked up relationship with it. I opened up MS Word and saved the blank page as the title, but just couldn't manage to start writing. I want to write about how I had porn thrust upon me early on (both in magazine and video format before I was 10 years old) but I just couldn't manage to write. I just seem to clam up and can't do it.

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Changing the subject for the moment, my psychiatrist has changed the anti-psychotic medication that I'm taking due to it causing a significant lack of erections. Apparently the one I'm on now - even though it's a much bigger dosage - doesn't have those same side-effects. Today seemed to be a good sign as we had some good sex followed by a good throatfucking for fdoll in a second session an hour or so later (unheard of as of late).

fdoll has commented that she wants to have a threesome with a female friend of ours who we have played with before, and the idea has certainly bounced around my head more than once, knowing that fdoll is interested in it. Unfortunately, I've been so upset with not being able to get hard or be able to stay hard, I've not really been interested in the idea. No point in going to a concert if you are deaf, is there?

But now that things seem to be going a little bit better, I'm hoping that things will be working more regularly and I can really get back to writing some filth in this blog - even I am getting a bit "bleah" with the lack of sex in these pages.

Until next time ;)

Bzzzzbzzbzzzzzzzzbzzbzzzzzz

I've been thinking a lot lately about where I want my life to go. What career do I want? Do I want a career at all?

Could it be that far too many people put so much pressure on themselves to be successful at certain stages of their lives, that we all constantly feel like we are behind the 8 ball? People seem to strive around me to be individuals and to have the most material things in their lives, but are they actually successful? I'm not too sure.

Take fashion for example, we (mostly) all want to look good and dress in the way that we feel suits who we are as individuals. Yet "fashion" is something that, by definition, has so many people wearing the same things. Then you get the non-conformists who dress in similar ways to each other to show that they aren't conforming to the mainstream. Its all very confusing.

Moving that thought to the working environment, as I'm now 30, I should be moving up into a management role by now, with a new house, iPhone and a BMW. But I'm not. Far from it. I think that I've realised why I've been stressed for so long in the working field - I'm just not suited to it. Following all that office politics game is not something that I've ever been good at (and have actually lost friends in refusing to do so). I need to be more relaxed and creative in my life.

I've realised that I don't really need the stress of rush hours, business meetings and the formality of the office anymore. Sure, I might need to do it here and there to support what I do want to do, but its not something that I want to do as a full time thing.

Which brings me to my desired job path - tattooing. Yes, yes, it sounds like a totally left field idea to suddenly want to do, but I've had an interest in tattooing for quite some time and did buy a couple of machines over a year ago but self doubt got in my head and I put it on the back burner to attempt to play the office promotion minefield - and we know how badly that went.

Over the past two days (it hurt like fuck causing limited time per session) I completed the basic outline for a thigh tattoo on myself. Its a japanese style koi. Fdoll, I think, it quite impressed for the first actual tattoo. As am I. I finally did it. The skin is broken and I'm hooked.

I want to do more work on it to complete the overall design and increase my technique level. Some close friends have already pledged to let me tattoo them, so I'm hoping that I can start off small and get a portfolio to then get a job in a tattoo shop. The idea of a job that is creative without management stresses (tattoo artists are usually freelance and the shop kinda sub-contracts to them), really appeals to me.

Anyway, just wanted to let you guys know how I'm doing for the moment.

:)

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emails are welcome:
erratic.seasons@gmail.com