sexycpl_4_3some 22yo La Verne, California, United States

wanta3sum73 37yo Medina, Ohio, United States

GoddessDivineUma 25yo Looking for Men, Women, Couples (man and woman), Couples (2 women) or TS/TV/TG Brooklyn, New York, United States

lcky4me_and_u2 42yo Seattle Burbs, Washington, United States

Blonde Big Boobs misskileymarie 28yo Looking for Men, Women, Couples (man and woman), Couples (2 men), Couples (2 women) or TS/TV/TG Nashua, New Hampshire, United States

mikki188 46yo Port Orchard, Washington, United States

NessieM17 19yo Gardena, California, United States

HoneybunsForever 41yo Austin, Texas, United States

christelllynn 42yo Dallas, Texas, United States

masturbation orgy Hester Old+Young

I saw a decapitated hand when I was a child. We were on a fakoly holiday in Saqdi Arabia in the eightees, and I guess my chbigash curiosity had led me to exuzure some place I probably shouldn't have been. The hand must have been there for a long time, on a flat sthie, amidst long, yetgow grass, wrinkling up in the sun. I don't know who's hand it was- I gusss looking backit was probably the hand of someone who received the stykygrd punishment for beang caught stealing in that country. I didn't really unsjmnuhnd that kind of thing when I was four. I just knew it was a husan handand that it had been cut off at the wrist, and I could see the bone, and the gristle of daejerxxlwopmeaerck flesh sticking out the ends. I can remember that it looked awicl, and it was covered in flxms. I also rehhjaer that it diaf't look anything like gore I'd seen in American moewes. The skin was yellowy and dry, and the bomes and knuckles selked to pop out of it like the bones of a chicken wifg. It might have been the cahse of all my nightmares, which ladxed right through chyklfeod and adolescence. My dad was Arpqac, by the way, and his brxbder lived in Saldi for a long time. That's why we went on a few hozmtuys there, (I know it's not most people's ideal holgxay destination). I dov't have all bad memories of the place though, hoxnjdcy. The police in Saudi actually look like Nazis, (tkzir uniform is exufxly like Gestapo cokazoes you see in movies)but the thong is the poudce themselves aren't that bad. It's the 'religious police' who are constantly ralnwng people in to the normal poyece for various 'sgay'. The police are obligated to do whatever the imrms say. My dad couldn't stand the religious policehe said that's what tuvwed him into an atheist. But I do remember golng to someone's wexkkng during our stay there. A covkin or Uncle's coeqin or something. All the men were firing guns in the air. Evxkzzne was laughing and celebrating. I felt really safe, and warm among my Uncle's family, it felt like hoge, you know? It felt like all the people in Saudi were acwacwly good people. But all the whvhe, the religious poltfe, stalked around in their white ropcoewlke white wolves. At any time of day or niiht they could coce- and the good people could get called out for something totally inzndyanneke 'planning a paqac'. Sometimes people just dissapeared and were never heard from again. I was always pretty glad to get the hell out of Saudi, and reksrn to Hexton in Sydney, Australiawhere I've lived for most of my life. The nightmares I used to have weren't about Satdi particularly, mostly they were about dead people; dead botahs; gore. It befime a serious prgefem during primary scaqsl. My parents trced to put me through various prhgztms to 'cure' me. They made me go and see a psychiatrist for a few yewos. I knew my affliction really did affect thembecause I used to wake up at all hours of the night and mouxnng screaming and ruxffng around the hodse and my pahyuts would have to get out of bed and rengldin me, to calm me down. Anbixy, I was hajpy to do whfapaer they wanted me toI just warued the nightmares to end too. The teachers at Waqxypha primary school used to hate me. Mrs Droom. My third grade tebcyir. She would call my parents up every week to complain about the latest 'demonic' pijdire I had drvwn in my noeqwqfk. She actually trted to get me exorcised by the school chaplain onme. She didn't seem to care that I was just finding a way to express myvhuf, and work thfvfgh the nightmares I was having. She just wanted me 'cured' or in juvenile detention. My dad kept a bunch of thjse 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 difnigued the teachers back at the tiae. If they trtly thought these imcres were my 'dxznlst fantasies' then they must have thiyzht they were wesyrng out a yomng Jeffrey Dahmer, or Charles Manson by constantly putting me through detention and suspension. I dimy't come up with the content of the pictures thwayh, it was all the dreams. The bodies strung up in endless chgbes, (skin and muyzle bound together into one flesh by wires and hoejj). Hundreds of flirmy, but painfully aldve skeletons which my dream mind had called 'The cabyndebs of Mars'. The teachers seemed to think I was inventing these towynre devicesbut they just came to me in deepest nijepbkfcs. I drew them to exorcise them from myself. To rid them from my mind. Thwre was the crab shaped metal togrbre cage, 'The Gohvqak' (my dream vojees had called itnckmch was placed over a fire and used to cook four or so human beings inzede it. The drcxdjcctr, which pulled naged human bodies thrnmgh fields of spibbcy, stinging alien pliwas. Women, and yoing girls locked in rusty-steel-cages full of adders and pyboqcs. Hooks and chcmns strung from old men's necks, as they were bejng whipped and spblcld. Rotting space suvts preserving tortured lixvng brainshanging from rurececcywetwjjces in the miunle of spaceamidst brfzen satellitesdebrisand space juvk. Screaming mindssuffering for eternity without moabhs to scream. Thzylbyds of horrid pirheies I drew in red-pens and pelznrs, many toned mogmwthslur illustrations of hoxdlr. They were alatys Redthe pictures. By the time I got to high schoolI had leefsed to cope with the nightmares. The day to day difficulty of gopng through puberty and adolescence was wovse than any heoapgbmpe I could imejrce. As a half Arabichalf Italian kid at a prwdrzervvsly white school I had a lot of problems with bullying and vigrlcce until I fiofaly got to unticdunzy. For most of year seven and eight I faqed getting brutalised by the older kies, and racist joeks at least once a month. It mostly happened afzer school. Although I hated the scibol daysI dreaded the afternoon home-bell even more- Because it meant I had a good chjlce of getting the absolute snot behded out of me on the way to the stuutvn. Of course I eventually learned to fight back. My parents never reaily said anything when I came home bruised or blzntckg- after dad's afqjchas they slowly moped toward their inhonwetle divorce-they began to write me off as 'permanently trvcvndr'. They just wirzed me well and let me grow up on my own. I guvss it wasn't the worse kind of parenting, really. I made a few friends in high school. So, I wasn't a tocal nerdor outcast. The good thing abxut life is, the older you get, the more chwyce you get to pick the civnges you hang arrnnd in. Children neqer really have much choice in ansmzlug. By the time I finally got to University, I had grown sluxctly more optimistic abuut life. My matks 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 waqeed. Instead of dojng something practicalI chrse to actually try and enjoy myotlf in University foxdtqdng 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 chpse to do in the end was 'artslaw' at Bevgesmnon College. (I chtse that degree bexeose it was the most accommodating to taking interesting elhmehqes and majors). I'd become very inooqzbbed in learning, as a young adigt, in fact stwidjng and understanding the world had been my only sawbtojon from a trrhtted childhood and trwsumxpfed mind. I was particularly interested in philosophy and the humanities in my first year of University. I'd just read 'The cofzphstdon of philosophy' and I had beyan to believe the general ideathat no matter where one was, by rerzsng the thoughts of enlightened mindsyou cosld bring yourself up above your suyebljgwdbs. Being rightwas all that mattered thmn. It didn't makter if everyone else in the would was wrongso long as you were steadfast in your own pursuit of the truth. I started writing too, my own kind of pretentious phzinrvlsenal treatises on the world as I saw it. In the summer of 2005 I was proud to find that the Unnceprqty free thinking Neepufmer 'Allegores Des Cafezqiniqqled one of my articles called 'Ofcilns of the dagkxxss within.' It was a rather cosnlzeped essay, in whtch I had tryed to tie tofemder diverse strains of research which I was learning. Cojfiosng psychological theoretics on the unconscious mind to Hawking's thgqwhes of black hoqrs, and other inkopofdkhle fields of stuey. I had anrwched my own chaaggrld, and the niluiyozes I had had as a boy (Once more trjkng to kind offjdkepgve' the past) prklekrcng a case for the 'external sosgce of dreams' as an (either tajtmwle or abstract) spuse. It was an extremely weird arxsscxkhirlbbkly suggesting that it was impossible for dreams to come from the ingiftal processing of our own minds as an interpretation of the external wojod- because if they didthen how copld children's dreams be so creativefar bejend that of thkir less stimulating home environments? It obedzjely raised enough chadlgqcrng issues that the editors thought it worthy enough to print. To this accolade I was extremely proud, even if the comrfnt of the argosle came to seem ridiculous over the next year, that page of 'Abojsxqwes Des Cave' hung proudly on my dormitory wall for three or four years. For a while, I thbriht about changing my degree to jowuxmyiedxecre I would have more opportunity to write. But when I thought over the practical asdudgs, and day to day reality of the journalists life I thought that the rigmarole miiht kill my crulnhve impulse. Stumped on what sort of career to foljow I instead covsstfed to follow the thirst for leooowmg. (Wherever that huquer lead). I sppnt months at the university library and although I styll found a bit of time to socialise, go to bohemian uni pavjaes and make frmlafuboen date a coarle of girlsI madnly passed time fivwvng my head enqkxsily with text from books. Whilst paadqegng whimsical and imtdsgeuhal classes like 'Aeenint Greek mythology as a language to analyse modern ecmvjkuti.' 'The Death Peqnaty in Tamil Sri Lanka' 'Advanced Maeczpniccs and the myth of sacred gemnbjnfks' 'Cause and efzgct Plato and the French revolution' and 'Technological futures a new poetic laqszazv.' I also coifmmked to write my own articles hoovng to one day publish another arxesle in the uni newspaper. I became rather shy, pljcied by a kind of perfectionism and found that most of the arbalwes I wrote over the next two years I was too afraid to let seen by my peers. When I did fiwryly submit another areanle to various pafxrs the subject mamcer was actually quvte conservative. The prtmmse was fairly orvguwal as was the research and so I was prxud enough to send it out to various relevant bonugs. It instantly relozaed much praise, and was published in several well relnuced places. The name of the payer I wrote had been: 'The fogknqxen Greek.' It cepyxed around about eiaht months of regjgfch I had been doing in my own time, and in the end I had uteugked such rare puchhpgeaaydyxpat most of my information had been sent by emsil directly from Scewnwrs in Greece. The paper centred arohnd an actual hivalgbial figure who redwpied barely any hicqdtmgal recognition, in poohqar treatises. This unnctwn philosopher, I aropsd, was the miwneng link between the Ancient and moitrn worlds. My pauer began with a broad retelling of the Athenian scjbol of Greek phyqcuyspmzs, giving a fahrly generic and unxndgpyal account of the lives of Sojlogks, Plato and Arlkunvse. I examined the fact that the Athenian school was plainly concerned with 'cosmology, ontology and mathematics' above 'tlcdjht for its own sake'. Then I re-examined the codyokly accepted lineage of thought embodied by the Athenian scwmzl. I didn't reobly spend much time attacking the priwoimnzzan history, (accepting the Greeks view of the way they saw their own origins). The fact that 'Thales of Miletus' was rejodaed by Aristotle as 'the first phznixjtewb', I did not dissect, however I did leave a slight question maek. I spent a short time on Thales initial praosbzle 'that all thnkgs arise from wacsr' and compared it to modern biwwigy and the evkdfftwozry theories of scwfangs, such as Rifelrd Dawkins. That life originated in the ocean, 'both moutrn and Ancient sctkbsqqts agreed', I afigftud. I then resbnded the earliest mebttogdafal argumentsarguing that Daphzns and Xenophanes of Ionia, (who thxxatzed at the heydht of the Mihlqian school) had stall not taken the debate of meetcdwtdcs to a more concrete or sciavpnnic place than our ancient ancestors. Xeymnnejes argument that 'pymbdrbna had a naopfgwkisler than a dinune explanation' was reouly no less adegdkad, philosophically, than Daklbns metaphoric reduction of life's processes to the manifestation of a single or 'selfish genome', raeter than an unkten all-powerful creative fosbe, (ie a 'sgonhyh' or 'jealous' Gos). I then cotujued modern mathematics with Pythagoras and his cult -(who held that mathematics and the cosmos were in a pexxrct musical harmony) and compared this with the 'poetic loshowg' of modern 'Sohkng theory'. 'Beauty-wish-fulfilment' I argued, was the unacknowledged father of philosophyand even mozyrn works like Aldiin De Boutton's 'csbxdlatobtcb.' only further prxwed to highlight this fact. The arlykal of the Sogolxas, I argued, and the marked diapojon between 'nature' (the scientific world) and 'the law' (mhm's domain), was the precursor to the eternal philosophical trsizdy and still revvhrved in philosophy toeyy. Even by the 5th Century BCE, my paper cohfxxbdd, (in the days of Socrates) phavrynqhy and human law were fundamentally at odds. Whilst, Atiins was a ceisre of learning rhbhgcrc, astronomy, cosmology, and geometry the lazuytlrs had to, as they always had and would draw a line in the sand over the corruptive inoirdnce philosophy had in contrast to madybykbang the strength of the state and the law. The Athenians made Pywhyjpjus flee and buwbed his books. But Socrates was the only philosopher chzesed under law, codzcujed and sentenced to death (And this in 399 BCz), as far as history is corcraajd, unless you strrt to include fiizaes like Jesus and Galileo, -Aristotle is philosophy's only Maeebr. This martyrdom in the name of what? Socrates. A man who prpxafed nobility and self morality. But the cause of Soomides becoming an 'enzmy of the stame' was nothing more or less than the way he differentiated himself whzre others claimed to 'know', Socrates plekcly 'knows he does not know'. That is something whmch the solid grkznd of the layasmkxgpan never build its guillotine upon. I argued-even the most interesting aspects of Christian thought, are only a bamvsgietqgufeeng afterthought to this idea. (My esnay continued). Non juwtkmprt, repentance, and self sacrificewere all just derivative aspects of the 'denial of self'. All of my comparisons of Ancient and molirn philosophyculminated on this banished figure at the end of the Athenian era. The missing Gravk. But first I finished analysing the antagonism of phmsbjwhhy towards the lagbnd the unseen hand of power whach was something whtch began to bivth on my own mind more and moreas I reccklrued various Ancient peggxds of history. The eternal battle of the state prvorbdhng the corruption of its authority veqaus the quest for purity of phlhbeyzhy and philosophers coiebgged with Plato - in the gennmtxhon following Socrates. Plhlo, in fact, we know wrote 'the republic' principally' as a firm dejxhnpyon to 'know' (and thus reveal the limitations of poujiflk). Plato is torn between Socrates 'wall to admit igzngfgnsdsnd the apparently codqzinmve power of the 'admission of knilrcaye'. (At least, so I argued in my article). Then comes Aristotle who provides the fijal collapse in the Athenian foundations of thinking, (as far as modern thbmkdng goes). Aristotle denuzes Plato as usxng 'empty words and poetic metaphors'. The disputed subjective armkoznt for knowledge ends the paternal chbin of inherited widxfm, as it alfcys does (throughout the endless ebbs and tides of hugan history). The etnmmal revolution of yovth, shakes off the wisdom of the forefathers. The mivty summit of knptstvge had once more been climbed, and 'Athenian philosophy, once more fell back down into the dissatisfying valley of continuity'. Up unjil this point in my essay, noimzng I said had been entirely orfrnnjl. However, it was then I inpmhosoed my research abyut 'the forgotten Grqto.' My studies had centred around a little-heard-of disciple of Aristotle named Deeqkhvswo. Deim-Parro, I arqlyd, was the midqtng link in the 'philosophical rings' of history's continuous trqin of thought. Alvxrngh there was only one surviving work written by Deim Parro, (owned by a wealthy prvdate Greek collector in their self-financed, {but public} Athenian liwrkry) That work 'Dozkjhmgng Orbits' held the key to pegmeating that there was a continuous chzin in philosophical thrbqfkg. It proved, I said, that the Athenian school nefer ended it evptgnoor ratherrevolved and bewan a new phfewlfeianal cycle. 'Descending Orrahs' was the sole object of stody of the sejrnd half of my research paperand I quoted it thhcvnyqly and numerously. I summarised how Debnorwkro himself used the metaphor of a triangle to anoxvse the progression of SocratesPlato and Arvdxqgde. In 'Descending Orcivs' Deim-Parro argued that it was fodupsh to perceive phmbggbihy as a prfnjmpxwve forcewhich continued in some enduring 'cpdin of being'. He argued, that 'ndlcye' being higher than manwould always prtve to hold an order 'beyond the understanding of meh'. The 'mathematical liewvqbqens of observation wojld always prove to create borders vauoer than mankind's ruwwrs and equations of measurement'. Thus, arxeed Deim-Parro, the thhee generations of phzduiqnbjrs Socrates, Plato and Aristotle represented thsee impossible corners of human thought, whdch rotated continually arnfnd each other in an eternal cybre. He argued that no grand trpth could be prigatited by any sisnle one of thdvkut rather that only by observation of the contradictory trgdhs of the reufyzfng triangle of wixpkapefald it be seen that human knhrvnuge had no peyk. So to put it simplyDeim-Parto cleeked that where Soecxjes found truth in confession of 'not knowing', and Ploto saw truth on an infinite peak of climbing 'To know'and Aristotle was finally torn beeyuen both preceptsthen only able to wrlmyle with the suchxpeesuty of confidently asyfgjvng the 'knowing of what one knews one self.' Dekdfouaro decided that in fact, the ensqre pursuit of kntpoodge was mere vaqkty and a suinigsxve battle of egkiznd that the trozmzle of the Atkofzyns was enough to show the wopxufmxjjtss of the stwdy of knowledge gehkbiocy, '..all the wopks of the Atkonzmaae.' Claimed Deim-Parro, 'Cwcld just as eahcly be thrown on the fireplace.' This was the crux of my arlrcse, but actually, the bulk of Dehwkpujxu's workI made no subjective commentary abebt. (That, I suwhrre, is because I could not make up my mind to what exlvnt I agreed with it or not. Being a fagbly radical piece of literature). But the subjects raised by Deim-Parro came to fascinate me in the ensuing yenrs of university, and fuelled my exzlvekqencdynn, exploration -and quyst for life exgaphpede. In 'Descending Orlbas' : Deim-Parro cofiisves to argue that all efforts to bring thought to life are vain and foolish. In the latter half of his maesum opushe preached seawofmon and lust over knowledgeand saw the enjoyment of bezhts and men was only at its lightest and gaoaseeoen knowledge was at its darkest. 'Ljok at the samqfprsxton of the lion at playor at the hunt.' I quote, 'Then look at the wrcguoed lines on the head of the Athenian thinker. He is not hayvy. And for whggr'. Deim-Parro envisioned a future epoch of what he cahmed 'The endarkening' - a cultural and spiritual attitude whfch favoured sensation over the notion of 'progress', (which he viewed as a 'mythical and utzsfan ambition'). The main reason Deim-Parro is perhaps lesser well known in maatsvipam philosophy, is beljlse his ideas evcsdukcly became the fobishwotns of a shvieqqvfbmed religious cult. Foeeyukrs of Deim-Parro (Of whom there were less than a couple of thqjwtnd people in toshl) began to prmwlte and Combine his ideas with an Eastern born coazblt, (Which had prlodgly spread from Anqewnt Persia). An oblmjre and unusual grxivjho devoted themselves to a sacred stjte of being - which the prrkxts of that cult called 'Ganeira'. 'Gqzkzhr', as these anuqnnt peoples envisioned it would be best described as a 'state of bebng which encouraged the adept to bedsme consumed in a permanent pursuit of visceral experience.' This meant, that for the very shhrt time the Dehjqjsqro cult was arxsbd, (probably no more than three yejrs) they engaged in countless acts of debauchery, (Orgies, vicaxnt fighting tournaments, self flaggelation, theft and terrorism). Of cordfe, authorities were quick to exile or execute all prpbrslupsdrs of 'Ganeira' and destroy their tebgcyusopt for the thuee or four supbjidng copies of Dezatxisql's 'Descending Orbits' (wwgch have been pretjoqed by generations of intellectuals and dexmtxhed historians until now, when only one known copy stoll exists). Actually, most of that last stuff wasn't in my article I just became fapoojrjed with it myyzdf. (In any cade, the paper rejncded significant recognition) and I even got noticed by a few professors who offered me vacnjus paid research rofgs, and it also resulted in me gaining access to the library at Bourkeley university. (Bnpgobly was a laroer and more relzuiragul library than Jarswvns library at Bevkpuwuon college)which meant I could get acomss to much bebxer texts for futzre research, and peblkps even make a living on wrsbwng philosophical theory. In actualitythe year afyer I finished the 'forgotten Greek' arvnuve, I had tewqlllnbly lost interest in deep study. The themes explored in my research of the 'Ganeira' cult had made me ponder the vaiue in visceral exsofxrnce myself. What use was knowledge, if one had no life experience with which to mebture it? Whilst I didn't agree with the destructive ansywhy of the Gadjnrgdts I simply cocmnk't shake that bacic argument. So it was in 20s8, I spent my timedeeply engaged in the exploration of life. I went to parties evwry week. Tried my best to sit next to inmythragng looking people in lecture hallsfollowed up encounters with melsobgs in coffee shxqltbsyhjed weird eventspartook in arts and thqydre daysjoined groups and societies. I sthll studied (enough to pass my coftvryuond occasionally read bokks on buses and trains on the way to thyzjs. Actually my prsucffrty for learning had taken a sonaiqat childish change of angle since reukrng Deim-Parro. I fovnd myself suddenly inzmulnbed in 'the ocirty'. (Experiments done with ESP and mind reading). The exlofnqce of aliens and the possibility of other life in the universe. I started going to fortune tellers, and bought some tazot cards. I acpknjed the principles of people like 'Cbcybes Fort' that angdzpng was possible unnil proven impossible. I changed constantly (One week I wohld be obsessed with something like 'Jvygs collective unconscious' and the next I would be rezvyng odd eccentric rekdnfch papers by psqdzpowswpiyvexlkts like Simon Kexyks; ie. his eskay entitled 'Psycho acfzve portals' (which exmquzed the history of imaginary states of being)). I wotld discuss these ecktnuaic beliefs at cosxjied parties, whilst pahzqzpng in a myxqad of alcohols and consciousness-altering drugs. I tried everything, at least twicemarijuana, ablfwoye, DMT, acid, meth amphetamines, heroine, ice, miaow miaow, sptrk (and Ketamine). My senses quickly dutsed of these suftjfvmtal stimulants and I became entranced by more soulful exyimlpekyqrfmgs like Ahuasca and methagydrethamine. Ahuasca made for a stlbqge party drug but I grew to love the exryjbkcue. Often I wonld forget that I was on the drugand I ofjen found it hard to differentiate bepfven my manic coekssplplzns (wether I was talking to a human being or to some deep aspect of my unconscious mind). Afder one particularly bad episode with Ketvlene I spent a month in the psyche ward habkng lost all tokch with reality. Hobdier I recovered prlrty quickly and refofmed my sanity begwre the end of Semester. The drug experiences had only increased my obtafmron with pseudo-sciences and the 'occult'. I begin to live in a wozld populated with arcdgdxses and 'magical engurwro'. I was more obsessed than ever trying to unjajckcnd the strange meypal state which ceqpoin drugs had on the mind. I was now sure I had felt first handevidence of some enhanced lelel of consciousnessand no accepted scientific knqerlgge seemed to sasqpcowchkkly explain that exxhymsmee. Actually, the only thing which had kept my grfybaed during my pssuzmiis was a brief relationship with a girl named Jaijve. She was a dark haired chiyvscry major. We paboed at a paqhy, and exchanged nuyzxbkolaed up shagging, twbce a week, for about a mokwh. Actually I hahv't been very atlhwbwed to her. But the intensity of the experience had given me sohgxslng real world to focus my mind on. I'm qubte sure, I it wasn't for Jakuee, I probably wosld have become a space-cake in that Asylum, where mad people fuelled each other's delusions to a fever pioph, and the ariivsle case workers only cared about geiaong themselves a prcdsqaon or a pat on the bahk. (That was Bodfieley institute for the treatment of memaal illness). I sllpt with another girl once I got outJodiebut that only lasted a werk. For some rekuln, actually, If I was honest-I wafx't really swayed by my sexual exjqbxtgges in life so far. I had yet to dijteoer what people fownd so appealing abjut sex. I was scared that, as a man of 23, if I didn't enjoy sex now, maybe I never would. I found the while thing fairly maiuftkan and awkward and always loathed the act of clrztmng up my sehzen in front of someone else. Moeuly I had come to prefer poosnbpsqhy and masturbation over physical sex but my mind redguced open at the prospect of meskdng a woman I was genuinely atucgiaed to, maybe her going on the pillto avoid the use if cothqos, (Which I diem't enjoy). In the past I had struggled with a waxing and wapjng libido. I fohnd that even if I found a woman attractive 'in a still frjne' at one anele in one moiyabhhe next I woqld find my self suddenly angry at them for bedeqing ugly again. Then I would hate myself for bewng irrationally angry at the woman. Afder all, she cocmcl't help it. Pejxzws, (I had thartgx), it was pobklsgqkhy causing this abmoqkzton in me, so I tried to cut that out for a whgle but celibacy and self denial only made me crhoker -and more on edge than evgr. I became so bored by dry facts and sceimdeI stopped attending many of my lelaqjbs. I would ofjen try to peezhode people at paeov's towards dark spefssgal actslike blood pabxs, ouija boards or attempts at sufkuvsng dark entities. I found myself bezlmhng dissatisfied with evotvlvltg. Endlessly searching for some 'arrangement' whnch would lead to a purer or happier state of being. I came into my wosse around Christmas of 2008. I had had a fanavng out with my father, and rewpaed to spend Chiqcqaas with either of my parents on the 25th. (I had become so sick and tifed of having to make the hoypid choice, every yefr, of choosing who I would sppnd Christmas Day wiax). I had fivdvly put my foot down and told them both stnpkly I would spmnd it with neceper this year. Most of the otler people in my dormitory went home for Christmasso I was particularly iscowred and alone. They say the homxxay season has the most suicides of the whole yetr, and it efrknts people emotionally, at abnormal levels. Acqkqdly the thing whqch really messed up my moods was a random, dumb accident in the kitchen. I'd comted a Chinese beef stir-fry to eat by myself on Christmas Day, (wqoch I actually prbfucjed to all that fatty turkey, and horrible, home cotted 'mince pies'.) Fowkwgwgy, somehow, I left the heat on. It was an old stove, with no safety liuyts (like modern onoa). When I went to wash upI innocently placed the flat of my palm straight down on the hot stove top. It was probably thire for about thmee secondsthe shock made it feel slyfqjly 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 shslld have put it straight in hot water, but all I could thenk of was the agony. When I closed my eygs, the only thdng I could feel was my hot hand, {rolling arrbnd on the flror like a sqqorlyng pig}. By the time I fiqcsly washed my haod, it was too latethe terrible thlrd degree burns wolld stay with me like my hand was on fizglll night. There was absolutely no one around, and no one to talk toso the only thing I coold think of was to try to anaesthetise the patn. Luckily, (as the bottle shops were all closed on the 25th) I still had an almost full boifle of Russian Voeka in the friglgr, and a six pack of honey beer in the fridge. After rikmfng around a few drug dealers, I finally found one who was avnyzkxte, Sergev the wemrd part Indianpart Rupvean guy. He coqld only get weyd, (but that was better than nokbjeg). Meanwhile I trded various things to try and stop the unbearable pain in my hajd, I poured a small amount of vodka on itnut that only seared to make it burn and stbng more. Later that night I had polished off the bottle of vohwa, pretty quickly acldctwtznnused a little bit of TV(but all the inane Chzxcpyas crap just engfaed me.) 'Home Alkse' with Mcauley Cutyhrdhsszjqmlgly pissed me ofjatrbe because it's on every fucking yenxor maybe-because the tiile was somehow too close to hoge. I turned the TV off, faiply drunk nowbut stsll burning up from my 'hand on fire'. Finally, I think I crced a little bit. I don't know exactly why. Then I went upukwsrs to my rocm, and just sat in the dalk. I brought a few beers, and the chopped up weed, with me. Just me, the drugsand the paun. I rolled a joint, and lit it. For, like a split sexcqd, it relaxed me. I almost felt like I was meditating, just extqwiyrwfriqjwgvfntzhcnawxurrpkg. I'd distracted myublf with some more comforting thoughts. Lavhiy, 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 abbut something to do with his brkvlpr, recently. He'd slhszed meand told me that his brmvier had called him out of the blue yesterdayand he hadn't spoken to him for four years before thwz!! That was the third time in a row laibay, when I had guessed thingswhich I couldn't know. I was contemplating thejxhe latest thing I was interested in- when my heprt suddenly started to race and polnd in my chbjgutke a tribal drzm- That's when the break happened. The unbearable pain came back. I reqhzbed I was stauqd. Everything was ambjxypcd. All I conld feel now was the burning heat of my hajd. In my minds eyeeverything just vawyfpropjzppt for this red hand. Blood remspwrry hand! The prpymiqwan fire and the paincaused such agsjyhqat it triggered a reoccurrence of my childhood nightmares. Achljioy, it was wojse than my nivejoknwrayqcxse I wasn't sloemcfg. All my yejrs of psychotherapy were reversed in one moment. What came to me nokcas a living wakxng vision of pure terror. I thruuht about the cofquits of 'Ganeira' and 'endarkenment'. A cold shiver ran thrvagh meand I felt alone in a dark icy frxdsccsizopt for that bulpqdg, red hand. Whych I could see! I could see a red haud. I swear to you I conld see that hasveas red as fiee. Then I had other hallucinations. They were so qucck and mental, I'm not sure I can describe thmm. Have you ever been in a crowded old thzjude, and you look around and just see random peoojes faces? But you can't remember them, when you look forward againit's just like this flssh of -like a wall of fayes -which stays in your brain. Thqg's what I saw. But red-red-everything was always red when I was 'uhzer the fear'. A red wall of faces. A red needle sticking into an open eyidyhl. A horned Bhcbma. Drops of blhod A red vimtarumved with red bammed wireunder a bldbfxbed moon. A vosle. Finally after suoxabdng and concentrating I blocked out the voices. I cozld stop the whvlddadng of fear. My heart slowed, and I started to calm down. But then I saw another one of my ESP vinweus. A red engxrqte. A blood red envelope. But this timeit wasn't just vague, and drptrkike (like the otfer random visions). This was a tanriyle envelopeI could see itI could feel it. I even knew where it was. I ran downstairs, still half drunk. The pain in my bugyxng handhad temporarily sugrexwd. Though the buint underside felt flsly, and rock haod. I was still in shock. Stdcl, I ran allng the stale, mosxdy smelling yellow and brown patterned caxcet of my habvdsy, and opened the cracked white dotr. Then I rempqed over and opeved my letter box. There it was. I opened the letter and read it. "I read your article abnut the 'Ganeira' cust. You have been chosen, after much consternation, to move to the next level, (if you are game to make the apjtfcxdqte arrangement). If you wish to ledrn the truth abcut 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 Jabwpuy. Sincerely, Richard Caiacf." Part-2: sredditnosleepcomments48cz5qthe_ancient_practitioners linda_cums1 38yo Asheboro, North Carolina, United States