PASS THE TISSUES; WE ALL HAVE PARENT ISSUES

 Hello Malpals! Recently Julie of Strict Julie Spanks wrote a post touching on some of her daddy issues, and Lion of the Male Chastity Journal posted his thoughts on mommy/daddy issues on his own blog. As today is my mum's birthday I thought I could share a little of my own thoughts on the topic.

First, an update on my health situation. I haven't gained or lost any body parts since my last post. The parts I have remained more or less the same size, save for one vital organ; I was feeling very horny after sleeping for the best part of five days! I've heard the orgasm referred to as "la petite mort," or "little death." The term generally refers to the brief feeling of euphoria and weakening of consciousness that we experience after cumming. I've also heard of the phrase being linked with the shame you can feel after achieving orgasm. I used to feel that, sometimes, in my late teens and early twenties (as I've said before, I was a very late starter!). Professional downer Arthur Schopenhauer said "directly after copulation the devil's laughter is heard." It's probably worth noting that the syphilitic misery-guts was shagging a 19 year old dancer when he was in his mid-thirties, so your mileage may vary!

Arthur Schopenhauer, notable grouch and creator of the Hedgehog's Dilemma

For me it has a different connotation; sometimes I orgasm and it's fine, if a little anto-climactic, for want of a better term. Other times it will feel like all the oxygen has left my lungs and I'm left gasping for breath. I sometimes put on my CPAP machine before tossing one off; other times I find myself scrambling for it afterwards. It's concerning, but not enough to stop me from jacking it. I may be smart in some ways, but I still let my stupid animal brain do a lot of the driving. I've definitely had a couple of the latter type of climax early this week, but sometimes you just have to crank one out, you know?

MY LIFE AS A BASKET CASE; MENTAL ILLNESS & THE WORST THING I EVER DID

I've been putting this off all week. Well, to be honest, I've been putting this off since I've started writing this blog. I've been treating this blog a little bit like a therapist; I just unload whatever I'm thinking and try and get things clear in my head. I'm not spiritual, I don't believe there's a will to the universe, or genuine karma, balance or justice. That said, we're all the stars of our own little stories, and from our perspective the events we experience are all connected purely because they all happened to us. So whenever life deals me a bad hand, and I crash the company van, or get taken to hospital with swollen, infected legs, or wake up to find ants crawling over me, there's always a voice in my head going "Well, there was that one time you fucked your entire life up. Maybe you deserve this."

Now that I've written this fucking thing, it occurs to me that people I like read this blog, and that friends I make in the future may read this too. I hope that the actions I write about here don't literally repulse you away from me, and that you can appreciate I am a different person now than I was over a decade ago. Maybe don't read this if you don't want to see me at my worst!

Before I get to that, I owe my friend Julie an apology. I didn't proof read my last post before submitting it and did not express myself as well as I am able. The story I last posted was the first one I ever wrote specifically for her, not intended as a comment to her blog. I talk to Julie and about Julie in a manner unique to her; it took a little pushing by her to get me comfortable referring to her using language that is derogatory or misogynist. It's language Julie uses to describe herself; I recall her referring to herself as "Queen Slut" in the comments of a recent post. Obviously language is a tricky thing and intent is everything; if a third party seriously called her that I would be most unhappy. If her husband called her that whilst she was blowing him I'd be most entertained.

Communicating with and about Julie is tricky; I know if I write about her here she'll read it, but this is essentially a public place. Writing on her comments page can be tricky; Julie almost responds to comments as if she is two different characters, with Strict Julie responding to comments on posts where she's mainly a domme, and Sub Julie responding to comments where she's mostly a femsub. Obviously there's a little blurring of the lines, but she'll let readers get away with more on comments to some posts than on others. Plus she can be very coarse and derogatory in the way she describes herself; it's something that Miss Chris picked her up on when visiting for the first time. Of course, she obviously has a role to fulfil herself. Obviously e-mailing Julie directly is when I can be the most honest or the most fake, writing something that will titillate her without worrying about how a third party will react. There are other times when I'll start to write her an e-mail but realise she'll get more of a kick discovering my words here and wondering who else has read them, or in the comments of her blog where her fans will appreciate them and join in the fun. It can be a little complicated!

In my last post I listed a bunch of terms I've used to excite her since she's given me the go ahead to talk dirty. I wasn't trying to offend, but when she quoted my own words back to me it's clear that listing such harsh, derogatory terms without context was an unkind thing to do. Furthermore, I realised my words could be interpreted to mean that I no longer care for her, which I hope is self-evidently untrue. I care for her a great deal. I just know she'd rather be shamed and humiliated a little rather than being treated like she might break. I sincerely apologise.

MY GRANDPARENTS, PLUS SOME STRICT JULIE FANFIC!

 I'm really not sure what to write about my grandparents. They were incredibly warm and loving people and made me feel truly special. I have a very vague memory of them living in a different part of town when I was very young, but for the most part they lived a short walk of ten or fifteen minutes away, bearing in mind I was a child and my brother Jason is four years younger than me. This was a quiet rural town in the early nineties, I guess nobody thought twice about two kids walking around on their own. They probably should have; I remember a kid a couple of years older than me who was in my Scout troop for about two meetings with me, getting run over by an articulated truck. This was a good kid, before the marine took over and corrupted the whole thing! Another kid a couple of years younger than me had his nose broken by a bus. My brother and I were fine though.

Not that Gramps didn't worry! He had a police scanner that he could hardly make out, and if there were any reports of missing kids anywhere in the county we would get a call making sure we were okay! Actually, my favourite of Gramps' quirks involved the phone; he used to dial 1471 compulsively, with the phone on loudspeaker. A robotic woman's voice would tell you the last number to call you and when, something like "Telephone number oh five double five three, four seven two, eight six one called today at fifteen twenty-five hours. To return the call press 3. There is usually a charge for this service." Gramps would wait for the robot to finish speaking every time, and then thank it warmly. God knows what he'd have made of Siri or Alexa!

Nan was a proper old school housewife; she would spend hours in her tiny kitchen whilst Gramps kept us entertained playing blackjack and rummy. Never for anything more than bragging rights, though one or the other would slip me and my brother some pocket money once a week. Gramps would buy me The Beano every week as well. Nan would always have a Tupperware container full of what are undoubtedly the best fruit scones I've ever had, and she was a fantastic pasty maker, as all Cornish women should be!

My parents didn't like Gramps driving us anywhere because his eyesight was failing and his car didn't have seatbelts in the back. We'd often go around theirs with a video, usually something Mum and Dad had taped off the telly. I remember watching the Naked Gun trilogy a whole load of times and then being mortified watching them years later and understanding all the dirty jokes!

FEELING DOWN

 I don't have anything specific I want to write about today, I'm certainly not feeling creative enough or sexy enough to post anything particularly erotic. Maybe I'll dig something out of my e-mail outbox. I don't know. I don't like going more than a couple of days without posting anything because I know what I'm like; a couple of days without posting will turn into a week, and then a week into a couple of months, and before you know it I'll be a guy who used to write a blog.

My main news this week has been my Grandad, my mother's father and my only surviving grandparent, fell over one evening this week and had to go to hospital. He lives by himself in Wales, he called Mum's older sister in Bristol to tell her what had happened and she called my mum. He has three daughters and Mum lives the furthest from him, she's also the most sensible. She rang 999 and explained that he was alone, had heart problems and may have banged his head. This was 8pm. The paramedics came and took him off the floor at 2am! Grandad called a friend from church who sat with him all that time. He's okay, but rattled, and ready to accept that at 85 he may need a little more help than he used to!

Grandad's a real character; he'll take an interest in everything and everyone and find a story to tell out of any interaction. I think he had around 40 or 50 different jobs in his life time! Over the past couple of months he's taken to calling me on a Tuesday with two or three different stories from his life, asking me to guess which ones are true. They're always all obviously true, and I always guess that he's lying, saying things like "No, that can't have happened to you, you must have seen that in a sitcom" or "Maybe something like that happened to you, but that sounds too extraordinary, I think you're pulling my leg a little." He's always dead pleased to have fooled me!

Sometimes my Mum has heard these stories, sometimes she hasn't. It makes me wonder what anecdotes my parents have that I don't know about. I don't think he was an easy father to have, he has a very short temper and can be very stubborn. My dad refuses to speak to him after some row or other. Mum did a great job calling the hospital and the Red Cross and social services, and although he's gone home they're going to be checking up on him and offering him help. He needs it.

STRICT JULIE HUMILIATED BY HUSBAND

Hello Mal-Pals! Thank you for sticking with me through the last few dark posts; as promised today's post is a lot more light hearted!

It did occur to me that I never explained where things sit legally between myself and my old landlord, who I still have never met, or what happened to all my old stuff. This is because I don't know. I was told by my housing officer that the council are supposed to keep the items I left behind in storage, though I assume if that happened I'd have been told about it by now. The contact details I gave my landlord and my estate agent were for a mobile phone number I don't use any more and a Hotmail account I stopped checking around the time I stopped opening my mail in my old flat, probably earlier. I'm not interested in reopening that wound. I'm a different person now.

I've been feeling a little rough the past few days; I suspect recalling my past has used a lot of my energy! I've been sleeping a lot, but only that sort of shallow sleep that offers no real sustenance. This morning I don't recall being given my morning morphine pills, and didn't take them until the nurse came round with my other morning drugs a couple of hours later. This is good because it means I was properly sleeping for once! When they woke me up for breakfast I was having a bona fide dream, which means I was sleeping deeply enough for this to happen, which is excellent! I never remember my dreams unless I am disturbed from them.

This morning's dream was like almost all of my dreams; I was arguing with my brother. The weird thing was I wasn't bedbound but was suffering with a bad back and sore joints. I was watching TV in the living room of our old house. Outside it was tipping down with rain. My brother was trying to force me to go outside and fix the guttering. So many of my dreams are like this, and I often wake up agitated if I remember them, as if I have genuinely been arguing all night. There are some deep psychic scars left from when my brother was a teen up until his mid-twenties; he used to bully me and my mother, arguing about anything and everything. Things are much better today; finding a nice fiancee and a job with real responsibilities has been good for him, as has dealing with his fiancee's family, who sound very difficult in their own way!

A LOT CAN CHANGE IN AN HOUR: PART ONE

This is going to sound super melodramatic, but on the family Zoom call on the Friday of last week I received two pieces of information that allowed me to drop some emotional baggage that I've been holding on to for many years.

The first piece of information I've already shared: My brother Jason got engaged to Amy, his girlfriend of four years. This news is good for me because I know my brother blames me for his last engagement falling through. I know this because he shouted it at me through a haze of catatonia. He's not wrong.

WHY START A BLOG; WHY START IT NOW?

Because I need something to keep me busy until they make a new season of The Watch.

I kid, I kid. The Watch is terrible, but I felt obliged to see it because I'm a massive fan of the books the show is based on. I needed to watch the series the same way a parent that's told their child has drowned might want to see the corpse.

Starting your blog with a joke about a child drowning? Bold choice!

So why start it for real? Good question! Turns out there are SEVERAL REASONS! Let me break them down for you: