NOT EVERYTHING...🤐

SATURDAY, 27 APRIL 2024 - needs complaining about !!!

It doesn’t pay to complain. I hardly ever do *coughs* well at least not through speaking, not by voice and certainly never to the person who I actually have the problem with, I’m quite diplomatic like that. Some people may say it’s two faced - let them say what they want they do not know the patience I am implementing just to stay sane. They wouldn’t get it anyway. Some may say my writing consists of trauma pouring which isn’t a term I am too unfamiliar with even at my age where everything in modernity seems so far away and out of my grip. I agree with those voices who have read my work and thought about it. I wish to start afresh with all these toxic retellings of my historic shit, not because I have ‘been called out’ well, not only because of it but the reason is this… I am bored.

Bored of being the victim of my own narrative. Bored to shit with feeling like what I am regurgitating isn’t unique or entertaining to me, even he says that this is making me sick. I thought that by sharing my ‘alternative’ upbringing, self-destructive beginnings and bad decision making as a young adult back before technology and socials and all the things we take as normality now, would somehow help other people of a similar age and background, work out how NOT to worry about how their lives mapped out either; and point out that their lives are probably hopefully much better than they think and me too.

I wanted to process EVERYTHING. I think it’s safe to say my work on me is now done. I am healing without direction, guidance, effort or therapy. I am becoming something other that anything I have ever been before. I might still be at the crossroads of letting go of the younger self, the traumatised self, the reluctant self, the crazy self, the sexy self… the fucking SELF that was all of those things but never in me.

I have identity blindness… I am stating that as a fact and saying it boldly with intent. It’s the new me speaking, the confident, strong, sweet-talking-butch-monster in me that believes my opinion is valid and not designed to constantly fall on deaf ears, the OLD me, the women in me that doesn’t give a fuck about anything at all anymore as long as I can grow into the old cunt of crow that is an easier fit for my body, mind and soul to slip into.

I had a key-ring once that said “GROW OLD WITH ME” and I binned it the minute I realised my partner was on Team Stay Young.

I have always been older inside. I couldn’t wait to grow up and get out and belong to myself so that I had someone to belong to… oops. There goes that tiny violin playing inside my left ear stroking one out - a song of sorrow and woe.. I need to let that shit go. I need to embrace certain changes. Like waving goodbye to the enjoyment of kissing and shagging and wanking (maybe) and wash that man right out of my hair.

None of my NEW online friends aka penpals believe me when I say how much it destroys me that we are hardly ever having sex together anymore - they’re like “it’s strange how a woman would want it so badly and how come the roles are reversed, it shouldn’t ever be a thing where a woman wants it more than the man” - I’m sure they think I’m lying to them, or backward flirting (even after making it as clear as fucking cling film on a glass jar (ha! That’s a daft simile!) that I have no ulterior motives and don’t want them to come and fuck me up the arse round the back of the pub on the corner just because I am horny always and lonely and never feel fucking good enough for anybody… even a cucumber in Aldi catches me looking at it and it frowns back fucking disgusted with me.

I’m getting used to not getting any but I’ll never be happy - not because my fanny needs fucking and doesn’t - but get used to the idea that it just isn’t wanted anymore or by MY PERSON who I love. So, I stopped. Just stopped initiating anything or asking or hinting or suggesting. I stopped begging and complimenting him in a sexual way…. I stopped because his expressions, actions, words hurt harder than the actual rejections. The excuses or reasons were soul destroying.

“IT ISN’T THE WAY YOU LOOK”, he insists.

I call, “BULLSHIT..!!”

Men are motivated as a first point of call - visually and …fuck it.

I can’t be arsed moaning about it. I’ve stopped. I even stopped complaining about it to him. It doesn’t pay, as I was saying, it only causes more friction between us for him to blame it on as the reason why we don’t fuck anymore. I could go into more detail and I am sure tomorrow or the next day I will spill my guts more. At the moment, today, right now; I am ‘justclingingon’ to my self esteem, sanity and dignity - otherwise we’d need more than a sympathetic violin to sooth me, we’d go through the whole marching brass band and come full circle to the Triangle and Tambourine before I’d feel anything other than miserable.

It’s not JUST about the act of shagging either, when we did it LAST MONTH (10 March 2024 to be precise… I can’t stop counting) I scratch marks through the condensation on the tiled wall in the shower like a tally chart of my incarcerated sexuality.. My pussy held prisoner to oneself… because, I love that man and he is a keeper, more than a quick 2.5 second doggy style poking. The act itself has become more like a chore (for him) and (a joke) for me.

I like it still but regret wasting 1.5 minutes, getting backache as he presses me down into the bed for his shorter cock to easily get more depth with minimum effort on his part (I’m like FFS MATE MOVE YOUR HIPS A BIT OR IMPROVISE SMASH ME WITH HIPS OR BALLBAGS IT’LL HIT) little dicks used to be a turn off now it’s a fetish… he used to have (still does) a cute, sexy, beautiful needle dick.. but a fast arse… shagged like a sewing machine. Now it feel like he is reluctantly pricking me like I’m as unappetising as a sad, pathetic, but easy-and-quick FUCKING microwave MEAL-4-ONE only edible on a lonely miserable desperate and depressed weekend. *Gasps!!*

I wish it wasn’t my fault. My body, my looks. The way that I turned out. Ugly can’t be fixed in 5 minutes. If I diet I lose ONLY my tits.. I’m terrified of saggy skin and the tiny framed me underneath being even uglier than me.

He wants us to LIVE FOREVER TOGETHER IN LOVE (and I DO CHOOSE THAT TOO). When we first met I knew he wasn’t that keen on me in the bedroom (and I looked a damn lot hotter aged 28 that I do now with a FAT fucking 41 age tag behind me) so I sacrafices great sex for safe sex. Safe sex in that he made me feel loved and protected and secure and cherished. Too precious to fuck like a slut. I chose to ‘hang up my stockings’ and CHOOSE LOVE. But, c’mon For FUCKS sake…

………………where is the LUST?

His low-libido (his words not mine) makes me feel like I should be ashamed of myself for owning a big clit that throbs a lot, an innie fanny, tight n tidy (that parts questionable, the inside is tight as a mouse's ear, I can prove it! The 3 slim inches he slips inside me still touch sides and my grip is on point - the outside hmmn…. It's no ham sandwich but when stretched open it possibly looks like a punched lasagne or seagull yawning or an alien.. ripped welly… wizards sleeve…. Fucking disgusting…. ) Who knows.. I don’t even know what I was actually saying before I turned inward and ..

Oh! Yeah, that was where I was going with it… I feel ashamed that my fanny is always dripping clear fluids (that I panic and imagine that at my age must be piss or something else concerning) *had a smear after 12 years of refused everything came back clear* Most action I’ve seen this month of April! I feel embarrassed that my slit seems greasy for nothing, I never or dare not admit that I might have been touching it earlier on the same day.

Don’t get me wrong, he is always inspecting, prodding, squeezing, stroking, pulling, playing with my body, my skin, my bits and my tits… making me feel insecure like a pile of playdough or something….

He looks at me like I’m from another world (not in a good way) his touch feels like a piss take. I wish he wouldn’t do it… it winds me up. Turns me on but fucks my head up. He will touch my slit and press my clit a couple of heartbeat digs; lean in for a ‘cuddle’ then when I go coy (because of what is going on in my head which I just explained) I sort of cringe and pull slightly back (I’ve tried not doing that just reciprocating it and it ends in the same result) He pulls away abrupt.. Like all smug about it; “Had Yer Chance Bitch!”.

So, no. Never complain. It doesn’t pay. Just keep your head up and remember… If the cap fits, let them wear it. I am old, ugly, fat and FUCKING (or wish-i-was-fucking) HAPPY and excited about Middle Age Life… ROLL ON OLD AGE….. The older I get the less I’ll be upset about not getting any. I kind of welcome with open arms and wishful thinking a dried up minge, no more shaving (except maybe my chin), no more drippy minge, no more sex drive, no more yearning, wanting dreaming. Roll The Fuck On Mr Menopause. That way he won’t ‘rub salt in the wound.. (please do,, anything in the gash would be fab thanks lol). Wait.

I hate it when he DOES THIS:

Then, when I’m an empty oven, he can’t turn round anymore and say ‘get in here I want to fuck you Chasey, I am FINALLY horny - QUICK!” knowing full well that I’ve been in agony all day, holding my belly, taking painkillers, and crying because I am on my period and although I’d still be up for it, forget the pain, the mess etc. I’d love it regardless… maybe better, he hates the thought of it. Periods = Off Limits. How BLOODY Convenient… *sighs* Meh! Cue… EXIT SONG:

Nice one for listening to me trying not to complain, being two-faced about it, holding my shit together. I am practising the patience of a saint with the mind full - brimming, bursting, bubbling away - with under-exorcised SIN. Best of love and good wishes, your girl, aka……Granny, Chasey Delaney..x