Old Habbits Are Hard to Break!

**Futa/boy, Orgy, Force, Mild Fantasy.**

**I love to hear what gets you off, so by Jove, let me know what you want to see next. :19:**

Feb 12, 2009

Wake Up.

Shower, Dress, Breakfast.

Ride the subway to work, ignore everyone.

Nine hours of Work with lunch and polite conversation.

Don't Drink Any Coffee, Coffee is bad!

Subway home, smile politely but don't make eye contact.

Cook Dinner, Eat Dinner.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Being a normalupstanding citizen is just so difficult. Weekends are the worst. I can't follow the schedule. I have to shop and take care of all the little things that go wrong all the time. That's when it gets difficult to continue.

Sarman is my friend. Everybody has friends right? That's nothing special, right? Maybe for you or most people even. But for me, Sarman was the only friend I've made in five years. He's number three on the list of friends that I've made in my 21 year-old life. Yeah, that's pretty fucking important now, huh? I shouldn't be writing this. (A black mark mars the last sentence, making it almost illegible.)

April 14, 2009

Two months. That's how long I"ve made it since my last entry, when I swore I would never think about any of this again. I burned the last diary I made. It would be worth thousands of dollars now, just for the antique leather and binding. It doesn't matter. When I write about it, I can feel the darkness pressing against me. But maybe writing is all that keeps it at bay. Or maybe I just want to lie to myself, if I keep thinking about it maybe I"ll finally do it. That's what I really want. (There's one final sentence, but it's completely washed out with salty wet drops, only three words remain) ...end it all!

November 3, 2009

I shouldn't have trusted Sarman. Cats are never reliable, I learned that lesson years ago. Sarman has such a way with words though. He would tell me wonderful stories of love and happiness. Every night there was another tale of romance or an epic saga of inseparable friendship. It didn't take long for me to believe that it was possible for me to start forging more friendships. So Sarman set me up.

The story he told me was simple. There was a small family out in the suburbs that lived in a charming ranch style house. They were both lawyers and they had three beautiful daughters that they took on vacations and spent every night with. Sarman had been sleeping there every now and then. They were kind and left out cream and fish pate. After my 21st birthday, earlier this year, he told them about me. I can imagine him weaving a tragic tale of a young woman living alone in the big city. In the story, the girl is so lonely and outcast that she couldn't even celebrate her 21st birthday. It only seemed logical that they would invite the poor girl over and throw her a little party of their own. A pity party for sure, but beggars cannot be choosers.