one woman - two vaginas

Woman with two vaginas: 'I lost my virginity twice'

"An attractive, blonde, British woman recently revealed on a TV talk show that she has two vaginas and turned down a $1 million offer from porn production company Vivid Entertainment. Hazel Jones has a condition called uterus didelphys, which caused her to be born with two vaginas"

the best comment below being:

"she was clueless until her boyfriend tipped her off?
god gave this genius two uteri. I say, fill 'em up fast."

on second thought, maybe don't fill them up too fast, because this is what a double vagina looks like prolapsed. it looks the snout of a wild tuskless boar. but how awesome would it be to have something like that? that's pretty damn special!  aside from behind picked up like a bowling ball, just imagine what you could do!

from one of the best shows in the world, Embarrassing Bodies, has more detail here 

(embedding disabled because they're cunts. double cunts)

Roman Ragazzi dead

i don't know why i have a fascination of when gay porn stars die. it's not the same for other actors. it wasn't until flicking through the channels and catching the Oscars In Memoriam clip that i found out Elizabeth Taylor died. sure, she was incredible in Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf but i really couldn't give a rat's arse about any film actor. except Brad Renfro, because he was fucking hot

but it's different for porn stars, and more so for gay porn stars. for some reason - i care

the first that fascinated me was Kyle McKenna. a baby-faced beefcake that looked like he head was about to exploded every time he took a cock in his arse. it was hot

Kyle Mckenna 

his IMDB bio says this:

"Kyle had a terribly sad childhood and had been estranged from his family for many years. When the Salt Lake City coroner's office finally tracked down his mother, she refused to claim his body. Friends took Kyle's remains and had them cremated. His ashes were strewn over some mountains where Kyle enjoyed hiking."

for a long list of dead porn stars and how they died up until 2007 go here. it's pretty interesting, then unfortunately followed by some shit from the bible

the latest actor to be chewed up and spat out is Roman Ragazzi. i'll call him by his real name, Dror Barak, because it's a much cooler name. 

Dror shot a few scenes for Colin O'Neal's new porn company but was promised no content would be released until he finished with his current employer - the Israeli embassy in New york. while still employed he was contact by a Mr Kirkham who wanted to fly him somewhere and shower him with money for some 'modelling' work. Dror agreed. but he was contacted under his new name Roman Ragazzi. Colin O'Neal didn't like that because he was under a contract. Dror ignored him and pursued the job, insisting to Kirkham he was not a prostitute

a short time later Dror exploded into fame when he was outed by the New York Post. he immediately resigned. 

it's alleged Mr Kirkham was outed him to the New York Post. there's also rumours the fake Kirkham is rival porn producer Michael Lucas. all this inflamed by a german dj, who soon became known as Logan McCree. 

did Lucas just want to ruin this new talent? 

did Collin O'Neal do it himself to kick start his new porn label?

it's in more detail here in Queerty. the comments below are a possible bitch fight between O'Neal and Kirkham/Lucas. but as entertaining as it is to read, all posts could just be all fake

who knows. either way, it's an interesting and Dror got severely fucked over. despite (or because of that) he soon became the biggest name in gay porn for 2007/2008 to be toppled by the former german dj, Logan McCree. utilising his skills as a former military trainer in the israeli army, Dror started him own personal training business

just a few days ago Dror was found dead from an apparent suicide. Queerty has the most detailed information here. there's some really nasty comments posted at the bottom. despite what you think attract people to start a career in porn, it's not all for the same dumb selfish reasons. this guy just seemed too naive and too trusting of the porn industry. the comments below are the same tired assumptions dickheads make about porn actors. like the sex industry, it attracts certain types of people, but it's not all junkies, insecure nutjobs and people down on their luck that everyone expects. these days it's a legitimate and very fast way to boost your career as an escort, personal trainer or even as a full time porn star.

also, it's a lot of fun. the extra business i gained from the first solo shoot i did more than quadrupled my income and paid for a month long overseas holiday. plus the notoriety and free beers and drugs i got showered when i went out. the only thing about it that haunts me too this day, 4 years later, is just about every week i hear from friends, "so i was jerking off to tumblr porn blogs and pics of you came up. great pics but it made me feel weird." i should get my shit together and do another one but in Australia the only porn shot here is mostly young pretty boy and twinky porn

in 2009, when Collin O'Neal was coming to Sydney to shoot a porno i was one of the people asked. i declined. i met O'Neal a year or two before in SF, it was only for a moment. i'm sure he asked every dumb whore in Sydney (and Melbourne), but he hounded again and i declined again. having just had my appendix removed a over a month before, i wasn't feeling too pretty about my shaved and newly growing belly still recovering from surgery. 

i had already shot another porn scene 2 weeks after surgery. i saw some of those early shots online and i wash't stupid enough to do it again. i got a call at 9am on a saturday morning asking if i could be there as one actor dropped out. hung over as all fuck (and most likely still drunk) i stupidly agreed. i looked like shit. i wasn't into the other guy. it was awful

no matter. Alex DeLarge did an awesome job in that video (he scores many points alone with the Clockwork Orange reference)

so i failed in porn. it's really because it's yet another thing i did without really trying, but i like to convince myself this is the reason...

...is my cock big enough?

is my brain small enough?

for you to make me a star...

give me a toot and i will sell you my soul

pull my strings and i'll go far

gay homophobe

this is cute. two of my favourite things - statistics and gay sex scandals

http://gayhomophobe.com/

Sharon Needles

i first heard the name Sharon Needles in the mid 90s. she sung for a punk band called Butt Trumpet. this is the ballad off their only album Primitive Enema. (there's a video made for this that got the guts played out of it on MTV but it's censored and not as much fun.)

so when i heard there's a drag queen on the new season of RuPaul's Drag Race using that name i knew she would be my favourite. she has already made junkie references and clearly loves the pipe. she fucking rocks

"i love that whole... meth look you got."

"thank you!"

most contestants release singles after the success of the show, but Sharon did it years before she was even on the show. it's way more successful





she won't win because she ain't no beauty pageant, but she better stay in the race until the end

new muthafuckin' JIz!

relationshits - don't get too comfortable (ego)

i have to admit that having a boyfriend is affecting my work negatively

sex on tap. at home. i bagged a hot guy so why do i still need to try so hard? once you've reeled them in let your body relax and keep them locked into a relationship with you with a steadily increasing amount of emotional abuse and insults to slowly convince them that they are now too old and unattractive to do any better. yes?

it happens to us all. we get in a relationship. we get lazy, fat, and our appearance slips. why? because we're happy and content (well, hopefully. you should be or get out). 

so i had a job today. 

just i knocked on the door i realised i had forgotten to brush my teeth. i frantically searched my pockets for gum (remember, by gum) but the second my hands were in my pocket he was already opening the door so i had to withdraw my hands

note: never answer the door with your hands in your pockets with new clients. it looks like you're hiding something

we get down to it pretty quick (mostly because i'm not really interested) and my lazy dominate side kicks in. i push him to his knees while i sit in the armchair. i grab him by the back of the neck and pull his face into my crotch. he tries to suck me but i tease him a little and slap my hard cock against his forehead. it's such a lovely sound. he's loving it and i'm liking the rough mediterranean stubble on my balls. i peel my foreskin back and…

oh, sweet baby cheeses! did you forget to shower too?

around the rim of the meaty helmet was cock cheese. bright white freshly crumbed fetta sprinkled around the purple red head of my engorged cock. not much. just a 4 or 5 tiny tiny rolls of boccaccini. i think fast. hopefully there is none under my cock that he can see, so i fire a mouthful of spit. it showers my cock and his face. his eyes snap shut and he moans in the degradation. while he's not looking, in one swift move my hands swipes the head of my wet cock, wiping away all traces of dick cheese. you can't hide the smell, but maybe it's not so bad and he said nothing about my breath anyway

crisis averted

i wipe my hand on the sofa and fuck his mouth. then he slobbers around my balls and slowly down to my arse. i'm liking the rough stubble i am distracted for a moment

…you didn't shower this morning, remember. that means you didn't wash your body. that means you didn't wash your arse. chickpeas were in that damn moroccan food you ate last night and you have been farting all day like a trooper. that rank spicy shit is gonna stick to the hairs on your arse like a naked ballerina doing the splits on a hardwood floor… too late now!… he's in there...

....he's still in there…

face buried in the hairy blonde crack of my arse. 

…oh hang on… and he's loving it… 

false alarm. all is good

happy people don't give a fuck. they got little to worry about. so let this be a lesson to myself - stop being so fucking lazy and remember to scrub up. just because you are as happy as a pig in shit doesn't excuse you from smelling like one

so all those beautiful people out there that spend hours on their appearance, at the gym, plucking, shaving and trimming, washing their jiggly bits, wearing clean clothes, brushing their hair and teeth (and all that totally unnecessary stuff) are deeply unhappy and insecure? 

for the most part - yes. 

ever noticed how those homos at the gym with the perfect bodies look painfully uptight and precious? well, they are. that's what keeps them constantly monitoring their appearance. from looking fabulous on the street, to shaking their taught booty up on the pedestal in the club, to that guy perfectly poised in that porn shoot with that body you've always wanted for yourself. i know a lot of them, and trust me, generally they are no happier than you. not only are they not happier but they are also painfully boring. i've been stuck in conversations with them. the beautiful people are really fucking boring. 

don't envy them. you are not missing out on a thing

sex worker problems

when i do, this blog is what they'll get

this would mean i would treat men better

i don't find this a problem at all

...and so they fucking should

Magda Szubanski

so Madga was a big ol' lezza. apparently this is something everybody knew except me and handful of other people. it's not really anyone's business but happy as fuck for that she's flashing it all around town. she'll be a welcome and entertaining voice to drown out all the boring marriage equality campaigners that drummed out the message for so long that gay marriage has become a really tedious issue

she's fucking brilliant. i love Magda. great tits too





here is one of her finest moments and possibly the best character she ever created





there are 10 Lynne and Carmel clips on youtube. watch them all.

and i said love, i said pet i said pet, i said love, it won't be long before you start talking like Lynne yourself

5000 days of the Elk part II - last exit

"so…," the Elk asks as we lay in bed. his wet snout rubbing across my chest, "are you okay with all this? is this what you want?" i stroke his salt and pepper fur as his antlers nuzzle into my neck

is this what i want?

this your last chance to get out now before things get serious and someone gets hurt

the problem with shacking up with someone you've known for 11 years is there's none of that 'getting to know you' period. because you know the son of a bitch already. well, i don't know him so much, but he sure as fuck knows me. the little bastard reads this fucking blog!

why do i know so little about him? he's a very private person. he grew up in a little area in the north of Ireland. a heavily religious no-fun no-dancing Footloose-type town. he grew up working on a farm. up until last week this is just about all i knew about the first 20 years of his life. he just doesn't say very much

"and i'm the talkative one in my family."

"oh…"

but he's not shy. he's just guarded. 

in the year we stopped talking and the first half of the year i was in Melbourne he's been a social little butterfly and acquired the enviable position of being a prized trophy in Sydney's alternative homo scene. 

"that's because i didn't put out."

"well duh, because if you did no one would be friends with you. they would've find out what a dud fuck you are…"

'oh!" he gasped and raised his fist at me

in Sydney everybody wants a piece of him. even in Melbourne, everyone wants a slice of his furry man-pie too. so is that what changed my mind? did i suddenly find him more desirable because everyone else wants him? is that why i want him now? did it scare the fuck out of me into realising what i had been steering away from for so long? am i that shallow that i want the trophy?

this bothered me for a bit. for a short time i entertained the idea that i only want the Elk now because he's wanted so much by others might be true. but it wasn't. it's not a nice thing to say, but i think it was better that we didn't get together before. in the last year he's discovered a whole new side to Sydney that in all his years here never knew existed. i would have introduced him into it, but that would not have happened to the extent it did if he was in relationship. you need to be free and single to enter a new social scene. he's changed so much. i'm not sure if he realises the difference. a decade ago the Elk would walk into a room and few people might notice the sexy little fucker, but now this proud stag struts into a room and everyone stops, turns, dribbles a little bit and stares. then they hear the accent. sure they can barely understand a word, but they're just happy to gaze upon this rare Irish Elk (Megaloceros giganteus) up close

which leads me to the other issue. if he's so amazing, then what the fuck does he want with me? 

there a so many men that want him. better men. smarter men. more attractive men with better bodies and bigger cocks. more mentally and financially stable men with better careers and kinder hearts. men that will treat him like a king and give him all he deserves. 

what the fuck does he want with me? what can i offer him? and why does he still want me after i've been such a cunt for so long? 

the best thing to do when you start dating someone is to take drugs. take lots and lots and lots of drugs. get so fucked up that every damn thought, no matter how embarrassing, will spew out of your mouth faster than you can hesitate. drugs don't change you but you can't hide the truth on drugs

we did. we got pretty fucked up. when i'm fucked up - i'm munted. it was 7am and all i could do was curl up foetal with my head on his chest, my eyes rolling back into my head and spit dribbling out the corner of my mouth. when Elk is fucked up, he turns into a regular little chatterbox. he was talking for a good hour or two. he said a lot of things i didn't understand, partly because of his accent and the fact that i was munted, and i thought it might have been rude to keep saying "huh? what?" he also said a lot of things i've never heard before. a lot of kind things i never thought i'd hear him say, let alone hear anyone say about me. he explained why he still wanted me 

…and i was so fucked up i can't remember a thing. all i can remember was 'i want to take care of you'

so yeah. this is what i want

it's great. it's fantastic. it's all kittens and rainbows and lambs and daffodils and springtime. but it's still so fucking weird. we were sitting in a filthy toilet cubicle of some bar trying to snort the rest of a bump up our nose and he stopped and just stared at me

"what?"

"nothing," he smiled

"what?"

he stammered to get the words out, "this… this…" he motioned between me and him, "this, you… and me…and… ugh. it's so weird."

it's not so weird for me. i've felt this way about him for a long time. i just didn't want him to wait for me. i buried it. 

no wait… everything feels backwards. everything feels like opposite day. "yeah, it is weird." i said and i molested him once more up against the grimy toilet wall before going back out to the bar to join the others

t.i.s.m. - opposite day

*brashs - if you can remember, is a shitty store no one went to in the 90s, especially to buy/steal a cd

aussie pride

amazing feets of strength

i love being back in Sydney and the wide variety of freaks… oops, i mean, clients… that you get. each day is a new adventure. who knows if you'l get a cuddlier, a stinky breath-monster, a chode, a talker or who knows what. that's the great thing about this work. it's rarely ever boring*

(*relative to other occupations)

today it was a fancy hotel over looking Darling Harbour. this guy was a bit of a talker. from Paris, this was first time in the country and here for work. as with most european visitors, he was impressed by somethings and not by others. "the man here in Sydney are spectacular. like you, not too pretty. very rugged. manly," i blushed into my whiskey. i imagine when most people get told they aren't pretty would see it as an insult. i don't. i don't aspire to be pretty. "the women here… eh, not so much. they have a lot of, how you say, cellulite. no one is very stylish but it is too hot to wear nice clothes all the time."

it was nice of him to say, but i assured him "trust me, even if it was cool, no one in Sydney or anywhere in Australia, would be wearing nice stylish clothes."

after a little more complaining about the hotel, Darling Harbour, the weather and the food in the tourist district we eventually retired to the bedroom. i don't mind the complaining. you get used to it. people here for work have to be nice and charming and respectful on business trips. so to them the friendly neighbourhood gigolo is the only outlet for them to be honest. it turns out he didn't really want to do much, it was mostly company, a few drinks and… then my feet

he loved my beard and hairy thighs, but nowhere as much as my feet. as he raised one one of my feet high in the air and i ungraciously had no choice but to lay back. finally i get to be the woman. it would have been nice to kick back if he didn't start stroking, kissing and caressing my foot. "are you okay with this?"

"uh-huh!" i lie. on the outside i'm smiling and nodding my head. on the inside i'm screaming like a chainsaw is grinding through my shin bone. i'm ticklish. so ticklish. normally it's not too bad but today  it's fucking killing me!

"you have such pretty feet," he says. he's a little shocked but enthralled all the same. "all of you is so many. so… uh… hugh jackman. like, you know, with the claws," he grins, his voice raising much higher in excitement. he rubs my shiny blonde wolverine fur, "but you're feet are so pretty!" there's that word again

i may look like wolverine to him, but on the inside with all this tickling going on i feel like the little mermaid. not the jolly Disney little mermaid who just gave up her beautiful singing voice, i mean the original nasty Hans Christian Anderson little mermaid who not only gave up her voice but in submitting her fish tail for a pair of feet so she could walk on the land and find her prince came with a harsh price - every step she took on land was like "a thousand knives" stabbing into the soles of her feet. 

to get my mind off the feet i decided to swim under the sea of question, "so... err... you like feet. yeah?"

"yes. i design shoes. all shoe designers are foot fetishists." he says it like i must be somewhat stupid for not knowing that. clearly it much be common knowledge so to get myself through the rest of this horrendous accidental ticklefest i start to wonder, do those that excel in their work have  a secret fetish for it?

not just shoe designers but people who work in shoe stores have a string liking for feet?

are chefs sploshers?

do policemen love the restriction of the uniform?

would someone who designs toilet bowls a scatman? and not the skipped-ooh,bada-bud-a-bup kind, but love thinking about new ways to complement the poop of the masses?

does a vet take care of your pets with a little extra love and care? 

does mortician ever think about making the corpse so lifelike for any other reason?

some of these questions and more a fucking obvious. but it gets my mind of the agony until he blows a couple of hours later. i tell him the decent parts of the city he will like, what restaurants to eat at and we make plans to meet at one later in the week. as i walk away with a hefty tip, with each step i can feel nothing but the merciless thud of my dirty work boots against my sensitive feet. ahh, bliss

aussie pride

5000 days of the Elk

***WARNING! EXTREMELY BORING!*** 

***NO FART JOKES HERE***

everything was good. everything was fine. 

back in Sydney work was regular. my apartment was fantastic. i get the see all my mates as much as possible

everything was calm. everything was groovy

now with the downtime in work that happens over the Xmas and NYE, i had some time to think. what the fuck am i going to do about the Elk? i thought maybe it's just because it's all turning to shit that i falling on him as a crutch. i don't want to be using one of my closest friends just to make myself feel better. but everything is fine now i'm back in Sydney. i can think clearly. 

let me tell you something about the Elk…

i have known him for about 11 years

he lived just a hundred metres down the road from where i was living in Darlington. he was a sexy little fucker then too in his boots and little shaved head. but i had just broken up with my first boyfriend and needed a drinking buddy more than another one night stand. we'd go for beers in Darlington, next to the infamous suburb of Redfern, then it was still a rotten crusty little inner city suburb in the early stages of gentrification. 

Darlington/Redfern. also known as The Block

Redfern riots 2004

we hung out a lot. Elk rarely says anything and i was shy as hell back then until we got drunk. we were getting drunk almost once a week. nothing ever happened.

soon he moved up north. after that i didn't see much of him. on the rare occasion that i did, i took him and a friend to see Baise Moi at the old Valhalla cinema in Glebe. the second Elk sat down beside me in the chair he reached to the floor of the theatre and pulled up a large bottle of vodka. he tipped it upside down before my eyes and asked: "what kind of film have you brought me too?"

the french film with it's nasty violence and hard core rape scenes with actual penetration proved to be an excellent date film. 

then for a few years i didn't see him at all. then late one friday night i was walking up Oxford street in Sydney and he was stomping down the footpath towards me. i was a little excited, but on my way to a job so i couldn't stop to talk. the job i went to was excruciating. afterwards i was so damn frisky, and a little drunk and coked out, that when i got home i sent the Elk a text to get his arse over to mine. it was more of an ultimatum than a text. i passed out seconds later with my cock in my hand

the next morning Elk responded. he came over. i knew if we sat down to talk that the mood would pass. the moment the door opened i grabbed him and dragged him to my bed. jesus titty-fucking christ, holding him by the arse and pulling his body against me was amazing. it was a long wait but it made up for the last few years. 

at this time he was kinda seeing someone else so i never pursued him. he bought a house and threw himself into the horrible task of renovating it himself. i came to hang out, get drunk with him, take his mind of renovating. it was just like before, but with sex and cuddles and sleepovers. it was all good. it was great. but a little bit weird because it was turning into something more.

did i want this yet? no. i don't think i did

over the next 2 years it was a painful and repetitious push and shove. i just wanted to remain friends and he kept hinting at more. it was impossible to ignore and it would frustrate the hell out of me. i just wanted to be friends. i know don't fare well in relationships so i avoid them. it is a tough decision to keep saying 'no' to one of the few people you ever think might be right for you. how do say 'no' to one of your best friends? it's a gamble, and if it fails not only do you lose a partner, but you lose a best friend as well. at the time, i would have fucked it up. there is no doubt about that.

the most i could do was offer a warm bed and some monkey arms to wrap around him. a few times we'd just lay in bed and listen to music to give him a little escape

ultimately i kept pushing him away, cruelly, therefore i fucked it up anyway

for the next year he came and went. appearing and disappearing in and out of my life when i would allow him too. patient of my moods. tolerant of whenever i changed the rules to suit myself. he was always there

mid 2010 i bounced between Sydney and Melbourne. the Elk had figured out i began seeing someone. he graciously retreated, wished me well and vanished off to Berlin. we no longer talked at all

six months later, december 2011 my move to the country for love had failed. i felt too embarrassed to move back to Sydney. so i moved into Melbourne. within a month i had heard from the irish Elk. 

"are you sure?"

"yes!"

things were a little shaky. a lot shaky. around others we were great. but alone we were so uncomfortable around each other that it was painful. he would tread so lightly around me that we'd be blanketed in silence most of the time. that is, when i wasn't jabbering on about shit to fill the awkward silence. i wouldn't say much to avoid his reaction. he'd say nothing because he didn't know how explosive my reaction would be to his reaction

somehow, we got over it. through running around abandoned buildings to getting staggeringly shitfaced drunk at the Laird. we managed to shut our fucking mouths, stop holding grudges, stop assuming there's a hidden agenda and remember why we enjoy hanging out with each other in the first place. it wasn't easy, but i had to grow up sometime.

soon we were seeing each other every day.

i wanted him around. i wanted him around all the time. but things were still a bit shit in melbourne. i needed to wait until everything was fine before i made a decision.

i got back to sydney. things cleared up. my judgement was a lot less cloudy. i knew that i no longer want something quick to throw away. i wanted more. i realised i wasn't just using him to make myself feel better during the last few weeks in Melbourne. i genuinely wanted him there. he was the reason i felt better

i decided to stop fighting it. stop fighting him. just relax and enjoy whatever was going to happen. just go with the flow. whether it works out or whether it turns to shit. just enjoy it and at least give it a try. no matter how fucking scary that can be

i want something good to die for to make it beautiful to live

i want a new mistake

the Elk moved back to Sydney a few weeks after me. he trotted over on Christmas eve. he stayed that night. christmas day was just us sitting by the pool, drinking tequila. over a not-so-peking duck we argued about astrology

"star signs are a load of shit!" it's true. i hate people who ramble on about star signs. mocking them but still giving them credibility. it's like hearing someone talk about believing in god, or any god for that matter. i just think they are a little bit stupid.

"well, yes and no. there have just been so many coincidences in my past relationships," he started to drunkenly ramble. slamming down 3 shots of tequila to every one of mine. the archetypal irishman was coming out of him. it was cute to watch him mumble incomprehensibly, "...mmfphmf mhhm hufurrr-gur ppffm... you're a gemini so you give everything for a short amount of time then... pfft! you go away!"

"fine! if that's true. you're an aquarius, so you're a arrogant self-absorbed wanker. restrained and pig-headed! my last 2 relationships that meant something have something have been aquarius you will be my third!" i'm not sure if he realised what i said. i wasn't sure i realised what i just said. i hoped he was drunk enough. he responded with the volume his voice rising and falling, none of which i could understand a full sentence. "huh? what? right. that's it. i can't understand a word you are saying. i'm taking you to bed!"

he stayed that night too. and the next. and the next. 

he didn't go home for 4 days

more shit

ode to the Laird and my lovely Josh

an apology

i got a phone call yesterday morning from someone i had not heard from in a long time

"i read your blog..."

he found a few entries that i had written about him, read the first 2 and immediately asked me to remove them. there was a lot of personal information in there and what happened between us. i wrote them over 6 months ago and although i was attempting to disguise who it was, it was at a time when almost nobody reading this blog. in my descriptions i was not being as discreet as i should have been

the reason for the posts were to express the problems in not telling someone from the beginning that you are a sex worker, the frustrations from living in a horribly incestuous small city and how all that can fuck with your head.

if he read the rest of the posts he would have known there was only positive things written about him and what an asshole i was by not being completely honest with him. despite the weight of the shitty things that were happening to him he remained an incredibly sweet guy so i wanted the best for him even though i was far from the ideal person to do that; but at the time he did not seem to have anybody else. he did not need to know he had involved himself with yet another fucked-up asshole. well, he sure knows now


not being completely honest with someone is a shitty thing to do. it's even worse to write about it for anyone to read and do it without their knowledge.

i never meant to hurt him but ultimately i did, for that i am really sorry