Insanity (Am I Lost Yet?)

I think I am going mad. Not complaining, mind you, just stating facts as best I can without incriminating myself, though I have committed no real crimes, just acts that could be considered embarassing. The fact that I just don't state what I did shows I still have a modicum of decency, which is evidence of some lingering sanity. I should be glad I don't just say anything that pops into my head, but it will get more likely as homelessness inevetibally destroys what's left of my internal editing function. Very few have read my blog so far: maybe the whole world is waiting for me to let my pants down and scream obscenities from the virtual rooftops. My real pants have a problem staying up, which gets worse every week, a combination of larger pants than I need, not enough calories, and too little money and too much cheapness to buy a belt. A nice one at a Goodwill store cost $7, which would buy me a nice meal and feed me for the whole day. I insist on eating. Perhaps I could just wear a skirt, then the problem would be eliminated, while also proving my dictum that every solution creates a new problem. I even try to find readers in places where I don't expect to find readers. I told a former co-worker about my blog, and immediately after texting him the link, I regretted my action. He is such a sweet, church going young man that I worry that reading what I write would corrupt him, whereas another part of me would want nothing more than for him to see me in a whole new light, and punish me for how bad I can be. Still beating around the bush, hopelessly sane, when I want to prostate myself before him and do ANYTHING he wants. But if he reads this, he wouldn't want to do what I want him to, being sweet and innocent and all. I don't want to corrupt anyone: I would really prefer someone already inclined to figure me out and take full advantage of my weakness. I would succumb just to have a place to sleep that didn't roll down tracks. Maybe he will read this and surprise me the next day, and say drop and give me fifty. He would say that when we worked together in a joking way and of course I didn't, but if I was in his apartment and he ordred me to, I would try, I would really try. When I started pooping out around 35 or so, I would start crying and he would say "I knew you couldn't do it" and he would tell me to get on my knees. Once I had been demeaned, he would call me a bitch and grab my hair and pull me towards his crotch and MAKE ME SUCK HIS COCK! There, I wrote it down in stark print, that I want to corrupt this fine young man and become his sex slave. I think I really am insane, because now all the friends and family I told about my blog will know that deep inside I'm a raving homosexual. I thought I could keep that under wraps the rest of my life, but madness overtakes me and I want to have my sweet young friend to assert himself then make me naked and....I have to stop there Can I stop there? since this is where he makes me go to his bed and he FUCKS ME he FUCKS ME, FUCKS ME, FUCKS ME....SO HAPPY...tears roll down my cheeks so happy can't punctuate only care about cock if not his someone's cock someone dominating me and making me become what I truly am make a useful queer bitch out of the sane mess I am reduce me to madness and make me what I am all I am all I truly am. If I had any sense I would never publish this. But in a few seconds I will press publish, then confirm, and the whole world will see this, an unintelligible mishmash of bad punctuation and lurid fantasies, and who will take me seriously as a philosopher after that? I'll have to live in the gay ghetto because no breeder will take advice from some fairy, will they? Maybe if the breeder got drunk, he'd take my body, but he won't take my advice make me suck his cock so I can't say a thing. Well time for exposure. I thought I could escape my brain being reduced to nothing but gay porn for a few more years, but I'll get by. A plot point in my Republic story can be thoroughly examined now, and if my philosophical musings degenerate to another man pressing his body against mine that's philosophical isn't it? Since he who knows says nothing, whenever a cock was in my mouth I would be wise.