Worthy of Praise

This will not be nice. That's one of people's big problems anyway: being too nice. I prefer someone getting right to the point, and letting you know what they think, but instead the truth gets sugarcoated or avoided because it wouldn't be nice to say what had to be said. Of course, it hurts when people aren't nice, but often not being nice is the nicest thing of all. One can avoid trouble, or see an opportunity that would otherwise be missed, whereas the nice people would leave you floundering, or set up for some embarassing revelation. Of course, in my current circumstances, being homeless and unable to care for myself, I love nice people, and anything bad they have to say is obvious. Still, if only there were more assholes in my life, especially ones who could help me cultivate my talents before they are degraded and lost before the world can notice. That danger was seen in this blog only a few days ago, and it should scare me, but it doesn't. Another sign of mental instability? I can't answer truthfully to that one, being unlicensed as a psychologist, and also very guarded in my way with others. Still, I say yes. If some nice man offered me his bed and enough to it, I would probably say yes and quietly descend into madness. Maybe we'll get married. I said to a bunch of friends once, when I was 11, that I would marry a man. I seem to be getting offtrack again. I was starting off on a tirade against niceness, when suddenly I am going off about being crazy, in the certifiable way, and having thoughts that bring the madness to the surface in a very tangible way. So, in order to be consitent, I will go back to the matter of niceness and say, in closing, be cruel to me, then be extremely nice, in order to protect my precarious mental state. If possible, don't say anything, just grab me by the hand and lead me on to somewhere nice...damn, is it sexual fantasy time again? I want to be taken seriously as a thinker, but here I am, in my mind wearing something silky and having a pair of strong hands caressing my shoulders. He is very nice, but unafraid to tell me that I need a shower. After I'm naked and wet, he steps into the shower to join me and lathers me up. Once I'm rinsed off and clean, I am compelled to get on my knees and... In a herculean effort ofsane reasoning, I stop right there. But my insane thought process churns beneath the placid surface, unnicely reminding me that madness will win in the end, because anyone who read that sentence would know I was about to suck that nice man's cock. How wonderful...he makes me stop and we get out of the shower and he gently dries me off and we go to his bed and lay down together. Nothing sexual, just two men laying naked in a bed, but I know he wants more, so I lick his penis slowly to savor his manhood, and once again I become wise, the cock in my mouth stopping me from saying anything stupid. After he gets nice and hard, he grabs me and pulls his penis away. He pushes me onto my stomach, and he makes spread my legs.....trying to stop again. Why fool? Everyone knows he is going to fuck you, just the way you want it. See how he unnicely forced me into a position, then nicely took advantage of me and my willingness to submit to his male power. If women won't worship their men anymore, I will worship mine. As I write this, my little pecker is sticking through my open zipper, demanding satisfaction. no no no nononononoonononononono. I can't stop me from touching myself, but the table I sit at blocks the view of others, or so I hope. Little girls behind me walk away so I touch myself again, and in a further act of madnes, i am rubbing my cock beneath the table, thinking about my man fucking me fucking me fucking me. Oh God, that was nice.......