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Light Housework

Meowissey, Hunchbacked Smut Peddler
The one thing that's worrying me about these tablets is that I don't seem to care about anything. It's alright while I'm on them but what happens when I come off them. It's a strange state of affairs. I love feeling like this, though. Don't begrudge me. I like it. I'm not myself though.
More hair of the dog that bit me
 

Light Housework

Meowissey, Hunchbacked Smut Peddler
I need tea or food. Not to get sent to the psych ward. I just get told I'm delusional, when I talk about what he did to me.
 
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Had a fun day. First I realized the nanny is on hbo max. Second I watched the new kong vs Godzilla movie with my son in the theatre room. Stupid in capital letters but it looked amazing. The run through of perspectives and the use of depth in the battle scenes and I for one do t care for big cgi movies. Don’t like the superhero movies transformers Star Wars lord of the rings etc but this one looked better IMO than the rest and looked good on the big screen. Third I tried an ocular for the first time and we all had a blast with that. The perimeter looks like the holo deck wall from next gen and when you walk through it it’s just video of the room. You can stick your head back and forth. It was pretty cool
 

Light Housework

Meowissey, Hunchbacked Smut Peddler
Upon reflection, meeting Dave is something I could have done without. I felt I'd feel remorseful once I'd sobered up, but I don't. I took pity on him because of his epilepsy. I'd not realised that just because you happen to be afflicted with an illness or disability it doesn't preclude you from being a horrible person.
True
 

Light Housework

Meowissey, Hunchbacked Smut Peddler
Upon reflection, meeting Dave is something I could have done without. I felt I'd feel remorseful once I'd sobered up, but I don't. I took pity on him because of his epilepsy. I'd not realised that just because you happen to be afflicted with an illness or disability it doesn't preclude you from being a horrible person.
Chapter 7 CHARLIE
It was Charlie that beckoned me away from Mike unwittingly. Not right away, but eventually, after I found out what a fraud Mike was. At first, in school, Charlie would come on but I'd rebuff him, being monogamous. We hung out like that for a few months, during breaks, just being chummy. As Mike kept ignoring me, my faith in our relationship weakened, and one day, Charlie came down the hall toward me, dropped his briefcase, picked me up and slid me down against his crotch. I was ashamed, because my faith was so weak at that point that I succumbed to desire for Charlie.

Shortly after that, I lost touch with Charlie because I quit school to get a job to impress Mike. But after I found out just how much Mike was lying to me, I began to get back in touch with Charlie. I visited him, and he needed a roommate, so I moved in with him. Perfect! Although I adored him at that point, I didn't expect him to be mine. I still let him know that I was attracted to him by flirting with him though. For instance, I showed him pictures of naked women in an adult magazine. That led to us having rough sex, which isn't my preference. At the time, though, I thought that having sex was forging a connection. Mike still wasn’t letting me go, and I would end up turning to him for shelter when Charlie would become violent. Mike would pressure me to have sex with him on his waterbed. I would usually give in, though the magic was gone.

One day Charlie and I visited my friend Janice, and Charlie was all over her and ignored me. Eventually Charlie left both of us, and Janice and I wept together at the sordidness of them flirting so heavily with one another. Then I went home and just laid in bed numb, until Charlie got home and he initiated sex with me. But I was too numb, so I hardly felt it, plus I figured it was pity sex, dispassionate, so I didn't savor it.

I had a waitressing job, and one of my coworkers got the boss to fire me and hire her daughter. It turned out that he'd done me a favor, because the bartender and I kept in touch and he told me the enterprise had folded, and everyone's check bounced.

I found another job. I was desperate because I didn't want Charlie's living arrangements to be disturbed, so I had to come up with regular rent payments. I did what my girlfriend Mona and I used to do, look at the ads for go-go dancers. Only, we used to laugh at them. This time, without Mona, I was seriously looking at these ads. I called about one, and then I went to the address I was given. I peeked into the office, and the people I saw didn't look like monsters, so I went in and met the owner of the agency. He was gregarious and nice. He took a picture of me in my bikini ( I refused a nude.) and let me use a tanning bed.

I started my seven years as a stripper that night. I met our driver at a metro station and he drove a bunch of us out to the club in Dorval. I was treated very well there, apart from one jealous stripper. The bouncer was really nice, and no touching was allowed. Back then, there were no lap dances. It was just table dances, where no touching's allowed. I was doubling as a cocktail waitress. I found getting on stage and dancing to three songs I'd choose from the jukebox (two fast and then one slow) to be easy and even enjoyable. Dancing at tables for $5 a song was alright too.

I was making decent money, but I sensed Charlie didn't want me around, so I accepted an offer to work for a week in Ontario for more money. The week went very well. I called home each day, and Charlie's friend Mark would answer, giving me a different excuse for Charlie being unavailable each time. At the end of my week, I signed on for another week in Ontario, at another club, thinking that I could take a hint, that Charlie still didn't want me around. I went to a flea market with a customer called Peter, who was very nice. I bought a whole bunch of stuff to decorate the apartment back in Montreal, and Peter took me to couple’s house for dinner.

When I got back to my hotel, I called Charlie to deliver the good news that I'd be away for at least another week, and Mark answered as usual, only he said something unexpected. He said “Charlie's had an accident, and we didn't want to tell you and disturb your work week, but I'm telling you now because your week's finished. It was bad. The doctor says he's never going to walk again.”

I couldn't take it in. I hung up, fluffed my pillow, and aimed to resume enjoying my nice hotel bed. But I couldn't relax, and after a few seconds, I admitted to myself what had just been relayed to me. Then I called around to find out what my options were, to get back to Montreal so late at night. The only one was to pay a taxi driver to take me there. So I packed up all my flea market knickknacks into the taxi and soon I was home. Mark drove me to the hospital and another Sharon was there, another girlfriend of Charlie's. It turned out he had a punctured lung, a severed spinal cord, and the prognosis was that he was permanently paralyzed.

For some reason, I bought the new U2 album War on vinyl and when I brought it into the hospital room, the other Sharon was there with the same album! She was standoffish with me, and later, when Charlie finally came home, I walked in on her and Charlie having a bath together, only I didn't know she was there. I was using the toilet, and thought Charlie was alone behind the curtain. But she asked if I had a cigarette. I smoked back then, and smoothly gave her and Charlie cigarettes, had one myself, and said nothing to her about her having broken my pink ceramic heart. I was absolutely forgiving, though Charlie had told me that she'd broken it to spite me. After that bathroom scene, Charlie told me he sent the other Sharon away, because she made him choose between us, and I didn't. I really wasn't a possessive person. Never have been.

One morning, I made Charlie and myself breakfast. He said "How did you know this was my favorite breakfast?" and then slapped me hard across my face. I looked at him, questioningly, and he didn't provide an answer, and I thought to myself that he's just lost his ability to walk, have sex, even control his excrement, so it's no wonder he's crazy. I went back to eating. Then he slapped me again. I couldn't smile at work after that, and I stopped making money.

Another stripper, Angie, befriended me, and introduced me to prostitution. We did a guy together, and he gave us cocaine. He wanted to f*** me rather than Angie, because her body showed signs of having had a child. Mine was nubile at the time. So he sent Angie away and kept me, plying me with cocaine. Eventually he had to get ready for work in the morning, and I asked him for one more hit of cocaine. He refused, and when he called me I declined to see him again, because it had felt brutal to be actively hooked on a drug and have it coldly withheld.

At the seedier club I began to work in ( I felt I wasn't good enough for the original decent club I worked at.), I met a customer that called me a witch, and stupidly, I took it as a compliment. I ended up visiting him at his home, for a hundred dollars. He gave me coke too. He turned out to be a dealer, and he had loads of it. He kept a candy jar of it on the coffee table in his living room. He'd leave the room, leaving me alone with it. I never stole any though.

We fooled around a bit. Nothing heavy. No one climaxed. There was no penetration. I was able to pay the bills with Charlie. The only reason I prostituted myself was to ensure that Charlie would not go without phone, electricity, and a roof over his head. I didn't prostitute much. It was just a blip here and there. But I tell you, I couldn't smile after Charlie hit me, and I couldn't make any significant money stripping consistently without being able to smile.

I went to Oshawa, Ontario, to strip dance at Bobby Joe's with Angie, and Angie pleaded my case with the fellow stripper who hated my guts, who had come too. Angie told her that I was living with a guy in a wheelchair, and she softened towards me. We all lived in a house while working at Bobby Joe's. There were a few bunk beds to a room.

Angie ended up selling me out one day, at a club in Iberville, Quebec. The club manager had given us drinks, and I went to the discotheque next door at the strip club's closing time. The strip club manager followed me there, and I sensed a predatory nature in his behavior, so I ran through the snow in my high heels to the motel room I shared with Angie. I locked the door and went to bed, and woke up propped up on my knees getting pumped by the manager. I was too stunned to protest. It turned out, he'd spiked my drink, and bribed Angie with coke to let him in. Some friend she turned out to be.

I went off on my own to work in various Canadian locations. Sarnia, Kingston, Oshawa, Markham, Mississauga. I worked at a club called Cheaters in Toronto. The owner Pat said I wouldn't have to dance if I'd be his mistress. I declined, because I didn't feel sexually attracted to him. I stripped at his club instead. I met a wonderful man there. He'd come in regularly and have me table dance for him. He had a lovely, appreciative way of watching me. One day he drove me home, and asked if I wanted to smoke a joint with him or go out to dinner with him. Stupidly, I declined because I considered myself to be monogamous, and I'd just started seeing someone else, who didn't deserve my loyalty, it turned out.

I'd met him ( I forget his name.) at a subway station. He was a musician, and brought me to the basement of a strip mall he and his buddies rented to practice in. He would always call one of his friends 'herpes'. One day, we had some lewd sex in the bathroom, and I developed a rash. I took public transit to find him at the practice spot, and asked him if he had herpes. He immediately admitted that he'd taken a bubble bath at his grandmother's place and had noticed a rash once. Well, I knew it was his sheepish way of admitting to me that he'd given me herpes. I left, never speaking to him again.

In the clinic I went to about the rash, I read pamphlets about herpes, and then I went to a library, and read that a third of women can fight off the virus, eradicate it from their systems. You probably won't be able to find that written anywhere these days. I suspect it's unpopular knowledge because the excuse when a partner has been unfaithful and carries a disease is that old line "herpes lurks dormant inside and so you must have had it all along", so no one has to admit to having been disloyal. Well, I turned out to be one of the third of women who can fight herpes off. At least that strain, and later, I was infected again, and fought it off again. I'll get to that later. The same strain? Two different ones? My system fought them off, at any rate.

The regular customer that drove me home is the person I miss most, it turns out. He was so gentle and kind, warm, and really enticing. Me and my morals ( misplaced monogamy). I don't even know his name, though I remember asking him what it was and him telling me. To dance naked for someone, and feel comfortable about it, is something very special. It's sacred. I believe he was the love of my life. And I passed him by for a scoundrel that called another guy 'herpes' while he himself spread the virus.

For a year or two, I warned anyone I'd have sex with that I had herpes before we'd have sex. I figured people would then naturally choose not to have sex with me, but that was never the case. No one contracted the disease from me, and I never had another outbreak, so eventually I decided I didn't have the disease.

Decades later I would be re-infected by a guy I’ll call Robert. He was the sometimes roommate, sometimes boyfriend of a friend. I used to walk her dog for five bucks or so when she had to work, and sometimes we spent time together. On one such occasion, Robert was giving me attention that made my friend (Christine) jealous. She asked me to leave, but Robert pursued contact with me behind her back, and fed me a story that she was abusive toward him.

Christine had told me that he could be sadistic but I didn't listen. Well he left her 'for' me and proved her right. Another red flag I didn't heed was seeing him carry a steak on a fork, dripping blood onto the patio, with a grin on his face.

Christine called and threatened me, but I stood by Robert, and pretty soon she was waiting for me in the backyard where my basement suite entrance was. She punched me in the eye, and made me see stars. She gave me quite the shiner. Then she grabbed my head and I wound up on the ground with her fingers threatening to claw at my eyes. I said "Robert, would you get her off me please?" He did. I moved into an apartment with him soon after that.

While I was living with Robert, he wouldn't let me sleep on my own. I would have left and gone to a shelter to get away from his controlling behavior, but I had my dog, Sleepy, and I didn't know of a shelter where I could take him with me. So I stayed, until a certain point, which I will get to.

One day Robert did something unusual. He went down on me. It was just his stubble rasping against the inside of my labia though. Then, he wanted to mount me doggie style. I was enjoying watching his shadow on the wall. He turned off the lamp, and then there was no shadow. I told him I was enjoying watching his shadow, and turned the lamp back on. His body language in the shadow was that of a guilty man, I noticed distinctly.

The next morning, I found out why he did me the 'favor' of rasping my labia. It was so that I'd succumb to a herpes transmission! It was a painful rash, unlike the first time I contracted the disease. A different strain I guess. He refused to let me see his penis for days, until I'd been to the STD clinic several times. The diagnosis was inconclusive. When he finally let me see it, his penis shaft was covered in the exact same rash of blisters my inner labia was.

He eventually came to the clinic with me, and we were told not to have any more sex until the rashes cleared up, because otherwise it could spread to my cervix. Luckily, he couldn't get his stubble up there to make me succumb to his contagiousness. However, what he promptly did upon hearing he could infect my cervix, was rape me. He forced himself into me, overpowering my resistance. Thankfully, he didn't manage to infect my cervix, but it wasn't for lack of trying.

I went to social services and applied for an emergency grant to get my own apartment. The social worker took his time, so I went to an advocate. She got the social worker to grant me the emergency fund, and I moved. Sean got an apartment right across the street from my new place. Stupidly, I stayed friends with him for a while.

So, again, I was warning people that I had herpes. One person, really, because I only had one lover for a few years after leaving Sean. Alwyn was his name. He didn't worry about it, and he didn't get it, and I had no further outbreaks. So again, my system fought it off.

Alwyn ran into traffic once laughing, with my dog pulling on the leash to join him. I was too stupid to stop crushing on him then. Another time, we were sitting in a park with our matching bikes lying beside us on the grass. He leaned my bike up and gestured to hand it over to me, but as I reached for it, he let it fall. He smirked. I'll never forget that. More on Alwyn later. Or maybe I'll tell you now, how I met him.
 

rifke

team bougatsa

Light Housework

Meowissey, Hunchbacked Smut Peddler
I saw a woman today with a mask with 'Breonna taylor' written across it. God that is cringe.
I saw the woman who gave me the finger. Asked her if she was a Morrissey fan. She said no, curiously, so I said check him out. She said thanks!
 
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