Friend Syndrome

Chatting with someone today a discussion of friend syndrome developed. If it so happens that there are some among my readers who do not know of, or have not encountered, said syndrome then I will be kind enough to explain it. Friend's syndrome is a particular collection of neuroses, insecurities and relationship difficulties that cause the person who possesses them to be seen as a friend by women, or men, rather than as a potential partner. There can be various different causes to the syndrome, but eventually they usually reduce to much the same origin.

In essence friend's syndrome usually arises when someone with a long-term friend decides that they would like that friendship to go further, while the other person involved would prefer it stays as a simple friendship for whatever reason they may have. This instills in the first party the feeling that they are always seen as just the friend, and they will begin complaining about this to anyone who might be within hearing range, reinforcing the syndrome as well as driving away potential partners, and potential friends. This self-reinforcement continues, with even potential partners being turned into friends by the fact that a person who may have been fairly normal has allowed themselves be turned, by one, or two, or more rejections into a whining, self-righteous, pathetic parody of humanity.

The best cure for such people is to give them a hard, open-handed blow across the cheeks, forcibly turn them around to apply a deal of force via your foot to their posterior, tell them to get over themselves and grow up, and then walk away until they do so. If they do not do so, the loss of their friendship is no real loss as they will continue to sink further and further into their self-righteous self-pity.

All Far Too Easy

Something I have never really understood is how people fall in love. I do not know if I have ever actually felt real love, to the point where my heart would be broken if someone was no longer in my life. Of course, I have cried over people leaving me, or some of the things people have done, but that is rare. Crying tears is even rarer, I could count on a single hand the number of times I have cried tears, according to my parents the first time was when I was twelve years old.

This is drifting a little off-topic. The main point is that I do not understand how people fall in love, though I would very much like to find out. However what seems to happen is that people fall in love with me incredibly easily. This is not a boastful thing, and I do not know that when they declare love they are speaking genuinely, but it just seems that many people either can fall in love very easily, or I am easy to fall in love with. It is quite inconvenient to be honest.

I detest hurting people, at least emotionally, if I care about them. Physical pain is a more debatable thing depending on levels of masochism, again though, not really relevant. Basically I want to know how to stop people supposedly falling for me, it makes my life far too complicated. I would find it much easier if people could just like me, or fall in lust, everything would be so much simpler.

Anyway, I am off to a world where these things only become important between two in the morning, and ten in the morning, which is meant to be when people sleep, drink, fool around, and socialise with one another.

Why Come to Me for Help?

Many of my friends locally are younger than I am, and seem to have adopted me as a teacher figure. I do not understand quite why. Today this was demonstrated to me quite well when someone asked me to help teach their friend how to fight, since they had suffered several attacks recently. I have accepted, but I am curious about how exactly they have come to the conclusion that I can fight well.

Now admittedly I can do and have demonstrated it, but I am not highly muscly, I do not have a fighter's build, and I have scars. Let us review for a moment on that. I have scars. Now yes, that means I have survived being hurt, but looking at the other side of it, I have been hit several times with sharp implements that leave nasty scars on my arms, and smaller ones on my chest, back, legs and face. This is not the sign of someone who will teach you how to stop being hurt.

Either way, I have now taken on a student, so I am going to have to think about how to teach someone to cause lots of pain and anguish when you are a lot smaller, weaker and less vicious than the person you are trying to hurt.

There is a psychological mechanism called the doomsday switch, at least that is its name in popular psychology. The doomsday switch is that little trigger in the brain which turns you from being interested in your own survival into being interested simply in causing as much damage as you can. This is not a survival mechanism for individuals, it is a pack mechanism, whereby one herd member will sacrifice itself for the good of the pack. This is the same sort of switch which allows grandmothers to lift cars off their grandchildren, meanwhile ripping every single muscle and joint in their body and bringing themselves to the edge of death.

I do not particularly want to teach someone how to use self-hypnosis to put themselves into this state. I think I will stick with the more basic things, like poking people in the eyes.

How to Kill a Libido

I am quite certain that all of you vultures, and I use the term with the utmost affection and respect, want all of the gory details about my visit with Essex. Unfortunately there is not that much to tell, due to heavy traffic and leaving work late I arrived there late. In fact I arrived about fifteen minutes before her ex-husband and the children were due to return home. Despite our haste in removing clothes and causing severe damage to her bed, which now needs replacement, I have now made great in-roads into discovering a whole new method of libido suppression.

Namely this is the sound of a doorbell ringing as an ex-husband and toddlers arrive back home, and ex-husband has fortunately forgotten his key. This is particularly fortunate as myself and Essex are mid-coitus at this point. One hurried escape to the bathroom to pull my clothes back on, and Essex's dressing on the stairs, and everything is fine. I sit for a while for an unplanned talk with her ex-husband about religion and to help her children construct some sort of lego statue, before we flee in order to do some shopping. I needed some new letter paper and envelopes.

While shopping I also discover the rather fine-looking cigarettes that you see above. They may be incredibly overpriced, in fact they most definitely are, but they are also very pretty. My new solution to quitting smoking is to instead switch to this brand, bankrupt myself and therefore be unable to afford to smoke. Either that or pick up some of the herbal cigarettes that I tried there, which while leaving me with the craving, at least dealt with the habit.

Travelling home however I encountered one of my favourite natural events, and one which is all too rare in this country I call my home. A true storm, with lightning, rain which poured rather than simply fell, and biting winds. Since I have a cough at the moment stopping at the edge of the motorway for ten minutes to allow the elements to batter my body, since I stepped out of the car to enjoy it, may not have been the best of ideas. But it was definitely worth it.

More Red Letter

Just a quick post as I have to get a shower and changed quickly before driving off down to see Essex. Work, as usual, was incredibly boring. The only entertainment is the fact that I have decided, since I do not care about the job, that I no longer have to be particularly polite or dedicated. I am instead experimenting with how far I can push the limits of courtesy and sarcasm as a mix. So far no one has made a complaint, or taken offense. If anything I am a little dissappointed. I was hoping to get a little more reaction. I am also planning to try to earn myself a little more income by submitting some freelance articles wherever I can.

And on the topic of writing, the Red Letter Club is going nicely. Lots of letters sent, and some received. Anyone else who wants to join simply give me a yell, and anyone who wants to say that they are a member, whether it is just that you want to steal the idea yourself or not, is welcome to use the pretty little image from up above. Anyone who does want to start doing a similar thing themselves, inspired by my little project, let me know, I am curious whether I can actually start something.

Anyway, shower time now, have fun kiddies.

Into Unconsciousness

Originally I was going to make this entry a rant about something which occured at work today, but I have changed my mind, probably a good decision. Instead I will take you back on a journey through time, to a younger, more active time. In fact a time when I was back with Tart and discovered that it is in fact possible to screw someone unconscious.

The process took five hours, some bondage, a bit of light pain, and lots of sex. She was tied up and at my mercy for almost the entire time, though a safeword was specified first. The actual sex only started after the first hour, which I spent mostly teasing and tormenting her with mouth and hands, and various toys. Whenever I felt myself close to orgasm, I would stop, and use her mouth instead for a time, carefully to let me calm down but still keep me hard. While doing this I would abuse her with various toys, whether the rabbit, a plug or anything else that came to hand.

I did however take pictures, which I recently discovered when someone reminded me of this through an inadvertant comment. These pictures will not be up on this blog, for fairly obvious reasons I would hope. Anyway, as you can imagine after five hours of constant stimulation, usually in at least two places, not to mention that my hands and mouth were wandering, occasionally stroking, squeezing, slapping, licking or biting her defenseless little body, and more orgasms on her part than we bothered counting, she suddenly went limp.

After a moment's panic I ascertained that she was still breathing, freed her, and waited a few minutes for her to come around which she eventually did.

On more current matters Mystery is still around, and sent me a post card recently. It must be said that she has a talent for selecting good pictures. Tomorrow afternoon I will probably be meeting Essex for a time, and Thursday Sweetie. Then friday is more LRP, and next Monday of course is my trip to Ireland.

Word of the day: Woking, meaning to walk into the kitchen then forget what you went in there for.

Recovery Day

While I have to go and run a game this evening, most of today is going to be spent relaxing and recovering. Over a larp event I tend to have maybe three hours sleep a night. I also usually spend most of my time not eating properly, though that was not such a problem at this event, and running around madly in heavy armour battering people with weaponry. Obviously this can get tiring, so today I am going to relax.

At the moment I am still in bed, in a minute I will drag myself out of it and into the bath. A lovely, hot bath. Possibly with candles and incense. And a book. And ice cream. I may grab a shower beforehand, to get clean first. Afterwards, maybe a cigarette and a nice simple cocktail, a bite to eat, lie in front of the fire for a while and relax a bit more before I head off to be caused stress by my friends tonight.

Other plans for the week are going to work, unfortunately, visiting Essex on Wednesday, visiting Sweetie on Thursday to Friday, going off to larp again on Friday, and of course packing for Ireland to see Slave.

Survive the Zombie Apocalypse

The second evening of the event progressed in a similar way to the first, except that Essex actually realised I was flirting. Again, we ended up only getting a few hours sleep, but I should make it clear now that despite the reputation of Essex girls, and the rumours that went around the players, it was nothing more than cuddling, sharing a bunk for the few hours we did sleep, and kissing.

The more entertaining parts were on the drive home. With heavy snow, a three hours journey became instead seven hours of slow, boring driving. Or it would have done, if driving had been all that happened. Nothing that major occured in the car, just a lot of stroking, touching, and other manually based activity.

However, while Essex and myself seem very well suited there are problems involved. The main one is probably the fact that she has children. Not a bad thing as such, but while I get on very well with children, it does put a different spin on things if I am going to be visiting her. Something that is going to require a lot of careful thought about.

To explain a little about the Essex nickname, a joke which is fairly common here, among others. "What does an Essex girl wear knickers for?" "Keeping her ankles warm." There are many, many others.

Oh, and the other complication of course is that she is a natural redhead, and I have been warned about them many times.

The final battle of the event was in the heavy snow, as heavily armoured creatures of the undead. So it was not quite an actual apocalypse, but we came fairly close. A lot of players are having to make new characters after zombie attack left about half of them bleeding on the floor. Obviously this was within the context of the game, there were no actual injuries.