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So I take out my bowl, start smoking and she joins in too. Before you know it, we are starting to get hot and heavy outside in the dark. Not the easiest circumstances to concentrate. I turn to the left, nothing. Turn to the right and there it is, popping up from behind a pile of wood, a HUGE raccoon just staring at me. It sprinted into the girl, on her knees and she landed on her back.

We were all good but Jesus, I almost had a heart attack. ChaoticEvilBobRoss used multiple boyfriends to get ahead. None of them knew about one another as far as I know, nor did they know that I was just a dude using them for progression. She was a complete psycho, but I guess the warning signs were there The slutty part about it is we never even spoke a word, she just kind of motioned for me to come her way and I did. She went for my pants to unbutton and I just let it happen.

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Came in her mouth and she smiled and walked out. No words, no name, never saw her again after that show. I have no shame so I have told my friends all the gory details, but there was a time when a guy came over for sex at around 11 PM and then left, another guy came over for sex at 3 AM and then left, I slept for a couple hours and then another guy came over for sex around noon and then left, and then almost immediately the first guy came over again. It was a crazy 15 hours. Live2ride86 lived the hostel life.

But actually, I proceeded to go back down the bar next door, picked u I actually felt gross. I felt pretty grimy after that. I'm an exhibitionist and it was honestly the most fun I've ever had in a long time. Our moans echoed up through the grates and I'm sure anyone walking within a half mile could hear us going at it, like some kinky Pennywise getting his rocks off. I've also fucked in a Papa Gino's bathroom. While my mother and sister were at the table.

Not exactly proud of that one KissySlider left the church with a few bang s. So, I was in the process of deciding to leave he church and was exploring the dating world, but I was still living with four very religious roommates. There was a "no non church men allowed in the house rule" and my roommates hated that I was dating at all.

I had many more guys over after that, and never told anyone, I don't talk to those roommates anymore but they would be livid if they ever found out. I've never told anyone this, it feels good to get it out there.

I dangled from the ceiling. I was staring at the cats smashed to bits like careless animals on an interstate and wondered if the crows felt remorse for eating them.

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Laying on its side, was the neighborhood cat. Intact and impassive, it watched. A rasp escaped my throat as I tried to laugh. It was probably an hour before I managed to take another breath. When I finally got myself down, I started into the bathroom mirror and rubbed my neck. It was mottled with bruises. Had I really become so gaunt? It felt like part of me was missing like a name on the tip of the tongue. I reasoned that dying three deaths would make anyone a little rough.

I put on a turtleneck my wife thought was ugly and popped a few acetaminophen to dull the throb in my head. I grabbed my car keys and left the carnage behind me for another day.

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The dreams got worse. The cats would scream and shriek, howling with anguish. Their playful slaughter of me turned to hateful torture. I was torn to shreds with jagged claws and sharpened teeth. I begged and screamed.

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I cried for God. Alas, it only fell upon predatory ears. Natalie left her abusive past behind and became a successful investment manager. Natalie arrived at the door one day. Her eyes met mine with a look of pity, of sadness.

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She'd be long dead by now. We exchanged pleasantries and she hugged me. She pressed an envelope into my hands, making a show of ensuring I had taken hold of it before she withdrew. It was an investment portfolio with a comfortable amount of interest to live off of. She told me how much I influenced her in her early life. She bit her lip, wanting to say more. I put a shaky hand on her shoulder and tried to smile. We had quiet coffee with awkward conversation before she hugged me again and left.

I told myself I should be happy. My daughter was happy and successful. She had been married for a few years now. Natalie was doing great too. A man must sacrifice for those he loves. He must guide and suffer silently. He must be the mountain of constants, of reliability.

I never cheated on my wife. I worked hard for my family and gave them the opportunities I could. Why did I still feel so inadequate? I was ninety now, time and technology had left me behind. It was hard to follow the world. So much had changed. The whirlwind of news and events left me confused and uncaring.

My daughter was nearing seventy and was afflicted by the same cancer that took my wife. Arthritic joints took the pleasure of sculpting from her several years prior.

She spent her time teaching the young ones that came to her old studio to learn the craft. She was such a wonderful woman, her mother would be proud. She had her mother's determination and a creativity that I let fade in myself with years of neglect. Her husband died of a stroke, and I sold my investments to move in with her in a quaint house near the studio. When she was in the hospital my girl had become such a tiny thing.

Although withered by age and cancer, I still saw her as the little girl that made me promise her not to die. Outliving my child was the worst thing I had ever experienced.

I watched over her from birth to death.

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There was no hope left for what she could accomplish when I was gone. No more surprise hugs or gifts or phone calls. She was gone, my heart and soul.

I cried and begged silently hoping to bargain with an unseen power to give her life in place of mine. I buried her next to her mother.

The studio was quiet now, no one else to teach or direct. The dust collected and I was afraid to touch anything.

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I slept on the couch in the main room, staring out the skylight with tired eyes when sleep escaped me.

Each morning the solar panels soaked up their sun. The appliances, ovens and lights clicked back on. There was a dedicated battery room hooked up to the rooftop panels and the place kept on functioning, though it was dead inside.

I decided to take one last walk around. God, she was such a wonderful artist. I had the ovens set on their highest heat, two huge, walk-in kilns for finishing pieces. They were set on a timer to burn with the sunrise. The air was cold with promises of the coming winter. I clutched the last surviving cat, the very first one. My thumbs had smoothed the hard angular features shaped by little fingers from years of wear.

I made a little bed in one of the kilns. Just enough blanket to keep the chill off me through the night. I was aching all over from the effort of clearing out the light metal racks meant for pottery. I thought of my wife. I had never told her my secret. I thought of the life I had lived. The crippled hands of a wasted man.

The tired mind of a man living in vague fantasies of what could be, never daring enough to risk reaching for more. Of death, dreams, cats. It felt proper to cross my arms like I was in a sarcophagus. The feline resting on top of my chest like a triumphant kitten. I closed my eyes for what I hoped was the final time.

Silently I prayed that with the final cat and the searing heat of the kiln that I would return to ash. I dreamt of the pain being burnt away, turning to ash and flying free from the chimney. Overlooking the land that I lived my life on, of the graveyard my ladies lay in.

I awoke in agony as the polyester blanket was melting to my body. I screamed and coughed until there was fire in my throat and my lungs seized. I twisted in agony as my flesh cooked and my fat rendered like a plump Christmas roast. My eyes blistered and I was blind. I could still see the fucking cat.