I’ve been feeling so sad recently. I know that doesn’t matter; I know it’s not important whether I’m happy or sad or how I feel at all. But I need to write about it in my diary because it doesn’t seem to be going away and it’s preventing me from being able to concentrate on what is important. Which is, of course, serving the Gentlemen and providing them with whatever service they require.
And anything that gets in the way of providing full service to the Gentlemen is a problem. Which is why feeling so sad isn’t good because it’s making me really tired and I’ve been sleeping a lot more than usual and if I’m asleep I can’t serve the Gentlemen at all. (Except the ones who enjoy using me while I’m groggy with sleep or waking me suddenly with a smart slap to my bottom.)
And (least importantly but still noteworthy because I tell you everything, my dear friend,) my sadness over the past few days has meant that I still haven’t been able to tell you about my last encounter with Mr. Kozlov and I need – I absolutely need – to get that done. I don’t know why I feel such a need to write but it’s just something inside me that has to get out. It’s like a bird in a cage, flying against the bars, hurting, hitting, exhausting its tiny self over and over again until finally the cage door opens and it flies free; it soars, glides, rides the warm air currents up and up, around and around, singing beautiful songs, thrilling in the ride, the view, the feel of the wind. Then eventually, blissfully happy but absolutely exhausted, it returns to its cage on earth where it waits for the strength to build to start all over again. I never wrote before I came to the Retreat and was instructed to journal but now that I’ve been doing it for so long I don’t think I could stop, or would want to, even if I were taken away from here.
But anyway, I need to stop thinking about all that. I need to focus on something concrete. Such as Mr. Negulesco’s latest Meditation:
Men deserve something to play with whenever they want.
Men deserve something to worship their cocks.
Men deserve something to step on.
Men deserve something to violently abuse.
Men deserve something to take for granted.
Men deserve something to cum on.
Men deserve something to throw away when finished with it.
I am nothing but some thing.
Say it. Believe it. Live it.
I just didn’t think I’d be so sad all the time. I’ve accepted my place, my role, my life here at the Gentleman’s Retreat and I’m trying so hard to embrace it and live it to the full. But, I don’t know, something won’t gel.
Maybe I just need to give it a little time. I’ve been fighting for so long, perhaps it will take me a while to really learn how to stop struggling and relax into it. I just can’t seem to stop questioning things such as, in the poem, why does it say “something to violently abuse” but it doesn’t also say “something to love”? Surely some men are interested in loving a woman, in being gentle and sweet to her? I mean, of course all men have the right to do whatever they want to a woman, and her desires aren’t important at all, but don’t some men enjoy being kind?
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