VICTIM TO VICTOR

DECEMBER 31, 2025

I have let go.  Although I still have occasional anxiety of how this will play out in the future with my dad, I am learning to understand that I don’t need to compromise my boundaries or my peace to love someone no matter how much they demand it.  I’m also constantly reminding myself that anyone who demands me to compromise my boundaries don’t truly love me and therefore I will love them from a distance.

From as early as I could remember in childhood to my mid forties I’ve been bullied.

The bullying did not come from classmates or kids on the block.  It came from my own family member. 

Although this person has never been officially identified as a narcissist, they display all the behaviors and traits of one. 

This person is starring in their own imaginary, made for TV movie and everyone around them is the camera crew.  Anyone who does not fall in line with the role assigned to this person’s liking will have hell to pay.

Well, I quit!

The pay sucks and the management is mean.

I have spent from childhood to adulthood being the cameraman and spotlight for this person and all I ever got was ridicule, anger, chastisement and disrespect. 

My husband would always tell me, "It is a miracle that you are even alive." 

I always thought he was jokingly talking about dealing with the personality of this person.  But he really meant it.

This person always would always share the story, when my mom and dad were out of the room, they would just stare in my crib thinking about how easy it would be to be rid of me.  It was always the cute story the family would laugh at during the holidays. 

It wasn’t funny anymore when I finally put together exactly what they were saying. 

I am convinced this person really doesn’t love me nor anyone for that matter. 

They will shower with gifts, throw money here and there and buy expensive clothes for people in their circle not because this person appreciates them but to control them.  When I finally woke up and said enough is enough and sent a clear message that I will not be bought, intimidated, pressured, guilted, or bullied into doing what they want me to do, this person started painting me in a bad light on social media. 

I decided enough was enough.  I told this person once before that I would not tolerate being disrespected regardless of who they were and yet again they tested me. 

Now I am done.

I am not going to power struggle.  I am not going to try to convince this person of anything.  I’m not even going to offer for us to talk it out.  When I am done, I’m done. 

Because we both share responsibilities regarding my father, we need to be in constant communication about him.  But that is the extent of it.  No longer does this person gets a pass for being mean.  If this person wants to do nasty, they can do it by themselves because I don’t do nasty. 

I have done some deep research on people with Narcissistic Personality Disorder and the people that live or deal with them. 

I often hear the term “victim” describing the people affected by these monsters.  Another term I hear is “survivor” and stories of “escaping” relationships like such.

Well, I am not a victim or a survivor of NPD, and I sure as hell am not going to escape or run from this being.  I refuse to give that much power to this little person. 

But one thing I have already done is closed the door for allowing this person to disrupt my peace.

I am sure it is not going to be all easy peasy.  I don’t have a problem with that.  I will work on improving myself and how to interact with them when I need to but that is all the attention this person will receive from me.

No one who is in my circle gets to be nasty and needy at the same time.

It is either or, not both.

If it’s needy, you will respect me and the people I love and we will work things out like grown adults. 

If it is nasty?

Well, you can do nasty all by yourself because I don’t tolerate nasty.

Anyone who has disrespected these boundaries are no longer a part of my journey and I don’t have a problem with doing it again, regardless how close in blood we are.

Again I will be no one’s victim.  I’m not going to "survive" or "escape" anyone’s abuse.

I titled this Victim to Victor. But the question is, “Is anyone really victorious?”

If it means winning back my peace and my sense of self, I believe so. 

AURALISM: YES SIR, THANK YOU SIR.

LINKS: PAIN PIG

            AURALISM

            THE SPANKING BED

            PAIN PIG

I prompted his ass up on The Spanking Bed,leaving his hole exposed. With the riding crop, I began smacking his hole until he was in a trans like state repeating, “Yes Sir! Thank you Sir.”  At the end you can hear me spitting on his hole getting it lubed up for my finger. 

AURALISM: PLAYING WITH MY WAND

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INTRODUCTION TO THE PHONE LINE

 LINKS: THE INITIATION

             THE PHONE LINE

Eighteen was a good year  for me.  It was the dawn of my adulthood and my ability to discover porn on a much deeper level than I had been able to prior.

My fantasies ran wild all by myself.  Just me and my dirty gay mags would keep me entertained for hours before any of my family members would make it home.  I had it made.

I would jack off three, four, sometimes five times in a day.  Sometimes it was in the bathroom with just my thoughts and my hand.  Other times would be in my bed room with the door closed, entertaining myself with my porn stash.  I aways kept them mainly in my backpack.  I knew if my mom decided to clean my room, that would be the one place she wouldn't go. 

I would lay in my room, on the floor with my back against the door, mag in one hand, my dick in the other.  Needless to say I enjoyed my mags very much.

An entertainment I would soon discover just as fun as the pictures were the adds.  All of these sexy adds of guys with their shirts open, staring seductively at the camera while holding an old-fashioned phone while the cord would be wrapped half way around their bodies.

The lure would be in dirty catch phrases to get you to call their number (in small print of course) for only 99 cents a minute. 

I thought, “Who would be desperate enough to pay for that?”

Well…

At first I thought it was absurd. Then, the curiosity started eating away. There was just one problem.

There was no way I could call on the phone at home.

I would have my first job at eighteen working for a taco place.  The food was gross but I loved those paychecks.  I had convinced my parents that it was time for me to have my own separate phone line.  They agreed as long as I understood it was my responsibility to pay my own bill.

 My first call was to my friend that lived down the street and around the way from me.  Finally I could talk without walking all the way out to the kitchen.

It would not be long before curiosity of what those phone chat lines were about struck me.

I had no idea what to expect but was excited to find out.  What I discovered with my first phone call was a lot of aggressively horny men saying some of what sounded like the most outlandish stuff I've ever heard.

 Of all of the details I could remember, none would stick out more to me than the guy that told me he wanted me to make his pussy fart.  

What the living fuck?

First where would I find a pussy on a man?

Well, this was over 35 years ago.  This was way before it became norm to refer to any part of a man's body as a pussy.  

Ask me today where the pussy on a man is.

I found it a little overwhelming with overzealous men saying crazy things to me.  It was a little weird.  But it didn't stop me from getting off on it.  

It is safe to say that all of the men that were on that line I talked to were mostly over 30 with plenty of them 40 plus. At the time It was quite intriguing

that so many grown men were showing me so much

Click here to continue reading

FACT # 38

 LINK : FACT

I can be a strict Daddy when I want to be. 

IS THAT ALL YOU?!!!

 

Just recently while at the place with the fuck van, I got together with a guy that fell madly in love with my ass. More details here.

The man known as The Gentleman would grab, squeeze, and play with it as if he was a kid in a toy store.  He fondled it in amazement.

"Damn! That's a fat ass," he exclaimed while squeezing.

I'm not self conscience about it anymore. I know it's somewhat prominent.  I took it more as a

complement as he kept playing with it like it's silly putty.

He began to look back and even bend around to get a closer view.

"Is that all you?" He asked.

"Yes, this is all me. All natural."

I had to laugh at that one.  In a world where others are augmenting, I'll just keep what I got.  

Just know and understand, it is all me.

            

                         

IT REALLY WASN’T THAT SAD

Friday 5, 2025

I went to a family funeral today.  My uncle passed away.  The amazing thing was, it wasn't very sad.  Yes.  He will be missed.  Even my mom who is his sister didn't really shed many tears.  This may sound somewhat cold, but the fact is no-one, not even his children cried. 

It is not that he wasn't loved.  I honestly believe it is how he looked at life.  His favorite thing to say was, “Let it go.”

“Just let all that go,” was his motto when times got hard.

It was a reunion of family.  A time to catch up with what's going on in each other's lives.  Unfortunately, funerals have been the main event to get the family together these days.  

It was somewhat surreal seeing cousins I used to play games with as a kid with children in their twenties and above.  What hit me even more was all the gray hair associated with Gen X. 

We were  once the youngest of the family.  Now we are becoming the elders.  It did take a moment to get over the shock of seeing the youngest cousin of my generation with almost a completely fully head of gray hair.  This is the little girl that I used to play with because no one wanted her on their teams because she was too young to keep up.

Now she has two adult men that she calls sons and a loving husband.

Faces look exactly the same.  A few pounds may have been added or lost, but the common theme that was evident was the silver in our hair.  

It served as a wake up call that aging and yes death is inevitable.  But it also put me more at ease as to why I should not see my graying hair as a burden, an omen of a geriatric future, or something to try to cover up and hide (although an occasional coloring may be in the books.)

It was a special moment to cherish the relationships that I have and the opportunity to build new ones with newer family members.

So, no. This was not a sad occasion.  It was a very special time.