05-26-2020 06:20 pdt

The images previously removed from the archives have been returned to glory, all the way back to 2003. Those representations of the sides of life have been sitting in a folder since the site was streamlined last year and pared down to the minimum. The remainder of the work which needs to be done on the archives is in process. Those pages will soon align with the index and writing sections. The work required in updating such haphazard code is very slow.

No other site news at this time.


 read ( words)


Same day, different hour, still fucked up over the one from ten years ago. In the space of this day thus far, I am slowly sliding down and full of her. Just hours and I am so much further in that I cannot even describe it. Either I stop looking at those three images or I remove them for all time. I do not see how I can move forward after feeling as I do for her and the idea of making her Jaime. That may have been an enormous mistake, but I did it already. I fucking did it knowing full well of the possible consequences.

At least now we know what Jaime looks like. The duchess.

I am so fucking happy that I shot those images of her when I had the chance. Obviously if I had not, right now I would not know the difference, but it's done. They are here and I have had them on one computer or another, one storage device or another, for ten years and a month. Want to hear something crazy? I used a camera borrowed from the federal government. Yep. The camera and circumstances still make me laugh. At least something does. That was only the second occasion of me capturing images of a woman without her knowledge. The third was already discussed and the likelihood of me trying again is nil. I simply cannot. One reason is obvious, the other is the result of me seeing that woman pictured in the previous entry. She has been raised up so high that I can barely see above those sandals. That's kind of funny. The big question is how in the holy blue fuck did I sit on those images for so long and avoid thinking of her? Was it the simplicity of the passage of time and I lost track? Could be. Very likely. But now the damage has occurred and I am all-in on the poker table. I cannot go back, nor can I forget again. Is it possible to fall in love with an image of only part of a person's face? The mild expression? The hair? I don't know, but I am definitely heading in that direction. She has become so important to me in just a day that words fail. I actually cannot believe it myself. I feel strange, as if I am living in a television show and the end of the hour will represent someone jolting me out of a dream state and telling me she is not real. Remember when I said 'out of balance'? Well, there you go. All the fucking way. Heeled over with a failing keel. Rudderless.

The dream of the robots and Jaime. To quote Christopher Moltisanti, 'How did I fuckin get ta dis?'. Keep in mind he was a drug addict at the time. Yep, you read that right.

Indeed. How did I get here? I began with the realization that true happiness is not going to happen unless there is a dramatic centuries-long jump in technology during my lifetime, and then moved into the territory of control. That led to the drawings, the television in the background, the current health issues, and into the idea of the inside of my head representing a very complex dream that will never come true. From there I outlined the difference in my life now from just two months ago along with the importance of my situation, and then I delved into the archives and saw that woman again after years. And then... Well, you know. Now I am so fucked up that I cannot stand the thought of her not being in my head. It is frightening. The entire works is absolutely rife with fiction, a lack of reality that is dictating my feelings, and the idea that my remaining days are going to be spent missing someone I have never known. I can't even remember what the rest of her face looks like. Honestly, that is ridiculous. Tell me different. I am so nuts about her at this point that the next several days are scaring the shit out of me. I don't know what to do. You want me to continue the long fiction? Heh, good fucking luck. Pigs flying. Hmm... A lack of reality. Sounds about right, don't you think? Those three images came along at the exact time when my dreaming was peaking, and when combined with such a time as now, well, she took me quickly and without hesitation. I was ripe for the picking. Dreamy fiction, visions of worlds which do not exist, everything. She took me and does not even know. This is insane. As for the reason I arrived in this fucked-up state, I suppose a combination of every recent dream and seeing her again began to chemically alter my brain into what you are reading. There is no other explanation. I feel differently for her than I have for any other woman throughout this life. I really do.

And now what the fuck am I supposed to display here? The images usually follow one theme or another, but the Goddamned pinnacle of life has already been here. How do I go forward or up? I can't. Fuck. I guess we shall go back to the nearly-nude models. Er... No. No fucking way. What would she think of me? Do I have to go and pull all of the images that have resided here for years? I don't know. My intentions have never been foul nor have they come across as perverted in any way, so perhaps I can leave them alone. They follow the theme of the obsession and are beautiful which means they match the content ideally since early fifteen. This is going to require much thought. Until I make a decision, all of the older images remain where they are. The inclusion of them here is important, however there is one woman who can trump that fucking card in a hot minute. Time and my feelings will tell.

I love her.

Let us go back to Maggie for a little while. This will be fun. I need the distraction.

So, for my birthday some years ago (roughly zero-nine or so, I think), my partner told me dinner wherever I wished was on tap. I picked P.F. Chang's in Pleasanton, having known it was highly rated and we had not been there. Off to the restaurant, and we chose to have a drink at the big, beautiful bar first. We sat with an appetizer and could not help but notice a girl to my right and her rapport with the staff. She was drinking what I saw as a martini. A big one. After a while we chimed in with some banter about alcohol and such things, laughing with her and the bartender. I remarked that she seemed to be putting away the booze pretty quickly, to which she replied that she had to hurry because she was on her lunch hour. Ha! I loved it immediately. When she was finished, she asked that we stop by her place of work and say hi before heading home. Well, I was drinking bourbon of a high octane, so the lips loosened and I noticed that she was super cute. Being me, that meant there was no question. After dinner we did just that, and I ended up seeing much more of her in the bright shopping lights of the mall. Oh boy, I convinced myself that those moments could not be the end of it. We exchanged numbers as I drooled all over myself looking at her flowing hair. Yep.

I still have her number in my phone. Can't get rid of it. Oh, I should not have put on this music with that girl in my head. Not Maggie, the other one. You know.


Soon after that first silly encounter with this new friend, we invited her over to have some drinks and shoot the shit. Well, within seconds of her entering our home with stretch pants and breasts bulging, I could not concentrate upon anything enough to function as a normal human being. My partner knew, of course, and laughed it off like always when I went goo goo over a woman. Hours went by with us having snacks and wine into the late night with me still unable to build sentences. She was just too fucking adorable, sexy, and fun. I found myself going around her form over and over and dreaming of every conceivable thing I wanted to do. I went nuts over her. And she was playful enough to just shrug off my leering and likely drooling. Jesus fucking crap in a bra cup, until that point I had gone years without desiring a woman so much. I knew that nothing could or would ever happen and ended up just shelving my desire and trying to maintain myself as I should. Ho-ly shit, she was unreal to me at that point in my life. The evening ended, she went home after hugs and said we needed to get together again. After the door closed, I immediately turned to my playfully smiling partner and stated that I could not be near her again or I would attack like a mad dog. She laughed so much, hugged me, and told me that my feelings and behavior were perfectly normal when confronted with a woman nearly twenty years my junior and looking like a fucking swimsuit model. Yep.

The next time we met was a prompt from Maggie. I told her we were at a bowling alley with friends and their children for a bowl-a-thon. She lived close and stopped by to say hello. And when she strolled along the alleys and approached us, my brain melted yet again. Holy God, I could have shoved all of her into my mouth and swallowed that girl whole. Jesus fuck, what a sight. She immediately hugged me deeply, a peck on my cheek, and asked of the bar. I told her it was closed because the entire place was open solely for a children's tournament. She dropped and said she would head to a liquor store to help us, and then gone as my eyes became a part of her ass as if they were born there. Fuck me in a pro shop, I wanted all of her all over all of me. Again. I knew it.

She returned with reinforcements for our soda cups and the waddle from the entrance had me unable to speak. A little while there standing next to me and three of the dads came by one at a time asking, 'who in the fuck is that?'. Heh. Gawd I wanted her so bad I could hardly stand still and watch the kids bowling. Damn.

Eventually the morning ceased, the bowling was done, and it was time to go. Maggie was a complete sweetheart while being introduced to some others, and then gave us a hug and kiss before exiting. When she embraced me, I received a whisper that had I been single, she and I would have already been through everything imaginable. Jesus fucking Christ on a rubber crutch in Winter, she floored me. Those adorable eyes squinted with a smile and she left me standing there, again my gaze glued to her ass. Lightning could have struck me down and I would not have been disappointed. Weeks passed before we saw her again for dinner out, and then things really cooled off. A relationship pulled at her time, she changed jobs, and eventually we lost touch. To this fucking second I miss that girl. God damn was she ever fun to be around. Much more of it might have meant disaster, however. Well, that happened anyway a short time later and for other reasons, but still... Maybe disaster would have been worth it. Such is me. Fucking hell, what a girl.

I brought Maggie up for a reason. That was one of the earliest occasions in memory when I desired a woman so badly after only seeing her. Well, when I was young things were different but there is no point in trying to analyze hormones. Know what I mean? Maggie was some years out of high school and every bit as sociable and intelligent as someone much older. Fuck me, this song brings the tears every fucking time. I need to stop about Maggie. The relationship between that time and what I did forcefully in later years is apparent enough already. I felt so much for her very quickly, and during our time spent together the desire did not cool at all. It was constant. The walnut girl did the same thing to me and she only appeared on the television screen. The dream that night shoved the pool girls back into my head and I burned with desire for them. Now, all these entries later I run across images of a woman that had been mostly forgotten by me for nearly a decade and there is none of that. No desire to swallow her at all. I just wish to look. Stare. I am longing for her. And she is more detached from me and in more ways than any of the others. Jamie and Katie are actors. With enough effort and planning, I could probably eventually shake hands with one or both of them. Something like that is not impossible. Difficult, yes, but possible. On the other hand, Maggie is gone for good, as are the rest. The walnut girl? That does not even matter, like the reporters. Close by, but just not there. And that matters little anyway. The main issue is the other one. The beauty that has slammed me in the face. I honestly cannot believe this is happening. Did I make a connection between Maggie and the one? I dreamed of Maggie in the past, always involved somehow, and carried those visions with me for years. I still remember some of what took place back then. I dreamed of the walnut girl, those two goddesses by the pool and the mass amount of skin I was seeing, I dreamed of the woman I know who was in one of the mansions, Asian women from time to time, the woman in that kitchen that I believe may have been Katie, tons of shit over the years. Sex-infused dreams, searches for elusive women in large homes, and at times those of Nevada when I was deep into that culture. Bartenders, servers, whatevers. Sometimes sex, most times just looking, other times searching desperately. And along comes this woman -- one in which I cannot even remember what the rest of her face looked like -- and I am smitten like never before, but not once did I dream of her and the desire is absent. One-hundred percent not there. I do not understand how this could have taken place. Completely fucking puppy-eyed like Andrea. Wow.

Perhaps the memory and her appearance just struck me again and this will pass. If not, I'm screwed.

I suppose the whole Maggie thing was to illustrate just how quick and overpowering the physical desire can be at times, and the contrast between such feelings and the need to simply be with someone. Close. Warm. Loving. Caring. And just to stare. That is what I see now. Whereas Maggie was an ideal example of sex appeal being exuded like rain flowing from clouds, what I am currently experiencing is not the same. I wanted Maggie badly during the time we spent together. Now the dream is much more powerful. I want to love that woman from ten years ago and the absence of anything other than images is painful in the extreme. I cannot do anything. I am stuck here in the future with no chance of gushing all that I feel inside to a woman who is unknowingly changing my life as I type. I had no fucking idea something like this could possibly happen.

This is going to cause problems if it does not cool off reasonably soon. I am already weakened by so many other parts of my life that to add this one is going to weigh me down too much. I can feel it approaching right now and am helpless to move out of the way. In fact, I may welcome the flood of emotion over her if it does indeed hit me harder. Things like this have happened before to a lesser degree, but always faded with time. We shall see if this woman stays where she is for the long haul. I hope not, but I also hope so. God she is something else. The part of her face that I can see in that closer image is beyond belief. I have to stop that or I will make myself even worse by typing words. Damn it. Go back there and look at her soft expression. Or don't. Fuck it, I don't know. And now I have no clue as to what images to attach anymore. The lines used to be the key, but now I am not feeling it. Something will come along, I guess.

Jamie is on the big screen. Ugh. But... Wow have my feelings shifted. Believe it.


I just went back to an earlier entry which has yet to be published in order to proofread and streamline a bit. Upon seeing what I wrote, I was immediately reminded of the desperation I felt back in the beginning of ten when the site was offline. After that trip and my subsequent heartache over the woman, I could have gushed all over the site and its antiquated archive system. Well, I did nothing. I should have at least gone on for a while about how I felt then. Perhaps I could have come to terms a little for the time being before simply storing the images as was my custom. Maybe some exposition would have helped, maybe not. All the years have passed and I remember what I can about being in that courtyard. [After those moments waiting for the rest of our group to arrive, we went to lunch and I recall being a worthless, babbling pile of shit. That was just too funny, but not all. The server was Latin, gorgeous, and smiling the entire time. I do not know how I made it out of there alive. Heh.] I should not have shot images of that woman, but at the same time I wish I had shot more. Maybe if she would have turned to face our position I could have captured more beauty. Or, maybe she would have seen that huge objective on the end of the lens and noticed that I was pointing my shutter release at her. Wow, what a thought. And I am sitting here rehearsing what I might say when questioned by perhaps the most stunning woman ever before me. That is not even close to bullshit, either. I am not kidding. The more I look, the more I feel that to do her justice would require every fucking superlative imaginable. And perhaps I will invent more. Yes, you read all of that correctly. Please do not take issue with me. Right now is not the time for others to question anything coming off my frail fingers. Just go with it because I could not be more serious right now. I am so fucked up that I may just regress into my own little dream world and sit tight. Still not in that basement, thank Christ. Watch closely, though... Printing and framing those images is not beyond me.

She is Jaime. God damn it anyway. I made that connection and now I can't go back nor will it change.

Not Jamie. Sorry, I just think it's funny that I spelled their names the same for a while.

I wish I knew her name, at a minimum. That would be something... The ability to identify her other than the manner in which I must. There is nothing wrong with it, I suppose, but names are so deeply personal and can add so much to someone's appearance. Her overall identity is for naught. I know nothing at all. A can of soda, thongs on her feet, two shirts and a jacket, and that half an expression. Damn it. I will keep looking until either something changes or I lose my way completely. The crop of the second image is an enigma. The more I look at that gentle expression on her face the more I get lost in her. And I mean fucking lost like never before. Back when the Brunette and I used to go to the photo club meetings, she would bring her glasses for distance vision of the screen. We viewed photos from the club members each night under dimmed lighting. Almost no lighting, really. Well, every now and then I would turn to my left to see her in those glasses and the profile made my heart feel as if it would leap out of my chest. She looked unlike any woman I had ever seen by that point in my life and the feeling of gazing at her face was unreal. Now? I can still see her sitting there next to me. Trying to describe what I saw and why it struck me so much would be an exercise in futility. Now push that along to the woman of whom I am currently speaking and such a situation is only the beginning. There is so much more there that I cannot even scratch the surface of what I see. Specific details be damned, that face is driving me insane one moment at a time. Above, I mentioned that my feelings for her had amplified quickly in a day. They have expanded and become enhanced even further since beginning this paragraph moments ago. I need to temper my efforts here with work around the house and find ways of remaining at a distance for a while or I may just shut the fuck down. This is insane. I cannot believe it, and I have quite the patient imagination. My heart is swelling.

I just realized that there is an upside to my deviant, insane and unorthodox love for a woman I have never met. Wanna hear it? Issue two no longer matters. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. This will hurt very shortly, but that is one less fucking pile on my weakened shoulders.

I don't know what to do now. The first big fucking realization the other day was enough to put me down. I thought I could deal with it without gushing here, but alas I was compelled. Robots. Control. Ah, fuck it. You remember. The entire, self-defeating affair needs to be gone through like a classic car chassis before restoration but I am getting tired from dreaming and trying to keep my head above water. Drowning in the images, I am. Drowning in what is now a pair of issues that I had not conceived of prior to just recently, and the loss of direction is worsening. Yes, I can go on here about it forever. That is always an option when faced with everything from depression to sex to free fucking time. I have, as you may well know. I suppose if I am going to lose my mind, the words in my head may as well come forth. Fuck it.

Let us go back one entry and think of the fact that I shot images of two different women on two occasions without their knowledge. How bad is it? A violation of privacy? Does my appreciation for them make any difference whatsoever? I don't know. The media has been in my possession for years and not gone anywhere else. In fact, no one has seen those images other than myself since they were created. I suppose that is the right way to do something that I know is wrong. Wait... What did I say? Never mind. There has to be someone, somewhere who may agree with such an act. Likely I will wait after that entry is published, let it remain live for a time, and then pull the images back off the page. That might help me feel a tad better about this.

I need to breathe. This entry has become one giant inhalation. Out with it, dummy.

Ok, deep breath. Better? Nope. Just breathe. One of my cats is watching golf on the television. Heh.

I need to go outside soon and take in the foggy air. Before that, there is some information that may prove helpful to me as I consider the time when that trip took place. I will admit that I have little memory of some details, and I can't even remember the place we visited when I saw that woman, but I do know of the exact date and time due to the image metadata. The camera knows everything. I will lay out what happened on a sunny day not long before we took off for San Diego. I have pictures of the woman in question because we saw them some time later after taking a cruise to Mexico.

Another deep breath before a massive exhalation.


Thinking of all those years ago and where I was in life, I am not surprised to have shot a woman such as her. Back then I was fascinated by overly tall women and I did not know of the reason. I still am, and still have no idea other than length and exaggerated features, like long fingers and such. The reason why those aspects grabbed me years ago escapes me, but I there is one distant possibility. A woman I knew. Her name must remain a mystery even though she lives far from here. At one time her partner lived one floor below us in the late zeros, just before we bought a house. The woman in question met me for lunch once and I revealed to her my obsession with certain details. Well, sitting across the table from me was a beauty who carried every bit of it. She had enormous, very emotional eyes, wearing a tank which showed off her sharp shoulders, and she stood just an inch shorter than me. Yep. The woman I chose to entrust with my difficulty was an example of the same. Discussing the subject with her drove some feelings to surface within her that eventually became our conversation. I listened to her as she was feeling unappreciated and felt surprise at what I was hearing. On the other side of that, she looked at me with slight tears and reacted fully to the fact that I had been going all over exactly what she lacked in daily life with her partner. The woman was incredibly beautiful and unique and I could not imagine how her partner could live without gushing to her often. I simply did not understand because what I was seeing and hearing drove my heart to leap. We sat for two hours, enjoyed a light lunch sans cocktails, and went over lots of things that had been plaguing each for a very long time. Five-foot-eight, long torso and long legs (wearing fucking shorts!), and every single part of her was exaggerated. I stared during a time when I was first trying to understand why everything being lengthened on a woman's form shook me so. Shortly before we left the restaurant and ended the only time we spent alone, she gushed that at times there was consideration of leaving her partner due to his lack of verbal affection. Wow. At hearing such an unreal thought, I then decided to tell her exactly what I was seeing. Several minutes of very detailed observations had her eyes wide and bright. I went on at length about the fact that she was a dream. We closed the check and our discussion, left the restaurant and ventured outside to go our separate ways. One very long, emotional embrace and that was that. I dropped into my car with visions of her walking straight away in heeled sandals, hair flowing from side to side. I am not going to go on further about her appearance.

For a split-second in that restaurant, I knew that under the correct circumstances both of us could have connected further and severely complicated two long-term relationships. That never happened, we did not go out after that day without being a foursome, and every time we saw each other there was always a knowing look from her. Within less than a year I ended up pointing the camera at Jaime, effectively cementing the idea that my first notice of a woman was her height. I still do not know fully of the reason, but suffice to say that after that one lunch and being so close to her, I cannot deny her appearance had an effect upon me. Added to that? Just weeks before our wonderful lunch I had written 'The Girl at the Car Wash' and allowed miss five-foot-eight to read it without anyone else's knowledge. I needed her opinion and received it in spades. After that when the four of us went to dinner, she and I exchanged glances as the female staff members moved about the dining room. That was interesting and fun. I felt as if I had somewhat of a partner in crime. After moving into the house, we saw them weekly for football games or some such thing for many months.

Not long beyond my ability to be near her, they moved just shy of five hundred miles away and married each other. That was that. I have not seen a woman with such unique facial structure or as beautiful a gait since that time. I miss her, I miss the fact that we shared a measure of intimacy with each other, and I miss the idea that she represented the only outlet for my issues in years. When her eyes looked at me with deep interest as I spoke, I became smitten. And then southern California. Her. And I feel the same, yet know absolutely nothing about that woman and never will. There is a hole in me now.

Very soon today I am going to open the garage and attempt to work on whatever is there, along with the things I usually take care of in the house. My daily stuff. The new routine. The comfort, as it were. I do look forward to this part of each day to an extent. I really do. The familiarity and singular importance of my little world cannot be overstated. Following along with me at each step will be that woman, all gentle and dreamy, and the idea that she will only exist within my head and heart. Never knowing. Never seeing again. At some point I will move this fucking machine out there to continue with the most difficult entries I will ever write. There is plenty to do which means hopefully my brain can normalize and carry forward without my falling off the edge of the planet. Hopefully. No guarantees there.

Two days and I love her. The fuck? Am I that weak?

Well, the projects mostly just sat there as I pondered what to do. The day went on with me working around the house but nothing really drew me and held my attention as it can sometimes. The brainpower is at an all-time low now because of the last few days and learning more of myself. Like yes, I am as weakened as I had thought years ago while having lunch with miss big eyes. Or the Maggie connection. I would have thrown myself at her given the chance. I have no doubt that she, like the tall girl in the shorts, was the deciding factor in my keeping distance. There is no fucking way I could have stayed the course without guidance and/or direction from them. They had control over the situation every time. That simply means that I have demonstrated my weakness on many an occasion. Eleven? Andrea? Ellie? That was not quite the same, but still, when it came to Ellie I had been so depressed and suicidal already with Andrea's departure slamming me in the heart that I searched almost immediately. I don't remember the time precisely, however I was in that restaurant with my eyes on the kitten's little ass within an hour of hearing Andrea's booties clicking across the marble. That is not a lot of time. Weak. Since then, I have been upright a bit more than I would have expected at this point, but still... I cannot get her out of me right now. The duchess. I feel like half a person. The more I see that expression on her face, the more I feel for her. This situation is one of the worst I could have imagined and very unexpected. Just a few days ago and I was carrying on with whatever analysis needed to be explored regarding the dreams and all that other shit, and now I am focused beyond belief.

I need a different direction here. The weakness has been splayed. Back to the outside, I guess.

My garage is a massive display of the female form. They are all over the place, some clothed more, some less. As of this morning, I do not know how I feel about the manner in which I decorated my workspace anymore. Part of me feels guilt at so much of the garage being covered by scantily-clad women, and another part needs them there so I can glance whenever the mood strikes. But there is another problem now that was not present a few days ago. The guilt is not over anyone visiting who may see all that crap, it is over her. What would she think of me slathering the walls with such imagery? Would she understand? Or should I remove all of it out of respect to the opposite sex? Do you have any fucking idea how powerful a thought that is coming from me? There are a few real women who frequent my garage and are accustomed to my deviant sense of decorating, and I am considering taking it all down for someone who may as well not exist. Jesus fucking crap on a putting green. If that is not out of balance, I do not know what is. Are you reading this? What's next? Printing images of her and talking to them? I said I have to stay out of that fucking basement but it's beginning to sound as if I am already in there. Fuck me.


Throughout the last four-plus years since I made the ill-fated decision to change the direction of this site, I have seen and become enamored with tons of images and the manner in which they depict physical beauty. All of them are here on the pages as well as in storage and divided into categories. Some are more artful while others border on pornographic, for lack of another term. I tried to keep everything tasteful despite the nature of some of the fiction, yet the fact remains that much detail is here, both written and contained within the images. Well, that may change. I do not know for sure. Not yet. Due to the recent flap about my feelings for including those I shot covertly, there is now a line in the sand. As of this moment, I doubt that my Nikon will be pointed toward anyone without their permission, unless the subject includes a random person in the background. Most of the time that can be adjusted or removed later. I am mostly speaking of a woman. One aspect of our current state of technology is the fact that nearly every single person out there has a camera at their disposal whenever the mood strikes. The phones all have cameras and they can be used in an infinite number of situations for an equally vast set of reasons. The way I now feel about privacy has truncated the use of my own device. The previous entry is an example of weakness and obsession, both of which have driven me to act recklessly on more occasions than I care to admit. Right now? I would not shoot an image of a woman at all. If I need visual assistance for something I attempt to describe here, the endless array of for-purchase stock photos will have to suffice. I cannot go further than I already have. It bothers me now. The woman in southern California -- yes, the beautiful 'Jaime' -- will never know what I have done, nor should she. I honestly cannot decide if I was wrong or not. Yes, partly wrong then, but there is no clear line anymore. Ten years have passed. Does that help? I don't know that, either. But I am not beating myself up over it. Really... I am not. The unfortunate truth is that upon seeing her again, I had to explore my feelings about the event in order to try to understand myself. There is nothing wrong with doing so. The only questionable act has been placing her image here.

As I said earlier regarding the woman in the bar, if you take issue with any of the images which were shot without their knowledge, tell me and they are gone. All of them. I have not mentioned 'control' much in this entry, however I do hold it exclusively yet have no qualms about respecting others. We won't get into how my heart is exploding all over the place. No good ending there. I will hide. Have I gone over this enough yet? Jesus.

WOW am I ever getting fucked up over her. I am glad that I brought up Maggie, though. The raw, unrelenting desire to devour her effectively illustrates the difference in feelings now. What a girl she was. Sometimes I wish I still knew her, while other times I feel that I may have thrown myself upon her given the right circumstances. Knowing me as I do, and if she were in this room now, the effort in keeping myself respectful and at a distance would be tremendous. [Ok, I am going to begin referring to the object of my feelings as Jaime or 'the duchess'. I have no other name to attach, and considering how I feel about the machine that is Jaime in the fictional world, there is a connection that, though fantasy and rather stringy, feels appropriate. Call me what you will, but in this reality I am henceforth calling her Jaime. I see no reason to do otherwise.] Jaime cannot be compared to the situation with Maggie at all. The contrast is maximized. All of it, and in every conceivable way, is different. Maggie was the epitome of an object of my tremendous physical desire at that time. I wanted her every fucking second of every fucking day. Jaime is different... I want to dwell for hours studying her facial features, gazing at her eyes, and attempting to understand exactly how something like this has happened. Desire? Tons, but not like Maggie, the walnut girl, or those fucking mostly-nude girls splayed all over the loungers among the demanding sun and mass of grasshoppers. Jaime... Her face... Her face is everything. The desire I mentioned is all-encompassing. I want to know her... NEED to know her. I cannot. The soft, peaceful reserve I see and the facial expression I cannot avoid has taken me and continues to take me from myself no matter what else may be going on in the world or in my life. For the second time, and regardless of the ramifications of such a word, I love her. A woman I cannot possibly ever know of or see again. I love her.

Go ahead and damn me for this. Nothing you can do to me will be worse than what I have already done to myself... The second hellish realization in as many days. And forget me being on the fence about removing her images. They are gone.

Jaime. The duchess.


She is out there."