I should be a fucking chef…or even a detective. Because olives, sweetcorn, tomato seeds and all with the flavour of bacon, tells me that someone not a million miles away, had pizza for dinner.
From my (very) limited view of the world, I can now ID a porn models pussy, more or less instantly, from the moment she opens her legs to put me on. And they all bare the mark of porn. The Tramp Stamp.
The girl is on her knees. I can tell by the way her arse is pressing against me. From the sounds and the slight but rhythmic movement, I can surmise that she’s sucking cock. It’s both interesting and disturbing that the only time I’m ever on my knees is when performing a sex act, and yet I know that I should be praying. Praying to the Cock of .jpg)
God!
From where I was lying, I could just about see the TV, on at the end of the studio. Apparently we’re all doomed, with a serious financial melt down in full swing. Hopefully this’ll translate into less work, and therefore, less suffering for me. So whilst those around me tear their hair and rant/starve, I’ll be happily sleeping.
I am so very tired and weary of my life, trapped in the body of a diaper. My choices are not mine. I can do nothing but hope that at some point I’ll be opened up, and catch a fleeting glimpse of the world beyond mine. And yet I am not blessed with memory for the beautiful things. Only the shit that is mine. Whenever I ask God who am I, he tells me that my life function is all. But I struggle to accept that. And the more I struggle, the more he baits me, throwing me deeper and deeper into the darkness. Is this how I shall be saved?
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Lots of rubbing and panting. Another day at the fun factory. The stagnant air is filled with the smell of cheesy cunt and sweat. I can see nothing. I wait for the inevitable gush of piss or sperm, but nothing happens. Just the same movement and hard breathing. My diapered body is getting sore. Eventually it stops and when I am opened I briefly glimpse an exercise bike. And I am saved.
I dream of space travel. Flying through the cosmos at the speed of light, as I look back towards the shrinking Earth. And then, putting all my earthly terrors behind me, I speed onto the next solar system. Blah, blah, blah, you sneer. But i know that every time the Space Shuttle takes off, my brother diapers are there.
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The feeling of doom, as if all the wind has been sucked out and you can feel yourself dropping over the edge into the abyss. That’s how I feel right now. Hot, dark and smelly, well, nothing new there. But it is a very particular smell. The stench of something rotting. And dead. There is the sensation of something warm, wet and kind of sticky against me. I cannot breathe. I’m finally opened to the smiling face of a nurse. Looking back, I see an old man with weeping bed sores. We both prey for death.
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The sensation of wetness and force awakens me. I can see nothing, but can hear the muffled sounds of a fake chick, fake build up to a fake orgasm. She’s rubbing herself through me. Pressing and pushing me almost inside her cunt. It’s pretty disturbing. Linsey Lohan, Tom Cruise, Michael Douglas and this chick….I hate bad acting.
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Most of my days start in the studio props room, filled with sad tacky items, which themselves fill sad and tacky porn sets. One night I must of fallen from my usual resting place, into a box of nick-knacks below. And that night I was awoken by the sound of the sea. Lying there in the darkness I felt the cool breeze and smelt the salty ocean as it ebbed and flowed in my grateful ears. Gradually I became aware of Gods presence. Filling me with love. Hot tears came and I felt choked up. And so I slept under His watchful and caring eye. Next morning I awoke to find that I’d fallen onto a seashell.
