I've forever had difficulty switching off. As long as I can remember my brain has been in overdrive. The thoughts would compound and breed into an uncontrollable life force of their own. I would lay awake at night and be overwhelmed with waves of ideas, my mind would dive down then reemerge only to dive once more. This would repeat endlessly until I had no other option but to interrupt the pattern by focusing on the lyrics of a song or by reading a novel. One of the many benefits of reading is that if you're truly concentrating on the words then it's impossible to think of anything else. If you are solely immersed in the text, then the fictional world will devour your actual world.
Unfortunately, this system doesn't always suffice and I find myself surrounded by an unstoppable army of thought. The build-up of noise inside my head- the ideas pushing against the walls, they grab and claw at each other. They repress and suppress and stamp and shout and scream to be heard. The constant rumble is deafening, it is all-consuming. I need repose, I reach for the bottle, I drink all its contents and as the room becomes dark, my mind fights the inevitable.
The mission is clear. There is one goal and I will not stop until it is complete. The target is always the same but the method takes adjusting. I must concentrate on every movement and the slightest of sounds. I need to adapt and change direction if required. Start slow. Slower. Yes, real slow. Annoyingly slow, no... frustratingly slow. Build the tension, the anticipation. I trace my fingers softly along the inside of her legs, gently kissing her ankles, making my way up and up to the inside of her thighs then... stop. I crawl up her body and kiss her neck, she groans and tries to push me back down, I laugh and teasingly lick her ear, she groans again and I make my way round to her lips. I gently bite her bottom lip and place my hand around her throat. I grip it tightly as I work my way down, kissing her chest, I draw circles around her nipples with my tongue and down her side until I'm back between her legs. She attempts to push my head in its direction but I ignore her and continue to kiss the inside of her thighs, I get close then move away, it's a game, a dance, a tactical dissection of accumulated emotions. Give a little, get closer, closer, almost there...then fall back. She verbally advises me of her frustration. Ok perfect, that's what I was waiting for.
The relief is indescribable, so immense so beautiful, natural and organic. Sweet, wonderful solace. The focus, it's all about the focus. The clearness of precision, the accuracy of determination. It helps me disappear, it allows me to switch off- to meditate. To bring one thought to the front, to push all others aside with full clarity. The uproar- nothing but a distant memory. The expedition is at the forefront. I breathe it in, I taste and swallow and bite. I listen and feel with the tips of my fingers, my tongue, my lips, my body. I lock on, I manipulate, I control, I fixate, I obsess. I can feel her getting closer. I can hear her breath stop, her thighs wrapped firmly around my neck, so tight it's difficult for me to breathe but I have to keep going...there's a loud gasp, her grip loosens and she falls back onto the bed.
I lay with my head on her thigh, she runs her fingers through my hair. The room is silent except for the sound of our shared deep breath.
Once again, they begin to crawl back. They gather, they swarm, they occupy. My mind is lost to the overpowering machine of thought. They relentlessly drive forward with a force unlike any other. The floodgates are open and I have nowhere to run so I obey, I submit, I surrender.
About the Creator
John Benedict Ryan
Just exploring my thoughts on paper, relayed to screen.
Little scenes of life entwined with my imagination.
Further writing/photos on my site if you would like to check it out- www.youshouldnttalktoyourself.com
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Celeb Fun
"She may have had her turn, but now it's my time," Katie pants, her breasts heaving as she grinds down onto him. "I'm going to show you what a real woman feels like. I'm going to fuck you in a way she never could." Katie sets a relentless pace, impaling herself on her husband's cock with wild abandon. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room as she takes her pleasure, lost in the throes of a dark, twisted lust. She wants to mark him, claim him, make him forget all about his young mistress. "Yes, fuck me," Katie demands, her voice raw with need. "Fuck me like you mean it. Show me that you're still mine, that this cock belongs to me." She leans down, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. Katie's husband can only groan and buck his hips in response, overwhelmed by the force of Katie's lust. He's never seen her like this before so wild, so insatiable, so utterly consumed by desire. It's terrifying and thrilling all at once.
By Forest Green3 days ago in Filthy
Bless Me, Father
A Sentence That Has Never Grown Old “Bless me, Father” is one of the most emotionally charged phrases in human history. Though deeply rooted in religious tradition, its power transcends belief systems, cultures, and time. These words do not belong solely to churches or confessionals; they belong to every human heart that has ever carried regret, guilt, fear, or longing for forgiveness. In a world that constantly demands perfection, strength, and moral clarity, Bless me, Father feels almost revolutionary. It is an admission of weakness in an age that rewards invincibility. It is a plea for mercy in a society that often confuses accountability with cruelty. This article explores the spiritual, psychological, and cultural meaning of Bless Me, Father—why it continues to resonate, why humans cannot escape the need for forgiveness, and why grace remains one of our deepest necessities. The Origin of the Confession Historically, Bless me, Father originates from Christian confession, a ritual where believers openly acknowledge sins before seeking absolution. Yet confession itself is far older than organized religion. Ancient civilizations practiced public admissions of wrongdoing, purification rituals, and symbolic acts of repentance. Confession emerged not as punishment, but as release. Early societies understood something modern culture often forgets: guilt, when left unspoken, poisons the soul. To confess was to cleanse—not just spiritually, but psychologically. Why Humans Need to Confess Confession is a human instinct. Long before laws, courts, or therapy, people needed a way to unload the weight of moral failure. Psychologically, guilt activates stress responses in the brain. Suppressed guilt increases anxiety, depression, and emotional numbness. Confession interrupts this cycle. Speaking the truth—especially about our worst moments—restores internal balance. This is why people confess to: Priests Therapists Loved ones Journals Anonymous strangers online The structure changes, but the need remains constant. The Emotional Weight of Guilt Guilt itself is not evil. Healthy guilt signals moral awareness and empathy. It tells us when we have violated our values. But when guilt is denied or prolonged, it transforms into shame—the belief that I am bad, not I did something wrong. Bless me, Father represents the turning point where guilt is confronted before it becomes shame. It is the moment a person chooses truth over denial. The Father Figure: Authority, Fear, and Comfort The word Father carries profound symbolic meaning. It represents authority, discipline, protection, judgment, and love—all at once. For some, the father figure is nurturing. For others, it is intimidating or absent. Addressing a “Father” is therefore deeply psychological. It means confronting the internal voice that measures our worth. When someone says Bless me, Father, they are not just speaking to religion—they are speaking to authority itself, asking whether failure leads to rejection or mercy. Forgiveness: The Most Misunderstood Virtue Forgiveness is often mistaken for weakness. In reality, it is one of the most demanding human acts. Forgiveness does not mean: Forgetting harm Denying responsibility Canceling consequences Forgiveness does mean: Choosing healing over endless punishment Allowing growth after failure Separating identity from mistakes A blessing does not erase the past—it loosens its grip on the future. Grace in a World Without Mercy Modern culture often celebrates accountability but resists grace. Social media amplifies mistakes, freezes people in their worst moments, and offers little room for redemption. Public confession today often leads to humiliation rather than healing. This is why private confession—spoken or internal—has become more important than ever. Bless me, Father quietly resists a culture of permanent condemnation. It insists that people are more than their failures. Modern Confession: Therapy, Silence, and Screens As religious participation declines in many societies, confession has not disappeared—it has migrated. Therapy rooms have become modern confessionals Social media posts serve as public admissions Anonymous forums act as judgment-free spaces Private journaling replaces spoken ritual Each form reflects the same desire: to be known without being destroyed. Self-Forgiveness: The Final and Hardest Confession Many people can accept forgiveness from others yet remain trapped in self-punishment. Self-forgiveness requires humility, honesty, and compassion. To forgive oneself is not to excuse wrongdoing, but to accept humanity. It means learning without self-destruction. When spoken inwardly, Bless me becomes a radical act of self-mercy. Why “Bless Me, Father” Still Matters This phrase survives because it names a truth modern language often avoids: humans fail, and they need grace to continue. In an era obsessed with productivity, moral superiority, and public judgment, Bless Me, Father reminds us that dignity is not earned by perfection—but preserved by forgiveness. Spirituality Beyond Religion Even for those without religious belief, the emotional structure of confession remains essential. People still seek absolution—if not from God, then from conscience, community, or self. Grace is not owned by religion. It is a human requirement. The Quiet Power of Mercy Mercy does not make headlines. It does not trend. It operates quietly—in conversations, apologies, reconciliations, and silent decisions to move forward. Yet mercy changes lives more permanently than punishment ever could. Conclusion: A Prayer Hidden in Plain Sight Bless me, Father is not a declaration of holiness. It is an admission of humanity. It is spoken by those who stumble yet refuse to surrender to despair. It is carried by people who believe that failure does not cancel worth. In a noisy world that punishes mistakes loudly, this ancient phrase survives as a quiet truth: We do not need perfection to be worthy of grace. We need honesty. We need courage. And sometimes, we simply need to ask for forgiveness.
By Zahid Hussain6 days ago in Filthy
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