And so it goes...The holiday season is upon us. With it comes the inevitable pull to go home. Christmas carols like "I'll be home for Christmas " just fuel the fire that burns for home. I want to decorate my home inside and out. Every advertisement reaches into our hearts and magnifies our lonliness. What are we to do?
Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry." Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?
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