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Family. Family family family. It took me days to get the motivation to go visit my family—not-family recently.

Think none blood-related rather than aunts and uncles.

I guess I didn't want to go.

I don't always like what I find when I get there.

Often I absolutely dread going.

Becuase I find myself there.

Myself. A really grotty, strange version of myself that I'm not always comfortable with, and even before I reach the family home, I feel like turning around, racing back to my wife, burying myself under a quilt and having her pamper me with cups of tea and head rubs.

There have been times, even recently, where I thrived on going to visit family and every step towards them felt like heavenly bliss, but I can't keep that feeling always, and often it's dread I feel, and not bliss.

I spent so long putting off my visit this time, half the week had gone by and then, towards Friday, I knew I had to go, meaning I missed the weekend with my wife. I may have come back Monday or Tuesday. I don't even remember.

Traveling there was tedious. Tedious mixed with dread, a horribly stressful combination.

I don't often like what I find waiting for me at family home.

If you imagine the mental equivalent of seductive demons screwing you down into hell itself until you get so lost in lust you willingly start happily and wantonly helping that happen. I let myself just .... Go ..... And I fall, I fall deep, not hard, deep, there's always someone to ease that slide into hell on satin sheets covered in lube on a steep downward angle.

There's a movie that's called Spirited and in it Ebenezer Scrooge is trying to be a better version of himself, yet inside him, perhaps not too far from the surface, his old version just waits to erupt. And his friend, played by Ryan Reynolds, wants Ebenezer to 'be his old self' and does everything he can to tempt Ebenezer's inner self to come out, and my girlfriend - I have a Ryan Reynolds in my life, a female version at least, called Red in these blogs - does the same thing to me. I want her to, need her to, but I still kind of don't want to. It will only make sense to me.

Regardless, sooner or later, almost every visit, Red gets me to scream my own personal version of ..... GOOD AFTERNOON !!!!!! - it'd make sense if you've seen the movie. The clip is below.




And Red — my own 'Ryan Reynolds'. She does pulls me. Right out of myself. And then, well, fuck, there is none of the outer me left. Inner me is out, and his heart is racing, all dread is gone and replaced with an incredible blissful feeling of release, and I do become elated. And it feels like the world has finally opened up for me. All of my senses become alight - not glowing but burning - deep like magnesium and I feel free, so free. I can feel it now even typing about it my heart is racing, my endorphins have flooded my system, just by typing this, just by typing this.

I need release. I dread release. Yet when it comes, I don't feel like myself. Or maybe I do and the guy typing this is the shitter version of the inner me.

I can still feel inner me, he's not too far away from me at the moment. Sometimes I bury him so deep I forget he's even there. Not today, I/we had too much time 'us' recently.

Blood. Call it a fetish. It floods me with endorphins and I feel that from my toes to my head, it's incredible, it even reaches deep inside my mind and changes that too. I can go from humdrum nothingness to feeling my mind becoming part of all existence, eyesight brighter, light, a different hue, a purple hue, a beautiful hue. Why do I deny it? Why don't I remain? Why do I ever come back to the person sat typing this? Why? I don't know. I want to stay, I want to 'be'

Three days.

Three days indulging my bloodlust.

It wasn't so much of a bloodlust this time around, more a light sampling? Enough to bloat my stomach and put me in bed for hours waiting for it to pass. I felt like an egg at one point.

Red. My own little Ryan Reynolds. Married? And a GF? It's complicated.

Come to the dark side, forget God, be free, all the troupes, the end result is the same, she leads, and I happily willingly and needfully follow.

Straight to hell, of course, there's no strange doorway leading down a flight of fiery steps into hell itself. There's nothing more than a house with rooms, yet it feels like hell, because whether I'm in hell itself or just a house, I still fall. And I feel Satan laughs when I do.

Yes, I know it's all so sexy having an attractive-looking TV vampire biting a smooth ebony or ivory neck, a little blood trickling down in slow motion while the girl pulls her head back in ecstasy, but the best bits, the things I don't see on TV, are the sticky bits, the walnut sized darks clots that you can spit share with a loved one to ingest the essence of the donor. Back and forth, back and forth until none remains but the last trickle of blood collecting at the back of my throat. I like to hold it there, as long as I can, on the brink of swallowing, I breathe deep, deep into my lungs, until it trickles away. A prize worth fighting for. No fight, just love, until all that remains is a shared love between three.

Blood looks beautiful when rubbed on a loved one. The hues, the shades, the darker, the lighter, the red, the black, the smell, the grue, the gore, scrap it from a loved one's flesh with nails, adding to the aroma, suck a body clean, pale flesh underneath, lost in all. To ingest, to feed, to lick, to smell, to rub, to nuzzle, lost, within own minds. Three within blood.

I guess Dracula wouldn't look as sexy chewing lumps of gore, or pushing it into his mouth like finger food.

The blog may seem a little uneven in places. I cut more out of it than I left in.

COMMENTS

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Adain
10:02 Jul 02 2026

My first video embedded in a blog so cool.

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