Knowing the Psychopath : Burn. Burn Just For Me….
Fire. The power of the conflagration as it consumes everything before it. Dominant. Unwavering. Merciless. The roar of the air as it is sucked into that vortex as the flames billow, the twisting colours that perform that mesmerising dance. Oh such glorious power embodied in the flames of yellow, amber, gold, orange, rust, copper and tangerine. The crackling, the popping, the groaning of the wood as it succumbs to that irresistible force. The hissing of a liquid, perhaps sap in a branch or the bubbling of melting plastic. Nothing halts the advance of this mighty wall of flame. A blaze of indomitable might that devours everything that it touches. The wood blackens and ignites, the dancing flames engulfing it, surrounding it. Rubber slowly melts, the blackened, acrid smoke spilling from it, paint peels and blisters before bubbling into the ether. Paper, so pathetic, it ignites without the touch of the flame, such is the heat that surrounds it as it folds and the flames burst upon it like a flower blossoming. Such a powerful force, such a destructive inferno that consumes and leaves only ash, blackened metal and the stench of consumption behind. Fire does not discriminate, it conquers and subdues. Nothing stands in its way. Fabric, wood, plastic, glass, vegetation – whatever it might be, it will be consumed by the marching troopers of flame, the army which becomes stronger and stronger as it advances. The more it consumes, the more it destroys and the more powerful it becomes. Fuel the fire, give it the fuel, keep it fuelled, watch it want more and more fuel and as it receive that fuel, see how it becomes even more dangerous, how it moves at such a pace to outstrip a running human, watch it demolish, devour and destroy. Fire.
Fire has always been a fascination for me. I find a beauty in its form and power. I would always volunteer to light the candles at dinner, striking the match and smelling that sulphurous scent as the match sparked and took light. I would watch the flame for a moment, observing this new form of life as it spluttered and guttered into existence. The flickering flame would eventually steady, like a foal finding its feet and then with the flame established I would introduce it to each wick of the four candles that always were presented for lighting. Those candles were never used twice. Dependent on how long dinner lasted, what remained of the candles would be thrown away and new ones placed upon the table. I always sought to light all four from one match, carefully moving the flaming match from one to the second, to the next and to the last. The gentle embrace of the yellow flame transferring from match to wick and then a new flame, a new offspring appearing. One, two, three and four.
Once complete and with still burning match I would turn and look for something else to ignite. How about father´s newspaper? How about the table cloth? How about my sister´s hair? The thoughts would come fast as I waited with my flaming wand, revelling in the prospect of bringing mayhem and response through the application of flame. Such immediate plans were thwarted as another member of the family would enter and distracted the flame would burn to my fingers causing me to mutter and then extinguish the match. The box of matches would be taken from me, although of course I had already secreted three or four in my pocket for use elsewhere. I knew that the match could be struck on the zip of my trousers and once again I would hold the power of fire in my hand.
What should I burn? Anything? Everything? I would take my brother´s comic and lift the lit match to the corner as I held it over the bath. I would watch as the flames began to grow as I held it as long as I could, seeing the oranges and yellows rise and devour the faces, the characters and the words in the speech bubbles. Look at how complete the fire is. See how it eradicates the artistry, obliterates the words, erases the very existence of everything in this comic book. Wipes them from the face of the earth. I would allow the blackened and still burning comic to fall into the bath and stare until it was entirely black.
“HG! What is that smell?” called a voice (sometimes) from the other side of the door.
“I think a neighbour is burning rubbish on a bonfire,” I would answer easily without hesitation or delay as I turned and opened the window to release the smoke.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think I am doing in the bathroom, go away!” I would order.
There would be a pause and then the voice would instruct.
“Hurry up.”
I would ignore the injunction and instead turn on the tap to turn the brittle blackened paper into fragmented, sodden blobs which would wash away down the plughole. I would find a bottle or canister and spray it to mask the scent of smoke before sitting on the toilet and hold the remaining matches in my hand as I contemplated what would be done with them. Where would I lead my fire to next?
Thus my sister would find occasional dolls kidnapped and consigned to a funeral pyre made in the garden. I would stack the twigs and small branches, the newspaper twisted between them, before placing Cindy or Barbie on top and then with a solemnity not amiss at a religious ceremony, I would strike the match and recite the doll´s sins which necessitated her purification through fire. Trees would be scorched in the garden as I sought to turn their bark ablaze. Photographs would be plucked from albums and then placed carefully on an already burning fire to watch the flames delete the people contained therein. My abusers found their images particularly sought after and removed from albums not just at my home, but at mu uncle’s home also. Let them burn what they have done and what they do. Burn.
I found the clinical precision of flame matched me. Incessant, unforgiving, relentless. It dispensed oblivion without concern, hesitation of demurring. Just in the way that I did.
So much I found to burn, so many scenarios and materials that came to perish by my obsession with the application of flame as I experimented and learned and with everything about me, I required larger, more satisfying and more memorable outcomes.
During part of my childhood, my friends and I would devise games in the darkness cloaked garden during Autumn and Winter. We would fashion swords, shields, armours, mace, flails and much more as we created adventure upon adventure. Invariably, we would set a fire behind one of the outbuildings in the expansive gardens. This fire would serve as a campfire which we would gather around, our young faces illuminated by the flames as we discussed which orc encampment we would raid or whether the red dragon would fly down from its lair and seek us out after we had stolen part of its treasure hoard. One of my friends was called David and there came an occasion where my father, David´s father, David and me were all sat in my father´s car as he drove us to some place on a Saturday afternoon.
“Dad, may I play at HG´s house tonight?” asked David.
His father, a dour man who thought himself far brighter than he was ( a plodding bean counter at some government institution) twisted in the passenger seat and addressed his son.
“Yes, you may,” he then turned his gaze on me “but don’t come back stinking of that bloody smoke. It is every time you play with him.” he added.
Him? Him? Him!
I felt my own flames burst into life within me. Who did he think he was referring to me as him.
I looked towards the rear view mirror and my father´s eyes rested on me as he tilted his head, entreating me to offer confirmation. Weak as always father.
“Oh, no, David will not smell of smoke, there won’t be a fire at my house tonight,” I replied. I returned David´s father´s gaze. He did not scare me.
He looked at me for a moment and then nodded in satisfaction before turning back to face forward and engaging my father in some no doubt tedious observation about double entry book keeping or such like.
In keeping with my word, when David and my other friends joined me at my house, along with my brother, we did not build a fire. I explained that this would invariably attract those (in the game) who were hunting us and thus the garden remained cloaked in relative darkness. My friends were engaged in the collection of various ingredients from the garden to add to our collection of potions which were concocted and stored in an old stone outhouse. Whilst they attended to the gathering of mushrooms, fallen fruit, strips of bark, leaves and herbs from the herb garden, I slipped away from the group and shrouded in the near darkness made my way to a section of the garden where various logs were stored under cover against a shed. My prize lay three rows across and four columns up. My hand slipped inside and touched upon the top of the bottle secreted there. I pulled it free. It was an empty lemonade bottle which would ordinarily be returned to the store for a small payment, but this time it had a much more important repayment to make.
I slipped the bottle inside my coat and scurried along the old wall of the garden right to the end. I clambered neatly over the fence at the end and landed in the bushes behind it which meant I was now in another garden, which belonged to a neighbour. I knew precisely where I was going (I had done this many times before as a convenient short cut) as I made my way through the bushes, stepping through a fence, along the back of another garden, slipping over a low wall, along another garden and then over another stone wall to find myself in the garden that belonged to David´s family.
I crouched down feeling that familiar sensation of power starting to rise within me.
“Him?” I hissed quietly.
I saw ahead the garden shed at the rear of the garden and advanced towards it. I crouched down low and looked upwards. The lawn was long, narrower than that at my house and rose to the house where I could see the outline of light around the curtains framing various windows. The moon offered a little light and I waited as I ensured nobody happened to be gazing from a window into the ink black garden. Satisfied I was unseen, I reached inside my coat and pulled from the pocket the lemonade bottle. I twisted off the cap and placed it in another pocket. The heady smell of petrol wafted upwards. Ah, such a delightful scent. Smells like power. I had stolen the petrol earlier that day from the jerry can kept in the garage. Some had slopped onto the stone floor of the garage and I had been tempted to light it and watch the flames do their dance until the petrol burned out but I resisted. I knew there would be a far superior display to enjoy.
I poured the petrol along the wood of the shed, letting the potent liquid coat the lower section as on my haunches I moved backwards and continued to pour ensuring that I soaked a patch of earth and autumnal leaves at the north-western edge of the shed, until the bottle was empty. I then replaced the cap and secured the now empty bottle back into my inside coat pocket. I reached to a different pocket and unzipped it, removing the box of matches as I moved back further, retreating into the bushes at the end of the garden.
“Him?” I repeated.
I took a match and struck it against the box. It flared up and I cupped the flame with my hand allowing it to become established. I looked up and then said “Burn. Burn just for me.” I threw the match a small distance so it landed on the soaked patch and the flames immediately caught. There was the satisfying noise of “wumph” as the flames erupted and then that marvellous moment as the flames streamed along the petrol embraced edge of the shed. The blue and yellow flames soared as the petrol burned and then the colours shifted to orange and yellow as the wood of the shed came under assault from the growing fire. I watched and backed away. I stared at the increasing fire, the first sounds of cracking emanating as the dry wood starting to succumb to its assailant. I continued to back away until I felt the stone wall against my back and there, tucked away in the bushes, I stared through them at the gathering inferno. The flames rose higher, long tongues of orange reaching upwards, the wood groaning and popping, cracking and crackling as the flames continued to grow. Up they climbed and I watched. I saw as they began to lick underneath the glass window, I watched as they coiled about the other sides of the shed, I watched as they made their way up to the roof, an orange ivy climbing and engulfing. There was the first sharp crack as a window pane shattered the glass broken but still remaining in the pane for a moment before it shattered again and slipped from its pane onto the floor. Now the flames could, like some burglar, encroach within, the long limbs of orange flame stealing within to seek out whatever lay within. Garden tools, fertiliser, chemicals, toys, paint, bicycles – whatever it might be was now being consumed.
“Jesus! Call the fire brigade!” cried a voice from the house. I could see someone stood at the top of the stone steps which led down into the garden. They were frozen, unsure as to whether to advance or to perhaps run and grab the garden hose to start some rudimentary fire fighting. I felt another surge within me as I heard this reaction to my fire-starting.
I waited another moment, savouring the scene of the conflagration as the shed was almost now entirely engulfed. It was old, dry wood which stood no chance under the accelerant assisted inferno. Such satisfaction at seeing those flames and knowing that the smell of smoke was indeed not coming from my garden, just as I promised and instead I had brought the smell of smoke here instead along with my good and able friend fire.
It was time to go and I clambered over the stone wall, slipping into the neighbours and quickly running back to my own house.
I had made it burn. I had showed him.
This was just a start.
Burn. Burn just for me……
69 thoughts on “Knowing the Psychopath : Burn. Burn Just For Me….”
Vent Your Spleen! (Please see the Rules in Formal Info)
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
I remember learning this gem from Kabbalah – that fire is a bridge between the physical and spiritual worlds. In the physical world, the more you give of something, the less you have of it. In the spiritual world, the more you give of something (love, inspiration), the more you have of it. If you have harnessed fire, and you share it, you have no more and no less of it. And, as HG reminded us, it has the power to destroy the physical world.
Interesting comment, ISMW. Historical theories and beliefs make me think about how people made sense of the world in different times and cultures.
Different religions and historical theories believed there were either four elements (fire, air, water and earth) or five elements (spirit, fire, air, water and earth). Astrology is also based on four elements: fire, air, water and earth.
I haven’t delved deeply into Jewish mysticism so I don’t know what the Kabbalah beliefs are. However, I have read that traditional Western mystical or occult theory involved five elements being used to explain the nature of all matter.
Traditionally, the elements had a hierarchy starting with Earth (which was considered material and more base), then Water, Air, Fire and lastly Spirit. Fire and Spirit were considered more spiritual and ‘perfect’, in relation to their qualities, associations and aspects connected with them.
Spirit was also called Ether, Aether or Quintessence, which means ‘fifth element’ in Latin. In the traditional hierarchical theories, Spirit was considered the bridge between the physical world and the spiritual world, or the physical and celestial, or body and soul.
In the Chinese Zodiac, there are five elements: wood, fire, earth, metal and water. Additionally, each element has either a yin or yang quality. The Chinese Five Elements philosophy (or Wuxing) describes the cycles of interdependence and relationship between all things. For instance, in the inter-promoting cycle:
– Wood feeds Fire; Fire produces Earth (ash, lava); Earth bears Metal (minerals in soil); Metal collects Water (water condenses on metal); and Water nourishes Wood (rain feeds plants).
Now the flames in the Youtube Intro make sense!
Do you still feel the need to take revenge/dominance on others using fire?
I continue to utilise fire.
Interesting choice of words. Have you ever tested it on yourself? If yes was it efficient in your expectations? Did you gain advantages from it?
Alastor seems a part of you more than everything/one else. Another personality.
Thanks for your reply.
Tested what on myself, fire?
Yes, same way as you’ve tested electricity on yourself when a child?
Yes testing fire on yourself. Same way as you’ve tested other type of physical elements on yourself when you were a child (You’ve told so in one of the old Q&A about when you discovered your difference). Anyway your answer says enough. What about extra cold water? The motive behind was to discover if you need to control your reactions/sensations, thus not to fear elements as well!
I have experienced very cold water.
HG and Melody,
You made me remember something, my brother would do that, zap himself with electricity and I recall LMRSOMATIC telling me how he liked to zap himself with electricity, he said, he enjoyed the feeling and his smile got bigger. I thought it was odd thing, but dismissed it quickly.
LMRSOMATIC asked me once, if I liked feeling pain. I told him, no, pain makes me feel angry and I don’t like to feel angry. He then told me, that he liked inflicting pain, like when his step kids misbehave, he likes inflicting corporal punishment. He also said, he liked S and M play in the bedroom. He told me this after the first silent treatment he put me through. I thought he was trying to shock me and dismissed him, kept on walking. The memory just popped in my head and I wanted to release it here. HG, I hope the children are safe.
Indeed. That it was your fuel takes like HG. Fire.
I have always admired fire eaters. Amazing talent they have there. I watch in awe at their talent. Fire should be respected and feared. God also.
Are you a fire sign? I am a Scorpio three times over, sun, moon and rising, whatever that means lol just curious
I am the destination, not the sign.
He said not so long ago being a virgo, as the Prince of pink pancakes! Surely to make a point they are very different in their behaviours so star signs would not be of interest which fits his present response.
Libra-libra in rising as well here. Not a specialist but the harmony seeking and artistic parts fit perfect. All my besties since childhood are scorpios who can rationally explain that?Also always been subjected to friendship-slavery by Leo women, trying keeping me away from others like a preferred pet. My behaviour was also responsible in it. It never last long, always escaped.
HG-The Destination would say pure coincidence and emotional thinking, isn’t it? Surely partially correct.
Yet I’m all up to follow The Destination even if it’s a virgo 🥴🤣
Hi melody Libra , I don’t understand zodiacs or why they matter. I guess my parents were engaging about Valentine’s Day! Lol but the one who did my charts said it was unusual to be a triple Scorpio but the rising was on the cusp was Sagittarius. She said it was a witch sign. But what could the destination be a planet orbit?
HG,
I always liked the warmth, the beautiful colors and the dance of the fire, but I also respected it and kept it contained to a fireplace or a candle.
This story gives me a strong impression of you as a kid and it’s funny how the first time I read it, I mentioned how your fascination with fire reminded me of my brother….and then to find out he was a Psychopath. Is that common for Psychopaths to be drawn to fire and it’s power?? Xx❤️❤️
Rebecca,
Your question about psychopaths being drawn to fire made me think of a time I was watching Bear Grylls in one of his TV shows about how to survive in the wilderness.
I think the show was called ‘Man vs Wild’ and in this particular episode, Bear was explaining what a person should do first of all if they find themselves alone in a hostile environment.
He said the first thing to do is to start a campfire. The reason he gave was that a fire is a good way to feel less alone and it gives a sense of hope and inspiration, especially if the environment is cold, dark or contains wild animals. He said the making of the fire gives a person something to focus on other than the dangerous surroundings. The warmth and movement of the flames provide comfort and a focal point which is calming, reassuring and allows for introspection and better planning. Keeping a fire lit deters wild animals from coming closer and acts as a shield as well.
Interesting to think about how that relates to a narcissist or psychopath and the internal void they feel.
PS.
If anyone finds themselves alone in a forest for some reason, Bear also said a campfire should be made during daylight before it gets dark. No point trudging around in the dark looking for twigs and dry moss. That’s a surefire way of being surprised by something with sharp teeth.
I would regularly see Bear Grylls a few years ago as he lived near to where I lived.
I’ll bet Bear never lit any fires on your land! (laughing)
Did you guys ever have a conversation? I believe you’d talk about camp fires, probably about survival out in the wild?
Yes, we have spoken.
Thank you for your response, HG 🙂
My grandson, 5, just requested his haircut to be like Bear Grylls’. I don’t even know who this man is, better check into him I guess, he seems to be everywhere at the moment.
After reading your comment, HG, I googled Bear Grylls to find out where he lives. (There’s the truthseeker trait again. Thank God for Google!)
Bear Grylls lives with his family on a remote island situated near the coast of North Wales. He purchased the island in 2001 and his private island home has no mains, electricity or running water.
HG, does this mean you lived in North Wales at that time?
No and you would do well to approach with caution what is written about Bear Grylls´s residential arrangements.
Indeed, HG, a wider internet search has shown that the private island home owned by Bear Grylls is a holiday destination or hideaway rather than his main home.
Grylls’ main home is in South-West England in a county called Wiltshire, according to the ‘WiltshireLive’ website.
A look at WiltshireLive’s ‘About Us’ page shows that it describes itself as: “..the leading news, entertainment and information website for Wiltshire, bringing you everything you need to know about our wonderful county live and as it happens.”
Also on the ‘About Us’ page, the website’s ‘Ethics Policy’ indicates: “The maintenance of high editorial standards is at the core of WiltshireLive’s business philosophy.”
HG, are you able to corroborate the truthfulness of the WiltshireLive website’s claim that Bear Grylls’ main residence is in rural Wiltshire?
Yes, I used to live in Wiltshire.
Thank you for confirming, HG. As you sometimes say, we have reached an accord.
Very interesting comment on psychologically reassuring the fire can be. It can destroy but creates as well not only our well being but life. It was the most effective tool against the saber tiger. Thus allowed our species to thrive (that beast was our only, almost always fatal opponent). When you think that our macro facial expression of fear is inherited from that time where we had to confront it, it gives a clear idea on how terrible was the fright and dire the consequences when you couldn’t safely flee or fight with the fire. So the alleviating aspect of the fire might be also linked to this period, pass down in our cells’ memory.
Also your ps, the just in case someone would need it you inform, shows you care thus empathy 👍😊
HG, was it in an almost no man’s land territory where you were neighbouring with Grills? A woodland, mountains in background?
No, a small and attractive, middle class town.
Thank you, Melody. Your comment is interesting as well.
Fire must have been a breakthrough when it was first discovered. It has so many uses, both practical and aesthetic.
As you say, it enabled humans to thrive because it protected them from the dangers of wild animals. After this too, fire was used for centuries before electricity was discovered. It was used for light, heat, to cook with, and also to heat fuel such as coal in steam engines for trains and ships.
I enjoyed watching Bear Grylls, not so much because I thought I could be stranded alone in the wild some day, but because he explained well the reasons for doing certain things. He often had some interesting observations and personal theories that added to the practical ‘survival’ advice.
Hi WiserNow,
It makes perfect sense, I see it this way, narcissism is a defense mechanism and a fire is a good defense against the cold, wild animals , the darkness , starving without cooked food and despair of being alone in the wilderness. Fire has a lot of uses and many benefits. I’ve always enjoyed watching it dance, it’s relaxing and comforting to me. My brother and I used to watch fire in the fireplace. He would get excited, I would relax. Difference there. Xx
Hi Rebecca,
I agree, fire does (and did) have many uses and benefits. Sometimes I light candles at home and enjoy the atmosphere. Watching a fire in a fireplace or an outdoor fire pit is also fun and can transform the atmosphere and mood. Like you say, it effects people differently.
These days, I think it’s more about the novelty and aesthetic factor when electricity and other fuels can provide the same practical benefits.
My grandparents used to have a wood-fired stove/oven in their kitchen and it was the ‘normal’ way they cooked food daily. They knew how to time the cooking and control the heat by how often and how much wood they put into it. It was a skill and it was very different from normal stoves and ovens these days where all you need to do is turn a dial.
I was married to one and he was diagnosed. The only interest I could see him having was fire insurance or money. Unless a sadist who likes to watch people burn, I can think no reason a psychopath would care about fire or anything else.
Hello Rebecca,
HG would surely answer in a more accurate manner, yet: some psychopaths don’t experience fear so doing extreme sports or playing with potentially dangerous elements are something casual for them. They need to test sometimes on themselves as to see if they can control their own sensations as much as they like controlling the rest of their environment. The LMR somatic has been cruelly honest with you. Happily he did so you were able to flee. Poor step kid. They most of time aren’t considered as an extension of the narcissist so they are more exposed to endure awful treatments. I mothered a step son who at a very young age, decided I would become his mum (he was just 7 years old). It took him 2 years for safely formulating why he decided his biological mum lost him. She was pregnant with her new husband and not paying attention to the viciously uncaring (to say it politely) way his step father was treating him. He was a very sweet child and happily he found the strength and the mean to flee.
Hi Melody,
Thank you for your comment. I was being devalued by him, when he made those comments to me. I was a threat to his control and he was punishing me , but he was really showing me the real him, so I benefited from my devaluation. He’s thankfully out of my life and hopefully a way from his soon to be,if not already, ex stepkids. I hope for their sakes, he’s out for good.
Some men just like to see the world burn. The Dark Knight. Like I said below it’s either money, power or sadism.
HG, I have read this many times over your various platforms and I have to say it fascinates me, hence why I repeatedly read it.
I do chuckle each time I read what you burned, you must have been quite a nightmare 🤣
The flames of a fire are really quite stunning and the fire itself a powerful beast, I understand why you are attracted by it.
My question is, were you ever suspected of starting the shed fire ?
Thank you HG for your precious time ❤️❤️❤️
Yes, but suspicion is but a puff of smoke and easily dissipated.
Thank you for your answer HG.
For the record, I am glad that it was only a suspicion, I believe that the boys father was cruel with his words towards you, something that you certainly did not need, plus I find it amusing when you burn things.
Sending you love ❤️❤️❤️
Mr. Tudor,
1. Were your parents confronted with the suspicion by the owner of the shed?
2. Did your parents initially suspect you of having started the shed fire?
Thank you so much for your time. I appreciate it.
1. Yes.
2. No.
Thank you, sir.
1. Did your mother handle the situation more or did your father?
Thank you so much for your time. I appreciate it!
My mother.
Thank you, sir.
“Oh, no, David will not smell of smoke, there won’t be a fire at my house tonight.”
Im sure your own parents chose to see nothing, for various reasons, but did David’s father ever let him near you again?
He did, many times although my attention then turned to his daughter. That was even more entertaining than the fire.
Mr. Tudor,
I know once an appliance is in your fuel matrix, they’re always in your matrix until death, but I was curious, do you still utilize David as an appliance?
From your previous comment, I see that David’s sister was one of your appliances also. Have you written about her at all? If so,is the article on the blog or in one of your books?
I have not seen him in years, although he come up on my radar now and then when other people speak of him.
As for his sister, well, I have “revisited” her many times.
Mr. Tudor,
Thank you for your reply. Have you written any articles about David’s sister? Would you be willing to share her name?
No.
Rebecca.
Thank you for your response, Mr. Tudor.
Oh wow, I want so bad to ask about this, how was the daughter more entertaining than the fire, but not sure which direction to go. Or if I really want the answer…
LOL AV! This made me chuckle. I don’t know if I really want the answer either but I’m so nosy, I had to ask, lol.
HG, at what age did the soiree commence?
Soiree?
Mr. Tudor,
1. What position does David’s sister occupy in your fuel matrix?
2. Is David’s sister an empath?
Thank you for your time! Much appreciated.
1. IPSS.
2. Yes.
I prefer not to know. It would spoil “my idea” of HG, and I want to stay here for a while 🙂
Narcissists like to degrade their idealized image at a time of devaluation. And they do it with ferocity. They basically hand me their dirty on a platter.
Or any other euphemism for an event in which she was the hostess and you were the esteemed guest of honor
Mr. Tudor,
1. Was Rebecca selected as an IPSS more with the aim of getting to her father or more with respect to her traits as an empath?
2. Were there other factors involved?
3. What type of empath is Rebecca?
4. What is the classification of David’s father?
Thank you so much for your time. Much appreciated.
1. Her traits.
2. Yes.
3. Standard Magnet.
4. Pissed off.
Hey HG, I’m curious: You use pseudonyms when speaking about the people in your personal life.
If two people have the same name in real life, do you use the same pseudonym for both people?
Thank you!
No.
😆 AV,
I recommend you get Sex and the Narcissist, to answer that question. 😉 😆 I have it, haven’t dared to read it yet. I’m a wimp 😆 xx I don’t want to know either, Leigh, my imagination is enough for me to know why the fire didn’t compare. And my dumbass, saw the previous comment of HG’s, “No. Rebecca. ” And I was dumbfounded at first, wondering what I did. 😆 Dee tee dee moment there. Xx
Haha, Rebecca, I have read Sex and the Narcissist which is exactly why I didn’t know if I wanted to know. And now that some others have asked questions, and HG has answered, I know all I need to… 😳😂
LOL Rebecca! That made me giggle!
Thank you, sir.
“‘And Emily’s off-limits, by the way,’ he added, in case I was thinking otherwise, which I was.”