I am not evil, of course. I have dabbled in shop lifting once or twice, indulging in some random petty crime, but nothing with malice or intended cruelty. I am extremely compassionate towards animals, children, and pretty much anyone less fortunate than myself. I wish to become incredibly rich so that I may become a humanitarian and philanthropist, above all else. However, I am restless, impulsive, and impatient. I am obsessed with sex, and think about it above everything else, and it is always hovering somewhere in the back of my mind, I am thinking about it in the bathtub, on the toilet, at work, in class, during conversation, just sex sex sex sex on an endless reel in my mind. You are probably reading this right now, whilst I am deliberating on how pleasant penetration would feel right now. I am cold towards most people, and I hide it beneath a veneer of sweetness and bubbly so that maybe you may think I’m stupid, and that means I’ve fooled you… Because really, I don’t care about you at all. You’re entranced by my smile, but really I am laughing AT you.
I don’t believe that I’m beautiful, or pretty, or anything. I see myself as a machine, and things like food and sex and water and exercise are just the things that maintain my gears and keep me going. (Toot toot, eat me out, it’s like an oil change…) However, I am fully aware that most people do think I am beautiful, and I will use it to manipulate anyone. My face, my body, every part of me, is just a tool, to get what I want, because I want a lot of things and I wasn’t so lucky in life that I was given everything I wanted, or at least parents that would do so… Yes, my mother loves me very much, and likes to spoil me, but she (oh my GOD) actually believes that I should work for what I have. Imagine that.
On the other hand, I have issues. I have enough issues to fill up the greatest tell all book in history. It would beat Ashley Judd’s new shit out of the water. But I don’t use the things that happened to me to make money. I’ve made mistakes. When I was raped and molested at four, I told no one, and many other girls suffered the same fate year after year til that particular daycare was closed down…. That kind of thing has happened to me over and over from age four until around age sixteen, when I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the world of sex. It was easy. Sex is a prevalent part of some of my earliest memories, and it will never disappear. It’s an ugly bitch of a truth, but it’s true just the same.
I feel trapped by my life, by some idea that I’ve managed to manipulate myself into thinking I want, when I realize it’s not for me, and which will probably force myself and my bodybuilder into some strange and horrible impasse--one in which, in the relationship, you ask the questions, what are we doing, where are we going from here, why can’t you just agree with ME?!---and who knows how it will go? I will say it now, though; I do not want children. I do not ever want to be married. I want a perpetual lover who will fight me and laugh at AND with me and keep me on my toes and fuck me hard every single day, or as many times as I want, whichever adds up to more times. I cannot abide anymore by simply going along, doing whatever is asked of me, and squashing all my silly dreams beneath someone else’s thumb. That’s not love, and that’s not life.
I cannot abide by being asked to be anything other than what I am--I am simply, only, a human, after all.
