Questions & Answers | Bedtime Stories for Broken Girls

You don’t know me but you may be able to figure it out. My name starts with a S. Compliments on how you can make me laugh and wet at the same time. Xo

Sarah? Sarah Silverman? B-but you make me hard and laugh at the same time! This is all so– so sudden.

Are you in the LA area Sir?

I am everywhere and nowhere, the shadow that haunts the corner of your eye. I am a monument to your frailty and cowardice, to be worshipped like the God your cunt has made of me. I know the names of all your darkest fears, and more importantly, they know mine.

Sooooo… nope. 🙂

I know that you would fall in love with me.

That’s a bold statement.

Lately you kind of seem like a boring whiny lil pussy tbh

Are you suggesting that my core is insufficiently hard? That my ass is conspicuously lacking in badness? You, sir, have cut me to the quick.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sit in the corner and try to menstruate.

i just want to be tied over a table and fucked by anyone walking by, or kept captive and fucked brutally whenever his friends want. I need someone to tell me to take his cock, i want someone who will shove it in my ass without asking, i want someone who will make me eat his ass, i want someone who will throw me against walls, i want someone who will push me down and rape me on the floor, i want someone who will gag me and tie me so i cant move and let me struggle and scream while i get pounded.

If that’s really what you want, why aren’t you out experiencing it?

It’s not as if you have to actually do anything to be violated; Men, Inc. is busy every day, cranking out swaggering, staggering monsters to stalk your nightmares and/or Facebook. Like Archer Daniels Midland in your food-chain, Men, Inc. is everywhere in your life, from birth to death. No matter where you are, there’s a representative available at a moment’s notice to peel back civilization’s thin veneer and show you the splinters and rot in his humanity, even as he carves his name deeply into your own.

That you’re not already availing yourself of this free, ubiquitous, and occasionally, unexpectedly mandatory service suggests that you want more than you’re telling.

You’re such an amazing writer! Everything you write is amazing, even if it’s just a sentence. I wish you’d post more!

You’re a sweetie!

The fact that you’re flummoxed by basic human biology is a hoot! Ah, men and their delicate external genitals that they’ve broken the world to protect. Your blog reads more like Bedtime Stories from a Broken Boy.

Can I just say that this is the cutest, most scrupulously G-rated bit of disdain-mail I’ve ever received? I feel like I’ve been zinged by Ned Flanders or something.

Dear Anon: It’s nice knowing there are people like you in the world. Seriously, don’t ever change.

I visit your blog way too fucking much

Unlikely. I’m pretty sure the correct dosage is “whatever your fucking brain can handle.“

How do I get a guy to stop being nice to me?

Depends on why he’s being nice, I suppose.

For example, perhaps he doesn’t care about you. Screaming “WHORE!” into a woman’s spittle-flecked, wide-eyed face while filling her ass with cum and strangling her with a shoelace is hard work, and it’s possible you just aren’t worth the effort. You could try being prettier or smarter or something, but what are the chances of that working, right?

Maybe you seem too good, and he cares too much. He could be fully capable of bouncing you off a few walls before he bounces you on his dick, and yet refuse to do it because you don’t appear to be a whore. To quote the sage Bunk of Baltimore, “a man must have a code”; you may be outside the boundaries of his. At least this situation has some hope within it; I mean, how hard can it be to hold his hand, look deeply into his eyes, and confess to him that your head is a boiling vessel full of snakes and bullshit, and you need his cock to scrub it out?

Whatever the case, I suggest sitting him down and showing him this answer. Watch his face as he realizes that you’re not only stupid enough to ask for relationship advice from a random sadist on Tumblr, but that you’re even stupid enough to show him my response, thus ensuring that you come off as the most desperate, pathetic set of fuckholes he’s ever likely to meet.

By the time he gets to the end of this sentence, one way or the other, I’m betting he’ll never be quite as nice to you again.

Is it okay that I pretend you’re my daddy while I touch myself?

If you must… you’re thinking of the correct person while humping your hand, and that’s the important thing. If your orgasm isn’t dedicated to a man, then what’s the point in having it at all, right? But really, I don’t know about “daddy” these days.

I think I’d rather be your uncle. Y’know, the guy who’s like a weird, more interesting version of your daddy… his vibe is kind of sketchy and rich with misdemeanor, but he’s basically well-intentioned and caring. He talks to you like you’re smart even when you’re an idiot, while teaching you dirty jokes you’re too embarrassed to repeat and ugly truths no one else will share. He laughs at you when he shows you something that makes you squirm, and you’re pretty sure that if you got him really high the weekend after your 18th birthday, he’d totally sit and watch you do it with your best friend on the floor of his basement man-cave.

Yeah… that feels about right.