Memories, 2014

Earlier today, I spent a good 10-15 minutes chewing out this girl I like, venting every bit of contempt I could muster upon her. I started picking at her most personal scars, mocking her life choices, and belittling her pain. It was entirely extemporaneous, so it was a bit scattered, but I worked hard to express to her —in excruciating detail— how little respect I had for her as a human being, and how stupid I felt for wasting the time to tell her any of this. And how, despite all of the above, I’m still a better daddy than she’s ever had in her life.

When she began begging to cum, I almost hit “End Call”. (If we’d been in bed together, I definitely would have kicked her to the floor.) As it was, her eyes were watering and she had a long, yelping orgasm before I finally put an end to it.

…

And the moral of the story is: bitches are magic.

—CONTENT WARNING—

According to the panel of feminists I saw on Rachel Maddow, men are seldom held accountable for sexual assault in this country. I’m told the system’s legal limitations and institutional biases inhibit the reporting of offenses and the prosecution of offenders, which in turn reinforces a de facto culture of willful blindness to and disinterest in the plight of victims.

All of which suggests that the only thing protecting your perfect skin from the bite of the knife is my generosity of spirit and fundamental human empathy.

…

So, yeah… I guess you’re kinda fucked.

Isn’t it amazing to know there are girls out there who look at porn like this and don’t get wet? Imagine how good it must feel inside, to be above that, to be the kind of person –the kind of woman– whose eyes, rather than fill with lust, instead brim with compassion at the sight of another in pain.

I’ll bet it feels clean, to be certain you’d never stand by and watch it happen, or worse, bury your hand in your panties and sync your orgasm to the exact moment when her agony and shame reach a wailing crescendo. A girl like that, who would never betray her sex by encouraging those thugs to “rape the bitch harder”… well, she probably looks in the mirror every day and actually smiles at what she sees.

Just visualize it: not being a fuck-starved, selfish, and desperate piece of trash.

Assuming you can, of course. I know that’s asking a lot from you.

how would you treat a girl who’s never had sex before? not even a kiss?

In my black little heart of hearts, would I love to be some chick’s first big mistake? Would I like to bite an untouched lip, look into her eyes, and savor the moment when her innocence dies? Would I delight in the opportunity to whisper little cruelties in her ear and lick the tears from her cheek as her body accepts the first of many invasions?

Oh, hell yeah. I’ll probably write something like that eventually.

But in practical terms, I’d feel reluctant. Being a girl in this world is tough, and being a twisted little pervert on top of that only makes it tougher; I’d recommend first giving plain ol’ fucking a shot, just to see if it’s actually more compelling than it looks. (Some weirdos folks swear by it.)

There will always be someone trying to fix you.

People don’t like the idea of nothingness. It’s why they make cities and babies and gods; they need to fill the spaces in and around themselves to ward off the creeping sense that the only meaning in anything is that which they’ve put into it.

So when you flatly accept that you’re nothing, that you are an emptiness that exists only to be filled, it’s like admitting you’re everything that frightens them. You are failure, and hopelessness, and the void. Your embrace of your own insignificance is, to their ears, a grating dissonance; your life sings in the wrong key, and they need to tune you up.