Sometimes I want to follow you there and take it from you, colonize it as I have every other aspect of your existence. You should know that you don’t deserve a refuge I cannot despoil, a private hell I cannot infest; the arid steppes of your imagination are mine, by the right of the conqueror over the conquered.
But mostly, I really don’t mind that you’re absent. Your body is more beautiful when it isn’t animated by your awkwardness and insecurity, leaving it capable of actually pleasing a man. In fact, I’ve found that your least attractive feature is your self; watching it leave your eyes as I sink inside you is the best part of knowing you.
Upcycle that bitch… these days, there’s a huge market for pieces with the worn, distressed look. Clean her up a little and tell everyone she’s a decorative ashtray or something.
Time to call a contractor; that’s a load-bearing cunt, and there aren’t enough zip-ties in the world to bring it up to code. Plus, if you look in its eyes, I’m betting the wiring’s all screwed up and everything’s gone dark in there.
I’m telling you, they build the things so cheap these days, you’re lucky it made it twenty years before it broke down.
Why wait for heaven or hell when I can put you through both right here and now?
You can keep screaming, but they’re not turning the car around. Mommy and Daddy don’t want you anymore, not as you are. They don’t want to see your face again until you’ve been fixed.
It’s a shame, of course… you and I both know there’s nothing wrong with being a lesbian, and it’s insane that they hate that part of you with such fervor. But they do. They’re just horrible people, your parents. They could have had a happy, healthy, productive young woman for a daughter, but they’re willing to kill all of the potential within you just so no one ever finds out their sick, sinful child has fallen in love with her roommate’s pussy.
Their attitudes honestly annoy me, so when they first offered you up, I politely rejected their job offer, explaining that what I do to my “visitors” out here in the country, well… it’s not something you do to a loved one. But they were persistent, and assured me that as long as you remain a “filthy dyke slut,” you don’t qualify for any sort of love. They also upped their offer to everything in your college fund and the title to your mom’s Lexus, which ultimately swayed me.
I know, it seems like I caved pretty easily. But you’ve got to understand that I’ve learned many things about people in my line of work. When someone’s willing to pay that much to have a girl reconfigured, experience tells me they’re pretty damned determined, and determined people…? Baby, they get shit done. If I’d told them “no,” your angry, bitter old man and that shark-eyed hate-machine of a mother would have handed you over to some Jesus-powered re-education clinic; I couldn’t have that, could I?
A self-confident, empowered little queer like you… I think you deserve to be turned into a straight girl by a man who respects everything you’re losing.
This reminds me of that time-worn proverb:
Give a woman a fish, and she’ll eat for a day.
Hold a cunt’s head underwater for a while, and she’ll learn to stop whining about being hungry.
Well that— that’s just rude, young lady! I insist you apologize to my new friend, ah…
(I’m sorry, what was your name again…? Oh, of course, oops!)
…I insist you apologize to my friend Dumpster Harold immediately! I’m sure his diet of cheap liquor and old banana peels doesn’t give his jizz the best flavor in the world, and I’ll grant you that the scabs on his balls should really be seen by a medical professional, but the very least you can do is show him the courtesy of not vomiting it up right in front of him. Do you hate homeless sex offenders or something? I must say, I’m utterly disappointed in your regressive attitude.
You’re just the worst sort of person, aren’t you?
How like a man, to casually destroy a possession.
How like a woman, to know this and still yearn to be possessed.
Don’t write it where she can’t see it; she’s the one that needs reminding.
