Keep your Pseudo Religious Bullshit To Yourself, Please
Okay everyone, first things first:
A. Talking during sex makes me frigid, Goddess talk during sex make me start questioning someone’s sanity.
B. If someone who was sexually abused tells you not to touch them, you better get your fucking hands off the goods before your precious little digits get crumbled into positions that not even the most flexible side show contortionist would attempt.
More Ronch Crotch Conversation
“Your body is so beautiful, why don’t you take your clothes off”-Kathy, trying desperately to get me more involved.
“I really don’t want to...I’m not very into this type of thing”-Me
“I don’t do this with everybody, do you think I’m like that”-Kathy
Now, recalling the fact that she stated earlier that she had already banged some guy within the last 10 hours, I’d say it was safe to assume that yes...she was exactly that way. “How would I know, I don’t even know you, I really don’t want to do this”-Me
“Well, we’re getting to know each other now aren’t we”-Kathy
“I don’t want to have sex with you”-Me, I want to die, I want to commit suicide.
“I think we’re already having sex. Lighten up, this is fun...and look at yourself, you’re so voluptuous, I wish I wasn’t so skinny”-Kathy
Well, maybe if you traded your three bags of speed a day for a fucking slice of pizza, and your cum snack for a bag of chips you wouldn’t looks so...
“Thanks”-Me getting annoyed.
(Throughout this entire conversation she has got that THING on her, and my hands in her snatch, just encase you were wondering).
“Do you have a boyfriend”-Kathy
“No, people just like to fuck me”-Me letting the sourness exude.
“I can’t say I blame them, is there anyone you are fucking now? What’s it like”-Kathy, flopping around and rolling her eyes back into her head.
“Yeah, I’ve been sleeping with that one guy who was sitting on your right for awhile”-Me
“Does he fuck good? Does he have a big cock?”-Kathy
I kept wondering if any of this was really taking place of it I was caught in a nightmare.
“Well, yeah, we’ve been doing the gringodingo for awhile”-Me laughing and staring out the window. At this point in time I was tired of looking at her face because the longer I looked at her the more flaws I found.
“When we meet them up at the club maybe we can take them both on...doesn’t that sound...oh...yeah...um...fun”-Kathy, faking sexual pleasure, poorly.
Actually it sounds absolutely horrifying and devoid of any sincerity.
“Sure, I guess”-Me
“I love to get a group of guys together and let them cum on me”-Kathy
I f there was any way to save whatever was left of my dignity, I was going to have to act fast...nervousness and flashbacks were starting to over power the drugs. Her dog kept barking which was fizzling my brain, and who knows what that poor innocent creature was enduring at the hands of this lunatic when no one else was around.
“Why won’t you let me touch you”-Kathy
“I got molested when I was a kid” Me so pissed I was becoming uncomfortably honest.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her feet, dangling in the air, and oh god, would you believe what I saw on them? Socks, dirty, nasty, char-bottomed-blackened socks. Those mother fuckers were darker and had more flame broiler lines on them than a beef patty from Burger King. Oh God, what the fuck was I doing to myself? It was like a fog horn in the night, sounding out “beware, danger, danger, jagged rocks ahead”
Ohhhhhhh Fuck Boots, C’mere Bitch, I’m Not Done With You Either
I t makes me wonder if Fuck Boots fucks with her socks on. I can swear that never once in my life, not even under the influence of drugs, have I fucked with my socks on. Motherfuckin tac-key. Yikes. Now that I think about it, Fuck Boots sure does look like the type to fuck with her socks on. Ha, Ha, Ha, it’s a puss-n-boots! A-mother-fuckin-mazing, a Fuck Boots-N-Boots.
Now I know as well as anyone else that me taking cheap shots at Fuck Boots is childish and that it just goes to show how insecure I really am. Down in the heart of me, I know that Fuck Boots is just another innocent victim in a world where there are no innocent victims (but everyone pretends to be one). But, you know what else making fun of Fuck Boots does aside from making me feel better about my minuscule existence? Nothing...Fuck Boots, you bulimic bozo...why don’t you eat my cunt and then go puke it up while contemplating your calorie count for the year...DIE FUCK BOOTS DIE.
Obviously, I had really let the whole Fuck Boots shit get me down. Would I have gotten into this situation with Kathy, had it not been for what had happened earlier in the day with Fuck Boots? Probably not...I mean it’s one thing to know someone doesn’t love you...and it’s a whole ‘nother thing to have them put right in your face the extent to which they don’t give a fuck about you, your mental health, or your over all well being. Which is a low blow and something I should not say because I know Mr. Chris cares about me, but I have a habit of saying exactly what I shouldn’t. The truth is that no matter what the motives, innocent enough or not, of having this Bitch come over and hang ten was interpreted by me as an aggressive attack on my sanity. It left me weak and awakened my subdued self-doubts and self-hatred. In plain speak, it hurt me bad and probably shouldn’t have. I took it personal, when I should have learned to not take anything personal.
Enough on Fuck Boots, Back to the Fucking
“By who”-Kathy
“A cousin”-Me
“Male or female”-Kathy
“Female”-Me
“Do I remind you of her”-Kathy
What. The. Fuck. It turns out that the bitch had a father fucker complex. The fact that I was molested by my cousin for seven years was actually turning her on more.
“Not really, well, you’re both blondes”-Me thinking that my cousin was much better looking.
“Do you ever think about her”-Kathy getting really worked up.
Someone just said the wrong thing.
Okay, time out again. I had a stark revolution: this bitch wasn’t just high on drugs, kinky and psychotic...she was one of daddy’s little girls always wanting to please which is why she was a whore. Her own feelings of worth were so tied up into making other people happy, she had no concept of self-identity without other people.
With that last statement I went from feeling frightened, vulnerable, defenseless and weak...to feeling angry and violent...a dangerous shift. Things weren’t about to get interesting, they were about to get ugly.
