Skip to main content

Real Talk: Look at Me Now.

Folks, I'm not dead-

Be easy on your skeeze, because I'm still here to deliver all your charming literary needs from their boredom without overwhelming them with substance.

The elusive and tickled pink cunt that only really exists in the filthy stratosphere of cyber space is still kicking the dick bucket around - always DTF and never more than a breath away from a terrible decision honeybunny.

But now- I work. All the time. I work with children. Young children. And while you might have bronzed your assumptions that I am an immoral derelict of a pussy gone to reclusive waste, you have never seen me in real life doing real things. I am an excellent real life girl.

I am excellent with children. I deliver them love and they deliver me giggles and innocent mistakes, exemplifying what is worthwhile in humanity. My goodness- it's worth to keep fucking and making little babes just to have them as a reminder of what it was like to be exempt from taste the face of the chronically subtle disappointment of reality cockblocking innocence.

And you know all my skills, all my useless skills that have built up over time spent doing illicit things are finally being put to good use. I am paid in smiles. I am also paid in money-

So I didn't know what was going to happen when I moved down to Richmond. But everything happened that needed to happen. I found a full time job all by myself. I am no longer bound to that dangerous man ( those dangerous men) and I am too tired to chase the dick and run myself into a ditch. I am still very much craving The Dick and The Man That Goes With It- but I'll settle for eye fucking DILFs and holding out for a rich single dad who wears his horny ass heart on his sleeve.

So I will continue to hold my head high like a confederate general while I wipe baby penises clean.

It's a start.


Popular posts from this blog

I Can't Hear Your Little Red Rooster


I call this room Home.

He will not look at me

His eyes flicker with

a speck of violence.

my strained smile,

disgusted by

my pleading eyes.

my veins freeze

icy blood

tearing through coronaries

May Day

'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…