https://www.angelfire.com/art/letters/words.html
writegirl@altavista.com
Look Me In The Eye When You Say That Shit
by ME
I am a wretched woman, a real horror.
I’m young. I’m impulsive. I’m strange.
First thing…know that I, Mandi Eggsworth, am a slut, whore, bitch who likes to play men. They like to play me too. It’s the perfect symbiotic, parasitic feasting.
On Wednesday nights I go to Starbucks to ferret out a man. “Just a casual midweek hump.” I tell everyone.
When I go into a bar and I smile at a man I expect them to translate my coy smile into, “Please fuck me right now. I don’t even need dinner first and as for conversation, why bother.” Most men seem to understand this.
I write and I paint. Men that compliment me on either of these things get extra “attention.” If they compliment me on both, basically they can do any perverted thing to me that they desire.
At night, when the hellholes are closed I go online and finds lover on the Internet. Okay the word “lovers” may be stretching it. I find men to fuck. It’s emotional fucking and some of them are exceptionally good at it. Unfortunately this involves a huge amount of typing.
I love guns, own three in fact. I am just waiting for the proper moment to blow someone’s brains out.
I despise it when men say to me, “Let’s make this a you-and-me-only relationship.” Are they fucking kidding?
I am very blunt. If your breath smells like pond scum I will tell you, “Go brush your fucking teeth! Buy Altoids! You smell like shit!”
I have short-term memory loss and just like the guy in “Memento” I get tattooed. Mine are names of any men that last longer than 3 months with me. I don’t want to forget them. The others, the short-timers, the one-night stands, well fuck them. I never knew their names, so nothing to remember. And no, I do not have any wreaths of blood-red roses, or butterflies, or hearts, or any other sissy images on me.
I wear horrendous artgirl ensembles...skirts made out of Astroturf, knotted-up Handiwrap bustiers, a genuine spiked dog collar around my neck. Most start out cool–looking, but are soon covered with paint splashes and dog hair.
I have no pets.
I am bald, by choice. Nair.
I do have cooties. The doctor keeps giving me medicinal ointments. I can still feel the bugs jumping on me. Funny thing though…. I tell men about my cooties and they still fuck me.
I am a lousy fuck. Men don’t seem to care about that part either. I simply open my legs. They slide in. A minute or two later they pull out, get dressed and leave the money on my nightstand. Oh, and there is no confusion over the cost. I just point to the price list I have posted on my boudoir door.
I sleep through all holidays. That’s when the men are busy with their girlfriends and wives. Thank God.
I hate men who use big words around me. I don’t understand them, so stop it!
There isn’t much to recommend about me. I suck. I hate me. I HATE ME.
There.
Oh, and I start at $500. If you don’t have it, don’t call this number 1-555-217-4404
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