“So&so thinks that you want to fuck him,” he tells me.
“Hah! He would.”
“Well, do you?”
“Um, you know, I just make him think that I want to fuck him. Just to keep it interesting.” I wonder if I’ll regret making that comment later, seeing as that statement could be applied to the friendship I’m cultivating with my friend right now, and also to a lot of other men. Actually, to be honest, I think about fucking pretty much every man I come across. And I wonder what his dick looks like, and how he uses it, and if he’d know how to choke me, or if he’s good at oral sex. These are the kind of things that wonder through my mind on a daily basis, which is why I like being bartender. It’s sensory overload, all these men that I interact with every day. And every single one. Every single, last, disgusting, old, decrepit man – what does his dick look like?
Although it’s not an impulse that I act on regularly. I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I did. There’s no way that I could fuck every single guy I encounter in my day to day life, but, my god, that would be thrilling. Sure, I’ve fucked enough of them to be able to give myself an approximate mental scenario of what it would be like to fuck any of these guys on any given day. It’s when I meet one whose sexuality eludes the pantheon of my imagination and the history of my sexual experiences that I find myself begging to solve the mystery. Which is a bad thing, really, because I’ve fucked enough of the chicken shit, white bread motherfuckers to know what the average Joe is like in bed. It’s the disgusting ones that elude me nowadays. It’s the broken, decrepit, emotionally shattered ones that entice me. And it’s the thought of, ‘exactly how fucked up are you, and does that translate sexually?’ that gets me into trouble.
So I stand there, and while, yeah, I guess I’m leading this guy on, and I’m leading that other guy on, and I’m leading on a whole host of male Oakland residents, my god. It’s the sick ones that really pique my curiosity. I want to be held in the arms of a man who knows what it’s like to kill another human being, and I want to relish in the tenderness of murder. I want to make a man weep when he comes, not because I’m good at what I do, but because he’s so unwhole on the inside that the tears come out at climax. I want to be the daughter of someone else’s perversion, and I want to break into pieces in the process.
I am a wild beast, and I am seeking out other wild beasts.