shower stalls

Posted: December 30, 2011 in transliteration

You treated me like a hobby problem worth conquest
like those really shitty teen movies
where all men are assholes and write all the girls up on a fuck list
with points

or

you treated me like cheap, low-brow entertainment
like those really shitty Hallmark made-for-TV after school special tear jerkers
about peer pressure or the exploitation of retards.

Do you understand what I’m saying? Your greatest motivation when interacting with me was simple corruption, but I didn’t hold that against you. I didn’t really care, because you held no influence.

Upon reflection, it would have been nice to grow up with decent friends, but…you weren’t one of the few that momentarily had me convinced. I remember you as the sad, fucked up bitch that lost my keys.

That bothers me more than anything.
I lost my keys that night.
I never got them back, and it was your fault.
That’s why I remember you.

You were the third of dozens of people I’ve met since childhood
who got your kicks from casual sex with an audience present.
Let me rephrase that, because I’m not sure what I just wrote is accurate.

You were the third person to successfully employ me as your audience for a sex show.

You pulled me out of my world
with no way to return without your assistance
because we were miles away from anywhere I’d ever been
or knew.
Even if I had managed to call a third party for assistance, I honestly had no idea where you took me.

Kudos.

Where are my keys?

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