Out of anger, I want to search the world to lose myself with
different men on each different night, with varying touches and shapes and
sizes, so as to avenge myself and get even—somehow, anyhow.
I mean, of all men's manipulative tactics, irrational
fucking, and polygamy, why can't women do it too?
I need to ignore their social standards.
They will call me horrible names, throw me rumors, and
probably lose friends along the way—but that's nothing compared to the cause I
want to push for my personal hostility.
I am the war—and I'm waging against myself.
Monstrous as they would call me, I will silence my guilt as
I scream and moan against the weight of another man, writhing in pleasure as we
bounce in the mattress in rhythmic thrust.
I want to fuck thousands of men, and be called a "playgirl"
like it's a special badge of honor. Proudly, I will carry the scarlet letter as
a reminder of endless barbarism, hunting spree, flirting, dodging, touching,
and squeezing. Let my existence be a reminder of madness and courage who rips
away the stereotypes of innocent womanhood, who treats a man's penis like God;
while I am an atheist.
Welcome
to the meat market, Danica.
