Disclaimer: I don't own anything and would dig reviews on this story or my last "porno mouth" thanks.
The heat of the summer gets me every time. That feeling, that need to tare your skin off just too soothe the burn underneath. Sweat rolls down my back like cream and heavy lidded eyes scan the room to find him there, waiting. Go away you; I don't want to hear it. His smile snaps into place, his alertness startles me out of my trance. I don't care and I don't want to hear it. Bitching and moaning, moaning and bitching about his girls. Normally I'd scoot closer and revel in the stories, picturing him date raping some schoolgirl. Listening to tales of his debaucheries with underage chubby cheeked babies. Smoking cigarettes like pros, knee highs falling down sucking on a lollipop.
I feel special knowing that I'm the only one who's wise to this bit of information. All of the villainous things he's orchestrated, trying to one up himself for my enjoyment. So I'll have something to jerk off to later. But today is different and I'm in no mood for his finely weaved tales. It's the hottest summer Manhattan has seen in years and the last thing I want to do is hear about this new girl.
He pays little attention to my rolling eyes and bored expression. I hate it when he's like this, happiness doesn't look good on him. I don't want to read the article and I don't want to see her face or know her name. It's a moot point, everything about this little chippy is a moot point, she is moot. A little bit of nothing that I don't want floating around in my brain taking up space.
Annette. Her name is Annette and she is from Kansas. Anete from kansass. Anal in ass. Virgin! The word stands out in a slew of gibberish. Now I see the appeal. He declares that he's going to eat her hymen with a side dish of lamb and caviar. And if it weren't so fucking hot I'd have the patience to argue and demean him in every way possible but all I want to do is pretend that he's not here and this isn't happening.
My thoughts drift back to the night before to the bathroom of some second rate flesh farm. A dirty condom floating in the toilet, he stole my underwear. I cried as I read bathroom stall poetry "I am oxycontin and thalidomide. I am Thorazine and formaldehyde. I am goldschlager with three hits of X, mouth slick with sparkles. I am the midnight rapist who asks if you like it, the executioner at the gallows. I am dry humping at 12:30 on a school night, the sound of a zipper that violates your ears and shreds the silence. I am the backseat superstar invading you like an army. I've got a thousand monsters below my waste waiting to devour anything that gets too close. A beast with ten arms and an endless supply of mouths, a devout catholic planning my next abortion."
And he's standing there expecting some sort of reaction. "Fuck off kid; I've got my own hell to raise".
A sigh of relief when he leaves. Him, the most important thing in my life, laughable. Always trying to impress me with his violence, always failing. Her face stares up at me from the table, somehow mocking me.
I swallow my morning after pill and pray as I usually do. He's got it so easy, knocking up little girls left and right, shelling out murder money, the ol twisted coat hanger trick. While I have to vomit up my sins. Him and his fucking girls, whatever Sebastian, you go get your girl. I have no fear because it will always be me. Every thing he will ever do in his life will be to appease me. And he'll wish that all the abortions I have were his.