Breeding Contempt

Disclaimer: Characters and Premise are borrowed from the show "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel".

Screwing Spike in the alley behind a fast food joint my back grating against a filthy, rough, brick wall as he thrusts into me, the air is ripe with the smell of rancid grease. I should feel like a whore, a cheap one. A more expensive hooker would make the guy spring for a hotel room.

Course I'm on a fifteen minute break, it's not like we've got time to go anywhere. Can I get any lower than this?

I hope not. I ought to look in mirror and be totally revolted. This is disgusting. I'm doing this disgusting thing. I should be horrified, sickened. I'm not.

I'm not saying that this is romance either, it's not like I'm so blind with love that I don't notice that I'm getting fucked in an alleyway by a guy who's second choice would be killing me. Instead he's engaged in his first choice. I'm not engaged, I'm just here.

And isn't that a rotten joke on me? The only reason I do this is to feel. Spike could give me pain, fury, humiliation, horror, revulsion, shame and oh yeah, mind-blowing orgasms. I just wanted to feel and Spike sparked a blaze of emotions in me. Too bad they were mostly negative, but it's better than nothing, a girl has to take what she can get.

It is better than nothing right? And that's what the rest of my life is, nothing. I can see my whole existence stretching out before me, like a prison sentence. Punch a card, worry about loosing my hearing to grease clogs in my ears, stare blankly off into space as shear repetition leaches all thoughts out of my mind. After I get off work I'll go out and kill a few demons cause, hey I'm the Slayer. Then I'll go to bed, wake up and do it all over again and again and again, until I die. Screwing or fighting with Spike is spice of my life, who knows maybe some day he'll carry through on his threat to bite me, I wonder if I'll care.

There aren't even any super villains around to keep things exciting anymore; just the legion of dorkiness, foiling their plans really makes me feel like my life makes a difference you know.

So back to Spike, the guy I'm screwing, remember him? We don't have a relationship; we have complimentary mental illnesses. We get off on the total wrongness of what we're doing, or at least we used to.

He still seems to be pretty into this, but me? I'm just killing fifteen minutes.



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