“You’re single? You’ve got that great body, though. What a shame.”
“You’re in terrific shape, you should be getting out there and having fun.”
“I can’t believe you’re not with anyone… I mean…. *ogles ogles ogles*”
“It’s a crime you’re single. What a waste.”
I had no idea my body was such a weapon of mass erection. Apparently me being single should be against the law. Apparently the fact that I value a good deal of my time alone isn’t acceptable because according to you I’m attractive and I should be getting out there and having fun. Apparently, the fact that I’m in terrific shape means I should be – to be blunt – getting fucked.
Apparently, these men have just what I need in order to be fulfilled. Or really… just filled, in full, by a man of course. Fill all the holes! Fill them up full with your insolent bro juice furiously pumped and casually spurted into my wanton womanly folds of begging flesh oh god oh god please please please just fucking stop. I hate you.
Let me tell you something, I do not jiggle for you. I do not sashay, saunter, dance or prance for you. I do not exercise for you. I do not wish to look and feel my best for you. Do I like the attention? Sure. Do I crave the attention? Sometimes. Do I need the attention? No, I do not.
All of it bothers me, but the thing that bothers me most is suggesting that any part of me is wasted because I’m not allowing some man to enjoy what is clearly something maintained for his enjoyment alone. I’m not allowing him to run his hands all over me; I’m not opening myself wide like the grand-pussy-ass-canyon so he can show me what it’s like to really enjoy life, have some fun, and/or not commit the crime of being single. Therefore, I am a waste.
Just because I’m single doesn’t mean any part of me is a waste. Louder for the entitled bangbros in the back…
JUST BECAUSE I’M SINGLE DOESN’T MEAN ANY PART OF ME IS A WASTE.
I work out to feel strong mentally and physically because 1) I enjoy feeling good about myself and 2) in the event you say or do something harmful to me I have the mental and physical strength to fight you off (I remain hopeful on the latter, but let’s not kid ourselves I’m just a chic, right? Still, I lift weights to the best of my ability so fuck off). And furthermore, you insolent cad, I take care of my mind because I value my mind. I enjoy reading and thinking and conversating about a myriad of topics. I also take care of my mind so as not to be weak and make decisions for the wrong reasons i.e., waking up next to a caveman, AKA you. I like to remain focused and competent, and what I have trouble with accomplishing on my own we have things like Adderall and Lamotrigine and you can’t spell either of those words with “cock.” I do not need your throbbing member to be happy, satisfied or stable. I need my body and mind in optimum working condition, and I work on that every day.
…and I really, truly don’t need you to feel sorry for me. Trust me here… I’m good with my choices. The look of pity in your eyes as you take in every inch of my figure, fantasizing about how much you could change my mind with how hard you can make me cum with your mad oral skills sends me into a rage. You give a pouty look with a “damn… you haven’t had sex in how long?” Hold UP, motherfucker…. s.e.r.i.o.u.s.l.y. – is there some kind of vagina clock that I’m not aware of, where if I don’t fuck a man within x amount of hours/days/weeks/years I’ll turn into an anime body pillow? No, seriously. I’m for-fucking-real asking here. What part of me is wasted by *not* having a man drop his load (“load” being anything from boy spunk to entitled opinions) into the body I work so hard to maintain and the mind I work so hard to protect and vice-versa you disgusting cretin. And honestly, at this point, I’d rather be an anime body pillow. They seem to get more respect.
I hate you. I loathe you. You are everything I protect myself from. Also, thank you. Thank you for inspiring me even more to care about myself and love myself so deeply that I’ll never want any part of you inside of me. Thank you for inspiring me to continue to find my own strength inside of me. I have a power that your DJ jazzy jizz can never ever touch so spin that in your sad record player you fucking presumptuous cockbite.
Thank you for being you.
If I ever decide that my own happiness can only be complete with getting pounded by your male ego, it’s good to know there are some willing men out there just waiting for me to spread myself open and take it all in. Clearly I’m only a bunch of holes surrounded by a few other unimportant body parts, so thank goodness you’re here to save my pathetic existence of all of the things I value while being single; all the things I value while being alive.
I’ll just be over here… crying without you, begging for you, killing myself on the elliptical and eating broccoli every goddamned day (omfg I hate broccoli) in the hopes that someday, somewhere, some man like yourself will recognize my self-worth (since I do not) and fist me into pure submissive acceptance of the fact that I’m only a bunch of holes surrounded by a few other unimportant body parts, that would look really, really good in your bed.
I’m out of sarcasm.