Liquid thoughts

Pretty Baby

I was twelve years old when I first watched "Pretty Baby", marvelling at Brooke Shield's beautiful face, as I had done in "Blue Lagoon", thinking I wish I was that pretty.

I wish I was a pretty, pretty, baby kissing older men.

I wish I was a child actress so I could sit on men's laps and look innocent while I wrapped my legs around them. My pretty, pretty, legs. I wish I was a child actress so I could pretend to be raped by a crazed Eddie Redmayne in "Hick", cocking a gun at my own reflection in the mirror, my reflection in my pretty, pretty, panties and my soft, hairless bikini line.

Oh, how that crazed older man would desire me. He'd have to have me right then and there. In the corn field, against my will. And I would secretly enjoy it, but pretend to be scared.
Would I secretly enjoy it? Did I really want to be abused?

I would write about a child prostitute and make it a self-insert. I would make her suffer the greatest trauma imaginable and recreate it on my childhood bedroom until I could feel the emotion coming, catching my tears on the vanity mirror. My pretty, pretty, tears. Effy Stonem tears, mascara streaming down my face, but make it magic.

Oh, how everyone will want me if I cry pretty tears.

If I cry in the middle of a busy road, screaming "I'm not afraid", and "hit me". Wouldn't you like to hit my pretty, pretty, face.

I would make the psych ward my castle, and the hospital gown my dress. Wouldn't you want to bathe me while I suffer? Wouldn't you want to watch me on the screen as I lose all sense of self?

I would wear the pretty, pretty, baby doll dresses and suck my finger before flipping you off. Because I am a feminist, and how dare you like me when I look like such a pretty, pretty, baby.

But good job. You've fallen right into my trap.

You silly, little, horny man. How simple you are and how grand am I.

You can't possibly know what you're doing.