Confessions Of An Ordinary Whore

Love, Sex and Alcohol

Love is pretty much a bunch of fabricated bullshit meant to keep us searching for something that we believe is gonna make our lives better. We think we'll be whole, we'll be complete but really, our life is gonna suck just as much as it did before. Maybe more actually. Every date we go on is supposed to be the start of something new. It's supposed to be when we finally find something we've been seeking for so long. You primp, you flirt and let him pay for dinner, presenting a perfect, prepacked girl in the hopes he will decide to make an investment on the real estate you have to offer. You pretend that his jokes are funny when you really just wanna cut out his tongue and shoot the person who ever gave him the impression that he was hilarious. You pretend to enjoy yourself, all the while trying not to notice how often his eyes stray to that little bit of cleavage you thought would be acceptable but is apparently a major distraction.

I don't have enough fingers to count the number of times this has happened to me. I used to build my hopes up so high, only to have them come crashing down when, instead of saying “That was fun, we should do it again sometime,” he says “Hey, you wanna come back to my place?” Like no I don't, I came here because I thought you were nice and maybe would had something, NOT to fuck you. But you go anyway because society raised you to be a good little girl and accept people's offers of “hospitality.” The word “No” is not in your vocabulary, do you even know how to pronounce it? Because you can't say no, since that would be rude, you go with him and he pours you some wine and starts rubbing the inside of your thigh. Your mind is running as you try to think of a way to exit this situation gracefully, without sleeping with him.

You end up blowing him because it really seems like the least invasive option at this point, then tell him you're tired and have work in the morning. You don't go home though. You head to some party your friend told you about, the party you said you weren't going to be at but fuck it. You have so much self loathing, you can't stand to be sober right now, so you take some shots and drift away, blissfully unaware of the world around you.

How many times does this happen before you eventually give up? Too many to count, that's for damn sure. But somewhere along the way, you stop giving a shit and shed your old skin. You have a lot of sex because it feels good. You pound vodka almost every weekend because it's fun. You stop looking for love and just start pursuing a good fuck. People wonder what happened to you, they say you're out of control. Well, fuck them cause you've never felt more in control in your entire life. They try to find someone to blame for your downfall and you know they'll most likely end up blaming you because you're the whore, remember? You don't understand why they feel the need to be so negative because seriously, they should be happy that you've finally learned how to make yourself happy. But if they're so eager to blame someone, let them. And they can blame themselves because, really, they were the ones who turned you into what you are. So you put your shoulders back, stick a middle finger in the air and sleep with your neighbor.