I really want to f*** another man. An extremely hot man with no brain, muscles and a huge c***. Why? Because I’m gorgeous, shallow, and engaged to the best man in the world with the misfortune of having a not so great body. I love him so much, and I am certain that he is my soulmate- I’ve been and “been” with a lot of people. Up until I met him, I thought true love and soul mates were b*******. I still think love at first site is more like “lust at first site”, with a glorified personality.
I wasn’t ever getting married, or having kids. I was going to f*** whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Beautiful women and hot men passed through my life in a daze, and you bet it was f****** great. I had great luck with taking up jobs, and no one could tell me what I couldn’t do- because if they did, they instantly became useless on this planet to me.
And then I got into meth. And then I met someone else who did meth. And then my family found out I did meth. And then I went to stay at my aunt’s house in San Diego, where I ended up meeting some people who knew people who did meth. And then I did other drugs. And then I ended up going to an expensive community where they get people off meth for thousands of dollars. And then I ran away from that place a month later in the middle of the night to live with a friend who did meth. The second time I’ve run away in the middle of the night- a growing trend.
And then I went back to Los Angeles and shot up meth with a bunch of friends. And then my friend from San Diego kicked me out and I was stranded in Los Angeles, where I met someone homeless and didn’t look homeless, who did meth. And the friend offered me to stay with him and his bunch of friends, away from homeless. And then we shot up together. And then our bunch of friends and us partied. And then all our drug dealers partied with us. And then we did other drugs.
Then we shot up meth. He was evil, but I refused to see it. And then he hurt me over and over. And then I secretly hung out with the best guy in the world, while he was away. And then I became pregnant. And I told the best guy in the world the horror. And the best guy in the world was mad, because he was in love with me. And then I had a miscarriage. And the evil guy blamed it on me as he always does, and locked me away so I couldn’t get out. And then he hurt me.
I ran away in the middle of the night, to Riverside, with a friend’s mother in order to get away from the evil man and the La Mirada gang. And then she taught me to clean myself up, and be a woman. She taught me to make my bloody bed in the morning, and assured me that it was quite alright to cry, as long as I picked myself up afterwards and carried on.
And then I found out I was still pregnant. And I contacted the best man in the world whose memories I shared of our stolen times together on rooftops, playing music and secret talks, and the days he’d spent walking in order to find me and all the new shoes he’d ruined for me when the evil man kicked me out numerous times. The memory that not a single person cared about me more than he did. Not my parents, not anyone.

I asked him if he’d be able to find me a job like he’d offered before I’d left. After I’d left, the evil man took all of this things with a board and a nail held over his head, so he went to stay at a “wonderful hotel with the nicest prostitutes knocking on your door for service. No matter that their rolls of fat were hanging beneath their garter belts.” He said I could stay there for a few days while I get on my feet and find a job.
I said yes, and traveled to Union Station again, and then the red line. I’d been away for a month, but it felt like longer. And then I met him at his hotel. And I knocked on his door. And then he opened it, and we stood smiling at one another for a long time. Finally, just me and the best guy in the world and not having to hide it.

And then I forgot to leave. And then he I told him I was pregnant, and I said I wouldn’t be mad if he wasn’t up for it. I let him think about it. And then he forgot to leave. And then we didn’t part once for twelve months. And we loved and talked and laughed a never ending laugh. Through being homeless together, having a baby too early and him surviving, going from hotel to hotel to live until we could save up for a place. And I never could be happier.

If only my shallowness were gone too. If only his brain were placed in an attractive body, rather than hairy and rolly. Even now, I feel so hideously awful for saying such a thing about such a wonderful man with a great sense of humor and a wonderful brain. But secretly, I want to f*** another man. I don’t care about his brain, or him, really. I just want him to be hot and full of muscles and c***. I want to eat out another gorgeous woman. I want to slide my fingers down into her p**** and make her c**.

Or at least, I want to be ugly. I want to always have been ugly, so I could never want any of these things. Or at least I want the meth to have destroyed my beauty, so I couldn’t have it now. I’d expected it to. I didn’t expect to look exactly as I had before I’d done so many heavy drugs. Straight white teeth with gold-brown hair, hazel eyes that radically change color, and a sun-kissed lean body. I would have expected that to at least change, after having my sun. But like my brain, my body is elastic and went right back to the way it was. The only proof is the quickly fading thing line about five inches long between my hips.
Which definitely doesn’t help to keep lingering eyes away from me, in turn, aiding my shallow lustfulness. I keep shutting them out. Looking away from the charming smiles, the muscly bodies and attempts towards me regardless of my soon to be marital status, are getting harder. The urge to wrap my arms around a young woman’s body and pull her into my arms are overwhelming at times, and I find myself thinking often about beautiful women who pass by me with too many exchanged glances.
And it’s killing me. It’s killing me so much. Because I would die inside if I ever did anything to hurt the best man in the world. The love of my life.

Please, please forgive me. I’m promise I’m trying so hard to not be who I was.