It's not that I hatched fully grown from an ostrich egg, clutching a dildo and anal beads and festooned with a sash that reads, "LET'S FUCK!" Years ago, I had a long-term, committed serious relationship with a live-in boyfriend. He was four years my junior, tall, blue eyed and had a tooth that jutted out charmingly and caught on his lower lip whenever he would grin at me. We joked that if we were to ever have children, they would need kickstands welded to their skulls because we both have big heads. Talk like that leads you to believe you'll get married at some point, maybe expel some chewed up anagrams of your DNA and live happily ever after.
But this didn't happen, and my dreams went down the medical waste tube along with our aborted fetus.
So fast forward to now. Clutching at the tattered seams of something I created in my mind, I realized - the fairy tale will not happen. Perhaps I won't let it. Maybe I don't want it. Mostly though, I don't know what it is that I want, and sex is the only thing I've ever been good at. A former lover told me that I had this vulnerable quality about me that made men want to have sex with me, and it is something I have honed over the years. Do I even like sex? Sure I do.
Am I so numb inside that I have to fuck and get punched to feel anything?
