So I talk to this asshole after 4 fucking years and he waits till 5 in the morning to profess his carnal desires for me. I feel like such a slut. Why is it that I let creeps like him get the better of me every bloody time?
I mean, really, what is it with men? Did he forget the time he cried over his dog's death in front of me for 4 straight days. Or when he felt insecure about his writing career and broke that whole i'm-the-man-with-everything-going-for-me-glorious story. And everything else. How we reached a point beyond mindless conversation. How I could do the flamenco in front of him and feel more beauty than what my art could give.
But no. It's really true I guess, that people forget everything that you say and all that you do for them. All that remains is being horny within the sheets.
After 4 fucking years...he cannot even be bothered with maintaining the pretence of having a cup of coffee first. Nooo....I'm the red-blooded Indian male who will eternally conform to my expected levels of female commodification.
Fuck you bastard. I hope someone hangs you by the thumbs till you die. And then I'l make freakin' lampshades out of your sex-starved skin.