Hello, my name is Easy Fuck.
Not just any easy fuck. I’m your easy fuck. I’m the guy you texted a few months ago, not sure if you remember. You told me I was beautiful and that I was smart and that you liked my poetry, and I liked that, so I believed you. You sent me a dick pic and told me you couldn’t wait for me to jump on it, so I jumped on it.
The next day, you texted again: it was magical, can’t wait for next time. And I replied: yeah, it was nice. But what I really meant was: yeah, it was nice to have someone touch me, it was nice to have someone talk to me, it was nice to have you listening to me, even if you just listened to my moans, even if you just listened to me begging you to thrust your dick deeper into me, asking you to fill me up, because, baby, I’ve been so empty.
You asked if I was free next Saturday, and I said yes, so I called my friends and called off my plans with them. Then you offered to pick me up, but I told you I already knew the way to your flat. You told me not to be ridiculous and that you’d pick me up in the parking lot of a Jack in the Box.
I moisturized just for you. I douched just for you. I trimmed my pubes just for you. We drank cheap wine, we fucked, and then you told me to lock the door on my way out. You texted again: it was magical, can’t wait for next time. And next time came and came and came. And you no longer offered me wine or picked me up at the parking lot. Soon, my phone stopped glowing to remind me that you were thinking of me.
I told myself that maybe you were busy, but I knew you had grown tired of me. There was no rush when we kissed, my moans had turned into full sentences, and my cum into tears. I dyed your bed sheets dark blue, and that turned you off.
I woke up in somebody else’s bed. I opened my eyes to an orange square of light caught in the ceiling. My stomach twisted. I splashed my face with hot water. I looked at myself in the mirror and asked why, and the mirror replied:
You can’t help it. Everything falls apart. Everything breaks. Hold the walls, press against them, but the white solid will crush down, leaving your fingers, leaving red lines on your skin as it dissolves. Don’t try to eat more than you can swallow. Dreaming hurts when you wake up, and people move on once they get what they want. The closer they come, the deeper they cut. It’s just who you are.
Easy Fuck xx