Beauty & The Beast

On Friday the clitoris-monster found me! It had hid under a hood and snooty as could be, it stood. In the swamp a muddy daemon of moods. It was in a gang. A hundred clitori banged me! Bruised my eyes. Raped my thighs. I was taken as if I was a million guys. Sixteen-year-old girls swarmed like flies. I smelled like hair dyes. 

“I’m just your best friend’s older brother. It's a stereotype that I’m hot.”

“I still like you.”

“You’re like sixteen.”

“I’m like sixteen, yeah!”

“Yeah, that sounds hot but I’m not into you. I’m twice your age.”

“I have tits. You can see them.”

“Don’t even talk like that. That’s gross. You’re a person.”

“You’re respectful. But I want to be treated like I’m gross.”

“My god.”

“You like me!”

“Don’t say that. That’s not something that should be said aloud.”

“You want to f**k me.”

“Stop.”

“I’m a beast. Do you know what my vagina can do? It’s awesome.”

“Oh god.”

“It will swallow you whole.”

Beauty and the beast.