Ben Seidelman CC
On Men and Lying and Wanting
A man on the internet just told you he needs to fuck your mouth. You ask if he wants to fuck your mouth specifically because you never shut up and add “that’s what I’d do to me if I had a dick,” before realizing you’re not shutting-up again. You think, I’ve ruined this, before questioning what there is to ruin.
A few months ago, you matched with a guy on a dating app. He must’ve unmatched you at some point because he’s back in your feed again, ripe for the swiping. You know it’s him because he was a chef and a ginger and a punk of sorts and you’re certain that’s a rare combination. “Just moved to the city. Show me around!” his profile reads. You immediately assume he moved here to be nearer to you before recognizing the insanity of such a notion, the narcissism. He only messaged you six times, you crazy bitch. Each morning, look in the mirror and remind yourself that you do not matter, but be sure to do so in a way that won’t land you back on suicide watch. Your mother worries enough as is and you’re sick of staring at hospital walls. Try repeating, you are not the main character in anyone else’s story.
To be honest, you don’t even know why you bother looking at men. Perhaps it’s compulsory heterosexuality, et cetera; or perhaps you do genuinely like them. You watch porn with them in it sometimes and that’s OK. Perhaps “like” is too strong a word, but at the very least, you’re fascinated by men, or maybe by their fascination with you. You’ve only been utterly rejected once, and since then you’ve sworn not to love anyone who doesn’t love you back. You think this is a universal rule that people follow, but men can’t seem to help themselves around you in spite of it. You tell them you’re a lesbian and they view it as a challenge. Once a man raped you while you were sleeping and again the following morning. He said something along the lines of “I can’t believe how good our sex is even though you’re a dyke.” You cried and he didn’t flinch. He took your underwear and stashed them inside a drawer, saying, “these are mine now.” They were one of your favorite pairs. You’ll never see them again. Now, you halfheartedly refer to yourself as a bisexual.
A few nights ago you got really high, arguably too high for your own good, and you found a note on your phone:
I hate men for what they want but I am addicted to their wanting.
You are addicted to being wanted and you know this, but much like men, you can’t seem to help yourself. Someone you secretly hate could abandon you and you’d still throw a tantrum. You swear no one is honest anymore. You’re certainly not, but you have been making an honest effort to lie less frequently. For example, another man asked you on a date yesterday while you were getting coffee, and rather than feigning interest, you curtly said no thank-you. You think you deserve an award for this. Your morals are incomparable. Later in the evening, another man messaged you asking if he could buy your nudes. You had a whopping $29 in your bank account, so you accepted the money he sent, and for a split second afterward, you considered blocking him without sending the photos. Instead, you sent the five photos you promised. You even tossed in a sixth to compensate for your intrusive thoughts. For this, you’re sure you deserve a halo and a set of wings, or even a sixth sense. But in this new fit of honesty, you also admit to yourself that you like the way he praises your body. You even crave it. You consider sending another photo free-of-charge solely for the sake of approval. When you imagine him spitting into his meaty hand to jerk himself, you reconsider. You hate men for what they want, but you are addicted to their wanting.
You consider mouth-fucking as a mode of achieving silence as you let your phone die beside you. You can’t declare yourself a lesbian with a man in your mouth.
Gabrielle A.D. is a writer based in Chicago, IL. where she lives with her girlfriend and their beloved rescue animals, Luka & Tyrion. Having studied Creative Writing at The University of Wisconsin - Madison, her fiction has been published in Illumination Literary Journal and Wisconsin's Emerging Writers' anthologies. Her non-fiction can be found in publications such as BUST Magazine, LADYGUNN, Hooligan Mag, Byrdie, Stereogum, and more. She can be found on Twitter @DoctorMILFie and on Instagram @infinite__breast, where she shares more of her work.
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