Prologue
For most girls, the first love story they ever witness is their parent’s; that explains why I’m so fucked up. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m almost certain Mother and Father had SOME feelings for one another once upon a time in their lives! I’m just saying that, by the time I was a little girl, I’d already seen through their bullshit.
Eh, whatever; they’re not important to me right now. I talk to them, like, once a month. If it were up to me, I’d never talk to them, ever. But I’m set to inherit a LOT of money from Father, so I gotta play up the Dutiful Daughter role. I don’t need the money, of course, but the motherfucker owes me BIG!
Ever since I was ten years old I’ve been covering for him. His mistresses calling in the middle of the day? I’m the one picking up the phone, pretending they’re calling from work and distracting Mother whilst Father gets his jollies on. Father STUPIDLY charges a hotel stay on his credit card? As a kid I’d intercept the bills, and as a teen I’d pretend I had swiped the card to sleep with my boyfriend.
Not like Mother was a saint, anyway. I can’t count the INSANE amount of times I’d come home from school, only to find her on the kitchen table with her legs all spread, getting all dicked out by the pool boy, or the gardener, or the family cook, or even a neighbor! How many FUCKING times have I had to yell at Mother “cut that out; Father might show up soon!” The first time I did that, I was in tears! But as the years went on, it went from sad, to exasperating. It’s like “goddammit, Mother, I came here for a soda, not to see you getting fucked by some asshole!”
By the time I was eighteen, I was GONE from home! I’d already dealt with more than enough fucking bullshit to last me a thousand lifetimes! I decided to move as far, far away from my California life as possible; I got as far as Arbordale, Kansas. I enrolled into Business School, and took a modeling gig to pay for it. My gig brought me some money, sure, but then I discovered a little site called OnlyFans, where I could sell risque and nude pictures of myself for money! I saw a money making opportunity, and I took it!
And boy howdy, did I make BANK! It started off slow, like a hundred bucks a month. But as I kept doing it, more and more people started noticing me. A hundred bucks became four hundred. Four hundred became seven. Seven hundred soon became a thousand. And one thousand soon became two, then five! By the time I was twenty five, I was making more money than most of my peers could dream of! At twenty six, I was a motherfucking HOME OWNER!
My love life? Heh... love. Let me tell you something about “love”: it’s a fairy tale. That little band around your finger that you put during the wedding as you promise to love and cherish your spouse forever? It doesn’t stop ANYONE from cheating, from betraying one another and hurting each other worse than anyone could ever hurt them. I should know; I’ve slept with quite a few people wearing wedding bands.
Some are pathetic enough to try to hide their rings from me, pretend they’re still single and looking. Too bad for them I’ve developed a sense for the tell-tale signs; sometimes he’s not well dressed enough, sometimes he looks too well fed, or she’s not dressed to impress, or she’s too giggly, and so on. And of course there’s always the ring shadow around the finger, cuz that can’t be hidden.
Why do they do it? ’Cuz I’m hot, duh. For a brief moment they set aside their responsibilities to go have some “fun” with me. I’m their desire, their fantasy, their escape. And when they’re done with me, they go back to their spouses like nothing ever happened. Sometimes the spouses find out about me, all hell breaks loose for them, and then I’m blamed for the marriage falling apart. It’s whatever, though. I’m rich, I’m young, I’m beautiful, AND I’m smart as fuck! Shit, get mad all you want, boo, I’m living my best life!
