The first thing you should know about me is that I am the type of girl who likes to get what she wants- no, needs to get what she wants. It doesn’t matter what it is or where it’s from, I just have to have it, whether it be the newest Marc Fisher high-heels or perhaps something a little pricier like a trip to Saint Tropez. I know, I know, bad first impression, right? But trust me when I say I deserve it all.
My daddy would always say to me, “Now Amber, if you work really hard, you will see results and be successful!” Now I know these are supposed to be wise words and all (thanks, Daddy), but honestly, I have found you don’t even have to work hard to get what you want. It’s all about manipulation and being a total slut. Guys love sluts. They love paying for them, they love hitting them, and most of all they love fucking them. Messed up right? I know. But that is all aside the point! The point is, guys like me because I will fuck them. They are using me, I get it. But, so am I. As if it is so hard for a girl like me with bleached blonde hair and big puffy “I’ll suck his cock” lips to bend the minds of fuck boys who think with their dicks.
Now I bet you’re thinking, “This bitch has made me hate her in the first two paragraphs.” And you are probably tempted to put this book down, which might even be wise. This story won’t be about how I “redeemed myself” or how I somehow turn into the good girl at the end, because if that is what you want, put this book down. Right. Now.
So, I am sure by now you realize my name is Amber- Amber Wright. And my last name is true, I am always right. Through-out High School, the other girls would make fun of my last name whenever I answered something wrong by lifting up their hands and flinging their hair back and would say, “Like, oh my god, Amber Wright is so like, not always Right.” Fucking immature, trust me, I know. They were wrong though, I was and still am always right.
From what I just said, it would almost make me sound as if I was bullied! Ha! As if. I was Queen Bee, I was prettiest, I was best. Everyone knew it, everyone knew that if you wronged me, Johnny Parker #34, quarterback of our football team, the Red Eagles, would beat the living shit out of you. And you want to know why? It was because he was my property, I fucked him and he did my dirty work. I fucked, he punched. I fucked, he bought me jewelry and clothes.
It’s funny, as if I really needed Johnny Parkers money. But that’s not what it was about. It was about control. I had that dumb ass under my foot for three solid years. Men will do anything for sex. Come graduation, I dropped him like a sack of shit so I could move on to bigger and better men with bigger and better houses. Johnny Parker, #34, was history.
Now that High School has ended, my daddy decided to buy me my own condo in the Hamptons for graduating with a stellar 3.87 GPA, where I could party and fuck and snort all sorts of things. Can I just say for the record; the Hamptons are not as good as all of those movies make it out to be.
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