Fucker get over here. Get in me. Get on me. Don’t you dare resist. You’ve got me now take advantage of me.
Want to feel dirty and embarrassed when I sit at the breakfast table with your flatmates (whom I’ve never met) in my slutty man top and clothes-from-the-night-before fashion. Sport bruises across my chest and neck, splotches down my arms, rug burn on my knees, the messy teeth marks on my thighs. My sides hurt when you elbow into them. Eat my cereal and wonder if you’d give me sour milk.
“Get up,” you’d bark. Take my seat, make me stand, kick at the back of my legs and try to force me onto the tile floor. I resist, keep my head down. Eat quickly, lean away from you on the counter. Wonder if you’d ever let me lay my head on your lap.
Come at me. Vandalize me. See the bounce in your step when you turn away from me. Come back. Use me. I want to be your conquest.
-Arky
