Toy Chest

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:
“In My Dreams – Gary Moore” ★
01:22 ━━━━●───── 04:16
ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ♡

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I’m being used.

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I mentioned somewhere that access to dating apps was the worst thing I got when I turned eighteen, well that was a lie. The worst thing I got when I turned eighteen was access to predatory men… well, legal access. They have a field day with me. Young? Pretty? Naive? I check all their boxes. They know someone their own age wouldn’t put up with their bullshit. Texting at two a.m. for a hookup. Leaving right after. Disappearing for weeks on end without any explanation.

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My best gift is my memory; I can remember every face I’ve ever seen and every conversation I ever had. My worst gift is my inability to see things the way they really are. What’s that saying? When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time. Yea, no I can’t do that. So when Stephen messaged me on tinder at 11:07 pm, I thought maybe he’s a night-bird. When he asked if I had any plans for the night seventeen minutes later, I thought he just wanted to see me. When he came to my apartment, got on my bed, and three minutes later had his hand on tits without asking, I thought nothing at all. 

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The next time he came over it was better, he called me pretty twice. He said I look like a doll, he probably meant one of those sex dolls you get at Adam & Eve’s. 

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The time after that he stayed from 9:00 pm to 4:32 am, that was the night he told me he had never spent the night with a girl because he’s scared of emotional intimacy. I think it’s pretty emotionally intimate when you cum inside a girl and tell her you don’t want anyone else to ever have her, but maybe I’m crazy.

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I decided that I respected myself last week and deleted my accounts on dating apps. Okay that’s a lie, kinda. I deleted my hinge, I paused my tinder.

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Stephen texted me last week and asked when I was going back home for the summer. I told him I left the day before, really I had left three weeks prior. He didn’t text back after that. I probably shouldn’t have expected him too. He only ever texted me when he wanted to fuck and now that we can’t do that he has no reason to reach out. I wish he would though. Not so I can live out my fantasy of us riding off into the sunset together, so I can tell him how much of a piece of shit he is.

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Something told me to check and see if he still had his account active. Not only did he but he also updated his pictures. “Looking for a Long-Term Relationship.” I guess all I ever be to him is a doll. A doll he takes out of the chest whenever women his own age don’t wanna deal with his bullshit. A doll that gets pretty for him every Friday night, just in case he decides he wants to see her. A doll that dyes her fabric red every time he turns out to be exactly who he said he was. 

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I love him.

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