i. am. pissed.
i had a friend write to me today all giddy for a piece of music they made for me and wanted me to hear. i dutifully trudged over to the outlet and gave it a listen.
i think i’m going to be sick.
the piece was, in essence, some porn slut talking about how horny she was, how tight her pussy is, and how good it felt for whomever the anonymous man was to be fucking her.
this is something i should feel good about hearing? that i am little more than wank material for yet another man? that everything else i am, everything else i could ever be, everything else of me that is so much more than the sum of my body parts and how they play well with another is completely bypassed, ignored, and without consideration?
do men truly not get it? really? it was like someone reached inside me and flipped a switch and all the enjoyment i had in talking to this person just… swirled into a small eddy and flew down the drain.
i feel sick, i tell you.
he’ll want to apologize. of course. i don’t want his apology. particularly because it would only be coddling, mollifying. an apology is no good if there’s no understanding behind it. it’s easy to understand i’m upset. easy enough to see i don’t like it. don’t apologize for that. that’s just being crass on top of it all. insult to injury.
apologize to me for being unable to see who i am. apologize to me for being unable to lust after my mind. apologize to me for confusing the shell i walk in with my identity.
apologize to me for being unable to conceive how summing me up in music as nothing but the dream of a good fuck was something that ever could seem complimentary.
yes, yes, i know, there are likely unknown numbers of men who masturbate every day or night for some memory of me. seen on the street, a stranger. meet in line at the checkout and now, a fantasy. old lovers and would be lovers whose secret wanting i never knew. they were wise enough to know that what they wanted of me wasn’t me… no pretense. unknown and anonymous, i can manage respect for the discretion, even if it makes me queasy.
but this… it shrivels me. it is like ice water.
i do not want to be your cheap thrill, understand? i am a caring, giving, loving, loveable, intelligent, funny, warm, loyal, honest, well-rounded, worthwhile human being and damn it, i refuse to empower the notion that it is ever ok to as much as LOOK at me if all you can possibly see is a pussy to be fucked.
damn you. damn you. damn you to hell.