Sexual Freedom is Sexual Slavery

I am arriving the peak of my reproductive potential, my Feminine Mount Rainer.

Women of the past arrived here with a family. Children in tow and a husband to build the cottage. I have arrived alone. I am writing this because I have become a bitter woman. I am defiled and ineligible for marriage to a proper man who will love me and raise a family with me. I am watching the sun blow it's vibrant, orange and pink brains out against a blue canvas in the same way that I squandered my fertility on men who didn't deserve to touch me, let alone use me as a consequence free disposal bin for their wretched seed.

The men are swimming below. They hold the future in the primordial soup of the dating pool and most of them are sharks, who will gorge themselves on women and spit them out on the shore. I washed up a year ago and my eyes were opened to the fact that if you sleep with enough men you will reach a point where you are of no use to any of them. You carry too many marks, too much baggage, so much in fact that your bags are loose and your insides are slipping out, and who wants to see the insides of a stranger?

Nobody, wants to see the insides of a stranger. You just look like a fucking lunatic. The only people who want to be around lunatics are abusers and lunatics themselves, and that is one hell of a hamster wheel to be on.

I have been ousted from the pool at the old age of 26, my time is up. I am no longer desirable to what I finally understand a decent man looks like, and I am no longer fetishizable by the crowd who masturbated to Hot Girls Wanted, because nothing makes their gross balls swell with excitement more than the agony of the Woman for their Sexual Enjoyment.

I hate men, and I have hated men since my conception, and I will hate men until the day I die.

A man is the reason I saw porn and was opened to the understanding of sexual gratification at the tender age of 5. That man is the reason I wandered with a Father-Shaped Wound, the signal to the sharks in the dating pool that I was Desparate for Love, Ripe for the Picking, Ready to be Discarded. I hate men the most because only a man would know what the Father Shaped Wound means and still inflict it on me, thrusting me into the world with no guidance and nothing to offer but my orfices.

I am arriving at the peak of my reproductive potential, I get to die on this hill alone and forgotten, because I didn't know how to live.