Author - Pop Tart
They do not love me, I do at least know that. They use me, as I use myself, and I let them do it. Some of them come every night, some of them come once a week, and some only ever come once. They flatter me and tell me how pretty I am. They caress my face and kiss me, and I know that it is all just an act. Below, they’re just waiting to fuck me. They never even ask my name, and I don’t care if they do.
It’s early now and I find myself naked and alone. All my customers have gone away, some of the other boys’ are still here. I tried pulling my blankets up, but I was too lazy to do it right. I think my ass is covered well enough. I don’t particularly care. I want a cigarette, but alas, I’m too lazy to get one.
Another one of the boys comes into the room. He doesn’t bother to try to be quiet about it. I don’t look to see who it is. It doesn’t matter afterall, we’re all so impersonal with one another. We pretend to be friends, all knowing that we really aren’t. We use each other, and that is the extent of it. I hate them.
He walks over to where I lay, I feel him bend over me. He kisses the back of my neck, whispers to me what a little treasure I am. I know that I am attractive. Probably not handsome. No, my face is too innocent to be called handsome. Cute is the word. He
kisses my neck again, his hands slide over my bare skin. He is naked too, I can feel it. He leaves his trail of kisses down by back, taking my blanket away so he can see my naked body. I am too numb to care.
He lays down on top of me, I feel him pressing against my ass. I wonder what people would think of me if they knew what I did at night. Would they be so kind to a pretty face if they knew what was behind it? Would they shower me with praise still? Or
would they send me to jail? Exile me? Again, I find that I do not care.
The warm body on top of mine is still. He lays his head on my shoulder, kisses it a bit. His hair brushes against my skin, makes it tingle. He has soft hair. He has soft skin too. I can guess who it is, for I seem to know all these boys more by contact and touch than I do by their faces. I choose not to look at their faces. If I think too much about their
faces, they start to become human to me. I start to feel attatched to them, I start to hurt.
I learned my lesson about loving a long time ago. You don’t love your clients, you just let them use you and take their money when it’s over. That’s why they come to us. They want it to be impersonal. I want it to be impersonal.
This boy that is laying on me starts to tell me he loves me. He says he loves me because I am beautiful. He laughs when he tells me he is jealous of me for all the customers I get. He expects me to laugh too. I don’t laugh anymore, unless I am faking it.
He shifts his body and pushes inside of me. I arch my back because it hurts a bit. It always hurts at first, but it goes away quickly. Besides, his tool is not that big. Now I laugh a bit wryly and when he asks why, I do not tell him. His thrusts start slowly, he tries to be romantic. He thinks he is romantic, he is wrong. He speeds up without realizing it, he wants his own climax and cares nothing for mine. I won’t get one, I don’t want one, I
don’t care.
As he is busy rocking his body against mine, I hear the door open. Another one of our “friends” is here. He laughs at the two of us. I look at him, but I don’t know who he is. It is too dark to tell. Would I care if I knew? Probably not. All I know is that he is
naked like the rest of us, and in want of some more pleasure. They all think of nothing but pleasure.
He decides that he will join the two of us, resting on one knee behind the fervently thrusting boy on top of me. The sweat is dripping off of his forehead onto my back. Odd though, I’m chilled. The second boy refuses to wait, pushing inside of me with the other. I cry out. It hurts very much, and he is larger than the other boy. He seems satisfied that he got something out of me. I press my face into the pillow and whimper as they both use me for their pleasure.
Before long, they’re working as fast as they can, and I am crying. I hug my pillow to my chest and let it catch my tears and muffle my whimpers. My hands are clenching the material of it so tightly that my knuckles hurt. I am not afraid, but I am sad. I am sad
because I am alone. I am sad because no one loves me. I want someone to love me. I want someone that I can cling to as I cling to this pillow. I want someone to caress my hair and make me stop crying when the world rapes me like these two boys.
I hate them, I wish them dead, but I do not stop them. They can drive themselves into a frenzy, spill their seed inside of me, and then go burn in hell. And when they are done, I will bathe and get dressed, and I will take the money I have earned tonight, and I
will go have a drink.
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