When I was younger I spent a lot of time online talking to perverts. I once had a man come from states away to meet me. They never took me though. They would play with me and have their fun and they were just gone. Leaving me to search for the next rush.

All that time hoping someone would take me away. Let me spend all of my time exploring my pleasure. I read so many stories. I became obsessed with true crime podcasts and missing persons cases. I don't find joy in what happened to those people, I wish I could be them. Take their places.

How do you talk to people about something like that without sounding disturbed? Nobody ever understands. But you do.

The perverts who comfort me, reminding me how loved I was. How needed and useful and wonderful I am. I am so very lucky to have so much support. But it never will fill the void.

That sick thought lingers in my mind everytime I meet a stranger online. When a man follows me a little too closely in a parking lot. When I pass by a lonely car sitting off a trail I'm walking.

I have always been good enough to fuck. Never good enough to take.