sometimes i get jealous of lambs meant for slaughter. their dumb meek eyes and cute sounds, they're abject oblivious innocence. their destiny to feed the killing hand.

i remember at a party, once, a man spent so long trying to woo me away, but it was only when his hands were aggressive on my body that my mind went fuzzy, my body responding to the familiar demand. he saw it. he saw it on my face. a playpal has described it as "the years just fall off your face, you're just a scared, confused kid again."

he saw it and he was hungry, that i knew. there's a look that sadists get, the itch of that killing hand, the desire for that pathetic bleat. and he knew id be good as he lead me off to a room. murmured "who hurt you, baby?" in my ear as he slid against me. i think i just shook my head. i think i was crying before his cock was even out.

just a pretty little lamb for him. i might have even called him dad. i wish i remembered more, but the years just kept falling off me until there was no concept of words or remembering. only obedience, fear, and a grown-up using me in the dark.