Alternative.
01.
This is a story about my alter ego.
Looks wise, we’re not so different. She’s small like me, and sickly skinny too. But she has nicer tits. Definitely has nicer tits. Her hair is shorter than mine, she might have an undercut. She buys her own cigarettes and doesn’t feel dumb bumming them off her boyfriend. She just has her own packs. And she smokes a lot of pot too. She actually likes it. I don’t really see what the big deal is. She never wears makeup because she doesn’t even need to, she’s got big enough eyes already. She isn’t afraid to suck her boyfriend’s dick. They fuck all the time, it’s just normal. That’s what I’m most jealous of really, that she can just do shit like that and be perfectly okay and not be insecure. She’s smarter than me and has read more books too, but she’s not the type to even show that because it doesn’t mean much to her. She’s a better writer than me too. And she can play the piano. Fuck her, you know? Her name is something pretty that reminds you of sex during soft rain and the first snow of winter and the smell of hot cocoa and a bunch of other fucking beautiful things. Her name is fluid in your mouth, it tastes like melting white chocolate, smooth and not bitter. And it’s short and simple. Mia. That’s it, there it is. All perfect. She’s so perfect it’s disgusting. I mean, it’s completely unfair, but then again, I made her up.
And then I think about this perfect girl who sucks her boyfriend’s dick and smokes pot and smokes cigarettes and has nice tits and plays piano and reads more than I do and writes better than I do and I realize she isn’t perfect, because she isn’t fucking real and I am so fuck you, Miss Mia, fuck you very much because I am real and you never will be. And if I ever see a girl who seems like you, she may just be you, but she has her own flaws. Like maybe she is actually really insecure, and so when she’s dating someone she freaks out whenever her significant other even talks to someone else. Or maybe she’s actually got some weird feet fetish. Or maybe she’s one of those bitches where nothing ever pleases them. I don’t know, either way, she’s not fucking real so it doesn’t matter. And I’m just as good as her anyway. I read, I write, I’m working up the courage to have sex with my boyfriend, ‘cause I want to. And I mean, I do smoke pot and cigarettes sometimes, but it’s probably a good thing I don’t all the time. Because the consequences for that would be outstanding. So, I’m just as good as her, if not better. Mostly, she just has nicer tits.
Looks wise, we’re not so different. She’s small like me, and sickly skinny too. But she has nicer tits. Definitely has nicer tits. Her hair is shorter than mine, she might have an undercut. She buys her own cigarettes and doesn’t feel dumb bumming them off her boyfriend. She just has her own packs. And she smokes a lot of pot too. She actually likes it. I don’t really see what the big deal is. She never wears makeup because she doesn’t even need to, she’s got big enough eyes already. She isn’t afraid to suck her boyfriend’s dick. They fuck all the time, it’s just normal. That’s what I’m most jealous of really, that she can just do shit like that and be perfectly okay and not be insecure. She’s smarter than me and has read more books too, but she’s not the type to even show that because it doesn’t mean much to her. She’s a better writer than me too. And she can play the piano. Fuck her, you know? Her name is something pretty that reminds you of sex during soft rain and the first snow of winter and the smell of hot cocoa and a bunch of other fucking beautiful things. Her name is fluid in your mouth, it tastes like melting white chocolate, smooth and not bitter. And it’s short and simple. Mia. That’s it, there it is. All perfect. She’s so perfect it’s disgusting. I mean, it’s completely unfair, but then again, I made her up.
And then I think about this perfect girl who sucks her boyfriend’s dick and smokes pot and smokes cigarettes and has nice tits and plays piano and reads more than I do and writes better than I do and I realize she isn’t perfect, because she isn’t fucking real and I am so fuck you, Miss Mia, fuck you very much because I am real and you never will be. And if I ever see a girl who seems like you, she may just be you, but she has her own flaws. Like maybe she is actually really insecure, and so when she’s dating someone she freaks out whenever her significant other even talks to someone else. Or maybe she’s actually got some weird feet fetish. Or maybe she’s one of those bitches where nothing ever pleases them. I don’t know, either way, she’s not fucking real so it doesn’t matter. And I’m just as good as her anyway. I read, I write, I’m working up the courage to have sex with my boyfriend, ‘cause I want to. And I mean, I do smoke pot and cigarettes sometimes, but it’s probably a good thing I don’t all the time. Because the consequences for that would be outstanding. So, I’m just as good as her, if not better. Mostly, she just has nicer tits.
♠ ♠ ♠
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