Skank

I dress for men. Short skirts, open toes, tight knit tops, nipples showing though the cloth, the whole freak uniform. I let a man know what I’m about. I’m chronic, compulsive and sex addicted. I crave it.

Prince Charming can’t do a thing for me. I like a man who treats a bitch bad. I need for a man to make me feel like I'm the lowest thing in his world. I can't explain why, but I need it like that to get off.

I like do it with men I meet off the street. It’s anonymous, secret. Anything might jump off. They know I’m out asking for it. It’s all about the deep, dark and degrading fuck. I become “the fuck,” the bottom of mans world; just a hole, the kind of bitch who nature made just to be used. I see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices. I am just a hole.

I like the opportunity for the spontaneous that this street encounter provides, the anonymity, above all the darkness, and the opportunity for the totally depraved. I like the feeling of these men, the heat and tension of a man, the way his body feels as he experiences what he likes. I like the attitudes of men like that. Like I said, I crave it.