Have you ever wondered how it feels to be a beautiful girl? I bet you have unless you are one, which I assume the vast majority of you are not. Allow me to describe the experience since I am extremely well qualified.
It's a strange deal. You get completely boxed in and defined by it. I am relentlessly stereotyped and pigeon-holed as if my visual appeal is all there is to me. I may be clever, kind, brave, funny, all of that good stuff, or of course I may not, and it matters hardly a jot. My physical assets are what command all of people's attention. In the eyes of the world I am a 'babe', end of story, enough said.
My interactions with men are inauthentic and warped because when a man looks at me he sees nothing but a receptacle for his lust. Everywhere I go I am the focus of male desire, whether I want to be or not. I am forever conscious of it. Guys either ogle, eyes on stalks, or else are very obviously struggling not to. And, oh boy, if I happen to be wearing something flattering (perhaps a shortish skirt, heels, a nice feminine top) then that is sufficient to cause havoc! These salivating men don't know me, yet this does not prevent them from making all sorts of assumptions, many of which are distinctly dubious.
As for the joys of conversation, forget it. Most guys are too intimidated to even try and converse with me. The ones who do attempt it invariably try much too hard. They lose composure and rather make fools of themselves. Men simply cannot be themselves in the presence of a girl like me. I might chat to them but they never truly listen to what I have to say, unless I'm flirting. They will pretend to be fascinated, eager as puppy dogs to make a good impression, but I know perfectly well what is really playing out in their minds. Some torrid sexual fantasy with me in the starring role! They want to screw me not discuss the price of fish.
Sometimes a guy will cut the crap and nail his colours to the mast. He will bathe me in adoring compliments, how incredibly hot I am, the sexiest girl he has ever met, I make him weak at the knees, and wow that dress, I look fabulous in it, just stunning, it really shows off my gorgeous bod, he would sooo love to get to know me better, how about a date sometime, is there any chance of that, Emma? This shit can be rather awkward to deal with, especially if the guy is so infatuated that he carries on after I've said no and starts kind of pleading.
More usual is that the men I meet cannot summon up the courage to proposition me, or perhaps the situation means they dare not risk it, in which case the 'conversation' we have is utterly phoney. Either way the whole performance is more than a little ridiculous. It's as if I am a goddess or something rather than a normal living and breathing human being.
Things are just as twisted with my fellow females. Unless a girl is as physically appealing as me or at least in the same ballpark, which precious few are, the green-eyed monster rules. We might have loads in common, mutual passions and interests, similar sense of humour etc, but genuine friendship is out of the question.
The problem for the plain or less attractive girl hanging out with me is that she cannot help but notice the disconcerting affect I have on the male of the species, the sort of impact she would love to have herself but is sadly aware that she does not. She gets hurt and upset when the inevitable happens and all the boys, many of whom the poor girl no doubt fancies like mad, ignore her while drooling over me. Before long she succumbs to envy and resentment and she ends up hating me.
So there you go. People are blinded to the real me, the men by lust and other girls by jealousy. Hardly anyone can see me properly or understand me. Such is the lot of the drop-dead pretty girl.
How ghastly, you must be thinking. Perhaps you feel sorry for me. Well please don't because I would not change the way I look for the world. I adore being very pretty. It's great!
They say it's a man's world but that is total crap. It's a girl's world so long as the girl in question is young and gorgeous. If the girl is moi. I get such a buzz when I look in the mirror. It's like winning the lottery every day! Not that I'm vain, you understand, lol.
Ok, so I can't be friends with males or with unattractive females. Who the fuck cares? Whose problem is that? Not me and not mine. I make no apologies for being beautiful. I just am and I love it. I embrace it. I know that my beauty confers enormous power upon me and (confession time) I take great delight in using and abusing it to the max! Life is sweet.
I live in a large and opulent city centre apartment. I share it with Cindy who is my BFF as well as being my flatmate. Cindy is the same age as me and is also a babe. She has men forever falling at her feet, therefore we can relate to each other. Looks-wise she is on a par with me, both of us are straight tens. She's blonde and I'm a brunette, making for a stylish contrast when we go out together, which we often do. "Wow, it's Sharon Stone and Jessica Alba," some guy once called out as we passed him in the street. Before our time, I have to say, but apparently that is a compliment!
We are very alike, Cindy and I, other than the obvious of being fantastic to look at. Kindred spirits. The two of us get on famously. Neither of us have jobs. Our life is 100% recreational. The gym, spa, salon, leisure club, shopping, exotic holidays, bars, clubs, restaurants, weekends away, a nice mix of all that plus generally lazing around and just chilling in our fabulous home.
Our lifestyle is ruinously expensive. The rent on the flat is eye-watering and we spend money like water. What Cindy and I shell out each month on clothes alone would feed a third world country. But you will be relieved to know that finance is not an issue for us. We are rich as well as gorgeous, lol. Both of us are from wealthy families and have a stupidly generous allowance. Not that we need to dip into it much. That would be silly when the big city is full of men who are happy to lavish their hard-earned funds on pretty young girls like us. They queue up for the privilege of spending a small fortune trying to please. So we let them. We let men pay for everything while our own bank accounts swell to overflowing as those chunky trust payments rack up. Perfecto!
Cindy and I will one day separate and settle down. We will marry handsome, monied men of the right age and background, have families and stuff. Both of us know that, of course, but it is not something we give much thought to. For now, life is about our hedonistic pleasure. Doing whatever entertains and amuses us, that is pretty much all we care about. If this sometimes involves trampling on the feelings of others, too bad. We are superior beings. We are selfish and capricious and proud of it.
A good example of what bad girls we can be is how we mistreat our male admirers. We always have several on the go at any one time. It means that we are taken on lots of dates to all these fab places but no individual guy gets to see us nearly as often as he would like. He also either knows or strongly suspects that we are dating other men in addition to him. This is all great because it keeps them super-keen. Keeps them on their toes and working hard to impress, lol.
There is a 'type' who we tend to play around with. The template is, old enough to be our father, married or maybe divorced, sexually frustrated. We can smell male gullibility and desperation a mile off and those guys (if they are brave enough to hit on us and if we suss that they also have money) are who we agree to date. Why? Because they are natural victims for girls like me and Cindy. They look at us with a stupefied expression as if they cannot believe the planet could contain something so amazing and wonderful. They are bewitched and bedazzled by us and therefore ripe for exploitation. Putty in our hands.
The relationship means so much more to them than it does to us. They are on a deadly mission to seduce the sort of ultra desirable young hottie that up to now they could only fantasize about, whereas for me and Cindy it is just an ego trip and a giggle. Dating these characters is a fun game for us with mucho scope for mischief! We regale each other in salacious detail with stories of how our latest forays have panned out.
Cindy and I both find it hilarious the way our suitors fuss and fawn over us. But of course we love it! We love how their hungry gaze lingers longingly on whatever nubile young flesh we happen to be revealing. We love it that other men in the place are checking us out too and wishing that they could trade places with the one we are with. We bask in all of that. It makes us wet to see the tongues hanging out, to think of not only our date's cock but dozens of other cocks too simultaneously twitching for us.
And the envious discomfort of the women who happen to be with those appreciative men, we take a certain bitchy pleasure in that as well. The poor things simply cannot compete and they know it.
Like, if we are sitting in the vicinity of some very ordinary, mediocre looking woman who is with her husband, the hubby usually cannot help but be distracted. He will find himself snatching furtive little peeps over in our direction when he thinks that his wife is not looking. When we notice this happening we tend to just ignore it.
Sometimes, however, we might decide to be naughty. We might subtly catch his eye and smile, perhaps a little pout and a hair-flip, a slowly seductive leg-cross, send the hint that we rather like the look of hubby and that we are enjoying his attention, so please mister by all means eyeball as much as you want. With little or no further encouragement from us he will then be leering like a sleazebag all evening. Every time we shift around in our tight little skirt, dangle a shoe from our perfectly pedicured toes, idly toy with a button on our slinky, semi-transparent blouse, he will be transfixed. So funny!
It will be cruelly obvious to the wife what he's doing, she might be visibly upset by it, but the guy won't care. He is owned for the evening by the exceedingly pretty girl over there, never mind that she is younger than his daughter and he doesn't know her and she is with another guy. It's clear that the little minx likes him admiring her and so he will. He will deal with the marital tears and recriminations later.
We secretly snigger at the megabucks our dates will throw around in their efforts to show us a good time. The gifts too. Flowers, jewellery, designer clothes, high-end lingerie, you name it. Cindy got a sports car once! That is how badly these men want to be inside our panties. We encourage the largesse, urging them on to spend more and more. You can't really blame us, can you? If a man wants to treat a pretty girl to lunch and then take her shopping, who is she to argue? It amuses us no end, particularly where we get the impression (or even better we happen to know) that the guy is actually not that well off and cannot afford the crazy amounts he is blowing on us.
