The results of the vote are in and there were some interesting responses including ideas on exactly how the story should end but I’ll withhold the results for just now. For updates on what I’m doing and far I am doing it just check my profile. I can’t wait to hear the feedback on this one. ;-) Enjoy the show.
Men are weak, easily manipulated, toys. You can make them do anything you want, any time you, any way you want. Well, with a few select exceptions.
My name is Kathy. I am just about every man’s dream and every man’s nightmare. Not one man who sees me, sexual orientation not withstanding, would deny that I am gorgeous. I know it. I use it. Why shouldn’t I? I’ve heard it said in many ways by many people that we should use the gifts that have been given to us. I have two important gifts: my brain and my body. And make no mistake. As beautiful as I am, it’s my mind that you have to watch out for.
I remember when I first found out how easily you could manipulate a man. Bobby Bankstown wanted to kiss me on the playground when I was 6. Bobby ended up crawling in circles around me and barking like a dog in order to get that kiss. What’s funny is that I’m sure that 10, 20 even 30 years later he and a lot of other men would still do that. What’s also funny is that after his performance Bobby didn’t even get that kiss. Yes, I was a bitch at an early age. But I don’t see it as a bad thing. Bitches get what they’re after. Bitches are respected if not well liked. Bitches attract men that like a challenge, the go-getters, the ones that succeed. And I’ve seen you shy, timid, sweet, polite girls looking at me with the men you want and thinking “What does he see in that bitch?” A backbone, that’s what, electricity and fire, determination and purpose, excitement and daily challenge. We bitches are what make your men’s lives interesting. We are the ones they are most likely to cheat on you with. We’re the ones they’d most like to brag to they’re friends about nailing.
Think about it. There’s you. Let’s say you’re Sheila and you’re sweet and cute and intelligent and polite and dependable and loyal and loving. Joe’s been dating you for several weeks (maybe months) and you finally let him “make love” to you. Now even if he’s the sweetest guy in the world and respectful and everything else you want, I’ll tell you one thing right now. He’s going to tell his friends he nailed you. And, they’re going to ask him what you were like
but
before he even answers, just because of what you are, they are going to think “dead fuck”, and most of the time they are going to be right.
There are 2 exceptions: 1) Your boyfriend lies and 2) you’re a closet wildcat. But let me tell you about 2). 90% of the girls who
think
they are a closet wildcat really have no idea what really being wild is all about. Now let’s say that Joe tells them you’re incredible, wild, a volcano of lust as they say. Do you really think his friends are going to truly believe him? Probably not. And the truth of that will be that the conversation stops shortly after he gives his answer and moves on to a new topic. Now let’s rewind and say Joe dated me. First of all the only way Joe would take weeks before he nailed me is if I was just leading him on for my amusement or to get something out of him. I’m not saying I’ll fuck every guy I go out with. Well, actually I
am
saying that, but my point is I will only go out with men I intend to fuck anyway. Sheila might go out with a nice guy and give him a chance and see where things went. I don’t waste my time with that shit. He’s got to be hot and he’s got to have something I want or I won’t even acknowledge him.
So, let’s say Joe meets me at a bar and gets my number. First of all, every one of his friends would have probably been trying to get it too. Watching men compete with their friends for me always reassures me how weak and easily manipulated they are. So the next weekend we go out. We have a great time and I fuck his brains out. Now, the next day his friends aren’t going to ask “How was the date?” or “Is she a keeper?” They’re going to ask “Did you fuck her?” and “How was she?” If I’ve done my job right Joe is only at this point recovering his ability to speak. Also, at this point, Joe will do just about anything to get what I gave him last night. You girls that date a guy for weeks and then he disappears after you finally have sex, let me let you in on a little secret. It’s probably not because he is a jerk and was just looking to nail you and take off. It’s because you really suck in bed!
Joe, or whoever, just doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re a wonderful person but if that’s how the sex is going to be, well, then sorry. Now in a way he is a jerk for not explaining this to you but, hell, think about how you’d say that to a guy. Me, I’d just say it but that’s just me. So anyway, Joe has just told his buddies that I’m amazing. You know what they want next? Details! When he gives them some details some of their jaws drop. Most, if not all, of them are fantasizing or scheming of some way to nail me too. The point is, now I have successfully taken control of all his friends too, even the ones dating Sheila. Damn, I’m good. Girls, once you know the mind of a man, controlling him is child’s play. Hell, most men are children anyway.
So from the age of 6, I knew how to manipulate boys. By the time I was 16 it was an art. I wasn’t an ugly duckling or a tomboy or anything like that. I was beautiful from the start. Everyone told me. When I started to develop at 12, I became dangerously so. Boys wanted to carry my books, help me with my homework, give me a lift home. I took them up on all their offers. None of them got anything in return for it except a sweet thank you, maybe a kiss on the cheek or a hug where I pushed my breasts into them. That was all it took to keep them coming back for more. Now, you may be thinking, sure she had this harem of men but did she have any friends? Who would want to be friends with her? Uh, everyone. I knew the cutest guys. Girls wanted to hang out with me, some wanted to be me. I had a lot of girls doing things for me just like the guys. These were mostly the Sheila types. My actual friends were, of course, bitches like me. You’ve seen us. We’re there in every school. You adore us or you hate us but you all at some point want to either be us or be with us.
In high school I lost my virginity. I had to research this endeavour in great depth. I wasn’t going to lose it to another virgin. That would suck. I needed someone who was not only experienced but very skilled. I needed someone who could teach me pleasure in every sense of the word. In other words, I needed a man. The problem was that in all my life I had yet to find one. So I went to the seniors. They had been fucking for a few years now and knew who was good and who wasn’t. They were a little surprised at my request but several of them told me they wished they had done what I was doing. Their first experiences were awful. I began talking about boy after boy with a few dozen girls. The discussions got so good we actually set up meetings just to go over it. Besides, setting me up with the best man for my first time, the girls were discovering who and who not to fuck, who was good for money, who the best patsies were, everything.
We eventually eliminated all the guys in my high school. Four girls finally confirmed the expertise of Damien. He was a black guy in University. I expected him to be an athlete, probably a football player. He was studying chemistry. I had my doubts. But they all admitted that they would give up any man if they were sure they could have him. The problem was that no girl could. He used them for a while and then tossed them aside. This I found appealing because it was the plan I had for him. With any luck we’d get tired of each other at the same time. I told them I was going to fuck Damien and that they should set it up. Although they agreed to they warned me that he would break me like he did them and soon I’d just be a sex slave to him. A slave? Me? I don’t think so. I chuckled when I realized how weak these girls had to be to become slave to a man. And they called themselves bitches!
I arrived at Damien’s one Friday night. I wore a low cut black dress that hugged my body like a second skin. Black stilettos and garters accented my legs while black lace panties and bra completed the outfit. As I walk to his dorm room on campus I was the cause of two guys getting slapped by their girlfriends, several wolf whistles and some poor idiot walking into a streetlight. By the time I knocked on his door I was pretty confident that he’d be putty in my hands. When he opened the door I was caught off guard by the fact that I had to look up at him. I was wearing 4-inch heels and still looking up at him! He was a handsome devil and I do mean devil. I had a goatee that made him look the part. It sat on a face black as coal and flawless as onyx. He wore a blue shirt that he had not yet buttoned. At first I thought he had left it opened so that I would glimpse his body which was muscular without being bulky but I quickly came to realize it was because he just wasn’t ready and had been in no rush to be ready for me. My eyes fell to his waist and his baggy blue jeans and farther down as I tried to estimate the equipment but the jeans prevented me from seeing what he had to offer.
He caught me staring and chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’ll get a much closer look soon enough.”
“What makes you think you’ll get that far?” I asked sharply.