Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 

   oh my god ...  i wish i hadn't eaten before opening this one.  i think
i'm going to throw up.  i'm still at work, waiting for a reporter to come
back from a meeting which probably STILL isn't over.  then i have to wait
while she writes the story and it's proofed and laid out.  whoever the
editor is who's working at night (tonight it happens to be me) can't leave
til the paper's put to bed, so in this instance that means i probably won't
get out of here before 11 - if i'm lucky.  but in a way that's good because
after reading this message i really don't care if i ever get home and face
that task.  why didn't i know it wouldn't be good enough to tell you i was
sore, or even to tell you the object that made me sore ...  as usual, i
have to get naked and spread wide for you and god knows who else ...  and
it's not enough just to spread my legs, is it ...  no no, bad unwilling
cunt, you can do better than that ..., no, that's not enough ...  raise up,
bitch ...  and spread, you bad cunt ...  i said SPREAD it ...  please Sir
...  i don't want to do this ...  please don't make me write the fantasy i
was having that enabled me to stuff that thing in my cunt!  it's an old one
...  a variation on an old and rather primal one ...  it's got "honey" in
it ...  as in the fantasy husband figure birthed in that treehouse with
kathy.  it's not scatty-disgusting like the one i'm afraid to tell you,
it's just ...  i'm sure you'll get a big laugh out of this ...  it's just
too personal.  please don't make me.  this isn't about the victimization of
my teenage years and my redneck grandfather with the cigarette going while
he fucked me ...  this isn't about other people ...  it's about me, and
describing it - especially in the excruciating detail you demand - would be
spreading not just my legs but ...  god ...  you really want me to hop up
on the table, cheerfully plop my legs up to the stirrups, the special ones
you installed that spread me so efficiently, so painfully wide, then reach
down with both hands, grasp my pussylips and spread WIIIIIDDE, as wide as i
can, and describe how it feels, wiggling my pussy on command while you
bring the camera just a little closer ...  for all your buddies to enjoy
... why the **** can't you just come find me - it's not like i haven't
dropped enough clues - break into my extremely rapist-friendly house (a
baby could get in) and beat the shit out of me before you rape me to a
bloody pulp?  why do i always have to get it the hard way?  do you always
make your cunts go through this stuff?  couldn't you make an exception in
my case since i am such a confused little neophyte, and just rape me and
beat me in a straightforward, healthy American male fashion? ...  instead
of calmly sitting back and watching me wrestle myself to the ground and
struggle to get my arm up my ass so i can pull my guts out ...  okay. 
okay. okay.  please don't be mad.  i'm not really asking for leniency or
for you to change your mind.  i would certainly never talk back to you. 
and i would NEVER argue with you about anything, Sir.  it's just
information.  it's just what's going on, what i'm going through.  my
stomach really is doing flipflops, i really do wish i hadn't eaten dinner,
i wish i had resisted the compulsion to check my e-mail so i could
concentrate on work (there's no way i will now) and my mind really is in an
olympic-caliber wrestling match with itself.  so maybe it's information
that will amuse you.  so i'm using a work computer again to tell you about
it ...  it'll be hours before i get home ...  because if it does amuse,
that's the closest i'll ever come to serving some kind of purpose.  you and
i both know that.  so that's what's going on with your lowest-ranking cunt,
Sir, 9:21 p.m.  thursday night, somewhere deep in the dark, closeted Bible
Belt.  for now - and for many hours to come, i imagine - she is one
miserable lady.  (if you'll pardon the expression ...little tribute to Land
of Rape ...) love and utmost respect, nauseouscunt