More about me?
One day a year or two ago I woke up late for school. It hadn't been the first time, obviously, because I wake up late at least one a week. Today was different though, because it was suppose to be raining like, really hard and the weather was gonna suck, so I had to catch a ride on the bus. I got up quickly, styled my hair, got dressed, and was about to race downstairs and flag down the bus when my dad stopped me in the kitchen. He was all pissy because he had discovered that I had been drinking his beer and taking his good cigarettes. So he did his thing, the thing he usually did, which was bellow and push me up against the wall a little, smack me around, destroy me a little more emotionally, and tell me not to disobey him again. By that time, the bus was gone and I had to walk all the way to school in the rain. I slipped on the way and twisted my ankle, rendering me unable to walk properly, so when I finally arrived at school an hour later -- soaking wet and injured -- my teacher only asked me why I was late. I told him and he laughed in my face before telling me to get out of his classroom. So I did, I left and went back outside to sit in the rain because it wasn't all that bad and I kind of liked the rain. I was already soaking wet, so it didn't matter. I sat there until school let out and limped back home, not even bothering to take the bus. My dad was already home, sleeping in his chair, but when I slammed the door he woke up and stared yelling at me again. I told him to fuck off so he just started yelling even louder, pointing out my imperfections before grounding me for a month. I just limped upstairs and caught a cold, leaving me unable to go to school for the next three days. I didn't care.
A week later, I decided to go out with my current boyfriend (one that I had picked up only four hours earlier). We were going to go dancing. So I got all dressed up all sexy (fishnet leggings, a mini-skirt, a matching shirt a pair of kitty ears, and of course, a collar) and walked downstairs again, ready to leave. My dad (drunk...again) told me I looked like a faggot and reminded me I was still grounded. He then proceeded to bash me and my sexuality with his abrasive words, explaining that being gay was the worst possible thing anyone could do and that he'd rather have me dead than have me gay, and all this other stuff that really started to hurt. Usually I could just ignore it, but the stuff he said really hurt. In the past, I really didn't care, I could just let it go, ignore it, push it aside, but this was worse. He said he wanted me dead. Who was I to disobey my father? But I didn't go upstairs and try to kill myself (I've never thought much about suicide) and instead jumped out my window (screwing up my ankle again, mind you) and walked (*sigh*...limped) to the club. Then I partied all goddamn night, got smashed, and stumbled back home before getting into a drunk argument with my father again, putting on a nice little show about how much I didn't give a fuck about consequences or getting in trouble.
I like putting on shows, you know. I guess that's why I was having so much fun now. I guess that's another reason why I like hearing the boys scream my name. I dunn know.
It'd been a little while since I first began with Sanders, and shit, it was getting hard to keep from releasing, but this was just so much fun to fuck him. I wasn't ready to quit yet. Even so...