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It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.

I could write a list of the things i wish i had. Puberty now gone, i know my boobs won't get any bigger without expensive augmentation. my naturally blond hair is stringy, and frayed like corn silk. my hips are too wide, and there's nothing to be done about that, but my skinny shoulders make me look weak, and stupid. i've got that damn french nose that's so big the only head it turns is mine in a high wind. i didn't get the chin to match so i look like a stupid school marm. i might as well just get glasses, and perch them on the end of my nose. Tie my thin pitiful hair up in a bun.

Wishes don't accomplish anything, i sigh as i step out to go get some clothes. i dress to minimize my shortcomings as much as possible. A full circle broomstick skirt covers up my broad pelvis, and thick thighs. A water bra adds some weight, and gives the illusion of cleavage. A low necked baggy shirt shows it off. i put on heels so my calves look better, and i don't seem so stumpy. Another sigh, and i head out towards the school to see if i can make any friends.

It never works, they always seem to sense my utter lack of self esteem no matter how much confidence i pump into my walk. i don't even bother any more, it's too exhausting. i'm back to my same old mousy little mince that doesn't do me any better, but feels more like me. Soon, i can hear the buzz of Mill Ave. ahead over more local traffic. The constant conversations amplified by repetition, mufflers spouting an impressive four cylinder hum, the drum circler pounding out a tribal accompaniment to people actually having a good time.

i cut through the alley behind the bar i get too drunk at too often, and slip around the corner to the door. i can't even remember the name of the place, i think it's the address, 1622, or maybe the year it opened. No, that can't be right.

The sound changes, but not much. The Race cars recede, but there's still the din of too many people talking at once. i take a seat, and order an Ouzo to hedge against bad breath. Of course nobody approaches me, i have to pay for my own damn overpriced drinks. The only conversation i have is with the bartender, to order more mind numbing alcohol. i hate my life.

It wasn't my dream lover, i knew that much through the countless drinks. Though i never conjured a face for him, i'm sure i would've given him more hair, less pudge. It wouldn't do for a fantasy to be less attractive even than me.

Fortunately, it was a blur of frantic movement seen through the alcoholic haze. With less luck, my pain receptors weren't dulled enough. Maybe they where, it just hurt that much. It was nothing like my fantasies, no matter how much i hurt myself, abused myself, made myself feel dirty, this was an order of magnitude worse. It was a dry fuck, for one, regardless of how much i had to drink.

He tore into me, made a wound of my most precious flesh. His incessant insistent friction abrading, and tearing me out. i screamed into his hand, flailed uselessly, weakly, drunkedly to just get him out of me. i felt more violated than i could ever do to myself. i dared not wretch, but i could feel the gorge rise in my throat. i hadn't had that much, i always stopped before the toxic stage, but it was his nauseating abuse of my viscera that made my bowels rebel.

Finally, i gave in to it, perhaps hoping it'd disgust him enough to just leave me alone. Blocked from my mouth, it backed up into my nose, and shot out obscenely. He jerked his soiled hand back, but kept making hate to me. i tried to scream, but the side cramping heaves of disgust prevented it. i could barely breathe in, and out between the spasmodic clenching of my guts. i could hear him, though, his disgust at me, and what i'd done. He heaped the abuse on top of my already low self image, commented on everything i hated about myself.

At last, the puking stopped, and the dry bile spewing heaves that followed, and i managed to scream.

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