I have no idea how many people I’ve been with.  There’s no way to ever know. Hundreds? Thousands? Honestly, the number would be staggering.  I most likely wouldn’t want to know.

Even though it’s said to be false, I think about that article that said women obtain some of the DNA from every man she’s ever had sex with.  You know what kind of monster that makes me?

Cells from all those deficient, fleshy, rancid, dense, pitiful excuses for men all swimming around inside of me.  Forever.

No matter where I go, or what I do.  There’s no washing it off.  No forgetting.

I can never just be me again.  And that’s something that I’m always going to have to live with.

But keep telling me how “harmless” the sex industry is.

 

 

 

 

 

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