This story will start with the end.

I know this boy... with a terrible story. A boy that the women that care for him end up never speaking to him again. I'm sure, I'm positive they want to -- every time he texts them and tells them, "I'm ready to settle down. I'm sorry. I can't live without you," -- but they don't.
I heard it all from his point of view and all the "friends" he's tricked.
But this time I heard it from the woman. She's beautiful and aspiring and all around wonderful... I think. But by the end you may believe me biased.
She gave everything to this boy, her love, her body, her money, her emotions, her polygamous way, she really gave it all, and he fucked her... literally. He fucked her well which is one reason it was so hard for her to forget him.
But metaphorically he ruined her. It's so strange what other people give you as a parting gift. See I knew this gentleman, he was 43 when I started dating him -- people thought I had daddy issues but I've written about this before -- and it didn't last long but I drove to Iowa every weekend to live with him in a mansion with an art gallery underneath. I never paid for anything and he took pictures of me   hula-hooping like I was beautiful enough to be immortalized in photo. Back to it didn't last long... He left me with a CD case full of great music. The Dutchess and the Duke -- one of my favorites -- I now give to everyone else.
I gave it to this woman, who gave Reservoir Park to this boy. Now this boy will have a little piece of Scott with him forever, whether he wants to or not.

OTHER PEOPLE HAVE HAD THE PLEASURE OF FUCKING ME, YOU ABUSIVE CUNT.

And that's the beginning of this biography of the woman. It might take me days, months, maybe years to finish this story, so settle in readers.

I guess we start with the woman. She's high maintenance as any fine piece of ass that's a little bit different. But actually she's not... only when her black-lined green eyes start twitching when the line between reality and fiction starts to Blur. When she doesn't know who to trust, she's the most needy bitch on the block. But I would never fault her. It makes sense to be unimaginably insane if crazy lays in bed with you every night.

It's 12:07 Saturday morning. He signed the papers a week ago. They didn't get it notarized and she's scared she won't win but she's watched enough Judge Judy to know lady judges don't give a shit about men scum. She's probably a lesbian and she'll always side with the plaintiff.
She's been drinking clear rum and orange juice since he left. I wouldn't recommend this mixture to anyone.
And now that her roommate is in the other room moaning and smacking that tight, young, African American ass, she's feeling rather horny, which only brings anger these days. Because she could be fucking her MMA instructor who was on the verge of stiffness as they wrestled around, her giggling at the awkwardness of sitting on a man's pelvic region getting ready to  twist sideways, throw her leg over his head and put his forearm in her crotch for an arm bar.
He could easily tap out on her ass and then flip her over for the take down... of her sweats. She's raunchy now... maybe the boy was right. She is a whore, but being a whore isn't illegal, thank god.
She's got this new sexual appetite after reading Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby, Jr. If you've never read it, and get off on repulsion, I'd recommend it.
She loves him though. Isn't that tragic? The best women fall in love with haughty low-lifes, ones that only make this kind of woman more reckless and out of touch with tongue,attachment and fabrication.