They were there from the beginning, the sinister men, the mean ones, the gentle daddies. They had always been with her. They pushed and prodded her, fed her appetites, and introduced her to the most twisted and delicious of foods. They taught her to cry, to savor, to need, to crave. And they did it all with words, twisting up her stomach as well as her thoughts, making her confused, overwhelmed by sensations and emotions. They made sure she was lost in herself, trapped in her mind, all in front of the computer screen.

But like any good junkie, dressing up, playing on the webcam, stripping, exposing her soul, sharing her mind, demeaning herself, degrading herself, the fix was never enough. She couldn’t become less. There was always a spark, a light, that fought to stay aflame as voices always buzzed in her mind. The cacophony, the symphony, it was too much and she simply needed MORE.

So she began to seek those same men in the flesh, no longer pretending they would do those things to her. She needed them to be done, riding that rickety roller-coaster to higher highs. The fact that the coaster was barely held together, ready to fall apart and come crashing down, simply didn’t matter.

The first man used her, hurt her, abused her, and showed her that her make-believe fantasies were just that, fantasy. Real pain hurt, not little slaps that made her purr, but impacts that knocked the wind out of her. Shaken so bad the room spun, her body filled with pains she had never experienced, could never have experienced on her own. And when she was tossed out, raw, lightly damaged on the outside but shattered on the inside, she went home and cried. And touched herself and cried. And came again to the thought of what happened and cried. Cried, for reasons she couldn’t put into words, but those words existed all the same. Normalized, everything every man had shown her, had taunted her, had normalized it all for her. She understood that on some level, but she didn’t care. Crying or not, she had cum. And she wanted to cum again.

The girl began to escalate, her mouth that of a slut, opening for any cock that wanted inside. She met another older man who took the work others had started and saw the diamond that lay inside her. He saw the foundation, the broken mess, the neediness, the craziness, the intelligence, and the naivety. Even a tattered innocence, all waiting to be worked upon and improved. Made better. Ready to be made less.

The girl slowly became other things and embraced it all. When she was taught the beauty of bruises, of pretty colors, she also learned the allure of pain, how it was secretly the greatest drug. When she was taught the beauty of being dumb, she also learned the joys of a quiet mind, one no longer racing. When she was taught how to be pretty, she learned that there was no one perfect way. It only mattered if the man smiled at her.