I always craved the dangerous ones. Even from the start, as a child, I liked the bad guys, the bad boys, the troublemakers. They were the ones who called to me and made me tingle. I think I got that from my mom. The smell of her men, their cigars, their rough whiskers, all of it. Older men. Angry men. Passionate, quick to violence, entitled, and knew what they wanted. And knew how to take it.

My shrink thinks it’s about self-destruction but it isn’t. It’s not about the certainty, just the possibility. Like standing on the edge of a cliff. I won’t jump off it, but someone may push me. That’s what I wanted in all my partners. I dated nice guys, but they did nothing for me. They deserved better than someone like me. I just cheated on them, often blatantly, to get them angry. A few rose to the occasion but they were disgusted with themselves after and stayed away from me. I don’t blame them. I would too.

But the ones who gave me things in exchange for others, who got me drunk, drugged me, or hit me? They always got me in their bed, one way or another. They all got what they wanted. And I wanted it too. I just had to play the dance, so I got the danger. Sometimes it was gloriously intense and full of need. Sometimes it left me bloodied and bruised. Either way, all parties got what they wanted.

You have to be more creative these days though. People are careful and deep down, I know they should be. That I shouldn’t encourage the behavior I crave. That doesn’t stop me from jogging through the nearby park in the middle of the night. Hoping, once again, to run into a group of punks, running their mouths. They’re funny like that. All full of talk and bravado, and if you toss right back at them, they’ll usually flee. Usually.

One time, I mocked the wrong guy in front of the wrong group. They were my age or a bit younger, all around 18 or so. It was when I laughed at him and told him no girl would touch his tiny dick that his friends erupted in laughter. His eyes became murder. I instantly got wet. He just stepped forward and slugged me, sending me to the grass. Standing over me, I was sobbing. He hadn’t play-hit me, I could feel my cheek bruising. He grabbed a handful of my hair, slapped me, and yelled at me.

“Not so tough now are you cunt?” he screamed. I shook my head meekly no. He saw what he wanted then. The rest of the guys were quiet but he just dragged me towards some bushes, kicked me once, and told me to get on my hands and knees. I didn’t argue. I want to be on the cliff’s edge, I’m not going to run off it. I felt him jerk down my pants, laugh at me, and tell them I was soaked. He was inside me in a second, calling me a stupid whore. Made me say it. The guys came over then, some with their phones out. He slapped me and told me to beg him to cum in my stupid whore ass.