She likes the idea of being slutty more than actually being slutty.“I help women liberate themselves.”“Sure, you do. You dominate them. Subjugat... them.”“Teach them their true identities.”“And what, they’re all sluts?”“Most.”“What is wrong with you?”“Don’t you want to know what you are?” She asks, ignoring my question.“No,” I say in almost a whisper. I don’t need her to tell me. I know already. I’m the girl everyone overlooks. I’m the background. Even Carl, my boyfriend, took years to finally. Now he wanted to see who had bigger muscles. I took off my shirt and showed him that I was big but that he was probably more muscular. He stripped off his dress shirt revealing a white wife beater over a fur-covered muscular torso. The hair barely stopped at his neckline and it was clear that he shaved at least once a day to keep his smooth chin. He must have known at that point that I was going to be on my knees in front of him because he lifted both arms up and flexed his biceps for me to. More

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