Already the guests begin to arrive. All boys — that’s all the company she keeps — slowly trickling in, one and then three and soon to be followed by many more, if history and routine have any bearing on the matter.
The rich, spoiled bitch-child celebrates 20 years on this earth today, a day often used to celebrate fools, to mock and laugh at the gullible and to take glee in the guile by which we can trick those we deem more dim-witted than ourselves.
What better day for her to party? Let the fool celebrate. The booze will flow, the weed will burn, likely other substances will wend their ways through bodies and brains. As I left the bath moments ago, the sweet perfume of pot smoke hung thick in the air — good shit, it seemed, from the moment of scent I sampled. Deep voices conversing, the basses and baritones carrying their banter and chilling my bones.
It does seem quite the shame, though — she may be a year older, but she’s not one second closer to growing up. Her verbally and emotionally abusive relationship with her boyfriend frightens me, to regularly hear how she screams at him, telling him how stupid and worthless he is, almost as often as she lavishes praise on him — the “best boyfriend ever” just hours before he’s verbally lashed — “how could you do that? I told you, and you fucked up again! I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU! I’M NOT YELLING AT ALL, DAMN IT!” It sickens me to understand completely and intuitively why he stays, too; great sex as often as he wants it? Score. A place to live away from his folks? Hot damn! Cost-free room and board — and no “crust of bread, cup of water,” either, but the finest gourmet that money can buy? You might hang around, too!
If it means having her laugh to all her assembled guests that “yeah, he breaks all the glasses, and doesn’t clean them up. We clean them up, at least, because we’re not like that.” — well, what’s a little public humiliation in exchange? If she insists that he sacrifice his health for her codependency — telling him to skip his psych meds because he is making them late for the rock concert by trying to go back and fetch them, spending half an hour telling him how dumb he is for forgetting them and refusing to move an inch until he capitulates to her every demand so that she doesn’t have to spend a single moment functioning on her own… well, again, why is that a problem? Plenty of awesome shit to balance things out! Besides, she’s always right… he must just need to work on understanding that, right?
Still more boys coming in, even as I write this. Tonight will be loud and potentially very difficult — but I begin this night with wonderful preparation, with a day full of beauty and joy and fantastic good things coming to me throughout. I’m in a good mood, and a good space.
I also have a secret weapon… acquired later than initially intended, as I had planned for it to be my birthday gift to myself in mid-February, but I now have my own Tango III vibrator — and tonight will be a good, relaxing, fun night no matter what else surrounds me. Perfect peace amid the tempest, filling me completely… even if my toy doesn’t!