This man, he's older - fifties, maybe. And I'm not really attracted to him, I'm not attracted to any of them, but it doesn't matter.
He looks me over like an object, a piece of art or machinery. He walks around me and pinches my breast, touches my ass, makes me bend over, opens me up with his fingers, looks in all the holes, and it's dispassionate, like a mechanic.
And they get involved, too. They pinch me and caress me, look at my hair, pull it,
And it doesn't matter what I do, or how I feel, none of it is for my benefit. I'm a machine, a toy, a science experiment. If I cry, they lick the tears or they kiss me or they slap me, but not because of how I feel, just to see what it will do. If I don't react, it doesn't make any difference. If I do, it doesn't either.
They talk to me, but it's just simple orders. If they want me to move, they just move me to the right position like an animal.
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Date: 2011-05-31 08:06 am (UTC)He looks me over like an object, a piece of art or machinery. He walks around me and pinches my breast, touches my ass, makes me bend over, opens me up with his fingers, looks in all the holes, and it's dispassionate, like a mechanic.
And they get involved, too. They pinch me and caress me, look at my hair, pull it,
And it doesn't matter what I do, or how I feel, none of it is for my benefit. I'm a machine, a toy, a science experiment. If I cry, they lick the tears or they kiss me or they slap me, but not because of how I feel, just to see what it will do. If I don't react, it doesn't make any difference. If I do, it doesn't either.
They talk to me, but it's just simple orders. If they want me to move, they just move me to the right position like an animal.
And then they bring out the equipment.