Sex is violence

I moved to Los Angeles almost nine years ago.

The first day I woke up as a resident of this city, I turned on the television. Something called “Good Day L.A.” was on.

Watching those three freaks, I knew I was in the right place. Of course, I took an immediate liking to Jillian. She talked about watching porn and hooking up with black guys—what’s not to love?

She was on Howard Stern recently.

Jillian said she enjoyed the unusual parts of her marriage most, like the crazy sex: "We have fun with gunplay and stuff like that...I don't even care that it's loaded. I said, 'Don't even tell me. I don't care.'" Jillian said she and her husband also like to play out her fantasies, in which he plays an intruder who rips her clothes off and pins her down and has his way with her: "I think he just pinned me down and there was a lot of sex talk. He had a gun [and pointed it at] the back of my head."

I hate to admit it but this kind of shit turns me on. A lot. The whole rape thing has haunted me since childhood. I’m convinced that someone at least tried to fuck me up the ass a kid. It would explain a lot. I really wish the thought of forcing sex didn’t get me off, but it does. It fucking does.

It’s why hooking up with Sex Bomb was soooo good last week. She fought hard, but I was able to overpower her, and I could tell she got off on that shit. We both did.

Fuck. Does this mean that I need to find a completely freaky bitch to be my woman? One I can control and use sexually in the most vile and demeaning ways possible. Yeah, probably...