When I was younger, escapism was all I had.
Always dreaming of something more, something better, something bigger than the small life I was used to.
Funny how when you get everything you want, it doesn’t matter nearly how much you thought it would.
Almost like the world outside of you can’t help you escape the hell going on inside your head but I digress.
My mother had all these books that one of her clients gave her that talked about all these mythological creatures as if they were real.
The ones that captivated me the most were these sea creatures, nothing like that in Arcadia.
The most exciting ones were these sharks that seemed to take on anything in their way, the smaller they were, the more aggressive they seemed.
You can surmise why I loved that.
That wasn’t what interested me the most though, it was the fact that they had these mutually beneficial relationships with these smaller fish called remora.
While the shark offered protection and food that was left behind by it during a frenzy, the remora removed parasites from the shark’s skin protecting it as well.
I thought maybe the book worm was trying to send my mom a message because it helped me understand my mom and her profession when I was confused and angry by it.
I thought these cretins used her and all she got for it was some dirty credits.
Then I realized they needed her as much as she needed them and vice versa, those needs were met and as long as we were fed, she rode those sharks as long as she could.
It might not have been the healthiest of relationships but they got what they needed and so did she.
It’s why she was independent, the only kind of fucking she wanted was the kind that needs protection.
She wasn’t like your girls Drexl, she got what she needed and while you can think you’re the shark and they’re your remora, the truth is you’ve been the parasite all along.
Don’t believe me? Look at your former ladies of the night.
They joined my uprising when you couldn’t see them.
You can barely recognize them anymore.
They’re not on the drugs to make themselves numb anymore.
They don’t drink to forget like they used to.
Color has returned to them, sex is enjoyable again for them, life as a whole is better for them now.
You were the one leeching off of them, like a vampire getting as much as he can during the night.
You call yourself a shark but a shark does the providing, not whatever you call this.
You want the kind of money those girls earned?
Then do the work.
Lay down, spread your legs, and take those disgusting dicks as deep as you can.
Doesn’t sound easy right?
If you’re going to be a shark, be a shark and take care of those who take care of you.
If you’re going to be a bitch, rename your club to something that fits who you really are, club cunt has a ring to it.