Fed Up – The Rapist

WARNING: This is really outrageous and a purely experimental fiction.

I am lonely. I am very lonely. I should have a great life, but I don’t; not by my standards at least.

I have some great friends, let me come again, I have some of the awesomest[sic] friends one could possibly hope for.

They make up for a lot of the things most people would consider missing in my life. Like I dunno, a girlfriend. And no, my awesome friends aren’t only boys, there are girls in there too.

In fact, there are more girls, but, there’s always that but huh.

And there’s also that butt which belongs to Yaa. Oh mi Lord!

Yaa is beautiful beyond measure and so is June. They’re both fine as er… hell! So why won’t they free me from my loneliness, well, you know, there’s that thing called the friend zone. Like I said, I have the awesomest friends.

Okay, that’s a lie. I bet if I just approached them on the matter, they’d be more than willing to you know, be there for me, officially.

The problem is, I am just one sick, perverted and constantly horny bastard (my dad is actually alive, sorry pops, drill me later).

So yeah, sometimes, I do get lonely, but it’s really the horny part that gets to me and has me wanting a girlfriend.

I respect Yaa and June, along with the other awesome girl friends I have, way too much to want to go out with them. There wont be any substance in our lives if we dated; it’ll be sex, more sex and even more sex. I hate my friends feeling cheap and dirty and I’m not about to risk it.

Call me weird, call me dumb, call me whatever, but that’s my philosophy,that’s the code I live by; my word, my honor.

I should probably stop reading all that manga.

Chale I am fed up. In my state of constant perversion and horniness, I often think of the things I’d do to all these girls strolling about in their tight hugging outfits.

Those don’t even turn me on compared to what happens to me when I see a girl in loose garments.

With the tights, I can pretty much figure out what’s in the bag, I mean, it’s just a layer of textile covering what I can pretty much already see.

With loose garments however, I crave to know what’s behind. This is especially so when she’s voluptuous or when I think she is just from loose garments.

Yaa for example. Oh boy this perversion!

Anyway, snapping out of my reverie, chale I am fed up. Almost every week, I make these plans.

They’re evil plans. They’re degrading, they’re disrespectful, my mum would die if she found out I harbor such thoughts. My dad, well my dad would just be damn shocked. The way the man dey see me Snoop Dogg, Snoop Dogg eh.

These plans usually start when I get back to my hostel.

I can’t help it, not with all the “beautiful” things I see on my way back.

There are a lot of dark spots, paths if you may, that people use in and out of the hostel that I wouldn’t advise even Nikita (the badass agent) to use; but they do nonetheless.

And boy do people love to move in the dark.

I have gone over scenarios in my head time and time again. I could easily come up from behind, snatch a purse, pull a ghost prank, assault, heck even murder if I wanted.

My victim might have a pepper spray, know some kung fu or might just have some stilletos to fight back with.

But those aren’t things that concern me. Having a pretty awesome life comes with learning some really awesome, but very essential skills things.

Don’t forget I am still a very ardent instrumentalist with a focus on wind instruments :).

what I want to do, what I have planned, what I have almost done, wow, the chills down my spine.

Often I have decided to seek professional help, but I always back out because, it’s supposed to be more than fun and games, there should be some value to it.

A pro(ho) is just gonna be a pro, nothing more. I’m afraid that won’t do. I guess it’s back to the drawing board.

The things I wanna do. In one week, I have progressed from observing to planning to testing to near execution.

Near execution not because of my conscience, which is always bugging me and screaming to be heard, but because of how little the best disguise would keep me from trouble.

I’m a bit famous, I don’t know about being popular. Amongst the many things I’m famous for sadly, are my gait and physique; so f****n* distinct.

And thus it goes, a horny me with ethereal beauties for friends, but with very strong beliefs and philosophies I live by, with no intention of seeking professional help and a weekly schedule of dubious thoughts and almost completed [evil] plans.

If only, if I wasn’t so unique, if there could be proxy sexing or raping, if only, oh all these ifs, if only there weren’t these ifs…

Look, I don’t wanna go to jail, I believe I can take care of myself but man, it’s prison! If Hollywood’s portrayal of prisons is anything to go by, then I doubt I’d be taking a shower regularly, if ever. I can imagine I’d be ideal fodder for the *creatures*, after all, I am something of a masterpiece to behold. I am not about to pick up soap for any psycho in there. But god I need the hygiene, else I’d just die prematurely.

So yeah, prison, no can’t do.

I am fed up with these thoughts and plans and the fear of jail.

Can a brother just get some? Honestly!

Sincerely me, a fed up half-witted rapist !

p.s. never mind the incoherence of ideas. i was in a rush. Inspired by a mistaken title, “The Fed-Up Therapist” by Rowie. 🙂


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