X X X X X X

Do shitty people know that they are shitty, and does it make them better than, let say, shitty people that don’t even know how shitty they are? I wish I could tell what X is in simple terms. Unfortunately, X is anything but simple. 

I’ve never seen X fancy anything but herself, maybe except for her parents’ money and yellow pills, and driving across Long Beach with Radiohead on repeat after dark. I mean, she’s a cool dude after all, and others would have agreed with me. Boyish-looking with a left-ear piercing, she’d flashed her dimples to get out of inconvenient troubles. And man, X is real, while words are futile devices, so this is the best description I can come up with. You just gotta take my word for it, or maybe you should come over and kiki with X someday, she’s a real cool guy. 

However, she appears to have a particular issue with this individual in her social circle. And this individual is a tranny. Before continuing, I want to make sure we know that she just happened to be a tranny, not that X has beef with her because she’s a tranny. 

X can be somewhat condescending at times. She would rather shoot herself in the head with a pistol than be civil to the ones she finds “dim-witted and vulgar”, but she would give the whole thing up for this curly blondie, who, surprisingly, can be quite off-putting. Somehow, the blondie is real into the tranny. Oh did I mention that the blondie doesn't give half a fuck about X? Anyways, this comes off as a long, hard kick to X’s urethra. This is why she has problem with the tranny. Well this, and among a few other things. 

Bitch looks like she crawling out of a sewage. X can smell the rotteness from miles away. Piercings all over the lip and eyebrows, bad posture, and coupled with the emo fashion, no one would doubt that if she turns out to be a Satan worshipper. Hair styles in bangs, long and black, greasy and dirty. Incapable of talking about anything else other than being a tranny. One time when they were in the same room, she burped and let her stinky feet float all over the air. The polluted feeling makes X nauseous. And what made X despise her even more was that everyone else seemed to enjoy that nasty girl. Maybe they pity her. X wanted to choke the bitch till death. X felt violated just breathing the same air as her. X knows for a fact that she ain’t showering very regularly, or brushing that shit-stained thing in her mouth that she calls “teeth”. 

Okay, that might come off as mean, I agree. So it would be fair only if I were to demonize the blondie and her relationship with X. In short, X likes the blondie companionship. She likes her curly hair, and she likes her when she dresses from black to toe with no makeup on. 

She likes her in a very particular way. She likes to take care of her in the most sick fuck way. Cause blondie only wants X when she’s polluted and sad and disgusting. In her leather notebook, X wrote with almost unintelligible handwriting stuff about her and the blondie.

“I like making out with her while she’s warm and palpitated from her fever. Her lips and mouth are hot and dry, and her hair is damp. I wanted to take off her heavy menstrual pad and absorb every bit of it. All of me wanted all of her. I wanted to place my Ralph Lauren t-shirt - the one with the sailor chest pocket - between her legs and let her bleed all over it. I wanted to smell her sweat and body odour. I wanted to lick her matted eyelids and her salty eyeballs. I wanted her to have my baby. It would suit her. And she likes kids, too. I liked to nuzzle and cuddle and pet her like a kitten. She was very sweet, except when she was nasty.

I wouldn’t even care if I got sick from her. I looked at her throat, pale and fragile, and I wanted desperately to sink my canines into that blue vein pulsing in the carotid artery. There were days when my darling would cough and wheeze as her pneumonia worsened, I kissed her anyway. I wanted to taste the phlegm from her sickly, fibrotic lungs from cigarettes. She would cross and clenched her legs while I bit her upper lip. I wouldn’t mind pushing my knees inbetween her to release the pressure. But she never asked. I don’t think we've ever done anything more than that. I liked the idea of her sweating and naked and palpating in my arms, but I’m saving for my soulmate, and this whore is not one. 

If I could, I would turn her inside out and put my lips on her glowing, throbbing womb. I  wanted to taste the flesh of her bloody and tender uterus. I could look at the bones twitching in her ankle and wrist for hours and hours. I ran my fingers through her curvy, almost kyphotic back. The fingertips lingered at her thoracic spine searching for humps. One, two, then three vertebrae, I counted in my head. She shivered as I searched for her lumbar spine and gently pressed on her coccyx. That’s my favorite part. Her coccyx. 

I wouldn’t describe the girl's smell as pleasant, at least compared to other women I had kissed. She got that hot-air, foul, and pungent breath. Her body odour is strong even when she puts on her cheap lavender deodorant. I could smell her scent lingering on my shirt for a long time after we parted, wondering whether I should toss it into the washing machine. She’s a real good kisser tho. To compensate for her body odour, she knows how to use her tongue. Not too much nor too little.” 

I wouldn’t know whether you, my readers, think positively of X so far. You could very much think X is twisted and fucked up, and should be put on a looney bin. But if you know the blondie, you may change your mind. She’s a real nasty Internet whore. She was a whore, and when she was waiting at the bus stop after clubbing, everyone would think she was hustling with her whorish clothes, whorish make up, whorish sandals revealing the whorish toes. She’s a whore and X knows damn well, but she still wants her. She would treat the blondie real good, like an actual person, you know.

The blondie doesn’t always let X kiss her. Only on the cheek or forehead, mostly. X wanted to give her all, the heart, the entrails, and the soul. They would cuddle for hours on the couch, with her face buried into X’s body when she cried over things that don’t matter. Maybe X has that saviour complex. X thinks about her, dreams about her, talks about her, but she could never understand her feelings for the blondie. 

A pale, frail, and limbless girl is how I would describe the blondie in a physical and literal sense. Undesirable in a conventional way. Off-putting look and manner. But she creeps into you slowly and steadily, like an ocean tide. One day, you would look at her and you wonder if you guys would be good together, or it's the desire to rape the girl. 

X is a real poet. Another scribbling deep inside her drawer full of Valium and Ambien.

"In my dark and twisted imagination, I could possess my darling. I could bite her until her body was all bruised and inflamed. I could lick her lips before going in for a kiss, I could hold her asleep in my arms, I could open her rib cage along the sternum, and touch her palpating heart. I could do anything, anything but make her want me.”

That would be impossible, cause the thing with the blondie is that she’s incapable of loving. Sometimes I wonder if she even has a heart. She’s the sun shines on you, all warm and glorious. And then she would forget about you, and what left is just cold and darkness. And X falls for it most of the time. They always crawled back cause they couldn’t stand being away from each other for long. 

If you ever meet X, you could see whenever she enters a room, she becomes the center of the consensus of the mass. She is charismatic and humorous, and she metabolizes people’s attention, even though half of the time, she wants to smash everyone’s skull into the wall. Who is she if she's no longer pretty and likable?

X raging when she thinks about the blondie and the tranny together. 

“The blondie can go and be a whore forever, see if I care. She can go and fuck that tranny, then get polluted and pregnant with a deform and rotten baby. I can get off thinking about those nasty animals penetrating each other. The tranny would thrust her burning, hairy crotch - the one she’s ashamed of so badly - inside my darling. Then after they’re done with their breeding ritual, they would hold and caress each other, and my girl - my only girl that I’d ever wanted - would tell the tranny how much she loves her. And there I was, standing in the corner of the room with that scene on repeat.” 

I kinda feel bad for X. But I also kinda feel bad for the blondie and the tranny. I mean, who am I to judge? I'm just an outsider idling through life as if I don't exist. I would be a great narrator if I decided to join the theater industry or something.