Stepford Wife-ing it out in Someone’s Parents’ Basement

I finally settled down.

That’s what I told myself.

I’ll be anything you want, babe!

Take off those Rick Owens pants and we’ll get into business.

I’ll wear the garters you like.

Just like those girls you save on your phone.

“What did you say?”



“They are not tight enough.”



I’ll buy another pair, my love.

No problem!



I made it my mission to please you.

In your dad’s basement.



When you are done with me, you will still say I look like a prostitute.



Hey.

You told me to put those on!



You said I look good in white.

So I max out my credit cards trying to wash myself clean of the shame.



I exist as a fantasy.

Your fetish.



In the basement.

Of your parents’ basement.



You don’t believe in God.

So I made you into one.



Your basement became a temple.

Your mattress an altar.



When you hold me at night

that’s when I feel closest to God.



So I lock myself down here.



A priestess.

Tending your flames.



I look so hungry.



But I look so good!



It’s never enough.



So



shop

shop

shop



Dinners.

Hospital bills.

Flowers to leave on your altar.



I’ll pay for it all.



No problem, my love!



I have no identity.



So hurry up.

Assign me one.



I’ll be your Babylon!



So you can shun me.

Shame me.

Hate to love me.



“I am a simple man.”



So I take you to galleries.

Openings.

Fine dining.



Foie gras.

French wine.



Libations.



Oh, you want grass?



Sure.



I’ll start.



Feeling super eager to stay in bed.

That’s the only thing I desire, babe.



Yeah.



Fucking right.



I have been conning myself.



Feeding myself the bullshit you give me

so I don’t starve.



Stop the con.



Stop the con.



Stop the con.



That’s what I’ve been thinking



since I was born.



No.



I’ll find something else to con my way into.



After all,



that’s what I do best.