Thought Catalog

My favorite topic of conversation is this: all these bothersome girls who want to have sex with me. Why can’t they leave me alone, these sluts! I could talk about it all day, and I do! I am buried in sluts, drowning in sluts. Every time I meet a girl, I flirt with her so that when she reciprocates, I can say to my friend later, “Yeah, she wants my nuts, but I just blow her off.” When I say it, I make a little snorting noise and take a drag on a cigarette. I don’t even consciously understand what I’m doing; only that my self-esteem feels like an overweight cat lying on its back, getting its belly rubbed vigorously by someone with strong but delicate fingers. Often, I even invent wholesale fabrications about how a particular girl at the bar exhibited interest, but I declined her advances due to my superior worth as a human being.