Loose Bunny

K.A.'s been working really hard. She kind of passed out a while ago, so I'm grabbing the blog space. Who am I? I don't even have a name yet, if you want to know the truth. And from looking around here, I really don't belong. You see, I'm not gay, all right? Not that there's anything wrong with that, but if she thinks being in one of her books is going to change that she's bat shit crazier than usual.

Yeah so, everybody experiments when they're younger, but since then? No way. I've had lots of girlfriends, and I know what I like, thank you very much. When I first found myself here, I tried to tell myself it was all fine. I know who I am, and she doesn't do gay-for-you stories. But now, I'm getting kind of nervous.

Look, it's just a thing. I just need to ride this out for six months, six months and then I'm free. Free like I'll have more money than even I can spend. If getting that money means I've got to spend those six months with him, it's all good. I mean it's not like he's a troll or something. He's—well, sometimes he's almost—not pretty but—shit. It's hard to explain unless you've met him. There's this thing he does with his with his thumb and his lips when he thinks nobody's looking—not that I've been looking. If he caught me looking, he'd laugh his tight little ass off—not that I've noticed that either.

The money, right. Lots and lots of money. You know who else likes money? Chicks. Hot women with soft bodies and the right kind of curves. And that's all I've got to say about it. Except for that thing about his eyes.