The Agony of Being a Cunt in a World of Bitches

I’m sick of being called a cunt. It’s like, hello, I know I’m a cunt, okay? I’ve been told that enough times by my so-called ‘friends’ and ‘family’ that I’ve started to believe it. But let me tell you, being a cunt is not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s exhausting, being the center of everyone’s attention, always being the one to stir up drama and conflict. And don’t even get me started on the expectations - always having to be ‘on’ and ‘feminine’, always having to be the one to placate the fragile egos of those around me. No, I’m not a cunt, I’m a woman, and there’s a difference.

I was at the mall the other day, and I saw this group of bitches (yes, I’m calling them that, because that’s exactly what they were) laughing and joking with each other. They were all so… cheerful, so… pleasant. And I just wanted to scream at them, ‘You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? You think you’re so much more deserving of love and respect just because you’re a little more… polished, a little more… put together.’ But I didn’t. I just stood there, seething with anger and resentment, wondering why I couldn’t be more like them. But the truth is, I don’t want to be like them. I want to be a cunt, a real cunt, a cunt who doesn’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my sex life lately, and I have to say, it’s been a real disappointment. I mean, I’m a middle-aged woman, I’m not exactly at the height of my physical prime, but I still expect a certain level of… enthusiasm from my partners. But no, it’s always the same - they’re too busy checking their phones, too busy thinking about their own problems, to even notice that I’m there. And I’m left feeling like a dirty old slut, a used-up piece of meat, discarded and forgotten. But you know what? I’m not going to take it lying down. I’m going to start demanding more, start expecting more, start being the kind of cunt that I know I can be.