Uploaded Fairy [ Editing ]
My quirk was a mix of sexual pleasure and complete depression. I could go all day masturbating to decapitated girl heads and not blink, and there was something always there that would make me regret that decision. Some girls I knew had similar life stories to my own, and at night I would cry till I fall asleep. I dream of a day when friends didn't wander off alone into the dark on a suicidal bent to destruction. I wanted at least some girl I knew from my hometown that would survive long enough to have a kid with.
Then they can take her head off if they must.
But I was inherently against the idea of capital punishment, and suicide even more so. And I was left wondering what could have made a sixteen year old girl those years ago, choose to eventually go somewhere she knew would end her life.
I wondered what her life was like.
It wasn't every day you found another girl threatened by beheading, and as usual I kind of just sort of let it happen. That's how things tend to be with me these days. I used to court girls who I would want to rescue, but they would slap my face. Others would stab me in the back, and then decapitate themselves with their own guillotine gun. And she only was the exception, because she found some interest in me beyond romance. She had read my autobiography about having originally having the desire to masturbate to girls having their heads cut off. And she wondered what could possibly motivate a change in me.
Well as usual, I didn't have an answer to that.
It wasn't like I tended to not give answers to French girls anyway, as they were the ones that introduced beheading into the family that took away my cousin, who I had fallen in love with at the time. It was her people that threatened Anna-Marie, who would go on to briefly meet my presence. I never spoke to her before, but from my understanding she was never completely the same after being initially sentenced to death in her home country. But here out here, where the zones are always decentralized and anonymous, she could be anyone.
She could be a tap-dancing ghost girl in a dark arcade. She could anyone at all. So from time to time I still visit her. I think she was the only girl I've ever met that didn't die on me, and she had a figure that made me ignore my mommy issues. So after walked over to visit her standing in the pillory after visiting the black smith, I took a lock of her hair, and then kept it in my pocket watch I remember my first girlfriend by.
"So what brings you to the US."
"I have no family, nobody. Who the hell are you?"
"I am Hemato Tomato, nice to meet. Will be seeing you later." I tried walking away after saying this, then found her shudder. "You OK, those things are fun."
"Shut up, I don't trust you."
"Perfect English, they taught you well."
My sex life was like a deflated air balloon, constantly being reminded of my mother. And the thing about my mother is, I could even consider doing her unless I didn't see her face. As if her head were removed. Girls reminded me of my mother, and girls who reminded me of my mother needed to have their heads removed. I certainly wasn't going to do it, that would absolutely kill me inside and out. So I walked to the dock, to board a faerie. She fluttered away along the lake like a miniature cruise ship of the human girl variety. I heard faerie girls give free tit grabs. Not that I was going to go around doing that either mind you.
So then went I got off, Anna-Marie caught up with me. She purchased herself a shot gun, and a few rounds of ammo.
"Why didn't you rape me?" she asked.
"Well loaded question, was I suppose to rape you?" I asked.
She had that long yard tear, "They always rape me. My father, my brothers, everyone I ever knew. And yet, you stood beside me."
"I didn't want to see you cry." I said.
"But I'm a criminal in my home country."
"Sweet heart, we're all criminals here."
I took a few week to get her to completely trust me completely. It took some work to make her understand what being trans is, because ... well she is French. But for once in my life, I found someone ... I could trust.
She would tell me how her father would sometime touch her, I refused to tell her how they brought back memories of when my father did, but I was there only for her. And you just don't talk about your own problems when trying to console someone. I may have a thing for decapitated heads, but it wasn't like I didn't have a heart.
I just wondered, how long would she poison me.
"What do you want."
"I'd like to do the cooking."
"I'm just glad I have a home."
In a way I could finally love again, even if someday she may poison me. I found that, despite my refusal to admit feeling sorry her on that night all those years ago, I found myself crying true tears of joy. I no longer failed my first best friend.
If only Anna-Marie knew.