I reached for the door and placed my hand on the door knob. What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do? I thought with my hand stuck to the black and shiny door knob as if my hand had been stuck to it. Jeremy, you need to do this. I thought to myself. I turned the doorknob, and opened the door wide enough to see my visitors. There were two people outside my home. My brother, and a woman that I didn’t recognize. She had patches of skin that were kept together with stitches, two pillow-like horns on the top of her head, and her hands were massive. Her hands must’ve been at least twice as wide than her head. The woman clutched Matthew’s right arm with her left.
There are laws in just about every human country that are anti-male. For example, there are laws that state when a woman accuses a man of a crime such as rape, the man will be punished for the crime even without evidence. I thank whatever deity out there that a bachelor’s tax doesn’t exist yet. This stuff is why I’ve just about given up on dating.
This is a shitpost dedicated to my mother’s bookshelf full of godawful “Vulnerable hardworking woman who doesn’t know what love is gets seduced by a rugged mysterious man who never wears a shirt” novels.
And I have an idea of who’s responsible.
She first encountered it on a rainy day — as all strange encounters usually go — around the time she was closing down for the day.