He died right in front of me. I saw his legs swinging and his fingers twitching. All of this at six years old.

He hung himself. My father, right in the kitchen, on the beam holding the fan. Died in the very room we ate in. Surrounded by food and pots and pans. I looked at him and felt no sorrow, no pain. Just disgust and humiliation. These memories do nothing for me.

I'm beautiful. Beautiful and strong and poised and absolutely breath taking. Women give me a second glance and men, well men are a whole different story.

I could control every man in the world if I wanted. And why… because they're weak defenseless creatures controlled by one simple organ. One that becomes flaccid seconds after its finally gained attention.

Long ago, I lost all love for men. Started with my father. Men are pathetic, dependant creatures, no matter how much society points the other way.

So compelled by bodily desire. Lustfully entrapped by yearning and greed. So much that some would rape their own daughters.

Tear her insides over and over while screaming your wife's name. Hold her down while you whisper into her ear "Daddy loves you". Come inside her and show her what she's made of.

But what would I know about a normal sex life. It doesn't matter anymore.