Sexuality (Completed) [SLOWLY BEING EDITED]

Prologue: Introduction to my Shitty Life

AN: The above song — "Sexuality" by Rihanna — should be the soundtrack for this entire book.

PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS BOOK HAS LOST A LOT OF IT'S GRAPHIC CONTENT. IN ORDER TO READ THE "RAW" VERSION OF MY BOOK, YOU MUST CLICK THE LINK BELOW MY NAME BIO.
Okay. Let's begin.

***

I'm currently in my room, in a daze, wondering what the actual fuck happened last night. For what feels like the hundredth time, I run through last night's events.

Let's see... At 5 p.m., Evan called me to Netflix and chill — he literally said that — I agreed, showed up unceremoniously in a crumpled white dress — as if to signify that my purity had been trampled long ago — and my hair half escaping from its bun.

Then, we fucked.

More like he fucked me up. It was 100℅ pain. I can be a masochist, but Jesus Christ, it was awful.

And he was one of those selfish fuckers — pun unapologetically intended — the ones that don't even try to make you come. Just thinking about it made me angry.

I look up at my Bob Marley poster, and see my idol smoking a blunt. Yes. That was what I needed. A blunt.

Because I just can't take any more of life's shit. My mother named me after one of the characters in Chinua Achebe's "Things Fall Apart" — the main character, Okonkwo's daughter. Although Okonkwo was a major douche, Ezinma was amazing. The name Ezinma actually means "good path" or "the future looks good". Unfortunately, schoolchildren didn't get the memo. I always got called names like "Eczema", and my personal favorite "Enema". Enema. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Anyways, back to what I was previously saying. Evan-Not-Peters fucked up. And after five faked orgasms, I decided to do the walk of shame looking like a crab. He must have thought that my walking like I was about to have vaginal prolapse was a good thing, because he was smiling to himself like a goon as I walked to the front door.

"Come back tomorrow?" He asked.

"Mmmm", I replied. See, that can be interpreted as anything.

And now I'm stuck in my room, with a Bob Marley poster telling me about a big tree and a small axe. I'm angry at Evan for fucking me up. I'm angry at those dumb ass school kids for making fun of me, and I'm angry at my mother for naming me Ezinma in the first place — she's not dumb, she must have seen it coming. But most of all, I'm angry at myself for allowing myself to become a self pitying victim in the first place.

AN: This poster in my room legit inspired me.

Some of the chapters in this book are private, so you'll have to delete the book, follow me, and then add the book to your library to read it. You must be at least eighteen years of age to read it, according to the age on your Wattpad account.

If this doesn't work, follow me and use the link for the chapter.