Because Sometimes Getting Back is the Only Way to Go Forward
Yes, It Does Taste Sweet Indeed
I’ve always been a big fan of revenge. I know a lot of people believe in the art of letting things go, forgiving, moving on, but fuck that. Revenge is way more fun. Of course, I could seek revenge Game of Thrones style, incorporate a bit of poison into some wine or just blow up my entire city, but that may be a bit extreme considering the person who wronged me isn’t really work going to prison over.
I came up with a list of things I’m going to do instead as my way of saying “fuck you, buddy.” I think it’s pretty well-rounded. Feel free to take a look for yourselves below.
7 Ways I’m Getting Revenge
1. Finally Finish Writing My Book
It’s been a long time coming; I’ve worked on this book for over a year. I finished the first draft months ago but couldn’t get myself to go back and edit it. Now, I have a second wind and angry wind thus it’s second draft time. Get ready world it’s going to be a good one.
2. Continue Growing My Website and Patreon
Nothing says revenge like sweet sweet success. So, I’m buckling down and getting to it harder than ever before (perhaps you’ll be getting harder than ever before too…).
3. Grow My Big Thick Ass
Something about having a big thick ass that none of my exes can ever touch again makes me feel accomplished. Sure, I grew it myself, but it does take work to continue said growth and to keep it looking round and plump and oh so irresistible.
4. Leave the House Hot Hot Hot
It’s Denver and it’s pretty impossible to go anywhere without running into someone. There’s a pretty high percentage that that someone could be someone I’ve fucked before, maybe even the guy I most recently fucked. So, when I leave my house I want to make sure my big thick ass is looking as fine as hell.
Post Instagram Pics That Will Devastate Him
Sure, it’s petty but baby doesn’t care. Baby wants the even bigger baby to cry.
This bitch loves a good cackle.
7. Date Someone Better
This shouldn’t be too hard considering.
So there you have it. That’s my whole list. If you think there’s anything I should add feel free to leave your suggestions int he comments below.
I don’t blame the hormone-laced barely edible chicken tenders they served regularly or the 2% hormone-infused milk they forced us to drink every day during lunch at my rural Kansas grade-school. I don’t BLAME that, though let’s all admit that it could have helped move it along.
In any event, by 6th grade I had grown to the height and weight and boob size that I still am today. In other words, my breasts were at eye level to pretty much every guy in my class.
Even as these guys went through puberty themselves they never forgot that I had boobs.
In fact, they liked to remind me every day that I had boobs. And an ass. And sometimes they even reminded me that I had a vagina!
How did they do this reminding, you may wonder?
Well, not only did they talk to me about my body parts, but they thought it was perfectly okay to grab my breasts and my ass and sometimes even my vagina whenever they were near my breasts, ass, vagina– which was at least every day during P.E. and sometimes in the hallway, in the classroom, when we were all at sporting events etc.
Now, I was nothing special.
I wasn’t the prettiest girl in the class nor was I the girl with the biggest breasts.
Sometimes I wonder if those girls were harassed more or less than me. More because they were prettier or had bigger breasts or less because it was too obvious because of their beauty or their breasts.
We didn’t discuss it.
I only talked to my best friend about it. She didn’t get harassed or assaulted. She said it was because she didn’t have any boobs; I think it was because her dad was the dudes’ P.E. teacher. (Those boys were dumb, but they weren’t complete idiots.)
I was a target.
I was a target of their torment.
I was not fond of being a target of torment. Who would be?
So I did what I had been taught to do. I told an authority figure what was going on. The first authority figure I told was my P.E. teacher, an older woman who had also been my mother’s P.E. teacher.
Guess how she responded?
Oh yeah, you got it.
She told me:
“Krystal, as you know, boys will be boys.”
And that was that on that.
So, I then went to my school counselor, also a woman, guess what she said?!
Mhmm. (There is a theme here.)
“Krystal as you know, boys will be boys!”
Such an interesting way to deal with the problems of sexual assault. Totally worked! Oh yeah, letting boys grab girls boobs and butts and vaginas because they’re just being boys is definitely a good strategy. It worked so well that at least several of these boys who were being boys turned out to be men who rape.
That’s right. ‘Boys will be boys’ turn into ‘men who rape’. Not all of them of course, but one is plenty, two is too many, three is just ridiculous. And since I know for a fact that more than three boys left our school system to become rapists I will say that the whole, “boys will be boys” mentality isn’t how we should be raising our boys.
Anyhoo. I’m not a parent or a teacher so what the fuck do I know? Surely, listening to girls when they say something is wrong or even teaching people how to respect each other is too much to ask of our authority figures?
Just want to say a big FUCK YOU to the authority figures who chose to disregard the fact that I was daily being sexually assaulted.
Don’t worry you all. This is where it turns and gets good.
I decided to take matters into my own hands. I decided I would seek REVENGE!!!
This is the part of the story that’s hard to tell. I know what I did was wrong, but to be clear, I felt the need to protect myself. I felt the need to teach these boys a lesson since no one else seemed capable of doing it.
Now, this is where I become both impressed and totally fucking scared of my former self.
I decided to kill them with kindness.
I began baking them cookies.
That’s right. About once a month I would bring cookies in for everyone to eat after lunch. Chocolate chip cookies, brownies, sugar cookies, you name it, I baked it. These boys got quite used to me being sweet. So sweet. So very fucking sweet.
Until of course, the last time I brought in cookies. No-bake cookies. Cookies that may or may not have been laced with chocolate ex-lax.
You see, these boys made me feel like shit every single day of my life from the time I was 12 to well even today when I think about it. All I wanted was for them for one moment in time to feel what it felt like to feel like shit. And the only way I could think of for that to happen was if they literally shit themselves.
The greediest ones were the ones who suffered the most. You know what the bible says about greed– it’s like a deadly sin and shit.
And shit they did.
One guy was fixing a roof when it hit him. I’m not sure if he made it to the toilet in time. Another guy was on the john for three hours. One girl came up to me the next day and said to me, “I know what you did to those cookies and I just wanted to let you know they did NOTHING to me!”
“So, you’re still full of shit?” I said.
She huffed away.
See, I couldn’t NOT allow anyone to eat the cookies. There were some innocent people who had to suffer with them, and I do apologize for that. My best friend even ate one KNOWING that they held a secret shitty ingredient just because she didn’t want to rouse suspension– a real trouper of a best friend.
What happened after?
Well, they started leaving me the fuck alone.
No one told any authority figures either. They must have realized that they were being punished for their past behaviors. Or maybe they were smart enough to know that the authority figures would only respond with, “girls will be girls!”
And I beg you all to keep that in mind. If you continue to allow your male children to get away with inappropriate behavior because of course, “boys will be boys.” Do not be surprised when girls start behaving like girls and take matters into their own hands. Or their own cookies, if need be.