Cambridge, MA
May 23rd
I finally saw Celine again last night, probably for the last time. I say “for the last time” because I treated her really poorly. It was love, I swear. I don’t remember what we did in the first hour but i remember that first hour was the only one she planned to spend with me.
I think I just straddled her on the couch and asked her questions and tried to make her laugh. I think I asked her if she was having sex with other guys. I think I showed her the fictional story I wrote about her where I spike her drink and rape her in her apartment. I printed it out at fedex. We were sitting in her apartment. She smiled as she read it. In this story I reveal that I know her real name is Sarah.
She is embarrassed to know that I found her Linkedin. The fact that she can be “embarrassed” at all suggests she is still affect-able. manipulatable, fuckable. I look for these things, these insecurities in people, I look for twitches in their face and the darting of their eyes because deep down I don’t trust anyone at all.
Celine trusts me a bit too much tonight. She trusts that I’ll politely leave her apartment when she says “OK it’s time to go” at 8PM.
I ignore her suggestion and just keep talking.
I ask her to kiss me and she says no.
Why?
because i don’t want to do that.
Why don’t you want to do that?
because i’m not attracted to you.
Why aren’t you attracted to me?
because you’re ugly.
Why do you think i’m ugly?
i don’t know i just do.
No you don’t, you’re just saying that… your perception is a choice. Kiss me.
no…
I stopped asking and just tried to do it. She covered her mouth with her hand. I frowned. I asked if she could slap me in the face, hard. She hesitated but then she complied. It felt so good, so fucking good. My ears rang and I felt dizzy. I loved her most of all moments after being struck.
She says you really need to go now, i’m kicking you out, it’s time to leave, but I’m still sitting on top of her.
I can’t help but notice that her figure is so grand. She's got wide hips a big ass large breasts (rare in asians) and she loves yoga. At one point I tell her I would love her even if she was ugly but how can I know that—really. Her face is precious even when she hates me.
She says we can schedule for another time I say fuck you, no, I’ve been trying to see you for the past 3 weeks, you’ve been curbing me over and over, kiss me like you mean it or I’m not leaving. She won’t do it. Her friend is texting her, she has Dinner Plans very soon.
She says don’t make me force you physically... I scoff. Even the brightest of women are ignorant of the power differential between us.
She does taekwondo and lifts weights, I spam Adderall and McDonalds. But before she even starts to struggle I know she has no chance. I’m built like Shaggy from Scooby Doo and she’s more like Velma. Zoinkies— she tries to push me off but it’s no use. I’m not making this up this all really happened.
I say I’m sorry I won’t let you go. How could I? We talk in circles until she accepts that she has no leverage.
She says she has to pee, can I get up to pee? I say can you just kiss me on the lips first? Please? She recoils in disgust every time I suggest this. I hate her so much and I’m trying to make her hate me too.
I can finally hear it— the emotion in her voice, that girlish UGGGH you hear when they don’t get what they want, when they’ve found themselves in a situation they can’t control.
While I’ve got her hostage I keep asking her questions. She said earlier that day at about 11 AM this guy she’s fucking said “a lot of interesting things” to her, she was shocked at the sheer volume of his thoughts about her, and their whole “Physically-Exclusive Emotionally-Open” relationship1.
She tells me she has about 8 guys pining for her right now, which makes sense considering the way she treats me,
I try to tell her that the entire fucking world is reaching out to me through the screen lately and it sucks, i just want one person, i just want you, i’m being dead sincere but she laughs it off,

she trusts me but my words are only gibberish, i can’t get through to her, i’m so nervous and she feels nothing at all, or so she pretends,
I allow her to use her phone to tell her friend she’s going to be late.
We go through this dance again:
She tells me I need to leave. I say no I don’t, I don’t need to do anything, I am stronger than you on this couch, you have no leverage,
I’m laughing at her now, the whole situation delights me,
What her de-facto boyfriend explained this morning is that Celine really seems to get off on manipulating people, controlling them, and I know what he means, so maybe what I’m trying to do right now is show this girl how it feels to be controlled.
She keeps insisting she doesn’t like it but I know she does, she calls me stupid, she calls me a stupid ugly troglodyte and it just makes me smile more.
Her friend is calling now: are you okay? Texting over and over…
This girl Celine is in such high demand… I tell her that this is cancer, that you have text notifications going to your lock screen, I pity you. She says she likes it. I know she'll grow out of it, but people change slow.
She sighs loudly and texts her friend: she’s not going to be able to make it tonight, something came up, I laugh maniacally.
She’s mentioned several times that she could call the police, but she really doesn’t want to, I know this,
I say “do it… tell your friends to come get you, tell your boyfriend, lets have some fun” but I know she won’t. It’s just not worth it.
She’s not particularly afraid of me, just annoyed. Earlier I asked what she liked about the guy she was dating and she said “he annoys me.” Yeah, no shit. That’s Dating 101. I ask her to kiss me again and she says no, again.
Her friend will not accept rejection either—she’s on her way.
Her friend… she’s outside. She’s in the building. She’s opening the apartment door—what the fuck?
Celine and I freak out at once, the situation becomes real. I drop to the floor and Celine runs to the door to go into fake bitch mode and greet her friend. She says some lies to this girl to make her go away.
She’s resigned to me now. We open up the bottle of wine I stole from a liquor store last week and finally do what I’ve wanted to do with her for the past entire month.
This is all I ever wanted, Celine. I wanted to be with you in your apartment and split a bottle of wine and play. There are so few people who are much fun to play with. I met so many girls in New York City and they were fine people but with you I really get to play.
She’s getting texts from her boyfriend—they look desperate. I’m drunk now and feeling really cruel so I put her phone up in a high cupboard where she can’t reach.
I take my shirt off and suddenly I’m not so skinny any more. I’ve got those sexy v lines coming up from my sweatpants. Shirt on I look like shinji ikari but shirt off I’m brad pitt fight club. There are some perks to being homeless and addicted to meth. She would never admit it but she did start to treat me different after she saw. She cooked me some dumplings and asked me to turn so that she could see my back.
Earlier when I was interrogating her as to why she doesn’t find me attractive—why she won’t fuck me, I tried to explain that Female attraction isn’t visual, it’s mental. Your perception of a man’s face morphs into his character…
I asked her Why she likes big strong guys with muscles. She said “they just look nice”—Okay but why? What are the muscles for?
She claimed to be “pathologically opposed to violence” — ooh la la, somebody’s gonna get laid in college... She tried to push me off two or three more times before finally giving up.
She looked so pretty when she groaned. I got to stare at her face for hours, I got to squeeze her cheeks and blink into her eyes and kiss her everywhere except on the lips. Because she wouldn’t let me. She was also Pathologically opposed to letting me kiss her on the lips.
She said god, do I just have to fuck you?! Is that what it would take to make you go away?
I thought for a moment… yes.
But then I thought for another moment, do I even want that?
She actually started to get quite into this idea, especially when a little drunk—that she could fuck me, I couldn’t fuck her, but through all this teasing and playing I was not getting hard. For once I had forgotten sex entirely.
She asked me to show her my recent STD test2. I tried, but the patient portal text thing wasn’t loading on my phone, I was distracted because I was having fun just talking to her.
Instead of having sex we went to bed. Finally—this was all I ever wanted. I told her from the beginning, I just want to fall asleep with you in that bed and pretend you’re my girlfriend. I just want to hold you and kiss you and play, god damn it why are you so difficult, slap me in the face again I really like how it feels—did you know that when you get hit in the face, hard, you hear this high pitched ringing sound in your ears? Like in the movies, like a Flashbang in COD. Hit me Celine, hit me, I just want to feel alive.
We laid in her bed, her thin Japanese floor futon which was extremely comfy, and we cuddled, and she asked me to tell her a story. Just like all my girlfriends ever did before. I’m not so good at telling stories.
I started to tell her about my cabin in Kansas but unlike every other reader on Substack she’s not interested in things that actually happened, she likes fiction. so she clarifies—no, a fairy tale.
She tries to tell me a story about two rabbits with very special hats—their names are Sam and Jubilee. I note the “rabbits” choice… she definitely wants to fuck. But I’m too tired to get hard. We just fall asleep.
I tried to take a picture of her at 4 AM when I woke up hard but I failed—I was too delirious and ashamed.
She rose at 7:00 AM and started reading Dostoyevsky. I had been drifting in and out of sleep for the past few hours, softly grinding her and the sheets in agony, my body was ready to fuck but my brain wasn’t drunk enough to rape. Why is this always so tricky...
I rose from the floor myself and immediately chugged the dreamberry wine. She cringed, and made me some breakfast and tea instead.
Last night I told her I would leave after breakfast so she could attend her Plans at 10, her terribly vague as always Plans with some Person where they would just Talk and be Friends…
I tried to get through to her what are you doing with all these people? What is the point? of having Friends? She says don’t you have friends? I say I just use people… I know she’s the same but she’s not far enough along to see it..
I ask her What Do You Want and she says another guy just asked me that 12 hours ago. I say it’s a pleasure to see you think and she says I get that a lot too. She’s trying to make me feel like everybody else3, this bitch has no idea.
I know what I want. I want to take a girl like Celine to an Epstein island and read books and fuck her, all the time, indefinitely.
She won’t live that life with me. She didn’t ask for any of this. She told me she would buy me a meal and give me a shower if I came to Boston and that’s it. None of this is her fault. She has acted totally reasonable, I am the problem. and I miss her. I wish she would miss me instead.
I tell her that I’m lonely and so is she. She has deluded herself into thinking that she’s not lonely because she has so many friends. That’s the loneliest position to be in, my dear.
I have accepted that I am lonely, not for lack of people but for lack of a person like you, exactly you. You will feel the same about me, eventually, I know. I choose to know. In the past 8 months I’ve been speaking a lot of things into existence. It’s powerful stuff, these words, you know..

So it’s morning and we’re back in the kitchen and she really wants to get on with her day.
I don’t care. Kiss me on the lips.
you need to leave.
You need to kiss me.
We’re back on the couch. She’s audibly frustrated again and it only endears me more. Kiss me on the lips.
NO, can I just give you $50 so you go away?
My eyes light up instinctively but my romantic brain takes hold—NO, people are sending me money4 every day now, I don’t want your money Celine, I want you to kiss me.
She weighs her options: fuck me, call the police, or kiss me on the lips. She can’t sacrifice another entire day to this foolishness.
She finally resigns. I don’t want to kiss you… what am I supposed to do?
I say just don’t resist. Just don’t resist..
She submits. She takes off her nerdy asian circle glasses. She says all right, fine. You promise to leave after?
I promise. Just don’t resist. I’m straddling her now.
Wait… one more thing, slap me in the face, hard, like you hate me, like you want to hurt me.
She says I don’t hate you.
I say just pretend.. She just pretends.
She hits me hard, twice, I am in love, my ears ring and my vision blurs and I fall into her, sucking on her soft little lips like she’s mine, like I’ve always wanted from the very first moment I saw her, immediately I am struck with regret that I will never see her again.
I moan soft and hold her close to see her beautiful baby face in a completely new light. I wonder if she felt anything at all. She must have… she spent the last 15 hours resisting this moment. There must be some thrill in surrender.
The “oh actually i do want to fuck this girl” feeling finally comes but I don’t act on it. I am finally ready to go.
I just wanted to see her submit. I just wanted her to carry that feeling out the door, onto her dates with these other spectacular Harvard men, I wanted her to know how it feels to be used. I bet if you asked her she’d say she felt nothing at all—she’s too smart.
She immediately went to wash her mouth in the sink.
I said fuck you, I hate you so much. Why?
She gave me some retarded explanation as I was heading out the door. On my way out she said: “i look forward to reading…” because she can never ever lose.
And then I walked down the street to the spot where I parked my van, last night, hastily, in a yellow-painted loading zone, and it wasn’t there.
The van that I live in was towed.
Great. I deserve it. The things I do for love.
May 7th-May 22nd
I will refer to him as a “boyfriend” for the remainder of the text. She would disagree in so many words…
Alternatively I could refer to him as the Guy She has Been Getting Fucked By While She Reads Fantastic Love Letters From Me For The Past 3 Weeks but instead I will just say boyfriend, for simplicity.
There is no bigger turn off than when they reveal they do not trust me.
Women love to do this. Even my sisters, they try to remind me that I am not special, while I receive messages all day every day telling me I am writing the next great American novel. What am I to think?
Thank you.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/19jivoYc1ueZ3v0ZVnmFPhAq84FePHGGI1swHZy0WNds/edit?usp=sharing
WBE gets IQ mogged and life mogged and flees the scene. This is act three.