but now I had a better idea.
Letting dogs bite each other would be far more satisfying.
After the call, my mood improved dramatically.
This whole ordeal might have caught me off guard,
but at least it had shown me Ryan’s true colors.
That alone was worth something.
I scrolled through the trending topics with my name still at the top.
I created new accounts on every major platform —
and within minutes, I had a million followers.
Most were there to mock or insult me,
but some kind-hearted girls left supportive messages:
Sis, it’s not your fault.
No one deserves to be treated this way.
So I posted my first tweet:
I have nothing to be ashamed of.
Women seeking pleasure are not sluts.
The ones who should be ashamed are those who exploit women in secret,
then condemn them publicly like hypocrites.
But I had underestimated how far this scandal would spread.
When I walked down the street, strangers pointed at me:
“So this is the slut who wrote that sex diary, huh?
Just look at her — she reeks of it.”
“She must be amazing in bed with all those positions.
I wanna try her too.”
“Damn, just thinking about it turns me on.”
A group of drunk men leered at me,
and a few bold ones grabbed me by the waist.
“Hey sweetheart, you’re New York’s hottest star right now!”
“We’ve all read your ‘108 positions.’
Wanna try number 109 with us?”
“Don’t worry — we won’t make you write another thousand-word report about it!”
I didn’t even look at them.
I just slapped them across the face.
That made them furious.
“Bitch! You dress like that, write all that filth,
just to tempt men — and now you’re acting all pure?”
“Bet you’ve been used up already — come on boys, let’s show her a good time!”
They all surrounded me at once.
Just as I braced myself to fight,
a dark shadow flashed before my eyes —
and in a few swift moves, the drunks were on the ground.
“Get lost!
Or I’ll have you all arrested!”
I looked up —
and there was Ryan, panting after the scuffle.
