'Chelsea, prove that I own you.'Before I could respond another message came through.'I want you to go into your kitchen, open a kitchen drawer and pul... out a big wooden spoon with a long handle. I want you to wash it, then push it into your wet pussy. I want you to fuck yourself with it slowly. Send proof.'I replied, 'what, now?' He quickly responded with 'No, on the bus. Do it for me, Chelsea.'I quickly grabbed the spoon and headed towards the bus, ignoring my mum's boyfriend as he tried to. But I know others with lives that make mine look like a walk through thepark. I've been pitied, while it can feel good to have someone empathizewith me, a person gets tired of being the object of pity pretty fast.I've thought more than once that I know people are judged by how theytreat "the least of these", but I would be just as happy if "the least ofthese" was somebody other than me. Frankly, I would like to be worth morethan just pity.This isnt about my rape, or "hating" being a guy.Look,. Of course, she did not want to make the change, but this was one of those rare times when I put my foot down and would not budge. I guess that she finally came to agree with my side of the argument, but I won however it came about. The next day, I hired two boys to clear out the room and to clean it thoroughly. Naturally, they grumbled about doing "women's work," but I pointed that they were being paid handsomely for their time, and that was enough to shut them up.When the room was clear and. "Margie and I were thinking, sweetie, how much fun it would be to help you play dress up. You'd like that, wouldn't youdear? Playing dress up in mommy's pretty clothes? Wearing lipstick and perfume and jewelry and high heels? Learning to sit and walk like a lady? Learning to curtsey and serve as our maid? You'd like that, wouldn't you? It would make mommy so happy to see you play dress up in her pretty clothes. And Margie too."I was trapped. After seven days of silence and disapproval, I.