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Manic Pixie Dream Robot

Of course she was made for him. Petite, cute smile, tattoos, perky tits. But it was her personality that won him. She was optimistic, whimsical. She was fun for the sake of being fun.

Mary bought her. Lots of women do. I guess they love their men that much.

She was placed near his work. It was all set up with a sophistication that came with a price tag. She was a Meagan model. She wore short, shorts and a tank top. They didn’t match. The saying on the front of her shirt was flirty and fun. It made you want to talk to her about something, anything.

The thing of it was, she was confident. You don’t become a manic pixie dream girl by being like everyone else. And you are happy. Happy all the fucking time. The men never see the pain or drama. Maybe it’s there, maybe it’s not. All they see is the fun.

She was noticed. Then she made contact. It was sexual. Of course it was sexual. A touch on the hand. A comment about how she liked him. She wore short, shorts for God’s sake. Her skin was soft. Her eyes were open. Her tits were fantastic. She brought a light, a happiness. She was not the rock he was pushing up the hill.

And so it grew. The desire. The temptation. The lust. Things grew. She brought him stuff. She told him things. She made him have hope. Did he objectivity her? Yes. Was she only here for his plot, for his muse, for his story? Probably.

It took time. He didn’t do anything improper. He didn’t act on his desire.

And then he did.

It was all part of the program. Meagan model was authorized by the spouse to play along. She was to be his play thing. She could do anything he wanted. It was up to him. Some men took longer than others. Some enjoyed the company. Some like to touch. Some like more.

It took awhile for him. He wasn’t sure what to make of it all. Men enjoy attention. I guess we all do. She was paying attention to him. He needed attention.

Then it happen. He was drinking one night and sent Meagan a message. “I think I have a crush on you.” It was simple. It was almost innocent. No dick picture. Nothing crude.

Just a simple – I like you.

It didn’t go well. But, it should have. She was made for him. She should have responded with more manic pixie love, but she didn’t. She turned on him.

Was he joking she asked?

Was he? Had he misread the signs? The giggles, the touching, the kindness. YES, YES, he was joking. Holy shit he was joking. He suddenly sobered up and realized that it was all wrong,

It got silent for days. He avoided her. She avoided him. Then it happen. She wanted to meet and talk about what he had sent. She wanted to talk about what he meant.

That morning she ambushed him. It was harsh. It was tense. He stammered. He thought about what he would lose. He thought about his life, his love. He was sorry. He could not stop apologizing, mostly because she seemed so angry for a little little crush.

There was nothing manic pixie about this. The conversation escalated. Voices were raised. She moved close to him. She was angry. She was metal. She grabbed his throat and squeezed.

She was not made for him. He was made for her.

Published in Fiction

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