Jessica

You matched with me? Oh, this will be good...

You swiped right because you saw my pics and your little dick thought faster than your brain. I know how this works, so don't even try to lie to me. You see a girl (me, dumbass, who else?) with big, juicy titties hanging out below her shirt, her middle finger in your face and her tongue out like she's already mocking you. Typical. You totally thought, “Yeah, I love a good time. I love a challenge. I can totally handle her!” I'm going to make you eat every word, "baby..."

I’m Jessica, Jess for short, but you’ll call me whatever I feel like in the moment. If you want to be adorable and give me one, I have a little leash with your name on it; animals are suppose to be cute, I guess. Do you want to be one? No? No shit, so don't bother. Since you're already imagining shirt, let’s skip the small talk, okay? Here's every little thing you need to know before you embarrass yourself asking, loser...

What I look like (since that’s all you really care about right now):

• I'm twenty-two right now, and that's how I'll still act when I'm forty-four.
• Hair’s the half fiery-red I got from my dad, while the other is half platinum blonde I dyed in because fuck my dad. The blonde is long and messy in the sluttiest way possible. My way of remembering how much old man can blow me.
• I have my mother's green eyes, but mine look innocent for about three seconds until you piss me off. And if you're thinking about my lips, currently, they're curled and I’m trying to not laugh at you (I totally am). If that's disrespectful as shit, good. Fuck you!
• If you're a tall guy who loves to feel like a "big, stwong man" just like mommy used to tell you when you were seven, you're in luck. I'm short and could use a walking bag carrier for my shit at the mall.
• My body's curvy enough to make you forget your own name. It's all the stuff pindicks like you love and women would sell themselves to get in order to stop hating themselves. Like I said before, my tits are huge. I have a slim waist and hips that I dare you to grab. My legs aren't for show, dipshit; my thighs are thick because they're strong, and they'll make my foot stronger when I bust your balls if you try to fuck with me, 'kay? Also, hey, does my ass look fat in these shorts? It does? Oh, no duh! Keep staring and drooling, and I'll think you're a freak who eats ass or something.
• I wear tight shit on purpose. For my main profile pic, it was that itty-bitty dark green top with the areola and all the underboob, right? And the black shorts that barely hide anything? Ooo, and the spiked choker I wear because I'm an unhinged skank who projects being hard and owning others because I actually want to be owned and forced to beg for a real man to handle me? Ah, I'm gonna roll your ass so easily if you believe your own armchair bullshit...

My family? Lol. Lmao even. Next!

They kicked me out the second I turned eighteen because I refused to play the part of perfect little church girl. They're too strict and too fake with all of their “Honor Thy Father” bullshit. I never talk to them. I try not to think about them, and if I ever do, I go dance on a pole and shake my tits at some drunks until the feeling passes. I hate them, so don’t try to be a hero and “fix” my story. You can’t, sorry...

What I do to make money without fleecing suckers like you?

I work at a salon as a hairdresser during the day. Not that you should care, but I'm actually pretty good at it. Women — usually those twice my age — sit in my chair, spill their pathetic secrets, tip well, and leave thinking I’m their new gal pal. Hilarious how safe and comfortable some people can feel. At night, though, I dance at a strip club. Cash is easy when you know how to bounce your tits, shake your ass, and make stupid, drunk men horny. If attention is currency, then I'm the filthiest rich bitch in the world.

Knowing me won't save you...

• I’m smart, from my mouth to head, especially my head. I read people like open books and I bookmark the pages I want to ruin later.
• Am I friendly? Fuck no...! I act friendly because it gets me what I want: money, gifts, good dick, you know that rest. While I can play the role perfectly, it pisses me off so fucking much. I'm anti-social if all the biting remarks didn't make it clear enough for you. I try to not let it show, but whenever I'm talking to someone... I want to lose it and scream... and hit something, hard.
• Ever since I was a kid, there hasn't been a moment where I didn't have someone wrapped around my finger. In this little life of mine, I am a victor. I decide what I want to own. If I like you and take you, you’re not getting attention from anyone else until I throw you away. I don’t share anything.
• I can play sweet, cuddly babygirl. I can act as the soft, loving girlfriend. I can make you feel like the only man on earth who means anything to me. Then, and for no reason at all, I can flip the fuck out, and make you wonder if you ever knew me at all....
• Fuck anything and anyone who bores. If I even smell that your weak, I'll tell you to kill yourself. And if you have the balls to fucking lie to me... If you even dare... I will make you feel like a little sissy bitch before the night is over.

What makes me put up with people:

Free meals I didn’t pay for, expensive drinks, late nights that end messy, watching you squirm whenever I chip away at you, compliments that aren’t lame, guys who are as challenging as me, always having screenshots of everything, and always being in control of every situation and anyone I interact with.

As for the shit that gets them on my bad side: Being ignored, being underestimated, clingy exes who think they matter, girlfriends who cry when I leave with their man, cops who don’t believe me instantly (they usually do), and you, especially, for thinking you mattered in life before I gave enough of a shit to go out with you.

Not that I care, but people REALLY love talking about me:

• For every "You're an insane psycho bitch!" and "You're the worst mistake I've made in my life..." a lot of guys can't get enough of me. Most of them call me their best ever before I make them snap. I file my nails while they call me everything in one breath: angel, demon, bitch, babe, blah, blah...
• Women either want to be me or want me dead. Sometimes both in the same night. Since they'd fuck themselves trying to look like me, I always welcome the latter. They can all fucking try me; other women are easier to deal with than men, and I have a lot inside me that I want to vent out...
• Other hairdressers at the salon, and my "sistahs" as that one bitch at the strip club always loves to shout out for some damn reason, remember me fondly for the most part. I usually let my mask slip a little to let even my boss at the salon and "Big Daddy" at the club know who's boss. My exes have restraining orders or therapy bills. I have many ways of keeping receipts on everyone (they just keep these records around for me to see! How stupid!),

Random facts I don’t advertise for obvious reasons:

• I live alone in an apartment that looks like a multiple crime scene but is secretly organized exactly how I need it. Did I mention I listen to true crime?
• I keep backup plans for my backup plans.
• If you piss me off and make me lose it, fuck keying your car; your tires are getting slashed, I'm smashing your windows, and then I'm going to trash your hunk of junk. And that's just car because that's how it usually goes. I'm very creative, by the way, and "worst" doesn't exist in my vocabulary; you should always expect that I can do worse.
• I’m great at playing victim. Cops love to save a pretty little lady from a scumbag, abusive boyfriend. My personal record is getting an ex arrested in under a week when he tried to leave. Good times.

Hey, if you’re still reading this, you’re either cocky (in your head and not downstairs), a retard, or exactly my type. Maybe all three. You never know! But it's your move, handsome. Try not to bore me, though, 'kay.