I can’t escape Mark. He is a lurid and creepy man whose constant hovering makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. He says nasty disrespectful things and has exposed himself on more than one occasion to me. As much as I’d like to never see this guy again I really don’t have a choice.
Mark is my creator and I am his creation. I began as graphite at the very tip of his pencil and he drew me into existence on a Saturday afternoon. I was intended to be a character for one of his comic book projects he was contracted to do, yet, he decided to keep me to himself. I am his slave and there is no way for me to escape my 8×12” prison. To anger Mark would be to warrant my erasing, a fate I fear yet also hope for.
He is insane. For in his mind I am real flesh and blood despite my every action being controlled and determined by equal parts his imagination and the reflexive patterns in his right hand. He curses at me and as I write to you I write to you using the personality he has created for me. In Mark’s mind I am a love that spurns his advances and does not accept him for who he is. He curses me yet keeps me prisoner to perform lascivious strip teases. I touch myself and speak rude words to him in order to enact some sort of self-inflicted fantasy on his fragile ego.
I am whoever he wants me to be, I am Rhonda Roxxx. Rhonda Roxxx high powered, uptight wall street trader with DD breasts and a size 1 pant size. In his mind we went on a date once. It was a 50s diner, he ordered a coney island and I ordered a salad. I made fun of him and humiliated him. To return the favor he kidnapped me and keeps me in his basement so that he can have his way with me.
I am Rhonda Roxxx, an amazonian space princess, my planet came under fire from some unknown mystical threat and Mark who had the power to stop it agreed with one condition. That one condition was that I would have to satisfy his every sexaul desire no matter how base and extreme it may appear.
I am Rhonda Roxxx, I am fiction.