The bearded man strode into the tavern, with loud footsteps and a grim look. I eyed him as he looked around. He caught sight of me. Walked up to me, in that stiff manner they all have.

"Beer," he said.

Oh damn. This was the first time this had ever happened. Script, script... what was I supposed to say again? We were all supposed to say the same thing.

Dammit. I can't remember. Guess I'm gonna have to bluff it.

"Of course. Have a seat, I'll be with you shortly," I said brightly.

He stood stock still and stared straight ahead.

And stared. 

And stared, while I fetched his beer. 

It was really awkward.

"Here you go," I said.

Like magic, the tankard was empty, and gold was in my hand. Huh.

"...16 beer," he said.

I blinked. "Of... course?" That's a lot of beer, though.

Eventually, when he left, I checked the stores, sure he'd drunk us dry. 

"Huh. Still full," I muttered.

The bartender leaned over my shoulder. "Mhm. Them's our best customers. Weird as hell, but good business."

No kidding.

"Okay, so. How are we gonna do this?"

"I mean, it seems pretty simple. You just send pics of your front, back, and sides. All angles."

"Yeah, and get just compensation for that." My-Friend-Who-I-Shall-Not-Name (for his sake, and mine) clicked his teeth over the phone in a very nonchalant action that made me narrow my eyes. "You're not gonna send the pics, aren't you?"

"I will... eventually."

"Dude, what the fuck."

"Okay, okay! I will. Jeez... just send your's first."

"Promise me you'll buck up."

"Fine." I sighed deeply and glared at my reflection in the mirror. He and I were friends for several years now, ever since middle school and, after him bragging to me about his many sexual experiences with the trashy girls in his Boston-Suburb up north, I got fed up. Don't blame me for this one-- I still don't regret what I did. But I guess I could admit that I was feeling a little, well, dehydrated. For one thing, our sexual tension continued to thicken over the years, especially when he entered high school and I started my sophomore year. Then, at times, we'd "flirt."

("Fuck you.")

("What time, place, and how hard?")

("...Go fuck yourself.")

("Maybe later. I'm sure you'd love to watch.")

I'm a freshman in college now and he's a senior in high school. Nowadays, it takes everything in my power not to seem like a complete slut with him. Of course, we're still friends. And that's all I want to be. Just that. But sometimes I just want, you know, some more attention. Sometimes I want him to notice me like how he notices the thots whoring up and down the streets in his town.

So I started taking selfies. You know, asking for criticism. ("How does this look?" "Will so-and-so like this?" "Is this boyfriend material?") On that particular early-Autumn's day, I decided to wear a pair of black overalls with the shorts cut off a couple inches above mid thigh and a crop-top that I bought from the mall the week before. Facetimed him, flashed the camera on my reflection in the mirror, asked if it was okay over the phone.

"Those are really short..."

"Oh!" I could feel my face get hot. "Here, lemme fix them. Sorry." I moved to pull down the shorts properly on my leg, but stopped short when he began spluttering out complaints.

"No! No, trust me, it's fine. I like it like that. Right there. Yeah..."

"Are you... do you like it like that?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Oh my God, I turned you on, didn't I?"

"Again. Maybe, maybe not."

"Holy shit." One thing led to another and I found myself flashing him. Yeah, I did it. No regrets (yet.) And then he started asking for nudes. That was when I realized that I'm way out of my league.

Okay, I'm not gonna lie here. I have a nice body, as much as it pains me to say that. I've been playing sports for a few years now. Did soccer for a minute, volleyball for another, cross-county and track. I like staying in shape. Not only that, but I picked up a lot of my mom's genetics when it came to figure. We're curvy Black women with nice legs, a lot of hip, "thicc" ass. For the longest time, of course, I was insecure about myself; it doesn't help that the media portrays one side of the spectrum of body type (the polar opposite of mine) as beautiful while people of my own race either glorify that side and objectify mine. It was up until a few weeks before the "Infamous Flash" that I started to feel comfortable with myself.

But look at me now. College freshman, never got hit. So when my long-time friend decides to start asking me for nudes, I'm gonna have some objections here and there.

"You need to send me a dick pic in return," I declared. The line was silent for a while.

"Why?"

"Because if I'm going to risk myself by sending nudes, you should at least have the common courtesy to flash me as well."

"Fine. Then don't do it."

"...I'm not saying that I don't want to do it," I didn't realize that he reverse-psychologied me until much later, "I'm just saying that you should send something of yourself to. Or at least tell me your size."

"It's not that simple."

"Dude, I honestly can't give a shit right now. I show me your's, I show you mine."

"I think it'll be the other way around in this context..."

"Whatever. Deal?"

"Deal."

I sent one pic. I had to do hella research to make sure that I knew how to send a sexy nude. My response was positive...

("I jacked off to it. Well done.")

...But I wanted more. So when I "innocently" informed him while we were FaceTiming that I was about to go shower, he was very quick to request, "Take a vid of you in there?"

I did it. My 3 gigs of MetroPCS data slowed the process by a lot when trying to send the video over Skype (because you can't send anything longer than 10 seconds through text message), but I did it. I was too nervous to call him after it sent-- too afraid that I did a shitty job. Too scared that I ruined things with one of my best friends if he thought that I was fat or ugly, AKA the total opposite of the basic white chicks he usually fucks.

Two minutes after the video sent:

Doughboi: Holy shit.

Me: Soooooo..............???

Doughboi: YOUR ASS IS FUCKIN AMAZING!!!

It's here that I buried my face in my pillow and screamed. I was so lucky that my roommate was at her boyfriend's that night.

Me: I keep tellin you man.

Doughboi: Well I've never seen it till now so...

Me: Well do you trust me?

Doughboi: I do

Doughboi: God my dick is so hard right now...

Me: Is that just compensation or what?

Me: Like, I gave front, back, and sides

Me: I bent over

I would say the rest, but that would be suicide.

Doughboi: Can I send you one when I'm not jerking off?

I just know that a victory was made here.

there are many people in control of my life. but not one of them is me.

the teenage girl with perfect blonde hair and white teeth and a smile plastered on her face, standing on the street corner has more control over my life then i do. she controls how i act until i get out of her line of sight, but the control is simply passed to the next perfect person in my range.

everyone seems to get an opinion on me except for me.

everyone seems to be able to make me change my hair, dress a little different, put on a little more makeup.

but when will i ever do something for me?

will i be able to dress for me someday? not worry about impressing the girl on the street corner?

dye my hair back to brown, but not for someone else, for me?

will i stop dumbing myself down because the boy in my chemistry class might not find me attractive when he finds out i know more then he does?

many people have control over my life

but i want to know how i can control my life.

Dearest reader,

I don't have much longer. The disease is spreading all across the world. My loved ones have been infected. I have a sore that is unexplainable. I might soon join them. I'm very happy though. The world will end and so will the suffering.

I wonder what happens if I turn. Will I be mindless? Or will I have no choice but to eat my own kind knowingly? I should probably blow my brains out before that.

Although I can't reader. I want to live. I want to thrive and live in a world where everything is sunshine, no shadows. How impossible that is. How impossible my survival is. I hope all will be