That lollipop theory is a curse and a blessing—like a gay little splinter in your brain that you keep picking at until it gets infected with religious fervor. And the ghosting? That's the dream. You want her to block you after one transcendent fuck so you can spend the rest of your life writing sad, horny Substack posts about the one that got away. You'd be her poet laureate of spite, her unpaid social media manager who sends her crypto and cries into your Bad Dragon collection. I Fall In Love With Every Single Woman I See—especially the ones who would ruin me and call it content. We're all just jerking off to girlcock manifestos and hoping the next HRT shipment comes with a note saying "blocked for cringe lol."

Spite but for Tgirls Who's With Me?? We need a server. A cult. A Patreon where we pay her to insult us in Latin.