I’m thankful he’s been kind to me, not hurting me in any way. I imagine other girls who’ve been in similar situations, may not have been as lucky as I am.
My body trembles when I hear the lock of the bedroom door clicking, and I realize he’s bringing in the tray with food for me to devour. He feeds me, keeps me hydrated, allows me all those normal comforts; the only thing he doesn’t give me is his truth. But soon, I know he will.
The spicy scent of his cologne still hangs heavily in the room from last night, and I’m filled with want for him to stay here with me. He makes me crave the nearness of him. I watch as he sets the tray on the vanity before he disappears again.
How can I want him when he hides from me?
How can I need him when he won’t let me in?
Chapter One
Logan
One week ago
I click on the profile, reading the name Sleeping Beauty before scanning her bio. It’s short and sweet, just like I imagine her to be. I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t stop myself. I found out how broken I was when I turned seventeen and found myself needing release while I watched my girlfriend at the time asleep beside me. We had been studying late into the night, and while she slept, I found more pleasure than I ever had.
The moment I came all over my hand, I rushed to the bathroom, cleaned up, and left. I never once went back to her house. Fear held me hostage, keeping me from even talking to her, telling her what I did.
I spent my nights searching for reasons why. But nothing could stop it, I was broken. My desires ran deep into my veins. And I couldn’t tell anyone about it. The secret was mine to bear, and I had to do it alone.
For the first time in years after that incident, I met someone else. She was kinky, she would let me tie her up, blindfold her, and for a while, it worked. But happiness doesn’t last forever.
I realized I was never going to be with anyone long-term when I woke my ex-fiancée while I was jerking off over her sleeping form. She looked so beautiful, peaceful and unaware of my perversions. I hid it from her for two long years. But the moment she opened her eyes and felt the hot mess I’d made all over her chest, I knew I needed to leave.
To run so far away, nobody would ever be subject to my sick desires.
I couldn’t explain it away, and telling someone on the first date that you can’t get hard unless she’s asleep isn’t something you want them to know. And that’s why I find myself here, on the dark web, where I can find those who are broken—just like me.
I open her photo, which is blurry at best, but I can make out her bra, a soft-pink color, and the panties she’s wearing match. I open the messenger app and type out my first contact with her.
Logan: Are you looking for a Prince or just another bad boy who can fulfill your fantasies?
I don’t know why I’m doing this, but it’s the safest way to find release. It’s the only way. I glance outside. The moon hangs in the sky, heavy and bright. The cabin I bought is secluded, away from prying eyes, because the moment I’m surrounded by people, I feel my anxiety twisting inside my gut, hammering against my chest. Reminding me that I’m nothing more than a monster.
Her reply dings from the speakers of my computer, and I’m too afraid to open it. This is ridiculous. It’s not like she’s here. And if she were, I doubt she’d stick around long enough to know who I am.
SB: I learned a while ago that princes aren’t as charming as they claim to be. At least a bad boy doesn’t apologize for his behavior.
I chuckle. She’s cute.
Logan: This is true. But what if the bad boy was dangerous as well?
SB: Then, I suppose it would be even more exhilarating. Wouldn’t it?
She’s challenging me to see if I’m said bad, dangerous boy. But what she doesn’t know is I’m a man, nearing my thirties, and she’s only twenty years old. I should shut this down, stop responding, but my fingers have a mind of their own.
Logan: It would be. Danger excites you. Doesn’t it?
SB: It does. I don’t know why. Perhaps I’m broken in some way. Maybe I’m meant to be the bad girl who corrupts the good boy.
I can’t stop smiling. I sit back, watching the screen as if it’s meant to give me answers. Do I tell her who I am? No. If I do, she’ll stop talking to me. I keep my gaze pinned on the screen, and then I see another notification pop up.
SB: So . . . your profile doesn’t tell me what it is you’re into.
Logan: I know. I . . . I don’t know how to tell people about it. It’s not . . . normal.
I sigh as I push off the bed and make my way into the kitchen. I don’t want to see her response. But I also do. The forum we’re on isn’t exactly normal, and she should expect chat partners to ask for random shit, and mine isn’t as bad as some I’ve come across, but it doesn’t mean it won’t scare her off.
Sleeping Beauty.
How is it a girl would want to be a fairytale character? Brought up on stories of happily ever after isn’t the right way to live. I should know. I tap my phone screen and see a message from my mother.
