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There’s a stranger in my house. A ghost begs for my attention. I can hear him. My skin doesn’t crawl, and my nerves aren’t bad because I know him. The spirit in question is…you.

You asked to be ignored by me in the most extreme way possible, and I’m now giving you what you desire: my indifference. In our home, you’re the invisible man. The joy you feel when I ignore you is immeasurable. My indifference arouses you and slowly breaks your spirit.


You walk through our home unacknowledged and unseen. I carry on with my life, and you’re alone talking about your life outside our house, but you might as well be talking to a wall because I don’t see you. I don’t hear you. You’re nothing to me. I live my life as a widow. Outside of our home together, you have a life. You have friends and family you can touch and talk to, but within our house, you’re invisible.

At night, you caress my large breasts and tweak my brown nipples, and I don’t respond. You moan and groan, trying to elicit a reaction from me, and you get nothing. With every slight, you grow more determined to get a response from me. You lick my pussy, and all I do is look for shows to stream on Netflix. When I lie on my stomach and read British Vogue, you lick my ass for hours with zero response. The only sounds that can be heard are me flipping the pages of my magazine and you grunting your pleasure as you stroke your dick and bury your face in my ass.

Why would a man submit himself to such a torturous existence? Why would anyone agree to this life? I don’t know. I have theories, but only the willing ghost can explain his desire to be invisible. His story is a cautionary tale for some and a wet dream for others.

Maybe one day I’ll acknowledge you, notwithstanding the joy I feel watching your frustration and the look of defeat when you think I’m acknowledging you. Seeing you on the verge of tears daily delights me. The sight of you falling apart emotionally reinforces my power and wrecks your ego more and more each day.

                                    I WARNED YOU

I warned you of the men I’ve broken with my sick ability to tune out and ignore because my cold-shoulder game is so lethal, and you all fail to take me seriously until you compel me to take action.

You were warned and told to give me space and time, The two things that mean the world to me. Because hovering men anger me, they all fall into the trap: they believe that their arousal will cancel out any of the negative feelings that come with being a ghost, but they all end up begging for my attention. Their obsession with me causes them to become consumed with me. You want me to check in and report my whereabouts. Time after time, I tell them to trust my boundaries, and like clockwork, they ignore my wishes and break their promise to me, and I HATE when people break a promise to me.

                               SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES

You crossed me and must suffer the consequences like all the rest. You decided to harass me about not checking in with you; you called me at work 37 times, left 50 voice messages, and some very nasty, disrespectful text messages. I did everything to avoid destroying another man, but bad habits are hard to break, so on this night, you consented to be the latest case study on why you shouldn’t disregard my boundaries. You asked to be ignored by me in the most potent way possible, not explicitly, but with your behavior.

So I did it. I made you invisible, not with tricks or magic, but with my legendary cold shoulder. You fuck with me; you get what you deserve.