Interview with Heather LockHeart

My childhood huh? Man where do I start? It wasn't the best, school especially wasn't nice to me. I was around during a time where discrimination was still common enough to be problematic. If it wasn't for Monica, I'm not sure how I'd view humans today, she saved my life in more ways than one. That and losing your dad on Christmas day doesn't do the heart very good... though I suppose you'ed be more interested in what it was like after the fact. For a long time after he passed away,

I had a very hard time coming to terms with it. I kept to myself mostly, tucked away in my room away from the outside world. my relationship with my mom became strained, and we both became distant. I didn't make very many friends, the only one I can remember is Monica, she was the only one to stick with me all this time. I started drinking and smoking when I was only 13, I didn't give a single shit about my well being at that time, in fact, I didn't give a fuck about anything. I just wanted to forget, and that was one of my ways of doing it.

There's a bit more to it actually, comfort, I wanted comfort in any way that I could get it. Whether if it was at the end of a bottle, a puff on a joint, a quick high, didn't matter to me. Comfort and acceptance, yeah, I think that's the jist of it.

Even if they weren't really my friends, I still chased after that sense of belonging. I wanted someone, anyone, to acknowledge and accept me. In hind sight I was being narrow minded, and self destructive, but in the moment I was directionless, I had no one to keep me on the straight and narrow. I looked for jobs to help feed into my drug addiction, for a while I worked in a small doughnut shop, but I was fired when they caught me puffing on a reefer out back. Eventually I resorted to selling my body to get what I wanted.

I remember my first time, I blew some guy in an alley way for a pack of smokes.

Even though I blew a pervert in the alleyway, I felt something click with me. I had to have more of that, not just dick, but that small fleeting moment of comforting pleasure. I sought after that harder than I sought out my drugs. It helped fueled it for sure, but... in the heated moment of fucking some dirty old man's cock, I felt... good. Really good, and not just because I was fucking some dirty old man, I forgot about my pain. I forgot about everything wrong in my life, and I wanted more and more of it. I could never get enough... and I always ended up regretting it after. My dad didn't raise me to be a fucking slut... but there I am, sucking off guys and riding dicks just so I can get my fix for the day, and pathetically reaching out for that slither of comfort just outside the reach of my finger tips. I'm an awful person, and I know I am. Nothing can ever change that.