Is It Love or Is She Gullible?

Her mother always said she had a chameleon soul, Jiminy Cricket wasn’t on her shoulder telling her right from wrong. “You always see the best in the worst people, Gia.” She was meant to be cherished by men, beloved by many as she navigated through the world. No moral compass pointing any which way, just the shivering needle aimed at a man who lusted for her.

That was the direction she’d run, following a man into a land of ecstasy mostly fueled off his fantasy of her. Until the rose colored glasses faded and the reality of marrying a girl like her hit, ending that situationship but continuing the cycle.

Was she meant for love? No. Never meant for the traditional sense of romance we all watched growing up. Not just the fairytale but the idea one man would accept and love her for who she truly is and take her until death did them part. To be seen as a girl that was meant to be wedded just wasn’t the actual experience she lived.

For men, they lusted for her, obsessed to the point of madness. Men from all around the world, no matter the culture, they all shared the carnal desire to claim her. But many after getting their share could so quickly pass her up for the less desirable “real” woman. They wanted to have her on the weekends, have her when their wives were raising their child. Have her when the thought of that blue lacy thong hugging her curves hit their thoughts and their lower brain kicks in. Like all their minds could focus on was their animalistic needs. They wanted her when it was convenient for them, when nobody was around. She was always the other woman, the first choice as a lover but the last choice to ever settle down with.

So she’d inevitably be alone, meant to chase after this idea of love she conjured in her head. She’ll continue running with brief, intermittent breaks as each new suitor comes along, shooting his shot. And she’ll take him for his word, hoping he isn’t insecure about being with a girl like her. Wanting him to be a masculine being but dreading the repercussions of that. Hoping the tattoos and baggage that might’ve drawn him in will keep him wanting more until he really reveals her true personality, realizing she’s not just an object to be used, and he’ll become her best friend. Leaving her hoping one day he’ll get down on one knee and take her as his forever.

So she’d assumed if she could get a man past the post, nut clarity, and he still wanted her. He’d be interested in her past, just his carnal desires, and she’d, in turn, want to invest her emotional energy into him. But this tactic leaves her with bruised knees and a satisfied man but with no ring on her finger. So she was left pondering a thought…

“Where the hell is my husband?”