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Added: Today
Matías, the Chilean macho, didn’t just block my comment—he blocked me.
I left a sincere compliment about his body, and he replied: “Enfermo culiao, no quiero que me hables” (“Fucking sicko, I don’t want you talking to me”). His homophobic reaction tried to erase me, as if my desire were something filthy, as if I had no right to admire the way he moves, flexes, and owns every muscle.
The poetic justice? He ended up here—a platform mostly consumed by gay men. He forgot about his second account, and I kept watching from there, quietly burning.
This is revenge. This is reclamation. This is quiet power.
You can block me, Matías, but you can’t block what your body awakens: the desire to look, the thrill of wanting, the power of seeing and being seen.
Now that your main account is gone and you’re hiding behind Escuelita de Mutantes, I’m still here. Watching. Wanting. Owning the gaze.
When you’re rejected, you can either break or turn that rejection into fuel. I chose fuel.
You called me “enfermo” as if it were supposed to shame me. Fine. I’ll wear the word. I’ll own it. I’ll turn it into power.
You wanted to silence me, Matías? Then perhaps you should have been more careful about what you awakened.
Call me “enfermo” again. Go ahead.
You’ll learn just how sick I can be—or how sick you made me become. 😈😈
Mwahahaha… Matías… Look what you caused by trying to shut me down!
You’re welcome, Matías. 😉🔥😘