“Hey Xull, I just got a call from ABC.  They want you on Dancing with the Stars if you are interested.”

Ronald Mills smiled past flashing cameras and tried to undermine the photographer by talking loudly.  Neither man was giving the other any ground until their quarry started losing her focus.  Finally the photographer called for a break and Ronald rushed forward to snag Xull’rae’s attention before anyone else could.

“Did you hear me?” he asked breathlessly, his face beamed with excitement.

“I heard you,” Xull’rae took a seat to get her makeup retouched, rather uninterested by it all.

“So what do you think?” Ronald pressed.

Ronnie Mills, my agent.  He started my modeling career and handles all my public appearances.  Oddly enough he doesn’t do it for the money.  I mean he does get paid, but he takes more enjoyment in claiming he discovered me than putting paper in his pocket. I guess I’m his security blanket and the trophy he can show off to make himself feel important.  An all around okay guy who makes sure I have steady work, a comfortable place to stay, and a continuous audience.

“I think it’ll be great, just make sure my pathology exam won’t be interfering in those ten weeks,” Xull’rae winked and smiled, smacking Ronald on the behind.

“Excellent, I’ll go inform them right away before you bruise me further,” Ronald commented with a lighthearted chuckle and sidestepped before Xull’rae could inflict a second spanking.

“Weenie!” Xull’rae called after him with a wide grin.

“Better than being your bitch boy!” he shot back.

I’m a fake and I’m good at it. Like smiling, it hurts my face and being touchy feely is a social ritual that I fail to understand but copy it well just so people can relate to me even if I cannot with them.  I try though but my instincts sometimes override the superficial private show folks tend to put on to get others to notice.  I find it ironic that I prefer hiding and being unnoticed, yet attention finds me anyway because I play this silly game.  So am I lying to myself? Is it better to fake something to fit in, or should I be honest and be myself, even if my urges are carnal and dark?

. . . I really need to kill . . .