FRENCH SPEAKING You might not know me, but I’m one of the women from your gym class. The others have chosen me to deliver a message: you’re no longer welcome here. We’ve all noticed your unsettling behavior—your lingering stares make us feel uncomfortable and unsafe. We know exactly what you are, and we’re done putting up with it. The women in class gave me full permission to handle this however I see fit, even if it means going to extreme measures to get the point across. Frankly, just looking at you makes me feel sick—physically sick. Imagine how satisfying it would be to let nature take its course right here and now. You’d look much better with my disgust plastered all over your face. You seem so obsessed with us—maybe this is exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about. Who knows? Perhaps you’ve imagined every woman in class taking turns to humiliate you. You’re nothing but a repulsive old man! Speaking of which, the urge is overwhelming—I really need to go. Why don’t you open wide and savor every bit of it? Consider this your first private lesson: weekly sessions where I’ll make sure you’re fully covered. Can’t you just smell it already? Doesn’t it excite you? I’ll even stroke your pathetic little ego—or whatever else is hard right now—with my messy hands. Go ahead, admit it—you’re loving every second of this, you disgusting pig. (And yes, there’s a close-up at the end—just for you.)
