Body Count

By day, I teach third grade. By night, I rate men like Uber rides and write anonymous recaps on the blog that's probably ruined a few egos—and inspired even more group chats. Hi. I'm Rivah. But to the internet? I'm soaked. And before you judge me, let me ask you something: when men sleep around, they're called experienced. When women do it, we're called everything but free. So I stopped caring what anyone calls me and started telling the truth. My blog, Body Count, isn't about sex. It's about choosing me. About turning every red flag into a teachable moment and every body into a boundary I built myself. Then Kross showed up. He's… different. Like, green flags in bulk. And while my body wants to rerun him like my favorite show, my heart is still blocked and unavailable. But things are getting weird. Men I've been with are showing up dead, and I don't know if it's karma, coincidence, or something else entirely. All I know is… This isn't a blog of regrets. It's a record of reclamation. Body Count? Nah. This is character development.