“Let’s go beat him up”
I see why I keep you bitches as my friends.
Whenever my ego is bruised or my lady parts need waxing I can always count on my girls to be there.
“Why do you even care?! You don’t even like him!”
On a scale of getting a seat at a Sisqo concert to a Justin Bieber I’d like to believe I’m closer to Justin Bieber when it comes to the availability to secure a spot in my venue. Sure, security might slack after happy hour, but no one’s keeping count.
So when I finally decide that a man is worthy enough to pin their flag in my soil, I do it in hopes that it would make for a great story. Let’s all pretend I did this for the team.
If twilight taught me anything, it is that a story doesn’t have to be good to be told, or made into a movie. In hopes that this might someday make for a great porno movie plot; here it goes.
And like any ghetto girl in a movie theatre watching a scary movie, as the story unfolds, I’ll keep reminding the protagonist to turn away from the brains eating zombie.
Our first rendezvous that’s worth mentioning took place in a coffee place.
He ordered a flavoured latte. All he had to do was order a cake pop too and i would’ve stood up right there and then and left. I already dated a bisexual. Real men drink espresso, sexually curious men order triple triple.
He told me he lived in his parents’ basement. Need I remind you, you’re an adult male, shouldn’t you be living alone, eating copious amounts of Mac n’ Cheese and clogging your toilet with paper towels and condoms?
We spoke about our jobs and he mentioned he only has his high school education. I know, I know, some of the greatest entrepreneurs never even got their post secondary education, but unless you’re Jewish I expect you to have some sort of paper decorating your parents’ study room wall, even if it’s a diploma from a community college in basket weaving and beading.
He also made it very clear that he has a certain affinity to a particular ethnic background. His ex girlfriend whose heart he apparently broke tickled that fancy and I didn’t fit the category. That should’ve been my exiting cue, that’s a race I could never win against, but I believed I had a chance, and so did Romney.
The biggest turn off had to be his timid demeanour. I felt like a lioness entertaining a zebra during tea time.
As though all those clues were not enough, I led myself to believe that I might actually enjoy corrupting this lad, after all, I always wanted to fuck a virgin, and since that goal was starting to get harder to achieve, you know, with federal laws and all, he was the next best thing.
I invited him over.
Stop yelling at me! I know that the gas station looks abandoned and probably operated by a serial killer, but I really needed gas.
We were watching a movie, wait no, we watched 4. It took him 8 fucking hours to make a move.
I asked him to bring wine and it was a Saturday night. Isn’t that a clear green light to make an advance? Or should I have put on Britney Spears music and belly danced for you while mouthing the lyrics to “Hit Me Baby One More Time?”
Perhaps “Like a Virgin” would’ve been better suited for the situation.
It took some time but eventually he started caressing my thigh. Ever so slowly, he kept frisking me up and down my leg.
Are you fucking kidding me?!
Clearly, you want me, you’re touching me and building up tension, but honey after 8 hours of conversation, the anticipation had me lubed up better than Nicki Minaj’s greasy hair weave. Let’s fucking move on.
So I just kissed him, okay?! I took matters to my own hands, this little boy trapped in a man’s body needed some guidance and so I decided to guide this little bear scout.
We advanced from the couch to my bed and my pants were lost somewhere along the way.
There I was, bare bottomed like a Skype interviewee. His head started making way down south and I had the biggest smile on my face, because all I kept on thinking about are my vulgar friends who texted me “get that pussy licked” right after I told them he was coming over. We’re a classy bunch.
I think he didn’t pay attention during health class or just didn’t watch enough porn, because oh did I forget to mention he only watches “passionate porn”, wtf does that even mean?! That shit puts me to sleep harder than an accounting lecture.
It was my turn to return the favour and I went straight for the goods. His dick was semi hard. I don’t know about other gals but I’m not used to that. Most men I was with had their cocks arrow straight and Arnold pumped when they whipped them out of their pants. His limp uncircumcised dick was just there, staring at me like a hipster in a knitted hat on Queen Street. My automatic reaction was to perform CPR, it’s not my fault, and I thought it was dead.
I was told to slow down.
Am I hallucinating?
Okay... let me slowly stroke your cock like those actors do in your passionate porno collection. Maybe we can duet “I Will Always Love You” as you ejaculate.
We proceeded to have sex and it ended rather quickly.
He fell asleep on my bed and I decided to pass the night on my couch.
I think I just raped a man.
The morning after - I made him breakfast, Anna a La Carte. Twice girlfriends!! Twice!!!
He finally left my house only after I told him my friend was coming over with tampons, bridal magazines and a Bridget Jones’s Diary DVD, that’s the way to scare a boy.
A Boy, that’s all he was.
And why do I care?!
The same reason Kanye West wears Kim Kardashian’s skirts – Ego.
It’s a good thing I let him sleep over because he texted me saying his piece of shit car broke down on the way back home, and he would’ve gotten raped the second time if he was all alone on the highway at 4am.
Maybe we can duet “I Will Always Love You” as you ejaculate.
ReplyDeleteoh my God I think I just died!