Under the "General Interests" section of my myspace page, after I tell you that I'm a chronic masturbator and before I express my undying love for Janeane Garofalo - you can clearly see where I express my penchant for "practicing accidental celibacy". At the time I personally thought that it was funny, besides - even though I do have a toddler sized cock and invoke rather expressive eye-rolls from women mid coitus, the self-deprecating shtick tends to go over pretty well. I never knew, a couple of years later - that one fucking throw-away line on a myspace page would turn into a self fulfilling prophecy. Even though my area being bombarded with simpletons and Lil Wayne fans has kept me without a girlfriend since the Clinton Impeachment hearings - I always had women on the side that possessed the ability to relieve "tension" whenever called upon. But as of late, it seems that every woman that I ever drunk dialed while saying "Hey baby, how would you like to swing by, give me head, and then leave immediately??!!" with the same vocal inflection of a business proposal all got together and had a meeting at some undisclosed location - because like a FOX News employee, all of them have proceeded to totally stay on message.(That message being "no") From them wanting a 5 date investment before revealing even a peek at a titty, rejecting my back-seat sex requests, the way in which they ignore my passive aggressive 4 A.M text messages saying "What are you doing right now?" - I have to find out who got to these women, because my testicles are starting to form what resembles ship barnacle.
Even though I knew that nothing would ever come of it, especially since I'm so germaphobic that I once wore two condoms after I made a chick get an AIDS test once - I started to religiously stroll craigslist as if purchasing ass online was actually an option. I don't know how it is in your city, and I'll by no means never be eligible to become a male underwear model - but the booty saleswomen in my area look as if they grew up next to a nuclear reactor. I mean, I thought that the allure of an ass transaction was getting a girl that you normally couldn't come within a square mile of on your own - paying for chicks that you could normally fuck for free is akin to making car payments on a Pinto when you at least make "New Honda" money.
So a couple of weeks ago, sorting through all the ass advertisements, trying to figure out which woman I could penetrate without contracting some new disease that baffled doctors would end up naming after me - who do I see peddling her "wares" but one of my ex-girlfriends. Even though I stared at her picture for at least 5 minutes straight, it was obviously her - same height, same juicy lips, and the fact that this silly chick used her real first and last name might have been a dead fucking giveaway. That's when I decided to call her for an "appointment", not to rekindle anything we might have had - but because I distinctly remember our last conversation ending with her saying "You're worthless, You're never going to amount to shit!!" more than a decade ago. I'm usually not one that subscribes to Schadenfreude(taking pleasure from someone else's misfortune), and I'm not exactly rolling in the dough here - but based on how mean her ass was, I'm a little thrilled that her current career as a "cocksucker for hire" wasn't exactly the path that her High School guidance counsellor mapped out.
So I called her, disguised my voice, told her that my name was "Stevland Judkins"(Stevie Wonder's government name) - gave her my address, then I very confidently stated "I'm going to fill all three of your holes like bowling" before hanging up the phone and giggling at the fact that I had just quoted a Kool G Rap lyric. The next 20 minutes were absolute torture, because I'm paranoid in nature you see - so I kept expecting a very innocent "ass order" to result in about 10 cop cars parked in front of my house to take me to a place where I'd be holding some inmates pocket in ownership if he happened to beat me in a fist-fight. That being said, before the thoughts of maximum correctional facilities flooded my subconscious - that's when I saw a pretty old Accord pull up my driveway.
I have to admit, she looked good as she shimmied up to the door - the years have been kind to her, and with all that "wagon" that she was "draggin'" it was pretty evident that she had let her PETA membership lapse. So after she rang the bell, I abruptly opened the door and said "Yeah, who ain't shit now!!! Selling ass on Craigslist for Christ sake!! What do you have to say for yourself!!!" - doing a rather impromptu "you won the scumbag lottery" dance. That's when my ex-girlfriend dropped her head, sat down on the bench on my porch - and proceeded to weep the same way I did when I couldn't get an erection when a couple of local porn stars wanted to blow me. I felt horrible, this didn't quite go as I had planned it - so I ushered her into my house and we proceeded to talk about the proverbial down-spiral her life has been as of late.
Death's in her family, arrests, bankruptcy, abusive boyfriends - the way she injected her humor amidst all of the turmoil, I felt like I was watching an episode of "Good Times" and shit. Call me feeling guilty for my original reason for calling her there, but I must say that I happened to be pretty comforting for a guy his own mother labeled "an insufferable prick" - so much so that I found my consoling arm around her leading to her passionately undressing me like my clothes were on fire. Let me tell you, sex is a lot less pleasurable when you check the condom every third stroke - not to mention how offensive it is to the woman when you scrub your genitalia in the sink before the woman leaves. Since I didn't know that our "spur of the moment" love-making was "on the house" so to speak, I doubt that I'll see her again - I think me handing her cash and her kicking me in the nuts guaranteed that.
(You can read about my other 10 "interesting" dates here)
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