On A Date: A Dork

The lenses of her glasses were speckled with filth and her clothing was ill fitting, but she was so grateful for my attention that my generic carnality swelled to a purposeful and benevolent lust. It is a tempting gamble to reach into the bubbling nerves of a dorky girl and pluck out her heart... I would be happy to fill the lofty roles of her re-hashed and wholly theoretical sexual fantasies.

The content of her room could soften even the most rigid erection. Posters for bad movies, ugly bed sheets, a lingering smell of Taco Bell. When she was stripped below me I examined her hairy, ape-like arms, her chewed fingernails, and choking pores. I felt Christ-like as I entered her unkempt hole, and I understood the honest roots of the "pity fuck," the saintliness of pleasuring the leper whose eyes still twinkle and wantonly roam.

On a Date: "Fucking" and "Being Fucked"

I admire a girl with sexual tenacity. She mounted me like a bandit mounts a horse in a western movie, slamming her ass into the saddle of my pelvis and reaching back for my dick as if it were some trail-worn strap that needed tightening. The emasculation came not from her confidence but from my own doubts as to my ability to out do her.

On a Date: Baby Sitting

She had invited me over for dinner and when I arrived there was a five year old boy in the kitchen. My date had just finished cutting some garlic and came over to me, wiping her hands with a towel.

"This is my little brother." She said, and kissed me on the cheek.

"Yuck!" cried the boy.

I laughed with good nature and acceptance as I approached the child and extended my hand in salutation. He ignored me and beat a crude rhythm on the counter with a wooden spoon.

"It was a last minute thing," my date said, removing her apron. "I had to baby-sit him, I'm really sorry."

I told her that I like kids. I pointed at the child.

"I like those."

She lifted her brother onto a step ladder in front of the stove where pasta swirled in a boiling pot of water. She instructed the boy to stir the pasta until she gets back, then she excused herself to pee.

"Will you keep an eye on him?" She asked, leaving.

"Of course," I said, staring at the boiling water which churned beneath the child's feeble arm.

When we were alone I sidled up beside him and smiled.

"So, what grade are you in?"

He didn't respond.

"Can't you talk?" I asked.

The boy stirred the pot silently and steam beaded on my face.

"Do you like to cook?"

Still no response. I looked towards the hall and then leaned over to the boy.

"Am I going to fuck your big sister tonight?"

The step ladder creaked.

"I doubt it." I said and walked away, taking out my phone to check e-mail. I had a message telling me it was time to renew my Interview Magazine subscription. Behind me, the child slipped, tipping the boiling water onto his body, his skin blistering before he could let out a scream. I clicked the link to renew my subscription.

On a Date: A Fart

It had been a robust meal of Osso Bucco and wine. She slouched in my arm chair, her hands across her distended belly. She sighed when I looked at her, and I fell upon her, kissing and groping, and suddenly, she farted. I stood up, shocked.

"Oh, relax, we're all human." She said, yawning and straightening her dress.

And this was a tragedy, for she had been more than human. She was beautiful, with rich hair, an effortless smile, and an incredible, perfect ass... but these jewels of hers had been tainted. Keeping up appearances maintains the mystique which drives continued romance, and for this fact she had no respect. I opened a window.

On a Date: Beach House

A beach house in Malibu. She was housesitting for a wealthy family and not only slept in the master suite, but had taken to the homeowner's closet, wearing silken robes and party dresses. The kitchen was a mess, soiled dishes stacked in gray dish water, garbage overflowing from the compactor, and the constant mewling of underfed house cats...

I asked if I could use the restroom and, per her instruction, went down a window-lined hallway where, after evacuating my bladder with horrible inaccuracy (the toilet seat would tell the tale of a male visitor), I wandered into what appeared to be a young girl's room. The walls were a light pink, the furniture was white wood and wicker, magazine clippings and polaroid collages peppered every surface. I opened her underwear drawer and inspected the bright thongs, and lacy panties. I overturned the whole lot and found a pair of cotton underwear marked with overlapping brown stains from menses past... I looked through the base of her closet and found a pack of cigarettes in an abandoned tennis shoe. I put them in my pocket to throw them away- she shouldn't be smoking. I found her diary in a desk drawer and looked through it; the entries were sporadic, maybe five in total, the last of which piqued my interest. It was only one line without a date. It read:

"Faina gave a blow job to Alex Balian after New Moon."

I closed the diary and put it away. I laid myself down on the girl's bed and imagined Faina and Alex together, perhaps hidden amongst the landscaping of the local Edwards Cinema, Alex's memory of the latest installment of the Twilight saga fading into flashing lights as Faina, caked in make-up, tugged mercilessly at his skittish dick... perhaps afterward, Alex would buy her a diet coke at the concession stand to get the taste out of her mouth...

"What are you doing?" The house sitter asked. She had a plate of fish sticks. I had an erection beneath my jeans.

"Waiting for you."

On a Date: Tall Girl

After many drinks and continuous dancing, she agreed to come to my car, which was parked in a dark lot behind the bar. We stuffed ourselves in the back seat and I admired the girl's length.

"How tall are you?" I asked.

"5'11"" She said.

I had a good two inches on her but the task was daunting. I pounced and flipped her on her back. I figure a big girl wants to feel small, so I did my damnedest to be that much bigger, but try as I might she proved almost too vast to master. She was like a giant, overturned crab, latching on to me, clawing at me with unprecedented strength and reach. I looked at her exposed stomach, even her navel seemed large, a cavern almost... I let my thumb wander into it and she flinched.

"That tickles!"

I kissed her neck, squeezed her breast, and put my thumb back in her bellybutton. She laughed with the peculiar strain of a tickle victim.

"Stop!" she squealed, and my car trembled.

I had found my dominance. I tickled her mercilessly. I tickled her until tears streamed down her face. I tickled her with my eyes glazed and my jaw set. Soon she was exhausted, tortured, her hair a mess. Now I could fuck her.

"Get off of me!" She screamed, tossing me aside like a rag doll.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She wrenched open the door and got out, her heels and clutch grasped in one, big hand.

"Wait," I cried, "You're beautiful!"

She slammed the door in my face and I watched, through my rear window, as she strode away, a beautiful Giacometti that I hadn't the confidence to court.

On a Date: Pre-Marital Sex

We had been kissing and fondling but when I began to fumble with the buttons on her jeans she pushed me away, proclaiming, confidently, that she was saving herself for marriage. When I moved to the other side of the couch she became embarrassed.

"I mean, I might have sex if I've been with a guy for a long time. Maybe."

I got up to look at her book case, saying, "You might have trouble getting a guy to wait around."

"I don't think that's true at all."

"I wouldn't wait around."

"Then you're obviously not the right guy for me."

I was impressed by the books on her shelves. I recognized some, wanted to borrow others...  I turned back to her and she crossed her arms.

She asked, "You really can't date a girl unless she'll have sex?"

"I think we're at an impasse," I said, and I meant it with the utmost respect and regret.

On a Date: Thick Girl

She was drinking something with whipped cream on top and it couldn't be denied: she was kind of fat. I cursed under my breath because I had agreed to this blind date as a favor. I had been duped. I considered escaping but the thought of standing up a woman was, surprisingly, more than I could bear at the moment.

I sat at a table near her and considered her enormous cleavage, cradled in a low-cut blouse. They were perfect in their own right, with a sort of hefty softness, they were extremely attractive, the penultimate orbs. I looked at my hands; I would have to cup them together just to support one of them... A phone rang and I looked up as she reached between her breasts and lifted a phone out from inside. I gasped and she looked at me while answering her call.

"Hello."

She returned to her whipped-cream drink.

"No, he's not here yet."

And he never was.

On a Date: Theatrics

Her place was a single room with a bed in the middle, a dirty little kitchenette, and candles on everything. When I arrived at the beginning of the night she let me in wearing a silk robe, then she went behind a folding screen to change. There was a lamp back there, and her silhouette danced against the screen.

"How theatrical." I said, and swallowed hard.

"Come help zip me up."

I zipped her up, and the dress was tight. She said she'd been gaining weight. I said I hadn't noticed.

I sat on the edge of her bed as she brought out a bowl of crushed ice, a bottle of gin, and lemon juice. She drank quickly and much and was always active, swinging her arms about, gnashing her tiny white teeth, with a face always in expression, never dormant. She lit incense and sweat beaded on her forehead, her bangs turned into moist wisps, and her eyes became gin weighted. I asked her to put on music and she danced over to her stereo, picking out a record. 

"You like Helene le Grand?" She asked.

"I don't know."

"She makes me feel like I don't have anything to say that hasn't been said before."

"How unpleasant."

"No, it's very grounding."

She sat down and gulped her gin, then she closed her eyes as the music came on. She knew I was staring at her, and when Helene le Grand began to sing, so did she. She sang with a low voice that reverberated in her rib cage... I tried not to be uncomfortable and tapped my foot to the song, like an imbecile. The song spiraled up into the incense smoke, and my date's voice began to tremble, and suddenly, she began to cry.

My heart began to race and she kept singing, tears flowing down her cheek, salting her gin. She hiccuped with emotion, so touched by the song. I wiped her tears away, to play along, and I figured it was a good time to kiss her, so I leaned over and tried to match her passion with some of my own, and even though I knew she was bad news, unstable, I wanted to see how things played out, at least for a few nights, because in the end, mistakes are the only real fun to be had...

On a Date: Sexting

Text conversation, 2:38 a.m.

well???

What will we do if I come over?

what do u want?

Will you bare yourself to me?

stupid

Will you grant me access to your fuming loins?

u talk like a wizard

I want to fuck you.

yea tell me how

I want to hold your arms down and pound you... raw?

question??

Is raw acceptable?

yea

I want to squeeze your tits in my hands, sucking on your hard nipples!

mmmm yea

Will you take my penis in your hand?

i want ur hard cock in my hands

So you will accept it in your hands?

come fuck me!!!
I want to lick your pussy.
u like my pussy babe??

I want to fuck you from behind, my balls slapping your cloven dainty.

come do it!!!

I want to thread my penis between your teeth.

is ur dick like floss??

I will continue fucking you from behind.

good babe i like that more

I see your puckering anus and take special note of it.

do u want to fuck my ass babe?

I am tempted, and so I look more closely.

ok

I venture to push my penis into it.
is it tight babe??
It is, but the sphincter soon accepts my entrance with a gaseous sigh.

no it doesn't!!

Feces begins to bubble around the base of my penis, the stench is oddly erotic.

ur fuckin gross

I remove my penis, coated with stool and I bowleggedly leave the room for analysis.

don't come over

On a Date: Of Tongues and Teeth

The depressive fever that follows a ruined relationship had just broken its hold upon her, and she had awakened into the warm light of promiscuous opportunity. Now, only hours after meeting her, my penis had found its way into her mouth, and in the yellow light of her bedside lamp, I watched as her lipstick smudged more and more... To examine a girl's oral technique is to consider all the former inhabitants of her mouth. Every unsolicited flourish is an undeniable bond between her partners- each one having left behind his own proclivities in the form of an adopted pinch, or stroke, or pull... and so I decided to leave a bit of my own tastes scrawled upon the walls of her mouth. I noticed she spent too much time on the tip, a far less sensitive location than Cosmopolitan likes to proclaim. Also, her tongue seemed underused and I felt the occasional scrape of an errant incisor- but I couldn't re-write history in a day, so I decided to focus on her lack of handling. I took her unused hand and coaxed her into the appropriate motion which she quickly adopted. She looked up at me, our eyes met as teacher and student, and we both took our own pleasures in the learning experience.

On a Date: CPR

Walking to the restaurant for dinner, my date and I came across an unconscious homeless man in the middle of the sidewalk. I hopped over him but my date lingered near the body, concerned.

"I don't think he's breathing."

I used my phone to report it to the police and when that was done I tugged at my date's elbow to get her moving, but she resisted.

"We can't leave him here! By the time the police get around he might be dead!"

I looked down at the body.

"But we have reservations..."

She kneeled down and began yelling in his face.

"Can you hear me?!"

A crowd began to gather. My date pressed her ear to the man's chest and looked up at me gravely.

"He needs CPR," she said, and I stepped back.

The crowd murmured as she spread the man's peeling lips and swept his airway with her manicured finger. No blockages. She looked at me one last time and then put her mouth over his and breathed into his lungs. She applied chest compressions, her necklaces dangling over his fat gut. She licked her lips and continued with artificial respiration and this time the man began to sputter and gasp. The crowd cheered as my date wiped her mouth and the man vomited a little on the sidewalk. Shortly afterwards an ambulance arrived to take the man away, leaving me with my date, who was a hero.

We had dinner and I asked if we could postpone drinks for another night, then I walked her home. At her door she lingered for a kiss. I stared at her mouth and thought of the cesspool she had just pressed it against, that putrid throat which had shared her breath.

"Well, goodnight." I turned and began to walk away down her front steps.

"No kiss?" She asked.

I felt bad. I walked back up the steps and placed my hands on her hips, staring at her full, pink lips and knowing that they only appeared clean.

"I'm sorry. I can't."
"Is it because I gave CPR to the man on the sidewalk?"
"Yes."
"Well, I understand."

I said goodnight and walked down the steps as she called to me once more.

"Can I call you after I get tested for STDs and stuff?"

I considered the reliability of medical science. The exotic germs, overlooked by the limited annals of pathogenic taxonomy, which could have been allowed to thrive, unchecked, in the primordial conditions of that man's mouth...

"I don't think it would be a healthy choice."

On a Date: Threesome

I didn't know how to kiss two girls at once. I felt obliged to kiss my date first, then I turned to her friend.

"You too?" I asked, and they giggled.

Soon we moved to the bed and the two women undressed and tended to eachother. I undressed myself and watched. I looked down at my penis and felt disadvantaged. I approached their writhing bodies and palmed an ass. I got on the bed and touched a boob. I wasn't sure where to enter, there were so many limbs. I looked at my date's vagina. Her friend's fingers were in it. No Vacancy. Hmm. I looked at her friend who was straddling my date's leg. I grabbed her hips and lifted them up. She didn't protest but I saw her give me a sidelong glance. I waved and smiled at her. She continued kissing and fingering my date, leaving her ass in the air where I had moved it. I got a condom from the bedside table and took my place at the helm. I unwrapped the condom and moved it towards... my flaccid, useless dick. Oh horror! I twiddled it about pathetically- no response. I frantically groped the girls' bodies in a desperate attempt to get hard, but the writing was on the wall. My penis, whether by nervousness or moral objection, would not take part in a threesome. 

"Well," I said, dressing, "I had a wonderful night."

On a Date: Never Touched Herself

I thought less of her when she said she'd never masturbated. I had already had sex with her on two occasions and prude she was not- it was solely the act of self-satisfaction from which she abstained. For my part, I've masturbated religiously since turning twelve and as such she became a foreign object to my mind. She had made her proclamation with such a dismissive confidence- as if I were wasting my time and my eternal soul upon such self-serving efforts... Perhaps there is an incredulity peculiar to sinners that makes us scoff at the righteous, for I was annoyed, offended, and felt she would never match me in sexual prowess and adventure. How can one please another without knowing how to please oneself?

I broke off our date for the following Saturday, and instead of being pleased by one who has never pleased herself, I pleased myself... and then watched Netflix.

On a Date: Beauty in a Barren Waste

Work had brought me to a shit town in the New Mexico desert. The town and surrounding land was woefully flat. The high school was a collection of three squat buildings and a dead football field. The houses were rotting away, porches collapsing into the dust. The streets were vacant and those people I did see were a wretched collection of ugly, fat, genetically similar monsters... except for her.

She had taken out a loan to open the only "cafe" in the town. It was an old locksmith's shanty that stood on a corner surrounded by dirt. She had painted the building a hideous pistachio green. The place was empty so she sat with me while I had a coffee. She had been there her whole life. She said she liked Andy Warhol. She said her favorite book is Pride and Prejudice. She believed her cafe would bring money and culture to her disgusting hometown which was otherwise without industry, purpose, or hope. She was naive and pathetic and it broke my heart to see her beauty and potential wasted in this land of aimless mutants. I gave her my number and told her to look me up if she's ever in Los Angeles. She smiled and we shook hands, and as I left I prayed she'd never call, because outside of this place, her looks would pale and her simple mind would be lain bare. After all, a desert flower is only pretty because it's surrounded by dirt.

On a Date: IUD

I was feeling gracious and so I lowered myself down her body but was waylaid as I crested Mons Pubis. She gently pulled at my head to return to her lips, but her self-consciousness only made me more bold and I shook myself free. I kissed her inner thighs and moved on to her vagina, which had begun to salivate steadily. I applied my tongue to only modest effect so I decided to ramp up my efforts by inserting two fingers into the folds- gasp! My probing hand had come upon a hard, slender object.. as one might find a lost hook in the ribbed throat of a fish. Whatever this object was, it's removal could only be of benefit. I spread my stroking fingers apart inside her, pinched the cruel thing between them, and gave a gentle tug. A moan came from the face above but the thing held fast. It was clearly well-anchored in the soft lining of this poor girl's cervix. I tried again, this time placing my thumb inside her as well. I gripped the thing tightly and gave a mighty yank- it came out with a splatter.

"I got it!"

I held it aloft. It was a curious white plastic. She looked at it dumbly.

"Put it back," she said.

On a Date: Too Drunk

"I like going straight to a bar for a first date," she said, "it makes things easier."

Indeed, the date became easier and easier. My tab, I estimated, was roughly equivalent to my car insurance payment. We spoke with our faces extremely close. Her breath was acrid, as was mine. We flirted and joked. I held her hair up to my face, pretending it was a beard, I burped a flavor into it which foreshadowed vomit. My veins pumped a furious torrent of bourbon. Vodka percolated desperately in her brain. She showed me her bra. She showed me her panty. I attempted to dance. We spared the dart board but damned the wall. The world was our oyster, and her apartment our pearl. The streets were her shell, my car a shucking knife. The keys to her front door an elusive clown fish, her purse a web of sea grass. Our clothing was the shackledom of society, her bed an incorrigible whirlpool for my senses. My mouth, a vessel of anointment, her naked body, a receptacle for my vomit... I payed for dry cleaning.