Real-Life Erotica

We met on Tinder. I thought he was kind of cute, and by kind of cute, I mean cute enough to go on one single date with. I have my profile set to see both men and women, but it's hard to find chicks who are into chicks. So I have to settle for douchebags named Chad who work at Aldi and think Saturdays are for the boys. Every once in a while, there's a genuinely nice guy who loves his mom and apple pie, but they never like me back because I'm kind of a trashy ho.

Oftentimes, I have to settle for a hook up. A glamorous, Hollywood worthy hook up. I invite him over for some Netflix and chill. We watch 15 minutes of Bob's Burgers before we start to suck face. But his breath smells like off-brand spaghetti, and he's leaving a trail of spit all over my face. Delectable. Why is he using so much tongue? Can we just keep our tonsils to ourselves? Does he have any diseases? What if he has a girlfriend? Do I have enough quarters for laundry? God damn my pits stink...

Nobody rips clothes off, because let's face it, clothes are expensive. I take off my shirt nicely and set it on my "not quite dirty enough to be washed, but not clean enough for the closet" chair, along with my pants. I'm wearing some basic cotton panties that I got from the Targét boutique because I don't have the energy to plan for sex all the time, nor do I care enough. I also missed a patch of hair on my right leg, so I hope he doesn't notice. Ha, I didn't even TOUCH my pubes!! And I've been wearing the same bra for two weeks. So c'est la vie!

We bring it over to my bed, but not before kind of tripping over the shit I have on the floor. I'm a slob, what can I say? Hopefully he finds it endearing. I'm a college student, so we fold down the futon. The bar in the middle puts this awkward pressure on my back, but he probably won't last long enough for it to matter. Is he still wearing his socks? Whatever.

The TV is still on in the background. I keep an eye on the episode I've seen a million times because frankly I'm hoping he'll do most of the work. He put the condom on backwards and in the process, loses his boner. So we suck face a little more while I touch his average-sized penis trying to get him hard again.

Alright. Let's rock and roll. Roll me over and rock my world, bro. He mentions anal, but I shut that shit down real fast. He promises to go slow and that it'll feel good, but I'm not convinced, nor do I care enough to stretch my asshole. Poop comes out of there. No thanks. He saw something in porn he wants to try, but I tell him to stick to the script. We're not porn stars. There's some uncomfortable chaffing going on here.

Two minutes in, he announces his mind-blowing orgasm. Best sex ever. Holy cow. We need to do that again, he thinks. Okay. He's lucky if I respond to any of his messages tomorrow. I'm left a little wet and a lot unsatisfied, so now I just wait for him to leave so I can finish things myself.

He leaves at the end of the episode and says we should do it again sometime. I don't have the energy to masturbate, so I sit on YouTube for the next three hours watching pimple popping videos. The highlight of the night.

Neither of us care enough to message the other the next day. What a shame. The love of my life, gone. I move on quickly with more Tinder fucks. All the same. Most guys just wanting blowjobs and nudes. Ah, romance.