Welcome back, Gentle Reader. Last time we spoke, I brought up the "DON'T FALL IN LOVE" rule. I also mentioned that this was my Achilles' heel. I can assure you, it's not what you think. It's not that making love with a woman makes me fall in love. The problem is men sometimes fall in love with making love to a woman. Not with the woman herself. Guys, beware of this phenomenon. Great sex clouds the mind and impairs judgement. So what if she is pregnant with twins? This "lady" knows what she's doing. This is not a reasonable thought. I know, I've been there. This is a symptom of sleeping with too many girls that just lay there. Or is it lie there? My friend, "Hancock Barbie," will let me know. She is a grammar-nazi/English teacher. I digress. I was with a married woman once who would just lay there in utter silence staring at me. Then at some point, she would say "........I just came......" like she was trying to find out if Ferris Bueller made it to class that day or asking about the intricacies of Voodoo Economics. She was gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but this kind of girl makes MEN want to fake an orgasm. I actually did.......twice.
The opposite of this is a succubus. Wikipedia says this about a succubus. "In folklore traced back to medieval legend, a succubus (plural succubi) is a female demon appearing in dreams who takes the form of a human woman in order to seduce men, usually through sexual intercourse. The male counterpart is the incubus. Religious traditions hold that repeated intercourse with a succubus may result in the deterioration of health or even death." Ringing any bells yet, gentlemen? Yeah, you read that right, she will literally fuck the soul out of you. For example, I knew this girl that showed up at my house one day with the smoothest vagina on this side of puberty. I wasn't sure if her snatch was an albino, or if it was just on chemo. I mean there wasn't even a Gillette Fusion ProGlide challenge then; these were the "Mach 3" days. I think she must have waxed it in my driveway. A man is defenseless at this point. It was things like this that landed me in the arms of "The Succubus."
Apparently, "The Succubus" was honing her cock-sucking skills while the rest of us were studying for spelling tests, because she was a former stripper, pregnant with twins, who lived in an empty house, and was lacking of all possessions....and these facts had no effect on me whatsoever. I mean, at 26 years old, at least most of us have acquired some shitty VHS tapes and a closet full of out-of-style clothes. Not "The Succubus." She was twice divorced and had nothing but a belly full of babies and a healthy sexual appetite. I had lusted after her for a decade. My cousin and I went swimming at her house one day while we were in high school, and she came walking downstairs to meet us in a see-through shirt and no bra. It was like the porno version of Rachel Leigh Cook in "She's All That."
I told "The Succubus" she didn't have to work, she could just stay at home with her two new little babies. I mean, how much money can a girl even make "working the pole" with a twin-boys-C-Section scar? Not enough for day-care, I'd wager. I bought the car-seats, double-baby-stroller, Diaper Genie, crib, changing table, diapers, and a breast pump that couldn't keep up with the appetites of two infants. Even still, toward the end of our relationship, by which I mean I kicked her out three days later, she told me, "You don't do enough for me." Really? So first, I'm a piece of shit that doesn't care because I wouldn't sign the birth certificates like I was the father, and now I don't do enough because I won't give you $600/month just for whatever. After clothing and feeding you and the two boys, I DON'T have $600 left for fuck's sake. Can I at least get a $200 a month cock-credit that I can work off at my leisure? Yeah, didn't think so. "The Succubus" literally told me, "I knew you didn't care about me and the boys when you wouldn't sign their birth certificates." As Maury Povich would say, "You are NOT the father."
This is the first experience of Captain Save-A-Ho that I have shared with you. I assure you that there are more to come. Not to worry, Gentle Reader, I have put the cape up. It is gathering dust in the attic. Where we hope it will stay. I know that if Adam couldn't make it out of the Garden of Eden without a divorce, then maybe I shouldn't feel so bad for my failures here on Earth (See Video.) Happy Easter, Gentle Reader!
4/24/2011
4/20/2011
Friends and Acquaintances
Gentle Reader, I must tell you, you are killing me. I have heard from people that read this blog to their co-workers, their neighbors, and their friends. Don't get me wrong, that makes me all weepy inside, but you tell people how funny I am...."Oh, you gotta read this, this guy is hilarious." How do you think that makes me feel? That puts a lot of goddamn pressure on me. Because now if you read it to them, and I'm not funny...You're fucked. I get messages asking me, "When is the next blog coming out," "I am so excited to read what you write next." Well I can assure you Gentle Reader..........that this moment..........that we are sharing..........right now..........is as good as it's going to get. We should just quit while we're ahead. So it's been great, I'm glad we had fun today. But seriously, life is always better in anticipation. In the moments leading up to a big event, you always think how perfect it is going to be and how much fun you're going to have. How do you feel in the car on the way to the beach? And how long is the ride home FROM the beach? I rest my case.
So we find our hero doing push-ups, sit-ups, and swimming laps around the apartment complex pool. He is 20 years old and in the best shape of his life. This came at a time in my life when I thought that how you look really matters. It doesn't. That is rarely the case, Gentle Reader. Don't get me wrong, it certainly helps, but if you have the swagger of a big-dicked-prettyboy that any woman would be crazy to turn down, that's pretty much all you need. The tricky part is to not go too far with it and come off as an arrogant prick. This brings me to the first of many key components of man-whoring. Confidence. Let me break it down for you. Say you are a "5" on a scale of 1 to 10. Having the right amount of confidence adds 2 points to the scale. This means a "5" is now free to hit on girls that are a "7" or less. Also, if you can make the girl laugh until she either shoots random beverages out of her nose or until she cries, add another point. Just remember to stay within your zone. A "5" can never date a "10" unless she is missing an arm (in which case she would now be considered a 6) or unless he is rich. Honestly, I would never date a girl with one arm. What if we fell in love and then she got in an accident and was wheelchair-bound for life? She would only be able to push herself in circles. And how could you not laugh while watching THAT?
The next key is the art of avoiding "The Friend Zone." This is the place where many a sweet boy's love has died a slow and painful death. This is where dreams go to die. Very few have ever gotten out alive. To avoid this "Pit of Despair," one must act quickly. I normally avoid this by sending them pictures of my junk the first time I text them. Maybe that's not your style? I get it. Just find your own path. Guys, if a girl has already been to your house, sat on the couch for hours, and left without you even holding her hand.....you're so fucking fucked and you don't even know it yet. One reason it is so important to avoid this, is it seriously cuts into the available options on any given night. Say you get drunk at a party, you might end up getting a "rusty trombone" from an acquaintance but NEVER a friend. Friends are who you call when you need someone to talk to. A girl doesn't want to suck your dick like it's going to put food on the table if you called her crying the night before because "Extreme Makeover was especially touching tonight." She might want to marry a sensitive guy, but that's not what we're going for here, so I'll leave that for someone else to write about.
The last key I will touch on today is the most important. It is very fucking simple, but it's probably the most difficult. DON'T FALL IN LOVE. Got it? I certainly don't. I broke this rule more times than I care to remember. Hell, this is how Captain Save-A-Ho even came into existence. Girls that are DTF on a random Wednesday don't make good relationship partners. Don't worry, we will delve into every single, painful one of these mistakes that I ever made. Guys, just try to follow these rules and maybe you can put a couple notches in the "man-belt." I'm not even sure what the fuck that means, but let's just go with it. Until next time, Gentle Reader.
So we find our hero doing push-ups, sit-ups, and swimming laps around the apartment complex pool. He is 20 years old and in the best shape of his life. This came at a time in my life when I thought that how you look really matters. It doesn't. That is rarely the case, Gentle Reader. Don't get me wrong, it certainly helps, but if you have the swagger of a big-dicked-prettyboy that any woman would be crazy to turn down, that's pretty much all you need. The tricky part is to not go too far with it and come off as an arrogant prick. This brings me to the first of many key components of man-whoring. Confidence. Let me break it down for you. Say you are a "5" on a scale of 1 to 10. Having the right amount of confidence adds 2 points to the scale. This means a "5" is now free to hit on girls that are a "7" or less. Also, if you can make the girl laugh until she either shoots random beverages out of her nose or until she cries, add another point. Just remember to stay within your zone. A "5" can never date a "10" unless she is missing an arm (in which case she would now be considered a 6) or unless he is rich. Honestly, I would never date a girl with one arm. What if we fell in love and then she got in an accident and was wheelchair-bound for life? She would only be able to push herself in circles. And how could you not laugh while watching THAT?
The next key is the art of avoiding "The Friend Zone." This is the place where many a sweet boy's love has died a slow and painful death. This is where dreams go to die. Very few have ever gotten out alive. To avoid this "Pit of Despair," one must act quickly. I normally avoid this by sending them pictures of my junk the first time I text them. Maybe that's not your style? I get it. Just find your own path. Guys, if a girl has already been to your house, sat on the couch for hours, and left without you even holding her hand.....you're so fucking fucked and you don't even know it yet. One reason it is so important to avoid this, is it seriously cuts into the available options on any given night. Say you get drunk at a party, you might end up getting a "rusty trombone" from an acquaintance but NEVER a friend. Friends are who you call when you need someone to talk to. A girl doesn't want to suck your dick like it's going to put food on the table if you called her crying the night before because "Extreme Makeover was especially touching tonight." She might want to marry a sensitive guy, but that's not what we're going for here, so I'll leave that for someone else to write about.
The last key I will touch on today is the most important. It is very fucking simple, but it's probably the most difficult. DON'T FALL IN LOVE. Got it? I certainly don't. I broke this rule more times than I care to remember. Hell, this is how Captain Save-A-Ho even came into existence. Girls that are DTF on a random Wednesday don't make good relationship partners. Don't worry, we will delve into every single, painful one of these mistakes that I ever made. Guys, just try to follow these rules and maybe you can put a couple notches in the "man-belt." I'm not even sure what the fuck that means, but let's just go with it. Until next time, Gentle Reader.
4/14/2011
Assclowns, Ladies, and Bares...Oh my!
Well Gentle Reader, if you ever wanted to know where all the nice guys went, let me tell you a story about why they are an endangered species. These are the three steps one must take to make yourself look and feel like an assclown. Step 1: Start a blog, I'm pretty sure that 12-13 years of self-inflicted whore abuse isn't a requirement. Step 2: Post an anonymous letter leaving yourself feeling foolish and vulnerable. Step 3: Wait 20 minutes. That's all there is to it apparently, because twenty minutes after posting "Headbangers Ball," I received a message from Headbanger telling me that she didn't think we should talk anymore, and we should just be friends. Let me add that she knew I would be posting it and wanted me to post it. The best part of it was her asking me, "You aren't going to write about me like those other heartless bitches, are you?" I asked myself, "What would Taylor Swift do?" But we have no more time for all this bullshit, heartfelt dillydallying. Let us catch up with our hero.
After the betrayal of Doe-Eyes, I was determined to never let that happen again. I seriously only had one brief relationship between her and my ex-wife. I was 17 then....I got married at 23. That brief relationship will need it's own entry. That shit turned into an episode of Jersey Shore. So I thought I would just be able to start having casual sex. It doesn't work that way. My first problem ended up being I didn't quite have the game. I spent most of my life worrying about grades and report cards. For some reason, girls that are DTF don't seem to care about past-participles and remembering to carry the 1. My second problem was being incapable of not falling in love at the first sight of a naked female body. I mean, sex is a very intimate act. It is as close as you can ever get to a person. So I fell in love with every girl I slept with at first. Then I told myself "That is just pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts." The first Gentle Reader to tell me the movie that line came from wins a barely used "Uncle Buck" DVD. You pay all shipping costs.
So I started practicing....with myself....a lot. Not really; I was already in love with myself by this point. I do love me some me. I think my narcissism compensates for my lack of self-respect. I can assure you, I did have my share of growing pains though. I slept with a girl that hit a car with MY car in a Waffle House parking lot, and then proceeded to speed off. There was a girl that called my apartment and left a number to call her at. It was the number to MY apartment. She was cute, but not so bright. There was even an insanely jealous one that would ask "Who is that?" everytime I spoke to a girl, hugged a friend that was a girl, or even when just some random girl walked within 10 feet of me. I now know, the way you handle this situation is the first time a girl asks "Who's that?", I say "Oh, who was that? THAT is the greatest cocksucker on the planet. That's who THAT is. Actually, maybe you two should go swap stories. I mean YOU never blew me and made both my legs cramp up at once, did you? Well, she did. And there is no quit in that girl. Nuh huh. I was trying to walk the cramps out and she was just walking backwards on her knees in front of me. It was A-mazing." I can tell you guys, this works everytime. She will never ask "Who is THAT?" again.... Because she will leave you.
So next time Gentle Reader, I promise to stay on the path, focus on the prize, and all that other shit. We will get into the time where I finally gained some self-confidence and started to get laid with regularity. On a final note, please respect the privacy of those mentioned here. If I choose to not use their real name, it is to show them a little respect (whether they deserve it or not). The next person that asks me who I am writing about....I can promise you, when I get around to you....I'll use YOUR real name. And to the ones that think every post is about them, get the fuck over yourself. It's not all about you. This is all about ME, obviously. Start your own blog, fame-whores.
After the betrayal of Doe-Eyes, I was determined to never let that happen again. I seriously only had one brief relationship between her and my ex-wife. I was 17 then....I got married at 23. That brief relationship will need it's own entry. That shit turned into an episode of Jersey Shore. So I thought I would just be able to start having casual sex. It doesn't work that way. My first problem ended up being I didn't quite have the game. I spent most of my life worrying about grades and report cards. For some reason, girls that are DTF don't seem to care about past-participles and remembering to carry the 1. My second problem was being incapable of not falling in love at the first sight of a naked female body. I mean, sex is a very intimate act. It is as close as you can ever get to a person. So I fell in love with every girl I slept with at first. Then I told myself "That is just pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts." The first Gentle Reader to tell me the movie that line came from wins a barely used "Uncle Buck" DVD. You pay all shipping costs.
So I started practicing....with myself....a lot. Not really; I was already in love with myself by this point. I do love me some me. I think my narcissism compensates for my lack of self-respect. I can assure you, I did have my share of growing pains though. I slept with a girl that hit a car with MY car in a Waffle House parking lot, and then proceeded to speed off. There was a girl that called my apartment and left a number to call her at. It was the number to MY apartment. She was cute, but not so bright. There was even an insanely jealous one that would ask "Who is that?" everytime I spoke to a girl, hugged a friend that was a girl, or even when just some random girl walked within 10 feet of me. I now know, the way you handle this situation is the first time a girl asks "Who's that?", I say "Oh, who was that? THAT is the greatest cocksucker on the planet. That's who THAT is. Actually, maybe you two should go swap stories. I mean YOU never blew me and made both my legs cramp up at once, did you? Well, she did. And there is no quit in that girl. Nuh huh. I was trying to walk the cramps out and she was just walking backwards on her knees in front of me. It was A-mazing." I can tell you guys, this works everytime. She will never ask "Who is THAT?" again.... Because she will leave you.
So next time Gentle Reader, I promise to stay on the path, focus on the prize, and all that other shit. We will get into the time where I finally gained some self-confidence and started to get laid with regularity. On a final note, please respect the privacy of those mentioned here. If I choose to not use their real name, it is to show them a little respect (whether they deserve it or not). The next person that asks me who I am writing about....I can promise you, when I get around to you....I'll use YOUR real name. And to the ones that think every post is about them, get the fuck over yourself. It's not all about you. This is all about ME, obviously. Start your own blog, fame-whores.
4/11/2011
Headbangers Ball
Welcome back, Gentle Reader. Before we go any further, I can feel some of you slipping away from me. I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to think I am just some heartless, sexist son of a bitch that hates women. I just call 'em like I see 'em. So if I catch you emptying my coin jar, and I just happen to say "What the fuck are you doing?!?" And your answer is "Nothing, I'm JUST taking the quarters. We need to start saving something for my three-week old twins that you took in along with my broke ass." Don't get mad at me when I question you on the usefulness of nickels and dimes when it comes to paying college tuition. I am pretty sure a community college will accept any and all rolled coin as acceptable payment. I mean really, you are either robbing me or you have a fucking pinball addiction...either way, I think you need some help.
I am actually a lover of all women. I love how different each and every one of them are. They all have their little things that make them unique. They all have their own style, their own way of talking, their own way of making love. It's the differences that make them who they are. But I must say, some can be a little out there. Just a piece of advice ladies...if you are "making love" to a man, and he is inside you....do NOT start crying and say "I have....been waiting....on this moment....for so long" while a tear rolls down your cheek. I mean this is our first time, you fucking nutter. It's just ME, this girl is acting like she is fucking Puff-Daddy. Or P-Diddy. Or Puff-dawg, or whatever in the hell that ass-clown is going by these days.
So to show my softer side, Gentle Reader, I submit to you a love letter written by yours truly. Just so you know there is still a soul somewhere inside me. Don't judge me. I am still a hopeless romantic deep down, in that small part of my heart that I have left. I understand we didn't move our story along that much today, but if you have a problem with that, then you come fucking write this thing. It ain't as easy as I make it look.
Dear Headbanger,
A long time ago, I sent you a check-yes-or-no note that I thought wouldn't mean anything to either of us in the long run. I couldn't have been more wrong. Just that little reminder that somebody was thinking of you touched you and reminded you that there was somebody out there that you meant something to. How could I have known that almost 20 years from then, you would come along and show me the same thing? That in a dark time, there is someone that understands you, someone that can be there for you.
If I had known for even a second that twenty years from then, we would be able to talk for hours on end, make each other laugh, make each other feel something inside, I still wouldn't change a thing... I know, why wouldn't I change it? Maybe things could have been different. Maybe we would be together now. But if we would have tried to make it work years ago and you hadn't moved away, things would have went to shit, we would've hated each other and we wouldn't have what we have now.
And what we have now is worth every tired night I spend at work, every bad relationship I ever went through, just to have those few hours together talking, laughing, and wondering what the hell we are doing. When I keep telling myself that I should be in bed, and the next minute tell myself that I can't ignore what I am feeling. So I keep saying "This is a fucking bad idea, don't sign on, don't talk to her, don't respond, don't wait up for her to sign on." But I "man up" and wait for you, and in the end, those precious minutes we get together are worth every sleepy minute I spend at work that night.
Love,
Miles Long
I am actually a lover of all women. I love how different each and every one of them are. They all have their little things that make them unique. They all have their own style, their own way of talking, their own way of making love. It's the differences that make them who they are. But I must say, some can be a little out there. Just a piece of advice ladies...if you are "making love" to a man, and he is inside you....do NOT start crying and say "I have....been waiting....on this moment....for so long" while a tear rolls down your cheek. I mean this is our first time, you fucking nutter. It's just ME, this girl is acting like she is fucking Puff-Daddy. Or P-Diddy. Or Puff-dawg, or whatever in the hell that ass-clown is going by these days.
So to show my softer side, Gentle Reader, I submit to you a love letter written by yours truly. Just so you know there is still a soul somewhere inside me. Don't judge me. I am still a hopeless romantic deep down, in that small part of my heart that I have left. I understand we didn't move our story along that much today, but if you have a problem with that, then you come fucking write this thing. It ain't as easy as I make it look.
Dear Headbanger,
A long time ago, I sent you a check-yes-or-no note that I thought wouldn't mean anything to either of us in the long run. I couldn't have been more wrong. Just that little reminder that somebody was thinking of you touched you and reminded you that there was somebody out there that you meant something to. How could I have known that almost 20 years from then, you would come along and show me the same thing? That in a dark time, there is someone that understands you, someone that can be there for you.
If I had known for even a second that twenty years from then, we would be able to talk for hours on end, make each other laugh, make each other feel something inside, I still wouldn't change a thing... I know, why wouldn't I change it? Maybe things could have been different. Maybe we would be together now. But if we would have tried to make it work years ago and you hadn't moved away, things would have went to shit, we would've hated each other and we wouldn't have what we have now.
And what we have now is worth every tired night I spend at work, every bad relationship I ever went through, just to have those few hours together talking, laughing, and wondering what the hell we are doing. When I keep telling myself that I should be in bed, and the next minute tell myself that I can't ignore what I am feeling. So I keep saying "This is a fucking bad idea, don't sign on, don't talk to her, don't respond, don't wait up for her to sign on." But I "man up" and wait for you, and in the end, those precious minutes we get together are worth every sleepy minute I spend at work that night.
Love,
Miles Long
4/08/2011
The Knife in the Back
Welcome back, Gentle Reader. I received a message from my best friend regarding the excessive profanity in my previous post. She said it was one thing to hear me say it, but quite another experience to have to read it. No worries, I told her to go fuck herself. So back to our hero. A typical high school student with a sense of purpose when all he really had was false hope and fairy tales. Thinking everything is going to work out perfectly. Graduation. College. Meet the wife. Start a family. How deluded some of us were. If our parents would have told us the mythical "when you're grown up" was like this, we would have beat the shit out of them for having us. I mean, they only had us to try to save their failing marriages anyway.
So let us picture this delusional, starry-eyed fuck, with a head full of hair, parted down the middle, flopped over on both sides, looking like he is wearing someone's ass as a hat. I was such a hopeless romantic at the time. Just waiting on "The One" to show up and blow my mind, knowing I would find "true love" but the thing I wanted more than anything else.....was sex. In my defense, at that age, I could achieve erection by facing a stiff breeze, and after a while you run out of things you can pour on it, hit it with, or even burn it with. I promise you Gentle Reader, I haven't struck another match, for ANY reason, to this day.
So now that we are on the same page, let me introduce you to Doe-Eyes. She had, even to this day, the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen, the body of an Olympic gymnast, and the voice of Bobcat Goldthwait (for those wondering, he was Zed in the Police Academy movies, and voiced the rabbit on Unhappily Ever After or just check the link). Of course I tell myself at the time, you can ignore the voice, because she won't be talking much with a cock in her mouth, now will she? I mean, MAYBE she can mumble, or at best, hum the melody to "Thriller." Anyway, I met Doe-Eyes when I was 13 at a high school basketball game. She sat with a friend of mine, they sat behind me, and I was infatuated from that day forward. It was those goddamn soul-sucking eyes. I heard a rumor, not long after that, that she had lost her virginity behind the library to three guys. And being the man I am, I never thought "What a whore!". My only thought was "If three cocks are good enough for the first time, then one shouldn't be a problem."
Fast-forward a few years, and Doe-Eyes and I are finally dating. I'm 17 and she is still a whore. I was so in love, or so I thought. I thought this is what it must be like. This is what everyone has been talking about. This shit is fantastic. Then came the knife. Right in the back. This is advice for the fellas out there who may be a little younger and might actually buy this line because they are getting some from a pretty girl. When a girl says "I don't think we should have sex anymore...I want to change my ways...I want to be a better person," It doesn't mean they don't wanna fuck, it just means they don't want to fuck YOU anymore. Someone once said, a whore is a girl that is sleeping with everyone. A bitch is a girl that is sleeping with everyone EXCEPT you. I'm pretty sure she was both at some point, but being the innocent, naive little fucker I was, I said "Of course, baby, I don't want you to do anything you aren't comfortable with." I am sure you guessed it by this point, Gentle Reader. She was cheating on me. She is the only girl I know for a fact that has ever cheated on me. I was crushed. Fucking crushed. I thought we loved each other, I thought high school sweethearts got married and had a shitload of unruly kids that play under other people's tables at Applebee's. That hurt went to my soul and said "We will never let this shit happen again! Got it?"
To wrap it up (which I thankfully did with her), I found out what she was doing, we broke up. She apologized, we got back together and soon after I got the same line from her again. I broke up with her and I swore I would never let this happen again, and I even heard she was already sleeping with someone else by this point. So in the next chapter we will look into the recovery and response of our hero. I warn you, this is where the ride gets a little bumpy.
So let us picture this delusional, starry-eyed fuck, with a head full of hair, parted down the middle, flopped over on both sides, looking like he is wearing someone's ass as a hat. I was such a hopeless romantic at the time. Just waiting on "The One" to show up and blow my mind, knowing I would find "true love" but the thing I wanted more than anything else.....was sex. In my defense, at that age, I could achieve erection by facing a stiff breeze, and after a while you run out of things you can pour on it, hit it with, or even burn it with. I promise you Gentle Reader, I haven't struck another match, for ANY reason, to this day.
So now that we are on the same page, let me introduce you to Doe-Eyes. She had, even to this day, the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen, the body of an Olympic gymnast, and the voice of Bobcat Goldthwait (for those wondering, he was Zed in the Police Academy movies, and voiced the rabbit on Unhappily Ever After or just check the link). Of course I tell myself at the time, you can ignore the voice, because she won't be talking much with a cock in her mouth, now will she? I mean, MAYBE she can mumble, or at best, hum the melody to "Thriller." Anyway, I met Doe-Eyes when I was 13 at a high school basketball game. She sat with a friend of mine, they sat behind me, and I was infatuated from that day forward. It was those goddamn soul-sucking eyes. I heard a rumor, not long after that, that she had lost her virginity behind the library to three guys. And being the man I am, I never thought "What a whore!". My only thought was "If three cocks are good enough for the first time, then one shouldn't be a problem."
Fast-forward a few years, and Doe-Eyes and I are finally dating. I'm 17 and she is still a whore. I was so in love, or so I thought. I thought this is what it must be like. This is what everyone has been talking about. This shit is fantastic. Then came the knife. Right in the back. This is advice for the fellas out there who may be a little younger and might actually buy this line because they are getting some from a pretty girl. When a girl says "I don't think we should have sex anymore...I want to change my ways...I want to be a better person," It doesn't mean they don't wanna fuck, it just means they don't want to fuck YOU anymore. Someone once said, a whore is a girl that is sleeping with everyone. A bitch is a girl that is sleeping with everyone EXCEPT you. I'm pretty sure she was both at some point, but being the innocent, naive little fucker I was, I said "Of course, baby, I don't want you to do anything you aren't comfortable with." I am sure you guessed it by this point, Gentle Reader. She was cheating on me. She is the only girl I know for a fact that has ever cheated on me. I was crushed. Fucking crushed. I thought we loved each other, I thought high school sweethearts got married and had a shitload of unruly kids that play under other people's tables at Applebee's. That hurt went to my soul and said "We will never let this shit happen again! Got it?"
To wrap it up (which I thankfully did with her), I found out what she was doing, we broke up. She apologized, we got back together and soon after I got the same line from her again. I broke up with her and I swore I would never let this happen again, and I even heard she was already sleeping with someone else by this point. So in the next chapter we will look into the recovery and response of our hero. I warn you, this is where the ride gets a little bumpy.
4/05/2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)