I Fucked The Internet 5 – Quick Stop
by Bad Ass Frank of BadAssFrank.com
One of the unique aspects of meeting girls on the internet, is that you expand your reach far beyond the city you live in. At the height of my web womanizing, I was talking to ladies all over the United States, and even some in other countries. I had ho’s in different area codes long before Ludacris ever rapped about it.
One such girl lived in Northern California. I do not recall the city and, to be honest, I’m impressed that I even recall the incident. There were so many that they all blend together sometimes. But I do recall, and this is what transpired. This girl and I had met on Myspace, exchanged some emails, switched to IM, then to telephone. A natural progression for a dating relationship, right? (And to think I never met any normal girls this way). We spoke a few times but mostly it was electronic communication. She was very flirtatious and, of course, I ate that shit up. My ego, back then, required massive amounts of attention to stay as overinflatedas it was. Things are much different today, when I could really give a fuck. Flattery and flirting might elicit a smile, but are unlikely to get you into my apartment. Try cooking and cleaning, see how that pans out. Anyway, this girl had received a job offer in another state, and was going to be moving. So she asked if I would be interested in meeting her. I quickly drew a mental map between her old home and her new one, unable to find Los Angeles along with way. I asked her where she was planning on meeting and she said, "Santa Monica. I’ll come to you."
Now I am a firm believer in the Domino’s Dating System (Trademarked and copyrighted BAF 2008). I request you come over, you deliver yourself to me in thirty minutes or less, and then, when I’m done, I toss your box out by the dumpster and go to bed. This system served me well for many years. The only difference was that I ordered through Myspace and I didn’t actually toss a girls box out by the dumpster. I just pretended to have a tummy ache until the girl the box came in decided to give up and go home.
I had not, at this point, experienced any long distance delivery. How does it work? What would go down? What would I even call it?
FedSex?
United Pussy Service?
Deliver Horny Ladies?
If I have to come up with a name for Mayflower Moving Company you’re too fat.
Regardless of the delivery distance, she was coming. And, although she demanded that my place was on her way to her new place, we both knew better. She was going hundreds of miles out of her way to meet me and, as she put it, "buy me lunch." Who am I to argue? The girls seems cool, looks cute in her pics, obviously has a thing for me, and is willing to drive a great distance, at much inconvenience to herself. I, on the other hand, don’t even have to leave my sofa.
Done deal.
The big day arrives and, like the day, so does the girl. My phone rings and, when I answer, a nervous giggle greets me on the other end. "I’m outside," she says. Ok, so I actually did have to get up off the sofa, much to my disgust. But never let it be said that I’m not a gentleman. Outside I go to see a car with a giant U-Haul attached to the back. It’s clearly full and weighing down the back end of the little car, which itself is filled to the max with all manner of shit. It looks like one of the vehicles the wacky Venice gypsies live in down here at the beach. It makes me think of crazy people and suddenly I remind myself that this particular girl has driven this rolling yard sale here just to see me.
The young lady gets out of her car and, much like I’d gotten used to, didn’t exactly look like her pictures. In her pictures she was about an eight, and weighed about 115. In real life, she was about a six, and weighed about 130. Not the worst discrepancy I’d ever experienced in my internet exploits, but a discrepancy nonetheless. I’m not sure if she’s self-aware enough to know this, but I am other-aware, so I notice. At this point, it’s too late to do anything about it, but my fantasy of getting laid has gone right out the window. Not because I don’t think I can get laid, but because I don’t want to. See, typically when a girl I met on the net showed up at my apartment, it was in the evening. If she wasn’t all I’d hoped and dreamed about, I could drink her into fuckability. This girl, however, showed up at noon. And no matter how big of an alcoholic I was, there was no chance I was gonna start drinking at lunch time. Not because I was offended by the idea of drinking at lunch, but because I was offended at the idea of being blackout drunk before dark. So now I’m stuck sober, looking at a chubby "six", in broad daylight mind you, with nowhere to run. She’s just driven 300 odd miles to meet me. I can’t exactly run her out the door (Although she could have used a good run. Maybe she should have run the 300 miles to me.)
We go into my apartment and sit awkwardly on the couch. She doesn’t have much to say so I ramble on nervously. I really just want out of the situation but I know that’s not gonna happen. I also realize that, while I’m hungry for food, she looks like she wants to eat me. It’s clear that I’m not going to get away without some type of physical contact. My mind races – – – what to do, what to do – – – then it hits me. If I have to hang with this chick, I deserve, at the very least, a blow job. That will serve two purposes. One, I will get a blow job. I believe that one was obvious, no? Two, I will have blown a load and, pleading for some much needed recovery time, I will get out of having sex, for the moment. I immediately start to flirt and remind her of all the dirty offers she made over IM. It’s funny, because many girls I met over the net did the same thing. They talked dirty, offered all sorts of deviant sex, said they were freaky, but then, when they showed up, wanted to play the coy/shy card. Either that or they suddenly got prudish and acted as if I should romance them. Take note ladies, if you’re dirty and deviant, own it. Show up, be a slutty slut, and take it in the butt. If you’re not that, don’t be it. Say straight out that you’re "normal", and prefer a nice date. That’s exactly what you’ll get. Nobody likes the bait n’ switch. Nobody. This chick started to act as if she was going to go down the prudish road, but quickly gave in to her basic urges. She dove for my cock head first like an Olympic diver. Great entry. No splash.
The blow job itself was unique. Instead of the generally accepted up-and-down motion, or licking, or whatever, she went down as far as her gag reflex would take her (Which, on me, is pretty much to my kneecap), and sucked. I don’t mean "sucked" as in "suck cock". I mean "suck" as in "baby sucking on a bottle". Really, it wasn’t "sucking". It was "suckling", as if she were a lamb and my penis a teat.
I must pause here for a moment to point out that, at 9:18am, while writing this story, and thinking about the aforementioned blow job, I got a little chubby. It was going quite well and I’d actually considered rubbing one out after blogging, until I got to the word "teat". At the writing of that word, my chubby instantly deflated into a "wrinkly", and now I just feel kinda icky.
Meanwhile, back on my penis – – – she’s suckling away and, at first, I thought this might end up being the worst BJ I’d ever had. Seconds later, my eyes were rolling back in my head from the head. She turned on some magic suction, and used her tongue in some bizarre (and possibly illegal) way, that almost made me pass out. It was awesome. So awesome, in fact, that it lasted about 23 more seconds until I blew a load right into her mouth. It felt so great that the only thing I could think was…
Fuck. Why did I do that?
Now I really have no way of getting rid of her. It’s not like I can kick her ass out. We haven’t even gone to lunch. I don’t want lunch. I want a nap. Then I can have lunch later, just how I like it. Alone. But I had to go and let her slobber all over mini-me and I’m trapped. Sonofabitch! I quickly begin the process of moving from sexy time to lunch time. I give the appropriate sighs. The "ah that was great"s. The "wow"s. Then I zip the fuck up and go to the bathroom. Once I’ve dabbed dry with the towel, I check the hair (Must always check the hair. I’m very civilized), and then straight back to the living room. "I’m hungry", I say, without sitting back down. She gives me a quizzical look, as if I had just spoken in Chinese and danced a jig. "You want to go eat now?" she asks. "Yep, I’m famished," I did not say, because I do not now, nor have I ever used the word "famished". I’m civilized, not pretentious. She slowly rises, waiting, hoping, that I’m going to drag her into my bedroom and strip her naked, ravishing her body. Um, no. Gonna go eat lunch then take a nap.
We go to a lunch, eat, make small talk, and all the while she’s giving me the eyes. I try as hard as I can to spontaneously go blind. It doesn’t work. Mostly I just stare at my plate, at the ground, the sky, the waiter, the old people at the table next to us. Anything to avoid her gaze. Once we finish eating, and she pays, we head back to my place. The only thing is, I don’t want her to come inside. I want her to get back in her overstuffed compact and drive to wherever she’s going to live. I can’t decide what excuse to use and my mind is jumbling them all up. Finally, I fire out my go-to… My tummy doesn’t feel good.
That’s the polite person’s way of saying, "I’m going to have diarrhea soon." You can’t argue with diarrhea. It’s one of, if not the most disgusting things you can throw out there. Plus, everyone on the planet knows how uncomfortable it can be. If you throw out the diarrhea defense, and it gets ignored by the girl, this tells you two things:
1) She is so desperate to bang you that explosive liquid shit will not deter her.
2) She is insensitive to your fake illness thus, she is selfish.
Both are deal breakers. Combined, they are grounds for expulsion.
Luckily, she took the high road and either understood my fake stomach distress, or was trying to be sensitive. With a sad, puppy dog look in her eyes, she said she hoped I felt better, then got in her car and drove away. I, safe from an undesirable afternoon semi-delight, went in and took a nap.
I dreamed of lambs.
