“Fucked By Association”
So I had this thirty-year-old boyfriend (FYI: we met when I was sixteen – yeah, real fucking winner). Long story short, he manipulated the fuck out of me – not only in the sense that I felt used and all that typical skeezy boyfriend business, but also in the sense that when we ended I was left with a manipulated perspective of myself and my body – but no biggie, dude. Within a week of breaking up I was signed up on okcupid.com (“the best dating site on earth!” i.e. motherfucking generic ass site full of equally generic scumbags).
The site may as well have become my homepage by my third week (and coincidentally, third fuck). During an unexpected thunderstorm I found myself cocooned in the sheets of a thirty-two-year old Filipino pothead who lived comfortably on the unemployment list in a two-bedroom apartment snug in Wicker Park. To my defense, I didn’t find out until after we fucked that he wasn’t of the Hispanic (or remotely interesting) persuasion. We avoided all forms of contact for a week before I finally received that awkward yet necessary and almost mandatory “Sorry we haven’t talked in a bit” call/text/email/Facebook message, though his was more along the lines of, “Sorry I’ve been unusually busy lately…” Yeah, bullshit. We never spoke again. For whatever reason I crept upon his profile some time later only to catch this gem: “Message me if you have big tits. Or not… Message me if you…[like] having orgasms on the reg and think you can get along with an ‘immature, selfish, broke, sex-addicted, substance abusing man whore.’” Well, at least he’s honest.
Months later a friend of mine entered a lifestyle I was completely familiar with.
“Dude, I just wanna fuck.”
“How convenient, because I know just the guy who may share those thoughts exactly.”
Because of that conversation, I now share more than just a birthday with my friend, but a fuck as well.
No comments:
Post a Comment