Age: Early 20′s
So I’d just gotten out of school, and still trying to figure out what the hell I was going to use my degree for. Wound up getting a job selling DirecTV (aka the shit sales job). It’s easy, basically, people would call you and ask questions, you’d answer them and proceed to hook them up with the most expensive package known to man. It was commission-based anyway, so besides hooking my friends up with $8.99 single satellite systems, I’d basically to do my best to make sure you wound up with everything I could sell you. This was particularly easy among females because I have a really deep voice, and when it comes to me eating and you losing money, #1 wins every time.
Anyways, normal day at work, and I get a normal call. Some chick. I run through the spiel, “great reception, blah, blah”, and then there’s some silence over the phone. I’m thinking she’s either blinded by my Barry White or has figured out how much money she’s going to spend with me, and that when I hear: “How old are you?” I tell her my age, and she’s all surprised, I’ve heard it before, and she sounds about 19, so I figured whatever, I’ll just sell her a 3-room and hang up. Then I start getting details. She 20, single, goes to SDSU, latina.
My kryptonite. I’ll nail a cute latin girl over all others, immediately. So, I start flirting…hook, line, sinker, sale. After she gives her credit card, asks if we’re allowed to give out personal info. This is a no even if I meet you in person. I ask why and she says she’s lonely.
Now, this is a possible red flag, as attractive women are usually single of their own doing. But that’s ok, because I’m thinking: “Another point in the win column, whatever.”
So I tell her to send me an e-mail with her number (even if it’s on file, can’t use it). She mentions having a great deal of free time since she stopped cheerleading. So, putting all these factors in my head, I figure that she’s ripe for the picking. I get off, and check my e-mail later. Sure enough, it’s her. I give her a ring from the work phone (restricted) and we talk, seems cool, agree to meet at Islands for drinks. We tell each other what we’re wearing, and that’s that. Immediately afterwards, I change my shirt. This is a pre-caution with a built in excuse, shit always can spill.
Show up at Islands, and see her outside. Not bad, honestly. About 5’6, 130, decent chest, nice eyes and the making of an onion booty. I’m sold, walk up and introduce myself…and then she smiles.
Braces. Also known as Anti-head, arch enemy of blowjobs and ruined one night stands everywhere. I almost remember I left my bathtub on right there and tell her, but figure that I could get past that, just no oral.
We have dinner, she has a few of the “drinks” which double as fruit punch to any man who’s tasted alcohol, she’s nice and tipsy and ready to go.
I follow her back to her place, one of her roommates is home, but has a face that a mother couldn’t love, we’re talking “why did God choose this fate for her child” type shit. A female Unich. Anyways, we slip away from the mongol and back to her room. We proceed to throw on whatever censored shit is on TNT and let nature take it’s course. She was actually a really good kisser, kept the cheese grater out of my mouth. Eventually clothes come off and we get busy. About 15 minutes into the action, I smell something.
Now, the running joke is fish. Well, it wasn’t fish. Imagine if you leave, say, milk in the sun. Now add pickles. And finally, ass funk. It’s like male repellent concocted by lesbians. I struggle to continue, bringing up thought of porn, other women, happy thoughts–all to no avail. My former Rock of Olympus has been turned into a pebble of loathing. Sorrowful skin made inept by the aroma of an unclean harlot. Horse stalls smelled better than this. Now, how to get out of it? That’s easy. Fake an orgasm.
What, ladies, you don’t think we can do this? Please. If we’re going down, it won’t matter anyway. Yet another reason why condoms are great.
Anyways, I do my best pornstar impression, and roll over. She wants to cuddle, I want to get the fuck out. I wait about 5 minutes, mention something about being up for work and escape. On my way out, I see the Unich, who smiles. I bounce in a way that does A Flock of Seagulls proud.
So there’s your lesson kids, nothing worse than a chick who thinks “douche” is just a mean person.