Ready to Throw In the Towel

Back at the Lounge again. I was hopeful leaving the house. Kahlua was in my system. I was pretty in pink, and I was on a mission. After sitting at our table for an hour without noticing any potentials; I knew it was going to be a long night.

Two gentlemen sat in front of us. They weren’t alone. It was obvious from the amount of drinks purchased and the body language that the women were more than their friends.

Surprisingly, at least 30 minutes before the show they disappeared and left their dates alone.

BIG MISTAKE.

This one brother was just my type. Not dating type, but fucking type.

He was thick. Nice muscular arms, strong back muscles. Bald head. Smooth skin. Decent complexion. He was definitely fuckable.

Shit, right now anyone is more fuckable than my plastic pink bullet.

Faye knew I was ready to attack. But before I could accidentally bump into him and offer my pussy…um, I mean my number, he turned and started rambling on about how he’d never fuck a bitch with 4 kids.

I didn’t have 4 kids.

He continued to ramble on about being single with no children.

His credit score was a 760.

He sold DOPE.

He used this goon line to draw me in. It worked. That would have been an extra point. I told him I didn’t believe he sold dope and to prove it to me. He reached into his pocket and revealed his merchandise.

A fucking business card. He was a pharmaceuticals salesman.

Still fuckable.

He owned a Blackberry. Despised talking on the phone. He was just what I needed. A late night text ready to come over and blow my back OWT!

I don’t need conversation, I need a man to press his tongue against my clit and massage it. No talking, no whispering, just SHUTUP and fuck me.

I took his card, looked him up on my Berry to verify his status. He was legit.

But he was completely DRUNK.

It was disgusting. I let him go. He left with his friend, who purposely grazed his chest against my left breast. I hope he enjoyed his quick feel. LOSER!

We left early that night with no points.

While walking to the car, I felt like giving up. Why can’t I find an orgasm? I’m not looking for a man or love, so what could be so difficult about my plight?

I always catch Faye and I commenting on things that bother us about a man:

“Girl, he’s not my type.”

“Eww, he has on shades in the dark.”

“Oh no, he has on the Ne-yo hat.”

But the truth is none of this matters anymore. The things we seek in a mate relate to dating, love, marriage (oh, the dreadful thought), but an orgasm only requires an erect penis (or a tongue).

People always say it’s not all about looks; its what’s inside that counts.

Well ladies, right now its what’s inside his pants that matter.