Picture this: It’s a Thursday night. Your best girlfriend didn’t like the way her ass looked in her jeans, and your other best girlfriend just got her period. She’s “too bloated” to leave her bedroom.
In short, your ladies left you high and dry, and now you’re both thirsty and desperate for intimate human interaction.
You decide to hit up your booty call. Being with him is, after all, better than sitting home and staring at the wall. And hey, maybe you’ll even get to squeeze in some revelations during those late-night hours of pillow talk that bleed into morning.
He sets the mood. The animal in you awakens. Lying there undressed and uninhibited, you anticipate debauchery with open legs and big hopes. The body heat is almost too much to bear.
Eyes closed, you lean in for a kiss. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for all week: that soft, slow build-up. His lips on your lips. Light, airy, innocent tenderness and pure perfection.
Wait, what? You open your eyes. He’s nowhere in sight. You look down to find him deep in your lady parts, looking right back up at you. "Oh," you think. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that, but I won’t put up a fight…”
You expect him to be down there for a few minutes -- but a few minutes quickly turns into a prolonged anxiety attack. You aren’t exactly sure what he’s doing down there, but more importantly, you can’t understand why he’s enjoying it so much.
You pat his head in reassurance (the universal symbol for “That’s good. You can stop now”), but he ignores the gesture.
He dives in harder and more forcefully now, eating you senseless. You start to smell something fishy (and it isn't your hoo-ha). You can’t relish the moment because you’re wallowing in fear of what’s going to happen in the minutes to come (hehe).
It isn’t in his nature to give this much. He isn’t Mother Teresa in life, so why is he so damn accommodating in bed?
He’s got to have ulterior motives, an incentive that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Getting treated like a queen in bed is great and all, but it seems too good to be true.
The harsh reality is that the booty call who’s overly generous in bed is probably too good to be true. No one is that holy, except for God.
That look-up-look-down head bob, the are-you-loving-this face -- this surely isn't a no-frills act. What the f*ck does it all mean?
Does he have a secret sweet side I just haven’t seen yet?
It’s locked away. He may have opened the floodgates to my vagina, but he’s hiding the key to my heart.
Do I actually taste this good?
I didn’t eat pineapples before this, so I’m not sure why he’s acting like I’m the sweetest thing to have graced this green earth.
What does he expect from me in return?
I don't care what anyone says; no one is this nice. Is this a straight-up power play? Because I’m scared to find out.
This guy is suave as hell.
I’m either going crazy, or he’s starting to get good at this. I don’t know what he’s got up his sleeve, but it’s working.
What is he compensating for?
His mediocre personality? His lackluster profession, perhaps?
Does this mean he won’t be able to last?
Maybe he warms up like this. OK, wait, I feel like he’s getting tired. Is this making him tired? If it is, I’ll pull the plug on this thing right now.
Am I going to have to give him the world’s longest blowjob?
Please, dear God, no. ANYTHING but that.
Does he have a Napoleon complex?
That’s a thing, right? Is it proven? Whatever, it’s still a plausible explanation.
Does he have an Oedipus complex?
Wait, do I remind him of his mom?! Is THAT why he’s going ham right now?! F*ck.
Does this mean I’ll make it to the second date?
Have I made it? HAVE I MADE IT?
Does he think I’ll cum from this?
Listen, buddy, this is great and all, but you could do this all day, and I’ll still want the D.
Was he a dog in his past life?
With all the licking and biting going on down there, I can’t tell. Also, that face he’s making, though. That face.
What if I can’t have sex after this?
He’s running me dry. I REPEAT: HE'S RUN THE WELL DRY. ABORT MISSION, NOW.
But seriously, how do I smell?
There’s no way it’s all rainbows and daisies down there, even though he’s making it seem that way.
Is he waiting for me to give him directions?
Should I be talking right now?
Does he have an almond for a dick?
I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. He must be trying to distract me from his micropenis. I know he has nuts, but does he also have an almond dick?
Is it cool to tell him my foot’s asleep?
Dude. It’s been, like, half an hour.
… Does he like me?
I know he likes me enough to hang out with me. But does he like me, like me? You know, in that *special* way?
Hold the phone. Could it be possible he’s just doing it because he likes doing it? Nah, that's not very believable.
F*ck it. Whatever the reason, it’s great, and I'm going to shut up now.
