Happy Sluts Without Friends Day Version 2
Words: 734
Summary: You're a slut and you're friendless, congratulations, you're everything you hate! [Detailed, short story esque]
Notes: Basically, I took the same idea as the previous entry and rewrote it in a different more detailed style. Which do you like better?
I can remember how old I was when my Dad was his rank.
About nine.
That was ten years ago. So he isn’t much older now, probably ten years older than the man I’m on the couch with.
Which will make me 19.
I tried to hide my shock when he told me he was 37. He didn’t try to hide his when I told him I was 19. I should have said something before I agreed to the date.
Something along the lines of “Do you realize I’m young enough to be your daughter?” or more boldly “We have nothing in common, I have nothing to offer you but sex, so why don’t we just skip dinner because I fucking hate dinner dates.”
Going on a dinner date with a 37 year old Staff Sergeant is bad.
Fucking him is just plain sinful.
But God, he’s got a big dick.
I’ll admit it, I was only a little scared.
“You make me feel young again.” And those were the words I was waiting to hear since I was sixteen and fell in love with the thought of older men.
The thought of redeeming a man by my womanhood, which would in turn, redeem me as a woman.
But I don’t feel very redeemed.
I just feel kind of dirty.
Of course, the sex is good, so I don’t leave as early as I should.
He’s kind of making me bleed, but I like it that way.
Riding him like this, I’m not me, the simple, innocent looking girl I try to come off as.
No, I’m everything I really am, completely naked, yet completely disguised at the same time.
Wild, dirty, with no inhibitions.
Helping a man through a midlife crisis doesn’t have as many benefits as I thought.
Making a man feel young again doesn’t exactly make me feel older like I thought it would.
It just makes me feel used.
But I come.
A couple of times.
And the only way to turn around feeling used is to make sure I get mine before he gets his
Because frankly, he’s taking too long and I can’t handle something so big for so long.
Girls are taught at a young age how to get out of a mildly undesired situation with males.
Actually, once they get their period, they know.
It starts with telling your male teacher you’re having “female problems” and sneaking off to the bathroom with your girlfriends.
Then you begin to realize how much men are disgusted and confused by the imperfect side of a female.
If she’s not impeccably dressed the way they like and proper without a dirty mouth, then she’s adored.
If she’s wearing rags and talking about the blood dripping from her legs, she’s immediately dismissed.
And then you know exactly what turns a man off and gives you the crack in the door to slip out.
Classy, in a very very unclassy way.
“I should go soon. My friend was supposed to call me at 9.”
“Oh?” he’ll say with an infliction. He’s guilty because he took up your time. He’s proud because he took you away from another male. He’s regretful that he just slept with a woman who gets phone calls from other men on date nights.
“My girlfriend. She’s having boy troubles.”
He laughs and then tells me to leave whenever I want, hoping that if he gives me full permission, I will spare him the details.
But the truth is, I don’t have a girlfriend with boy troubles.
I don’t even have a girlfriend. I haven’t in years.
Girls don’t like me, I don’t like girls, it’s so hard to win them.
Men respond to charm and flirtation.
I don’t know what the hell girls respond to.
What I’ll really do is call my guy friend who is in love with me.
And when I go over to his work, where he’s pulling an all-nighter, he’ll try to kiss me
And then he’ll smell the dirty dick on my mouth and pull away and look at me.
“What?” I demand, immediately offensive.
“Nothing,” he’ll say and shake his head.
I’m a lucky girl for being kissed the way he once kissed me, for being adored the way I was once adored.
But I like to piss away my luck as fast as I piss away my life and my money.
Summary: You're a slut and you're friendless, congratulations, you're everything you hate! [Detailed, short story esque]
Notes: Basically, I took the same idea as the previous entry and rewrote it in a different more detailed style. Which do you like better?
I can remember how old I was when my Dad was his rank.
About nine.
That was ten years ago. So he isn’t much older now, probably ten years older than the man I’m on the couch with.
Which will make me 19.
I tried to hide my shock when he told me he was 37. He didn’t try to hide his when I told him I was 19. I should have said something before I agreed to the date.
Something along the lines of “Do you realize I’m young enough to be your daughter?” or more boldly “We have nothing in common, I have nothing to offer you but sex, so why don’t we just skip dinner because I fucking hate dinner dates.”
Going on a dinner date with a 37 year old Staff Sergeant is bad.
Fucking him is just plain sinful.
But God, he’s got a big dick.
I’ll admit it, I was only a little scared.
“You make me feel young again.” And those were the words I was waiting to hear since I was sixteen and fell in love with the thought of older men.
The thought of redeeming a man by my womanhood, which would in turn, redeem me as a woman.
But I don’t feel very redeemed.
I just feel kind of dirty.
Of course, the sex is good, so I don’t leave as early as I should.
He’s kind of making me bleed, but I like it that way.
Riding him like this, I’m not me, the simple, innocent looking girl I try to come off as.
No, I’m everything I really am, completely naked, yet completely disguised at the same time.
Wild, dirty, with no inhibitions.
Helping a man through a midlife crisis doesn’t have as many benefits as I thought.
Making a man feel young again doesn’t exactly make me feel older like I thought it would.
It just makes me feel used.
But I come.
A couple of times.
And the only way to turn around feeling used is to make sure I get mine before he gets his
Because frankly, he’s taking too long and I can’t handle something so big for so long.
Girls are taught at a young age how to get out of a mildly undesired situation with males.
Actually, once they get their period, they know.
It starts with telling your male teacher you’re having “female problems” and sneaking off to the bathroom with your girlfriends.
Then you begin to realize how much men are disgusted and confused by the imperfect side of a female.
If she’s not impeccably dressed the way they like and proper without a dirty mouth, then she’s adored.
If she’s wearing rags and talking about the blood dripping from her legs, she’s immediately dismissed.
And then you know exactly what turns a man off and gives you the crack in the door to slip out.
Classy, in a very very unclassy way.
“I should go soon. My friend was supposed to call me at 9.”
“Oh?” he’ll say with an infliction. He’s guilty because he took up your time. He’s proud because he took you away from another male. He’s regretful that he just slept with a woman who gets phone calls from other men on date nights.
“My girlfriend. She’s having boy troubles.”
He laughs and then tells me to leave whenever I want, hoping that if he gives me full permission, I will spare him the details.
But the truth is, I don’t have a girlfriend with boy troubles.
I don’t even have a girlfriend. I haven’t in years.
Girls don’t like me, I don’t like girls, it’s so hard to win them.
Men respond to charm and flirtation.
I don’t know what the hell girls respond to.
What I’ll really do is call my guy friend who is in love with me.
And when I go over to his work, where he’s pulling an all-nighter, he’ll try to kiss me
And then he’ll smell the dirty dick on my mouth and pull away and look at me.
“What?” I demand, immediately offensive.
“Nothing,” he’ll say and shake his head.
I’m a lucky girl for being kissed the way he once kissed me, for being adored the way I was once adored.
But I like to piss away my luck as fast as I piss away my life and my money.