Originally Posted by Claythan:
Yeah...I have your #....you delete me from yo phone bitch? I have you, Flopnuts and Simply Red on speed dial for when I finally blow a load in some skank.
you never gave me your number, so I couldn't have deleted it.
the texts seemed so random - "she says she's coming but not here yet lol".
And my g/f was right next to me at dinner, she would have thought it was some chick texting me. I'm glad I could show her this thread and prove it was just some CP guy trying to get laid, and not yet another chick trying to get on these nuts. (ok...so I won't show her this post) [Reply]
Originally Posted by Claythan:
OK, so, to recap the fourth date of my tragic fucking life:
I arrived 30 minutes early in order to survey the scene, to scout out other possible "jump" locations. As in "let's take this party to the martini bar on the other end of this shitty strip mall."
Anyway, upon arriving it was discovered that the Starbucks we were to meet at did NOT EXIST. It had been replaced by a little pizza joint. So I text her this information. 7 pm rolls around and she calls and is like "I'm gonna be late sorry." And I'm like "Uh this place is a pizza joint. Do you want to get a pie?" And she's like "Sure!"
So she shows up and she's very cute. She is wearing a horizontally striped, low-cut top that shows her nice cleavage. Not as hot as my last date, but definitely bangable. 5-6, 125 pounds, brunette, pretty eyes, nice tits. She smiles, I smile, we both think sexual thoughts.
We order a chicken roma spinach medium and two beers. This is the first time I have had beer since college. I had a Miller motherfuckin' Lite. It actually wasn't too bad.
We share good conversation. She likes horror films and wants to go see Drag Me To Hell. I inform her it is excellent cinema and file away this note for potential future dates.
She laughs at my stupid jokes and we make lots of eye contact. I lie and say she is hotter than my last date in order to indicate I am sexually attracted to her. 8:30 rolls around and she says, in a very sexy voice, "So, what are you doing the rest of the night?"
My pickup artist brain immediately screams "Say YOU! Say YOU you undersexed stud muffin!" I resist my cro-magnon urge and respond, "Nothing, we could go back to your place and hang out, watch a movie or something?" She agrees to this plan of action and our horny bodies exit the pizza place.
At this point I feel like kissing her. We walk around my car and I say, "I might get in a wreck and die on the way to your apartment. You should kiss me now." This is the smoothest line of my 27-year existence and it works. We kiss, and it ain't no peck on the cheek. We sucked face.
I get wood.
I am going to get laid. I am sure of it.
I follow her car from the parking lot, screaming at the assholes who are cutting me off, blocking my view of her car. I have to traverse Highway 249, make a right onto Beltway 8 and tail this hot bitch for 20 minutes. I have gotten lost many, many times and driving in Houston is a nightmare. I drive like a bat out of hell trying to follow the vagina in the white car in front of me.
We turn onto Beltway 8 and trundle along in tandem for about five miles. At this point we are approximately three quarters of the way to her place. Then she turns into a gas station. My first thought is she needs gas, and she parks in front of the pump (pump my cock, bitch). I pull in and park at the store.
She gets out of her car and starts for mine. Oh shit. Either I'm going to lose my virginity in the restroom of a 7 Eleven (I have six condoms in my right jean pocket, at least I don't need those shitty convenience store rubbers) or the shit just hits the fan.
I get out of my car and she explains that she has decided against fucking me on this particular night. I attempt to haggle with her for a makeout session, but once a bitch's mind is made up, there is no return, as most of you well know, barring threats of violence. We agree that we should have a second date.
I say "are you gonna call me?" She replies, "Are you gonna call ME?" I take this as an indicator of interest. We kiss again, Crom flutters between my legs, and I grab her ass. She walks back to her car and I drive home.
At least I didn't get lost on the way home. I had never been in that part of town before. Oh, I have also never been in a vagina.
Date #4, in the books. Let's see if this one has the common fucking courtesy to return my phone calls.
I am bumping this thread because I am an attention whore. [Reply]
