You’re in a dilemma. Now, this isn’t one of those dilemmas that can be resolved by coins that are not nickels, horses named “Friday,” or a far-fetched belief in the existence of female surgeons. No, you’re predicament’s an even trickier one; since, essentially, you win and lose with either option. Basically, the girl who has been hanging all over you tonight is a sure thing. Death, taxes, and her appetite for some of your beef loaf tonight may be the only constants in the world. Since you arrived she’s been pumping drinks in you, giggling at your terrible, Laffy Taffy-esque puns, and flashing you those patented “let’s wiggle our junk in and out of each other” eyes. Typically, this decision is an easy one, but, in this case, this particular harlot is someone that you’ve always secretly despised.
Objectively, she’s attractive—there’s no denying it. However, there is a quality about her that you find as repugnant as that tubby from your office who eats mayonnaise sandwiches. Maybe she’s the type to never develop a personality because she assumes that being skinny, ditzy, and wearing clothes from Nordstrom is enough to make friends. Perhaps she owns a movie poster for Eat Pray Love. Honestly, your justified hatred may simply stem from her referring to Ellen DeGeneres as “funny” one time in an entirely non-ironic way.
Whatever the reason, you’re conflicted—do you take the bait, or do you nobly go home to indulge in less-erotic, non-female hot pocket and a jerk-off sesh into that “repurposed” sock?
We may put on a charade like we’re rationalizing both options, but, invariably, you know she’s primed and good to go. She may be drinking extra dry champagne, but you know she’s anything but. Couple that with your sexual appetite that’s more ravenous than Kirstie Alley at a Golden Corral and you’ll realize it’s inevitable.
On the cab ride back you’ll have an existential crisis. You begin to rationalize your action, viewing your penis as this indiscriminant, Martin Luther King Jr.-type figure that breaks down racial, intellectual, or hygienic boundaries by drowning them in a glorious sea of love juices. You begin to fancy yourself a pioneer in tolerance. Soon your name will be synonymous with open-mindedness and your two recent binges of satisfying chubby broads that you dubbed “The St. Fat-Chicks’ Day Shaming” and “Obese October” will finally be justified to the world.
Upon entering her place you realize that you’re no trailblazer for good will, but merely another dong-toting individual with a desire to unleash a torrent of semen into a hole of some sort. Much like your day job, you’re about to put minimal effort into this situation and hope that you can sneak off to the bathroom to play Temple Run often enough so that your soul isn’t completely crushed by the end. In attempt to play up the charade of genuine mutual attraction, she’ll move in to passionately kiss you, but, and in your best Rorschach voice, you’ll look down and whisper, “No.”
In a not unusual move, you cutout all foreplay and get right to it. She starts calling your name in shrieks and you’ll ask her to kindly stop because being connected to her at all makes you feel disgusting. However, in a rare moment of compassion, you do suggest several other names that she may call out that you aren’t revolted by hearing.
You would have finished in near-record time, but just as you were about to hit your stride you noticed Hillary Clinton’s biography on her nightstand and were distracted with the realization that you actually had more hate to give.
When it’s over you don’t spoon. No, you go into the bathroom and have a cigarette while you drop some dumpage. Twenty minutes later you emerge after not flushing and putting out your third cigarette in one of her bottles of product. She’s asleep now; her farce of pretending there was any romance between you and that this wasn’t just selfish sex between consenting parties can finally end. You slink out of her building and walk home in the rain, with nothing on your mind except the delicious hot pocket that awaiting you.
Just like Meatloaf, you said you would do anything thing for physical love, but you never thought you’d do that.
[Hate sex image via ShutterStock]