Frequent Text Messaging, Persistent Douchebaggery

Billie Holiday and a dimly lit apartment set the mood that evening. When Brad showed up, I greeted him in a leopard print mini-dress that sensually fell off of my shoulders every so often revealing red bra straps.

We pounced on each other straightaway. Brad pulled my hair and burried his face into my exposed neck, biting, nibbling, and licking a path down to my chest. His searing kisses penetrated my skin, reviving every neglected sensor in my body. Mmmmmmm... This was gearing up to be magical. epic. legendary.

SHORTLIVED?!?!

Brad orgasmed moments after initiating intercourse. In his defense, he did warn me that he was rusty ahead of time. But while I completely understood that, I also couldn't help but be disappointed. He could have fingered me, gone down on me, used a vibrator done other things to please me instead of taking a nap. Tisk, tisk selfish lover! Discovering a Trojan Climax Control condom wrapper in my waste basket after he left only made me feel worse.

Truth is, I really liked this guy and if my time with Mr. Ed taught me anything, it was to be more considerate of a male's penile sensitivities. So I vowed to work with what I had and when Brad asked if we could see each other again the next day, I accepted. Secretly, I was also happy that Brad wanted to see me because this would mean he wouldn't be attending some gathering this blond chick invited him to on Facebook.

Brad and I were both busy during the day so we didn't talk text much. Half an hour before our date however, Brad dropped a major bombshell (via text of course). "I don't think this is going to work out." "The date or at all?" "At all. Sorry." ::ADVANTAGE BLOND CHICK::

I immediately called my best friend Candice and we went out to The Joynt that night to blow off some steam. A collection of vodka cranberries later, Brad started blowing up my phone. "I made a mistake. Can we start over," he wrote. "I freaked out because I like you so much. Will you give me another chance?" Guess the blond didn't put out, huh douche?!

I was done with the firefighter, despite having one last romp sometime later. I am the prize, not the consolation. Brad's subsequent behavior confirmed that I had made the right decision. He texted me some weeks later with the same recycled sob story, "I'm really sorry I hurt you. Can we start over?" When I declined, he called me a "hairy fat slob." I've never laughed harder in my life! Folks, I'm a healthy size, a self-professed clean freak, and my grooming habits are equally as compulsive. Frankly, I am none of those things. While I should have taken the high road and left it alone, I couldn't. Sometimes you just have to put douchebags in their place:

"Well, don't forget that this 'hairy fat slob' made that tiny dick cum in less than 10 minutes... What a joke!"