[Trampalicious] A Bad Date vs. An Officially Bad Date

March 29, 2010

By Shirley Anne

Hi, I’m Shirley Anne and I’m here to write about sex. Well, I may write other things, but mostly I’m here to write about sex. Therefore, if you’re under the age of 18, this post is not for you. If you do read it, well, I disclaim any responsibility for your corruption.

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen,

Has any one of the following happened to you on a date? Shitty conversation, farting while fucking, being forced to compliment a dick’s looks, men watching themselves fuck you in the mirror and smiling, loss of an erection, an absence of orgasm, and an admission of fucking around with people other than YOU. If so, you just had a bad date. All of the above? On one date, with one person, in one night? You just had an officially bad date.

I met Mike White at a party for my close friend Craig. I was drinking, he was fun, he flirted, I gave him my number.

A few days later we made plans to go to a Greek restaurant. And that’s when the goodness ended. We had nothing in common and he was a complete cock-head. He made comments about how much money I spend on my clothes, and my hair. He bitched about girls who have daddies to support them. He talked about animals and vegetarians being annoying—I’m a vegetarian. His obnoxiousness was endless.

The night went on and he was twisting my nipples (in a bad way) more and more with his judgmental angry statements. However, he was hot before he started talking, and thanks to the wine, in time he was sexy again. I got bored and frisky and decided to flirt. I told him how I like to deep throat men. I might as well make the night interesting since he wasn’t. He ended up telling me what he would do with his tongue on my clit, how he would lick it and suck on it while he played with my pussy with his fingers. And then he would fuck the shit out of me and make me scream. I’m a screamer anyway, so that was no big feat. But I was now officially in the mood to bang.

After four whiskey sours I found I could finally tolerate him. We went back to my place to screw. He went down on me, and it felt great and all, but unfortunately he’s what I like to call a half-assed clit tease. He doesn’t do it long enough to make a girl cum. This isn’t the 100-yard dash, I need a marathon runner.

As we rounded the bases and we were about to reach for the condom and home plate, he looked down at his penis, and then at me and said, “Do you like what you see?” And then, “Isn’t it big?”

Are you serious?? I’m about to fuck you and you need me to compliment your penis? Why don’t you tell me how cute my box is? But of course, I said, “Oh yeah!” And finally he shut up about his wiener, and put it in me. He was fucking me and it was feeling good. I can rarely cum from penetration without clitoral stimulation, but a dick in my kitten always feels good. I closed my eyes to enjoy myself.

When I opened my eyes a few moments later, I saw him looking at himself in the mirror and smiling while he fucked me. Corny! But, not the first to do that… At least he wasn’t flexing Patrick Bateman style, nor did he turn out to be a serial killer, but that wasn’t exactly the worst part of the evening…

A few seconds later, I heard a popping noise. With every thrust into me, POP! POP! Is that me? No, it wasn’t coming from me. It was coming from him. He was fart fucking me, and he wasn’t even slowing down to get his ass under control!

I know these things happen, but when a man has the personality of a cucumber with narcissistic personality disorder, it’s just gross. Plus, one fart per thrust….imagine a man farting as he goes inside you over and over. Um, narsty! He said, “sorry.” And I pretended not to notice. What would I have said, “Ew?” He continued to fuck me, and I just hoped he’d cum soon so I could go to bed. But that was not in the cards for Mike White.

After a few minutes of him thinking he was the man despite the fart fucks, we decided to change positions to doggie style. I got on my knees and waited. And waited. Nothing. I turned around and saw that now his ding a dong was soft as a cooked hotdog.

Now I was pissed. I’m going to put up with a cocky fart machine who can’t even keep it up? Um, no. I was really hoping to get some good, old fashioned pleasure, but no chance. He tried to jerk it to get it up but it wasn’t happening.

Just when I didn’t think it could get any worse, he said, “Wow, that’s the second time that happened this week!” Wow, I’m glad we used a condom because apparently you’re a dirty slut with no class and no brains. Earlier I described him as a cucumber with a personality disorder, I’d like to rephrase: He has the personality of an overcooked, soft cucumber. I was done. I said, “I’m tired, you should go, plus you are a whore.” He said, “Why?” I said, “Sorry, I’m just tired. I pushed him out the door.

And so ended my official bad date.

I wanted to share this with all of you because from experience I know that a bad date, or more likely 10 bad dates, can be defeating. Don’t take any of it too personally because most people will have more bad dates than good ones. Accept it, and keep looking forward because your only other option is to give up….and trust me, the bad dates are worth going through to get closer to the good ones that end with great, satisfying orgasms. I promise, they are out there!! Plus, these make great dinner stories—minus the profanity–, and when you meet Mr. or Ms. Right, or, Mr. or Ms. Right-now, you’ll appreciate that person so much more. After this date, I went home, and set up a couple new ones. I wasn’t about to let the fart fucking limpy dick take away my hopes for a great man and great sex, and you shouldn’t let your bad date discourage you either!

It helps to put it out there, so send your bad dates to dearshirley@nonpretentious.com

Wishing everyone better luck!

Love Always,
Shirley Anne