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Disclaimer: This entry makes me feel like an asshole (probably because I am one)… but I wrote it anyway. You’re welcome. I should add that straight men have been shaming women about their bodies for thousands of years.. and most still do it everyday. So fuck them. Enjoy!

As usual, I should have known better than to choose this one. His tinder bio (which I didn’t actually read before swiping right) was very clear that he was looking for a relationship. When I finally read it (to try to find out why he was asking so many questions about my life), I told him I was only looking for sex. He said he would be alright with just a hookup, and we agreed to meetup for sex.

I really, really should have known better. From my extensive experience, I have learned that the “relationship type” of straight man has something horribly wrong with him (e.g. small dick, dick that doesn’t work right, one testicle, severe emotional problems, adult acne, general ugliness, etc).

Even though he was looking for a relationship, I decided it would be fine because his dick pic was great (ask me for it if you want to see it), and his pictures were all very muscular. In fact, he looked scary-built.. like Flo-Rida (I would pay a lot of money to have sex with Flor-Rida; although I doubt he would be open to prostitution until he runs out of money).

So I chose to ignore my (justified) opinions about guys who are the “relationship type” and set up the hookup anyway.
So the entire evening was characterized by me being disappointed and resentful, but still trying not to make him feel woefully inadequate (which is not unlike the dynamic of my past relationships).

From the beginning… he arrived (an hour late). I was hoping for Flo-Rida, but I got Rick Ross (circa 2008). JK he was more like an amalgamation of the two: built upper body, but fat.
As you all know, I appreciate a good 8-pack (because it is both fashionable and functional), and I get them (with the exception of my thirstiest nights). I definitely need to be the thick one in the arrangement… so let the hypocrisy begin:

I stood in the doorway deciding whether or not to abort the booty call. He was wearing a large shirt, and I found myself trying to decide whether he had pecs or man-boobs. I took an inappropriately long time to weigh the pros and cons. This is what I came up with:

1. He was there and willing
2. He had great shoulders
3. He was 6’3″
4. It was probably too late to call anyone else
5. His dick pic was good

1. Fat
2. I was very sober
3. Fat
Fuck it… I decided to do it, knowing I could always kick him out later.

I offered him tequila out of the chicken teapot. He declined (probably because it was in a chicken teapot), but I was really only offering so that I could drink without hurting his feelings.

I took him into the bedroom and turned out the lights. I tried to do so smoothly as though I always turned out the lights (I never turn out the lights). There was still enough light coming from my window so that I could make sure he didn’t have a herpes outbreak and put the condom on correctly.

He took his big shirt off and left his undershirt on. I generally don’t allow them to keep any clothes on, but I was thankful he did in this scenario. It turned out that he had pecs and moobs… like with the moob sort of on top of the pec. It all rounded out to a full B-cup.

Where is a glory hole when you need one? He would have been perfect if I had only had a wall between me and everything but his dick.

I told him my favorite position was that one where he stands and I lie on the edge of the bed (like it’s a gyno table) and have no contact with anything besides his dick. He tried to pick up my legs to put over his shoulders and I just yelled, “No!” in my usual demeaning tone. I turned my head away to stare at the wall and think about Flo-Rida (which seemed marginally appropriate).

I can’t believe the scenario worked for me! He actually wasn’t bad with his dick. Somehow I managed to get off in my weird minimal-contact position that kind of hurt my back. It was a Christmas miracle!

I walked him out quickly after that, citing the fact that it was late because he was an hour late arriving.

Overall, I made it work, despite being moderately appalled by his bmi. And I am really considering cutting a glory hole into one of my walls (I like to keep things classy in my house) just in case this happens again.