Ill Intentions

Admittedly, I went into this date knowing it was a horrible idea. I did not set myself up for failure, but I didn’t exactly go into it with any level of hope for success. If I’m going to be completely honest- I’m craving a bakers dozen with Incredicock, a few beers and a day full of football.

Dating?

Noooooo.

However, I’m bored and have a few hours to kill without my small. So I got my shit together and painted a happy face on. He’s pretty, and I’m taking him to the home of the best damn cornbread you can imagine. Everything else is kind of bad, but oh well. A date is a date, and I’m guaranteed not to see anyone I know at this less than noteworthy establishment.

I hate the parking lot meet up, so I made sure to beat him to the table by 10 minutes. He was late.

I was pleasantly surprised because he is every bit as delicious as his picture implies. Those green eyes are sparkly beautiful and he wore a tie without prompting. Men get a bad wrap for being heathens. I see a necktie on a man and my thoughts are distinctly impure.

He smiles a little too long. He kissed my cheek with intention. His lips were wet. Ewwww…..

I resisted the urge to wipe my cheek and smiled brightly instead. Ever the accommodating date. I ordered a stiff chocolate milk and wished I were engaged in sexual warfare with Incredicock instead. De-fucking-pressing.

Yet here we are, so fuck it. When in Rome and shit.

P- I like your lips.

J- Well that’s nice of you to say. How was your day?

P- It was really long for a Saturday, but they aren’t usually as hard as it was today.

Excuse me while I slit my wrists in the bathroom. If he thinks his thinly veiled sexual innuendo is escaping me, somebody needs to send him a link.

I’m shooting the server some imploring looks. Hit me with some specials. Anything. Just help. She stops and asks if we have any questions or she can bring us anything. I’ve endured some soup and my cornbread is gone. I’m desperate to escape.

P- The check, sweetheart.

My blood runs cold.

J- Pretty sure she’s not your sweetheart.

P- So are we gonna fuck or not?

I took a deep breath and sent my sister a 911.

J- Or not.

P- You like me. You know you want to.

I don’t. This is when I started shooting out hail Mary’s like my beloved Brett Favre. HELP. CALL ME. I started browsing Facebook to see who was online.

My Songbird came to my rescue, immediately.

S- Hurry! The baby is projectile vomiting, come home now! I tried to clean it up but she’s still throwing up.

P- Sick kid? Really?

He followed me to pay the bill and had an insistent hand on my elbow.

Still more Hail Mary’s thrown to my sister and her delightful dude, who call me next. Speakerphone, because I’m offended and annoyed.

D- Babe, can you come home now, please?

J- Yes honey, I’m on my way.

D- Baby I’m serious. I need you to hurry.

I grinned and laughed out loud, unable to help it.

His wide eyed silence allowed me to blow a kiss and fly out the door.

I give up. I retire.

If you need me, I’ll be knitting chastity belts and praying that a lovely lesbian is going to walk her beautiful ass up my driveway.

Dick isn’t worth the headache.

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