GIRL 52
SEX TOY GIRL
She owned an interior decorating business and a woman's in-home party sex toy business. The latter functioned like the old fashioned Tupperware parties, but instead of showing how to burp the 2-quarters, they show how to operate the Jackrabbit vibrator. Good lord, females. No one has to teach men how to masturbate, but you girls, duh, I know I'm blonde, but how do I do this again? Can you repeat that, I just can't seem to get it right.
Anyway, there was a head shot of this cute chick, she was very sexual, and very New York whiny and nasally. I was five minutes away from the restaurant to meet Girl 50, Naples Bistro Girl, when I was first on the phone with Sex Toy Girl. I told her what I was up to.
"What? You're going on a DATE? What are you calling me for?" she screamed into the phone.
Wait a minute, hold on, I said. Are you telling me I have to be exclusive with you before I even meet you?
"Well, I guess if you put it that way, no, but still, I don't like the idea of you going out with another woman! What are you doing?" And she'd work her way into the same goddamned frenzy over Naples Bistro Girl.
Look, fuck you, Sex Toy Girl, you bitch, I said roughly. (Sometimes you have to show them who's boss, though 60% of the time that backfires, but failing to be aggressive when facing down a domineering cunt will get you castrated in no time.) I'll date whomever I feel like dating. You can either like it or go away. Got it?
She was meek suddenly. "Yes, sir."
Jesus.
I met her at the Princeton Brew Pub. That was my top shelf place, where I would line up the A-girls. Listen, Sex Toy Girl may have sounded like a bitch, but the stuff she told me she did to herself with those vibrators and dildos, oo la la, va va voom! She had me hotter than an F-14's jet exhaust on full afterburners.
But when I first saw her at the door, I could not believe my eyes. She was huge, and making things worse was her full length mink coat. She looked like a goddamned bear in it!
All through dinner, in that whining New York accent, she kept asking, how do you like my looks? Do you think I'm pretty?
Why did I dodge that question? It cost me the dinner tab, then I had to take her back to the Snake Ranch, then she gave me a bunch of shit about my lifestyle, then she wanted to fuck me and I didn't think I could get erect for that, but I shut my eyes, thought of duty, honor, country. Inside twenty minutes I did mouth, vagina, and figured, what the hell. As usual, without asking, straight up the poop chute.
"Ahhhhh! What are you doing?"
You're a sex toy expert and you don't know?
"Ow! You're hurting me! You're too big! Ow! It hurts."
No, it doesn't, it feels great.
But hey, good news. Can I be done now?
Turns out, yes, I could. She got up in a huff, nagged at me because I kept falling asleep and she wanted directions.
Computer's out there, I mumbled. You can mapquest. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
"Damn you!" she screamed. "Don't you CARE if I get home SAFELY?"
I popped an eye open.
No, I said, I don't.
"You fucking asshole!"
Well, if I didn't care before, I really don't care now.
The woman couldn't believe I refused to treat her like a helpless female of the 1930s. Hell, 1830s. I waited till the front door slammed, then sank into blessed slumber.
Cell phone rang.
"It's me," her drill-piercing-your-eardrums nasal tone shrieked. "I'm lost! You have to help me find my way RIGHT NOW! Get in your car and come help me navigate!"
I waited for her to take a breath.
Sex Toy Girl, I said. Fuck you.
Click.
I don't know why, but this date felt great. The next morning, I was a new man.
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