Sooner or later, every woman will encounter the joy of meeting a real man. The joy won’t last forever though, as at some point she will need to stop lying about not feeling well and actually jump into bed with him.
What does that first night look like from the perspective of the perfect lover?
The perfect lover begins preparing in the early morning.
First, he calls all of his buddies to proudly tell that he’s going to “bang a hottie”. Then, he browses websites and skims a bunch of how-to books in order to learn the ways of giving your partner an orgasm in five minutes. With one finger.
Right before he leaves, he grabs a pair of socks from under the bed, dashes for the bathroom and takes a quick whiff of his armpits. They don’t reek? Very well then. That’ll save him some time. He starts making weird faces in front of the mirror and proceeds to spend 30 minutes shaving, because some website told him that women don’t like it when something tickles them when they’re being eaten out.
Afterwards, he takes a quick piss, without raising the seat, and splashes his pants a little while trying to shake off the last droplets. He decides not to wash his hands. Why would he wash them when he can just wipe them on his pants?
And so, he approaches his woman’s apartment.
Before he enters: he blows into his hand to see if his breath stinks. He kisses her hand (very loudly). He proudly waves a cheap bottle of wine before her face.
Inexperienced women usually smile back or, what’s even worse, they kiss the man on the cheek. They don’t know that something sticky is already running down his thigh. He’s just had his first orgasm.
After that, the man begins his three hour long monologue, during which he describes his entire life, keeps mentioning how much money he makes every few minutes, tells you how much he hates the rat race and the politicians that are robbing the country blind. He’s an erudite, which he proves by referencing a bunch of blogs and The Da Vinci Code. He’s intelligent, too, ‘cause he brings forward a hypothesis stating that Dan Brown actually made the whole thing up. There’s no actual facts backing his speech, but the woman is too charmed to start questioning Virgin Mary’s virginity. It’s a good thing she’s not testing his intelligence. She might have become really disappointed.
Hours go by. His phone has a fake-call app installed on it. He “picks up” one call after another and keeps screaming into the microphone: “sell it! Sell every single stock of that piece of shit company!”, or: “I can’t talk right now, I’m in a very important meeting.”
When he runs out of other things to say, he’ll inevitably start talking about his ex women. It seems that he was very unlucky and he only seems to attract whores, idiots and unfaithful sluts. This makes him question whether women can be trusted. He’s been hurt too many times…
The courted lady tries to follow his story and fake interest. Every few minutes she nods her head or smiles, though most of her time is spent on trying to scratch the label off the wine bottle. Once the alcohol starts working, the man starts talking about his sexual prowess. How long he can last, how satisfied all his partners were, how flexible his tongue is and how good he is ‘down there’. ‘Down there’ probably refers to his parents’ basement, but who cares.
This fascinating night will reach its conclusion in bed. HE will soon utter the two magical words, the ones women never say. I’m staying. She agrees to have sex with him, hoping that he’s a better lover than he is a storyteller. Once the perfect lover takes off his briefs, she can finally witness all the glory of his 4-inch beast. It’s in permanent erection mode, obviously. She’s completely flabbergasted and she considers it a minor setback that his penis seems to grow out of a completely shaven area, which makes it look a bit like an elephant’s trunk and a bit like a puppy’s tail. She concludes that it’s probably what’s in style right now and decides to go along with it.
Just like she decides to overlook the fact that he keeps his socks on. And turns the lights off.
The perfect lover knows how to make his woman wet. He begins the process by sticking his tongue deep down into her throat, nearly choking her to death. Afterwards, his hand starts crawling towards her underwear and starts stroking the pussy in a very rough manner. Up and down and up and down again. He pretends to be a lion, breathing heavily, kissing his lover all over her body, sinking his lips into her nipples, biting them and sucking on them. He keeps an eye on his lover’s reaction. She’s moaning slightly, but she’s not that much delighted as she is terrified. She’s just trying to do what most women in this situation have taught themselves to do – she’s trying to turn herself on.
The culmination arrives when his tongue lands on her pussy for the first time. The poor woman tries her best not to laugh because of the tickling. And then she moans a bit, but mostly because she’s distraught and not because she’s a fan of her lover’s skills. Meanwhile, he’s sliding his tongue back and forth on her clitoris, almost breaking the speed of light. Two of his fingers enter her vagina. He doesn’t bother to notice that his poor lover bites her lip down due to the pain. “It’s going great” he thinks to himself.
The desperate woman tries to take matters into her own hands. She pretends to be insanely horny, escapes from the man’s soaking wet face, grabs his penis and inserts it into her mouth. A blowjob is underway. The smell of his penis is nearly vomit-inducing. The perfect lover knows he doesn’t have to wash his penis before he goes out on a date. It’s more than enough to wash it in the morning, or even the night before… The second vomit-inducing moment comes when the man grabs her by the hair and tries to force her to put the penis in deeper. The third time she wants to vomit happens when the man ejaculates. The surprised woman’s mouth becomes filled by a thick and bitter liquid. Not wanting to be rude, she swallows it in one try, choking a bit and spitting some of it out. The perfect lover watches the woman’s reaction with a certain degree of surprise.
Wasn’t it supposed to be delicious?
He’s been eating pineapples for the entire week. Cosmopolitan told him to do it. He came down her throat fully expecting for his sperm to come out in the form of a delicious, creamy yoghurt, much better than the one Chobani makes.
Oh, well, that didn’t work out. He’s not tired from that one little orgasm, so he forces the woman to spread her legs and he sticks his half-flaccid penis inside. He starts fucking her so hard that white sparks start flying around the room. Or is that dandruff? He keeps thrusting on. She’s slightly horny at first, wrapping her arms around the man’s body, grabbing him by his wonderfully thick hair, smacking his buttocks screaming: “harder! deeper!”. He’s the tireless demon of sex, going in and out of the lifeless woman, thinking: “I’m the best goddamn lover on this side of the Mississippi!”
A minute goes by. Ten minutes, thirty minutes. There’s no end on the horizon.
She’s drier than than an old nun in the Sahara desert. She keeps pussyfarting, but that doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He keeps banging her and doesn’t seem to think about taking a break. Finally, though, he makes his final thrust. It’s over, praise Jehova! Visibly bruised and dreading the inevitable sores and cramps her muscles are going to suffer from, she waits for her perfect lover to hug and kiss her as gently as possible.
Unfortunately, he gets up to wipe his dick in the drapes. Then he goes to the bathroom to wash his beast above the sink. He moves to the toilet and fires off a horse-like stream of hot piss. Exhausted and sleepy, he rubs his sweaty forehead and looks at himself in the mirror, smiling. He knows he’s looking at the greatest lover on God’s green earth. Suddenly, his conscience wakes up for a single moment. “If the sex was so great, how come she didn’t have an orgasm?”
He comes back to the bedroom, lights a cigarette, glances at his lover and reaches the obvious conclusion. “She’s a bit frigid, this girl.”