Not the girl of my dreams
In the aftermath of a relationship that didn't work out, I was, somewhat lonely in the preceding weeks. I thought I'd counter these feelings of emptiness by meeting the girl of my dreams sooner rather than later, and by using the interwebs to do so!

So, I strike up a half-arsed ad, find a picture of me not belming or generally looking like a mong, upload the bitch, and await the storms of beautiful maidens to come hammering at my inbox.

Nay, dear reader, no such luck was to be had. By the time this dawned on me several days later I had rediscovered pr0n in a new way anyway and was back to the self depravity & debauchery rarely seen in civilised societies, so was not too bothered anyway.

But hark! An email arrives!

Yes! Dear reader, my princess had finally come through in the end! Her name was Emma, lets call her, and in the photos she sent though she looked like a stunner! Blonde hair, slim, nice eyes....in my imagination she was surely the one! We agree to meet in a pub near her town.

On the bus, in my head, i had already planned everything – how I was going to ask her out, how we’d spend countless good times together, even how I’d propose in a few years time.

On arrival, a “girl” in a “red-dress” approaches bearing a resemblance to the figure of beauty i was awaiting. Oh fuck, it was her. Oh fuck! She was hideous.....to say she’d put on a few pounds since the photos were taking would be polite, and her face looked like it had been hit with a shovel. I was considering to offer to “re-spade” her face, in an attempt at improving it maybe.

Ah, but it doesn’t stop there either. No. Obviously, I’m not up for making this the large night i was planning, so I let her do the talking and I just pretend I’m tired ready for the “make excuses and leave” operation.

So she tells me all sorts....to cut it short, it was about how she, er, likes getting “utterly faking wankered” and pulling black men, but, oh yeah, she actually “hates blacks” really (!!!), it’s just that “they’ve got really big cocks innit?!”. Nothing about favourite music, not even about job/hobbies....straight to “black cock”!

Another revelation was that she liked black cock so much that one day she got pregnant from one – “dunno who the cunt was though do I?”. Said child of said “cunt” was 6 years old at the time of meeting.

The situation is bordering on so awful that I’m starting to not-so-silently guffaw to myself, producing some strange looks from my “date” who is taking this very seriously.

And here comes the killer, o B3ta. After about the time it takes to drink 2/3rds of a Guinness, she launches the final a-bomb onto an unsuspecting me. She said, and I quote, “I really fakin like you, and I reckon you’d make a wicked dad!”

Nearly choking on my Guinness I spluttered “just going a piss” and promptly bee-lined for the fire exit. I couldn’t wank for a week.

Length? Like an arm, apparently.
( slippery doctore, Thu 13 Sep 2007, 22:05, Reply)