Turns out I'm dating a Pro...
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- palimpsest0
- Maybe this story should be a music video after all. Who's your spirit rapper? Mine is Bizmarkie.CyBrainX
- Would love to see it as a music video.
Mine is Danny Brown.palimpsest
- _niko5
What a story, I say who gives a shit, enjoy the ride while you can, life's way too short and she sounds like a blast! I mean as long as she's still not escorting.
- _niko3
ahem...pics or....
- lajj-1
It sounds a bit like that movie The Shape of Things, but with more boners and a semi happy ending
- palimpsest2
"If you haven't eaten ass and had your ass eaten you haven't lived."
- palimpsest- Eating ass? That's second base at this point.catpower
- What's third base? Eating her liver?palimpsest
- pegging maybe?catpower
- Is she an organ doner?
https://www.youtube.…CyBrainX - * donorCyBrainX
- An organ doner kebabAkagiyama
- Chimp1
You need to write a book about this.
- catpower
A few months before the pandemic, I got divorced. On the one hand, it was sad, of course. On the other, the opportunity to canoodle with some runaways with questionable morals made losing half my shit much more palatable. At least in theory.
I was drowning my sorrows in an endless sea of "swipe rights." The Hugh Heffner adolescent appeal wore very thin very quickly, though. I learned that I don't have the energy or mentality for rampant promiscuity. With every encounter, I could hear my d*ck whisper, "I'm too old for this shit." Truer words.
I found myself being drawn to a new woman every day while having breakups with another at the same time. To put it in industry terms, my life became an endless series of onboardings and postmortems, all happening concurrently. Fucking exhausting. And so much drama.
As COVID hit, I took the time to reevaluate. I could feel my soul dying. To be as cliche as possible, I moved to a cabin, transitioned to 100% freelance, and contemplated shifting industries entirely. As it turns out, homesteading is pretty hard, goats are assholes, and design is a lovely industry.
As the world opened back up, I returned from my breakdown in the woods with a newfound purpose and started to reconnect with society. I deleted Tinder. You should, too, probably. So one night, I was out at a bar, and this cute girl sat down beside me. No app. No bs. Just a real connection. I bought her a drink, and we started hanging out nonstop from there.
She's a grad student, super funny, and intelligent. We hit it off instantly. As our relationship progressed and we slept together, that's when I spotted my first flag. She was good. Too good. Her "moves" were perfect, BUT I could also feel a distance emerge. The vibrant person I had known all of a sudden felt hollow. I felt like I was f*cking a super hot cyborg that was short-circuiting in an ocean of daddy issues. It was a bizarre sensation. She's gorgeous, knows what she's doing, is filthy in the best ways, but it did nothing for me.
My junk is nothing if not persistent. Over time, we started to connect; the layers began to melt away. I'll leave some details in the interest of keeping this a PG thread, but suffice to say that things kept escalating absurdly over time. "Normal relations" faded away as increasingly crazy shit became the norm. Red flags. So many red flags. And boners. Also boners.
Cut to the New Year. She invited me to her graduate thesis, a performance piece about her life. I wanted to support her, so of course, I went. The opening line: "This is a story about trauma... and my life as an escort."
What. The. Fuck. She never brought this shit up, but suddenly everything made sense. I had to sit through two hours of her talking about the most ridiculous scenarios you've ever heard in your life. The second act started with "The only thing that turns me on anymore is violence," followed by the finale where she essentially pantomimed a group activity. What. The. Fuck.
After the show, her classmates showered her with praise. "Oh girl, you're so brave... so empowering... an inspiration... " Meanwhile, I'm at a total loss for words (and running out of ways to hide my shame boner).
"What'd ya think?" she said, as she kissed me on the cheek, as though she had just finished singing in a community production of "Fiddler on the Roof" or some shit. "What do I think?! You've inspired me... to get tested right the fuck now."
We had this massive blowup, as you might imagine. Over the course of several days, she explained where she was coming from, how she got into this, how she used it to pay for college, how she wants to be with me etc. I get it, but it's so fucked up. The crazy thing is that the more we talk, the closer we get. Not good.
As it stands right now, we're "on a break," though she calls me every day. Everything in my head knows the correct answer, of course. "Profession" aside, this chick kept this from me for months. That alone is grounds for a ghosting. But my junk is nothing if not persistent. Questions. So many questions. And boners. Also boners.
Happy New Year.