You’re Cabbage

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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Some cities are amazing as far as the crap people produce. I’m writing my next three blogs in reverse chronological order due to life events. I’ve been silent for many weeks because my blogs are being used against me in litigation by entitled millennials trying to make a free buck – how selfish we become.

I’m outside my comfort city tonight and I decided to give a guy a chance. We chatted on Grindr while I was at dinner…if you don’t know Grindr get your Google out and do some research. After finishing dinner with friends I walked down the street to meet him at a local bar. What a freaking shit hole. I know this town is ghetto but seriously, you have two bars and this is as good as it gets?! We chatted for about five minutes before someone walked up and interrupted us. It appeared to be a friend, though Dick Guy tried to excuse it, so maybe it was an earlier hookup. He suggested we leave and obviously that meant go to my hotel.

We get here, pee, and of course I need a beer. Heading down the street we buy a few beers from a bar – who knew you could do that – ghetto! I noticed that Dick Guy paid with a Visa gift card. Ok, that’s a little white trash no matter how you cut it. I mean, you can’t whip out $8 actual dollars? How poor are you? Anyway, we head back to my hotel and get frisky.

Let’s go through all of the parts that went wrong. First, you need a boner. It’s the first rule of sex – so simple. Though Dick Guy kept mentioning allergies, I’m pretty sure he’d had some Christmas tonight. He was limper than a raw hot dawg…gross. So, we tried to get it up but that wasn’t working. Then  he wanted to be the bottom. That’s fine, but when I tell you I don’t have the necessary supplies (lube and condom), it’s not happening. This was the most interesting part. Dick Guy suddenly says the meter on his car is about to expire.

If you plan to lie – lie well. You told me an hour before you didn’t have to move the car until 7:00 AM. That means you just want to get out of the room. Just say I want out and leave, it’s as easy as the click of an email – I don’t care. So as he rushes out the door giving me a piece sign I chuckle to myself. Because I can’t help myself I sent this amazing ass a text asking, “what sent you running?” It’s a research question I feel important to answer. However, he did not reply so this is my thought: Because this guy is an easy slut he’ll screw anyone without protection and if that screw is compromised he’ll stop at nothing to get it. That may mean returning to the bar or corner to find another guy. I’ll say good luck to him, but herpes isn’t for me. Happy Monday!