he thinks of himself as so suave like some frypan james hussie except baldly self-effacing and pudgy and balding too he's got moves like a 12-year old who just saw his first pussy practiced in a book first move left then right turn over and start again push up and down thrusts like a tightwad in a gym like every hole is just for him unconcerned about its pleasure like a child who was spoiled or neglected or both taking grabbing forcing unaware of the mocking eye rolls which accompany his every move like watching a car wreck some kind of execution last supper of punishment trial by irony fuck him and his sissyboy boots

20 years older than me and he thinks he’s in love. Even more fucked up is he thinks I’m in love with him. Why? I can tell you why. He wrote a fucking 7 pages long poem detailing the sad fucking night where he thinks this all happened.

I hadn’t seen him in years, probably since I graduated high school. He’d gotten older, fatter, more pathetic. But I remembered good times before when I was friends with his daughter and I was happy to see him so I said, “Let’s hang out.” He told me the sad pathetic story of how his wife had screwed him for all his money and he didn’t even realize it until it was too late. On and on about what a poor sap he was.

Sad people are kinda sexy. Not sexy, but the way they let their guts hang out, thinking that someone is really interested in their boring stupid story which really only reveals how they’re so wrapped up in themselves that they don’t even notice when their wives are not fucking them but fucking their bank accounts. Why not?

He decides I’m his angel. So we hang out and eat and I drink. A lot. Because he doesn’t shut his mouth about how terrible everything is and the buzz from the bad wine is at least making his words sound less annoying. I’m not really paying attention because it’s the same drone over and over again. He doesn’t care if i listen. He just wants to talk. He doesn’t care what i think or not think. He doesn’t want to know how I think he’s a dumbass to bare his soul to his daughter’s friend. What the fuck does he think I’m going to do? Well, he’s right.

He reaches his fat face towards me and I make a bad decision to kiss his sad ugly face, anything to stop that whiny fucking voice i had never kissed an old fat dude before. God he’s gross. But I’m drunk enough now that I just say Why the fuck not? I feel bad for him. Maybe the sad fat fuck has made up for his lack of sex appeal by knowing how to please girls. He’s not bad with those sausage fingers, which is all he can use because he has an invisible dick. And worse because it’s hidden by the rolls of fat hanging over it.

He waddles around room like he thinks it will turn me on. Like i like seeing this body which is wide as it is high. How can old dudes be so idiotic? My last boyfriend, my age, was 6 feet and buff like a god and fucked like I was the last pussy on earth. Not like some sad fucking dude who sounded like he was going to cry any moment.

But I was horny, so I drank a lot more wine and kept my eyes closed. Then more wine. I really wanted to make his tiny dick get hard, so I tried touching him but every time i tried to get my hand around his thigh, I couldn’t. So i moaned and sighed and called out every fucking thing I could think of. This is what girls do to get guys hard and excited. It’s a power thing. And it works. For a minute or two.

I’ll skip the rest of the boring godawful details. Because now you know enough to get back to the poem he wrote. He took every one of those sighs and words as proof and declarations of love. Now he’s ready to spend the rest of his life with me. “Learning me” as he says. Fuck. What a fucked up dumbass.

Why would I be with someone as old as my dad? Or someone who doens’t even know the difference between real love and someone who just feels sorry for him?