The kik. Attempt pt. 2

Part 1

He was killing time again at work with OKC. It use to be his favorite dating site when he could send a witty message to anyone, but now the stars have to aline for a girl to read it. His odds are just as good on tinder now that they’ve taken the personality portion out of online dating. Let’s be honest, who really has time to get to know someone these days?

He was 4 swipes in when the title “Mz Badd” came up. He stopped for a second. Most girls use their first name, but seeing this white 33 year old, with braided hair sparked his curiousity.  Her pictures revealed a busty 5’4″, beautiful thick waist woman, with a natural ass that would make Kim K jealous. He swipped over to her sassy misspelled profile, something he could respect as he was dyslexic himself. The last section of “You should message me if…” read as followed:

Whit Bois tred litely. I hang wit a lot of hispanic and blaks. Take ur bes shot whit boi if u thik u got game. Come corect or dont come at all.

His fingers quivered. When he was 21, he had a fling with a girl who had a raw personality back in his small home town. She wore South Pole suits like J-Lo and her apple bottom could be seen for miles. She even once surprised him on Christmas eve wearing sexy Ms Clause lingerie. They fucked for an hour and a half all over the dark stained carpet motel room that smelled like menthols. She told him he fucked like a pornstar and made her cum 4 times. He never came because he was embarassed of what others might think if they heard. Now he’s alone in a city, and she’s married with a guy who works at jiffy lube.

He fired off a message “I feel like a lot of guys don’t come correct”, and put his phone away, figuring it was a lost cause. An hour later she answered back.  “Lol no they dont”. then threw out three more behind it. The last one saying, “normally I dont hit whit bois back but u cute fr. I dont chec dis much, hit me up on kik XXXXX” Damnit, he thought. His achilees heel of dating apps.

As the day went on, they messaged back and forth. He found it hard to desifer her text speak, but when it came to online dating he’d put his writing and wit against anyone (except DT). He made a joke about how all white boys are corny. She laughed and asked him if he’d ever dated a “Boss Bitch”. He replied yes as he thought of his ex and the girl from back home, who both refered to themselves in such a manner. He joked about how she should wear a skirt and play golf. She said that you’d never find her anywhere near a green, unless your talking about that good shit.

He laughed then asked where would he find her? A few hours went by and she said “u still owe me the pic I asked for last night.” He instantly fired one back, “Woha, I think your trying to hustle me now. When was this?”

He sat there puzzled with absoultely no memory of getting solicited. He scroled through the messages again. Finally he found a random one that read “take me one of u now. stick ya tounge out too lol”. At the time he didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about, so he ignored it.

Within the past couple days he checks his phone periodically, still no response.

kik 2 – Darby 0

The Difference Between Men and Women

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Men’s Fantasy: I want you to wear a tight dress and heels, so everyone will be jealous of me at the club.

Women’s Fantasy: I want you to eye me from across the room on your first day at work and flash your pretty white teeth. I want you to go back to talking with your new co-workers and continue to get acclimated with the new computer system. Hours later, during the boring 2:30 period, I’ll be making copies in the tiny supply room. I want you to walk in and slam the always open wooden door behind you. I want your blue eyes to be locked on mine and your mouth to never move. I want to awkwardly introduce myself, to which you ignore, and come at me without hesitation like a tidal wave. I want you to start kissing my neck, lift me up, hike up my skirt, and slam my ass against the cold metallic folding table. I want you to undo your belt and slam your hard member into me. Half way through, I want you to bend me over the copy machine, so I can feel the bright light burn my eyes as copies of my face as shoot out during the climax. Then I want you to put your pants back on and walk out back to your desk, like nothing ever happened.

Men’s: I want to hit it doggy, and smack your ass while you yell “Ay Papi!”

Women’s: I want you to dress up in a ski mask and attack me from behind as I enter my apartment late from my workout one Tuesday. I want to drop my gym bag midway at the door and you to cover my mouth as I use my remaining breath to scream for help. I want my left hand to club you across the head with my Louis Vuitton and rush frantically into my bedroom searching for something to defend myself with. I want you to stick your foot between the door as I try to slam it and overpower me with your tight muscular arms that bulge out of the black UnderArmor shirt. I want you to slam me down over the dresser, tear the middle of my yoga pants, and ravage me as I scream for bloody murder. I want to continue to fight back at first but give in toward the end when I’m close. I want my body to shake with delight and have wet fluid monsoon down on your hard cock. After you cum, I want you to help me pick up the rest of ransacked apartment and ask me about my day at work.

Men’s: I want to fuck you hard and finish with a load in your face.

Women’s: I want to walk into your corner office that says CEO on the door. I want to live in the sexual tension between the two of us, while your sitting in the giant red chair with brass buttons. I want you to drool at the sight of my tight grey pencil skirt as I run my hands across the stained oak desk on my way over to you. I want to take a deep breath and ask for your signature, emphasizing the word “Boss”. I want to knock down the papers on the desk and gulp as I slowly bend down to get them. I want to see your Italian suit pants try its best to contain your hard dick. I want to slowly unzip your pants and force take the entire thing in my wet mouth. I want to you say softly “Not here” but not do anything to stop it. I want to not stop the forceful suction when I feel my hair brush up against the oak due to the incoming footsteps. I want to hear you struggle to contain your load when the most powerful man in the building tries to take care of an invoice issue with Jim from the Accounting department. I want to feel the warm spunk hit the back of my throat, just as I hear Jim’s shoes walk in the opposite direction. I want to wipe my mouth, pick up the rest of my papers, and walk back to my desk.

Men’s: I want to stick it in your butt.

Women’s: I want to wake up completely strapped down to a retractable chair with my feet in stirrups in an unfamiliar room. I want a single blinding light on my face. The only thing I want to wear is a medical gown and I want to barely make out the glimmer from the various shiny instruments on the table to my left. I want my tits to feel sore from struggling to free myself from the rope around them. I want you to enter with a white coat and your eyes studying my figure up and down. I want to yell out questions that go unanswered like “Who are you?” and “Why are you doing this?”. I want to hear the clink of grabbing an instrument of the tiny steel table. I want you to start the buzzing of the vibrating instrument and duck under my gown. I want to feel the rubber end of the instrument creep up around my thighs and eventually up to my clit. I want to squirm back and forth and try to fight the tingling feeling within my toes. I want to have sweat pour down my face as I quiver uncontrollably. I want to scream out as I lose the battle and release a steady stream of hot liquid. After, I want you to stand up and set the instrument back on the small tray. Then I want to see you write something on a clipboard and leave the room, while I pant fearlessly, trying to catch my breath.

 

-This post is dedicated to my home girl at but she was fierce. She’s a amazing writer, especially when it comes to erotica, and after reading some of her work I wanted to try it out myself. Turns out, women’s sexual fantasies are way more fun to write about than guys. Who knew?

Ps – For the record these would all be consensual acts #Don’tsueI’mpoor

 

The Application

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I’m currently accepting applications for someone who loses track of time when joking around with me. Someone who shows up at the bar when I’m two Moscow Mules deep and instantly tells me about her day. Someone who mentions that she had good intentions of heading to the gym to work out today but instead just showered. Someone who laughs when I joke and mimic that she just washed her thick Italian hair over and over for two hours, almost making her late for work. Someone who takes the joke further by saying it’s all baby steps towards getting healthy and next week she’ll actually get a drink at the gym water fountain before heading to the showers. Someone who laughs so hard she snorts unexpectedly making me laugh harder.

I’m currently accepting applications for someone who storms off after an argument about me flirting with another girl. Someone who gets so frustrated, she moves in with her friend, Sasha. Someone who sips wine and makes jokes all night about how small my dick is. About how they never really liked me anyways. And about how she ‘settled’ for me because her ex moved away and she regrets not going with him. Someone who finally takes Sasha’s advice and heads out to the club wearing her favorite Orange dress that somehow fits. Someone who meets a charming guy that’s tall, witty, and successful. They connect on a deep level and he takes her to his place. Someone who texts me out of spite saying “I’ve already replaced your loser ass!” at 2:23am. Someone who fucks this guy and is still satisfied in the morning. Someone who gets a ride back to Sasha’s and hears Amy Winehouse sing over the E-class Bose speakers, reminding her of how I learned “Valerie” on my guitar when her mother passed away.  Someone who tells the guy they had a nice time. Someone who half way to the door breaks down crying on the street, and texts me, “I’m sorry”.

I’m currently accepting applications for someone who doesn’t want kids. Someone that understands that even though both of us would be awesome parents, it’s just not in the cards for me because I have too many dreams to chase. Someone who gets pissed at me for throwing every dollar towards a goal. Someone who throws a vase at my head when the financial shit hits the fan. Someone who screams every night at me when we sleep out of our two door Honda Civic dx parked behind Walmart and takes turns sleeping and watching out for employees trying to kick us out. Someone who dances with me in the heat in our new apartment when my hard work starts paying off. And a year later sips champagne with me at a fancy party, wearing a stunning red dress, and joins me in telling everyone “remember when” stories.

I’m currently accepting applications for someone who enjoys the spontaneousness of attraction. Someone who doesn’t mind shopping for paint at home depot and catching a gleam in my eye when I joke about the color ‘passion fruit red’. Someone who takes my hand and sneaks in the back by the patio furniture. Someone who tries her damnedest to hold back her moans as I jam my throbbing member in her at a repetitive rate. Someone who breaths extremely heavy at sound of incoming footsteps and kicks out during the climax, knocking over several boxes. Someone who laughs as she puts herself back together because I’m tell the worker about how it’s impossible to find the right outdoor plastic table due to the disorganization of this store.

But I’ll be honest, I’ve been accepting applications for a while now, and not many make it past the grueling the interview process.

Featured Blogs That Get More Views Than Mine: Life and Dreams of an Unchained Heart

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About a week ago my phone buzzed erratically at 3:30 am. I’d been having trouble sleeping the past couple weeks anyways, due to the slaughter-fest of people getting laid off at my job. I assumed it was L, a girl I’ve been seeing (who is normally awesome but is cruising for a muff punch lately) but to my surprise it was a notification of someone liking my post. Before I could put it back down, the phone vibrated  again and again.

This went on for a half hour straight. Rather than learn how to turn off the notifications on my iPhone, something that should be easy for an Engineer, I decided peek over at her site. It’s the least I could do. Not only did she read every post, but she left a few comments. Kudos. I’m sure she’s aware, this is how Darbis E Cashed likes to give back to the WordPress community. So without further ado.

The first thing I did was read over the comments she left. I was completely dumbfounded! This girl CAN FUCKING WRITE! Holy shit! I think I might be in love. For someone who spent the better part of last Sunday night getting verbally ass raped at a writers critique, it was definitely raised a tired eyebrow. I get excited for these kind of descriptions.

I suppose telling her that you jacked off while waiting for her response probably wouldn’t have gone well, but a pile of cum on the floor is essentially what this woman turned out to be.

Yikes! Harsh. I’m 5’6″ with giant balls and a Napoleon complex to match. I live among Texas amazon women who literally rock a one step per sidewalk square stride. To some of them I physically don’t enter their mind space, probably similar to how the Giant felt about Jack before the whole bean stock incident. I get ignored a lot both online and in person, but yet have never referred to any women as a pile of cum. I don’t know, I guess I’m old fashioned that way.

Clicking over to the About page I learned a lot. She’s a New Yorker (had a hunch from the comment), a total plus in my book. I love east coast people, most honest motherfuckers you’ll ever come across. I’d rather have that than this fake southern hospitality bull shit I’m surrounded by.

To me this girl is living the dream. Has a part time gig. Gets to write all day. Doesn’t have to deal with questions around the coffee pot like “How was your weekend?” when you know Frank from accounting just wants to tell you about his Daughter’s 3rd grade play. The mother fucking dream! But reading further things get interesting.

She’s bipolar and navigating her way through the online dating scene.

…….And now you have all my attention.

I dated a girl who was bi-polar once. At least I think she was, she might of just been crazy. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. But it was a wild ride to say the least. One moment she would be tearing my clothes off, trying to snap my cock with her pelvis. And a few hours later, she’d be leaving sobbing voice mails about how she had no one in her life and “really needed me to pick up the phone or else I’D COME OVER THERE AND BURN YOUR FUCKING PLACE DOWN!” Naturally I had to let that one go. It was just a bit too much for me. But I will say she was hot. They always are. And I’m willing to bet Ms. Shattered Wishes is not too bad on the eyes either.

In all seriousness, I know how hard dating can be. Shit I’m just starting to get to the big 3-0 and feel like I still have a lot to learn. I’ve dated in damn near 20 of the 50 States from all types of girls on the socioeconomic spectrum, with all types of backgrounds and as anyone can tell, I have a pretty hard time with it. And, well fuck, I’m just polar. I can’t imagine what adding another level of difficultly that on top of that could do.

So I truly mean it when I say, good luck out there Missy. I tip my hat to you. But honestly, I think I’m going to need more of that luck than you do. Your posts read like you have a pretty good head on your shoulders, probably better than mine. If you ever find yourself in Texas let me know, we’ll go on a random online 4 way date and make it really awkward for the other two people.

Thanks for reading my dumb little blog about jerking off to tinder pictures.

Overall: 9/10 Would read again

 

 

 

 

 

OKC Messages that have Gotten me Blocked pt.1

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Her profile read:

I’ll be in town around Valentines Day. I’m originally from Chicago and I would love a date while I’m traveling for work.

Write down your best attribute (not physical), what you like to do, and where we would go on our date?

My message:

We’d meet up at the bar down the street from my place, where the bartender Frank is a friend of mine. On the 4K TV will be a re-run of game 7 of the 2016 World Series. You know, the one where the greatest baseball franchise breaks that awful curse. We’ll make small talk about how I use to watch every game with my grandma, a die hard fan who once met Andy Pafko at a drug store. From there I’ll segway about growing up in a small town in Michigan and tell stores about the mischief I got into as a kid.

You’ll talk about how you’ve always been a city girl but you love to get away to see the country. Actually, you’ve only told a few people this, but your favorite place in the world is this small cabin you stumbled upon while hiking at Yellowstone. I make a joke about you saving up and buying it. We both laugh.

The food arrives, it’s New York style pizza. I tease you about how it’s better than Chicago style. I take the joke too far not realizing  your close Uncle just lost his pizza restaurant after owning it 20 years. You’re visibly upset. Just when you’re about to write me off, I apologize.

The Game hits the big comeback in the 9th. We cheer, knocking over a bowl of peanuts. We both laugh and apologize to Frank. I pay. You call an Uber. I wait by the corner with you, joking about the cold Texas winters. You smile. Your eyes linger a bit longer than usual. Slowly I grab the back of your head and bring it close to mine, obeying the 80-20 law from Hitch. We kiss. Sparks fly. A black Camry pulls up. I pull away.

You thank me for a great night. I say good luck with new cabin purchase. You smile. The door closes. We lock eyes through the scratches on the window, and the car drives away. We never see each other again.

….Also, did I mention that I like to write?