Diary: Waiting for My Date

15 Mar

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Waiting for my date in the park. We’ll feed ducks. The two gregarious barnyard ducks with the fucked up faces are here. Good news. They come right up to you. Wag their tails and chatter. She’ll be charmed by these friendly fowl and take my milky seed.

Last night’s party. Dave brought a fat 23 year old Asian. She got obliterated. It was nice to be touched. I prayed for the strength not to try to fuck her. I tried to fuck her. Listen, it’s not safe to take the bus, I said. Let me give you a ride home.

I would never rape someone. But I would take someone home and memorize her pillowcases. Get the smell of her fat boozy armpits on my fingers. Gather details to jerk off later. Maybe steal her fat girl panties with a snail smear of musky cuntcrust on them. What can I say. Progress not perfection.

I’d taken her out in the hall. Come outside with me, I said. Are we leaving? No, no, just for a second. Started kissing her. I tried get a finger into her yoga pants cameltoe and she waved my hand away with her fat arm. I respected her wishes and left. Went home and jerked off. In the fantasy I pushed her arm back and pulled her down black yoga pants and forced it in her fat sweaty cunt and pumped while she cried and said no and then came. In the morning I searched chubby asian creampie on Bing and jerked it again four times. Either every man is like me, or I’m the only one. Either way it’s horrifying.

There were age appropriate women at the party too. White women with good jobs who drink wine sensibly. Their career oriented questions, like cigarette burns on my neck.

Now I’m waiting for my date. I chose this venue so I’d talk to her. Not fuck and run. Of course, last time I took a date here I took her up the block and fucked her and came in three pumps. Well– what are the odds of it happening twice.

I want to stop. But what are my options. Celibacy. I would kill myself. Make money and fuck hookers. Doesn’t count. Meet a nice woman in real life. I’ve been living real life for 40 years. No milk coming out of that tit.

OK– prep for conversation. Discuss ducks. In this pond, there is of course the mallard. Necrophiliac homosexual gang rapist. Corkscrew penis, etc.– everyone knows this already. Come up with some other shit about mallards. The American coot, a charming and gregarious bird. Some sort of Muscovy duck hybrid that is tame enough to be hand fed and comes right up to you. Look, there he is now.

Brush up on her profile. Altruistic schoolteacher who’s been to Peru. Fuck. Girls who travel are smug. It means her parents have money. Which means she doesn’t fuck fast unless she got fingered by the babysitter. Look at me judging. Dear God give me the strength have an open heart.

Dear God let me just enjoy a fucking conversation. Let me give and not take. I had to fuck the last one when she didn’t say interesting shit fast enough. The machine had to take over. You either control life or enjoy it. When I take control it’s a train to fucktown. I know nothing else. To not fuck I’d have to cede command. When you do that girls don’t like you. I can’t escape it. No more than the American Coot can escape building his springtime nest of reeds.

Here she comes. Behind her a bearded hipster walks with his daughter. I will die alone and never have beautiful children. Better fix my hair.

6 Responses to “Diary: Waiting for My Date”

  1. Atlanta Man March 15, 2015 at 1:39 pm #

    This one was really good.

  2. BB753 March 24, 2015 at 5:00 pm #

    You can have beautiful children and still die alone. It’s called divorce.

  3. red vadge of courage March 30, 2015 at 5:46 pm #

    excellent.

  4. Jake March 30, 2015 at 7:46 pm #

    Dude … you already know what to do.

    All of Asia wants your babies. And there are all the cabins and huts and lakes and elks (maybe) you could ever want. Set yourself up on elance with a writing gig, make 20 bucks an hour in countries where everybody else makes 20 cents an hour.

    Live like a rich dude, surrounded by your wives and chitluns, only problem having to find new things to complain about. 😉

  5. Small April 4, 2015 at 7:59 pm #

    When you’re gone this long I worry that you’ve either suicided or found happiness. I don’t know which I think would be worse, but you’re overdue for an update.

    I drove through LA last week, but I figured you probably weren’t hurting for pussy and I had places to be. Neat town though. Pretty people.

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Diary: Waiting for My Date | Manosphere.com - March 15, 2015

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