Here we are at the coffee shop. And fucking Chelsea is here. Didn’t recognize her at first. Don’t know if she recognized me. She’d lost weight. She doesn’t look that good. Until I identify her as a girl I fucked and liked and then ghosted me, and she starts looking gorgeous.
And she was right in line in front of me. Exactly in front of me. That girl’s kind of hot. Something about her. She looks like Chelsea. Asian in front of me in line with her large nosed white boyfriend. Maybe there’s hope. He’s shorter than me, younger, with a beard, seems like a pussy. I still don’t know it’s her. Then the Point of Sale iPad flashes CARD DECLINED to the whole line in huge letters and I knew. The girl who stole the paint. She’d seen me. Didn’t recognize me. Or didn’t want to talk to me. And now I can’t say anything.
She’ll come out and this rickety outside table I was forced to move to because she’s in there awkwardly dreading me will lurch. Scalding green tea will dump dead center on my crotch at the exact moment she looks. Her on my lap on the couch. Pulling her hips down to get in deep with my face in her neck. Pulling out to cum and my first rope went eight feet straight in the air and she laughed. That could be me in there now. With her.
Sitting right behind her with the window between us. Don’t read this. I don’t want to bother you. I want you to gain the weight back and de-age five years and get back together with me. Or for some other woman to do it who’s also a six or above. Fucking Chelsea. And her fucking boyfriend who looks like me. Who made her split the check. What a stud.
Chelsea just fuck me and I’ll make your problems go away. I don’t remember you being such a pointy face little goblinoid. But your card won’t be declined with the new rich me. You can have all the avocado fritatas you want. Whateverthefuck you’re ordering. Here at Kindness and Mischief Hipster Cafe where I also ran in to Susy Tang, the alleged “comedian”/ de facto social justice grievance professional who “underrepresented woman of color”-s her way onto writing for shitty E channel shows. Who I awkwardly tried to date and then awkwardly ran into here. This place cursed but once in a while there’s some pussy here I don’t have weird history with. Pussy that doesn’t make me take my beverage outside to the al fresco tables on Figueroa street where they’re hot topping the road. 60 foot steamrollers that would run over Yosemite Sam in old Bugs Bunny cartoons belching endocrine disrupting smoke right in my face. My future wife’s probably in there. And I can’t meet her because I can’t go sit near you, fucking Chelsea.
What did I call you in my old blogs- Ilsa or something. Had you pick your own fake name. Want to read what I wrote about you but I need that name to search and don’t want to look at my old texts to find it. Because my phone will say “Chelsea”. You’ll turn around and see what you suspected is true. That I’m out here alone aging dying desperately remembering you. Yes it was me–of course it’s me, stupid—my grizzled broken nose face 100% unmistakable. I look like exactly nobody.
Now I gotta sit out here while the fucking hot top spraying truck backs up constantly. Never driving forward, always reverse going NEEH NEEH NEEH while no pretty women walk by. Her skin surprisingly pale. And again she’s lost fifteen pounds and therefore her ass. Fucking her from behind, she was laying belly down on the living room futon I’d put out for a guest with her little girl ass up. I’d come too fast the first time and this time I was really giving it to her just trying to stay hard. And she said “you’re making me cum, [REDACTED].” Hear that voice once a week for five years. And I’m looking at the texts and it’s me asking her out. Her saying yes then getting sick or having to meet her cousin or nurse a wounded sheep dog ten thousand times.
She was interning for some director who everyone thought would get famous. Insisting she didn’t fuck him. He was gonna break big with his first feature but I think he’s on set spraying fake snow on a station wagon for Lexus’ December to Remember Event right now. At least he failed.
This morning, apropos of nothing, someone brought up an old post you were in. You’re a throwaway sentence but the theme is being alone forever. Whether we’re loved is dictated by the shape of our skulls, I said. Two hours later I see you. Your skull’s shaped like a mask from Ocarina of Time but you’re loved and I’m not and what does it all mean. Nothing. We all live in the same five neighborhoods. Sometimes you run into each other. You don’t know me. Or you thought please leave me alone. And I did. Fucking good for me.
delicioustacos 
I run into chicks I banged in Miami and they pretend to not know me when they are with their boyfriends. You are nicer than me , I don’t talk to them but I won’t change seats for them.
I run into chicks I banged in Miami and they pretend to not know me when they are with their boyfriends. You are nicer than me , I don’t talk to them but I won’t change seats for them.
I run into chicks I banged in Miami and they pretend to not know me when they are with their boyfriends. You are nicer than me , I don’t talk to them but I won’t change seats for them.
It’s awkward talking to an ex when you run into her with her new boyfriend.
I was with my mate when he did it. Lady walked past the pub with her new fellah and a bunch of other friends. As soon as he said hi Stacey how have you been, all present immediately knew that they were not just old friends as he tried to imply and the girl looked deeply uncomfortable because she knew they knew, and because my mate was cooler than the new guy. Also he was a foreigner while New Guy was local (Japanese).
Couples that have shagged will always have an intimacy that others can spot, even if it was long ago.
On the other hand, maybe that discomfort would be a positive. Depends what your goal is.
you’re such a fucking faggot, tacos
this and that pussy shit you’re writing about “true love” with “angela” jesus fucking christ. and you used to be a pillar of the manosphere? hang your head in shame!
you shoulda made the both of em squirm in the coffeeshop instead of hiding outside like a fucking BETA
recently i ran into a girl i had a ONS with, (turned into a TNS about a year later) .. she introduced me to her husband-to-be as ” a guy i used to fuck” i tried to do this bitch a favor and act all vague and unsure – yeah, we met one time yeah? – but she just bulldozed her way into it and then bought me a drink as i made conversation with her betrothed. poor guy
Once, an aeon ago, I was lucky to have a girl from class on my couch in the position you described. But Fire Control in my balls got the order early; one fusillade from ye olde yogurt blunderbuss splattered atop a lightbulb & made a sizzling noise. It was one of those hundred watt yellow incandescent bug bulbs (lovely for giving “atmosphere” to a room, btw. Real mellow on the eyes) so it was hot as fuck. I never changed the bulb (or hooked up w/the girl again) & gradually the room adopted a certain aroma. Sort of success and failure mingled w/dust and pool chemicals.
Anyway, resonant post, man.