Lying For Sex Part 15

Aug 19, 2016 | | Say something

“Why don’t you just go get a private dance in the back and cum on one of the stripper’s hands. It would be easier than with me; I know all you are about is easy women,” Jessica bitches. This woman let me finger her yeast-infected vagina on the first date. Most women wait a little longer to deposit their cream cheese fungus on a man’s finger. It’s true that all I care about are easy women. I am a fuckboy and I am proud. But I have carefully hidden this from her, so I know she is being irrational (being a woman).

“Calm down princess. That’s the last thing I would do. I don’t want to pay some whore to pretend to like me.” Also don’t want to hear you bitch. I take another shot of whisky, my fifth drink of the night.

“Great, drink away your problems and belittle me. You’re just like my dad, you fucking asshole,” Jessica hisses, her tone venomous. I realize that this has nothing to do with me.

father drinking

That looks like pee in that bottle

“What’s wrong sweetheart? I’m worried about you.” I’m worried about me.

Jessica starts crying. At the other end of the bar, an Asian woman with small boobs is trying to get her attention, she needs more saki and rice, but Jessica is sobbing heavily so she goes completely unnoticed. Jessica is ruining her make-up. I feel sorry for her. The Asian woman that is. “My vagina is bleeding,” she chokes out between sobs. “It won’t stop and I’m scared.”

Adrenaline kicks in and I jump to a standing position, my heart pounding like a hammer on a nail. “Have you gone to a doctor?” I demand. “Do we need to get you to the hospital?” I am extremely frightened. I realize that I have come to care about Jessica; the thought of losing her forever is too terrible to contemplate. Bleeding genitals are no laughing matter.

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This poor woman has been stabbed in the inner thigh

“I don’t want to die! I’m too young and beautiful!” Jessica shrieks. She is hysterical; for once it is for a good reason. I decide I must be calm because that is what will be best for her. The higher her heart rate is, the faster the blood will leak from her snatch.

“Where’s your boss? I’ll tell him that we’re going to the hospital right now.” I can sense her hesitation, like all of us in the work force, she has been brainwashed to fear leaving during a shift. With twin rivers flowing down her flushed face, she points to her right, where there is a door with “BOSS” written on it in big red letters. I run to the door, throw it open and declare, “Jessica’s vagina is bleeding! We’re going to the ER right now.”

Godspeed,” her boss neighs, for he is a horse in a tuxedo. I run back to Jessica; she is on the other side of the bar now and ready to leave. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hold up my other arm so that she can blow her nose on my sleeve. I guide her to the emergency exit, because it is an emergency. A high-pitched alarm screams behind us as we hurry to my 1984 Shitbox.

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Looks fancy but is actually addicted to ketamine

“You have to drive, I’m drunk Jessica. I don’t want you to be in any more danger than you already are.” This is the wrong thing to say; it scares her even more and she lets out a wail of fear and despair. She shakes as she gets into the driver’s seat. I hand her the keys and she starts the car… or rather, fails to start the car. The engine sputters and stops. Fucking retard car with no dick.

“Fuck my ass!” I scream in anger. I slam the passenger door open, run to the back of my cuckold car, fling open the trunk, and grab my handy dandy axe. I smash the trunk shut, sprint to the front, and tear open the hood. Then I begin repairing my engine by repeatedly smashing it with the axe like a lumberjack on crack. I beat it like the rabid porcupine that just won’t stay down. The clanging of metal against metal violently molests my earholes. After a few minutes my arms get tired. “Try it again!” I shout, and miraculously it starts.

I hop back in the car and Jessica drives to the hospital as fast as my Shitbox will carry us. The whole way there she cries and tells God that she’s sorry and begs him to please stop the bleeding. But it will not stop, and halfway to the hospital I have to change her cotton vagina bandage for her so that she can keep her hands on the wheel.  It tasted like golden syrup on freshly baked pancakes, also blood and yeast fungus.

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What a used tampon tastes like

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