A few weeks ago I placed an ad on Craig’s List.  The content of the ad is irrelevant for our purposes.  One guy I met at Precita Park we’ll call Allen.  I knew the moment I saw him that I did not want to fuck him.  He looked like a young Eugene Levy complete with Brillo Pad hair and eyebrows in dire need of a proper grooming.

And his teeth.  His teeth looked, uh, British, in an Austin Powers way.  I really was surprised that a person around my age who clearly could afford orthodontia (he told me he was gainfully employed and had time, and presumably money, for various hobbies) would let himself walk around with mismatched gravestones for teeth.

He looked like Eugene Levy but wasn’t nearly as funny or interesting.  His voice had that typical stoner tone to it.  I was trying to be polite so we chatted for a while while Isis frolicked in the park.

Then Allen told me that while I was cool I was most definitely not his type.  He said he should have asked for a full-body picture before meeting.  I am a typical fat girl with a bit of a chip on my shoulder.  I said I understood if he wasn’t attracted to me because I’m not thin.  And I did understand it, but I was still hurt.  Which is the silliest thing ever since I already knew I found this guy’s looks and personality unappealing.

I was both relieved and hurt.  Relieved because while I didn’t find Allen attractive in any way, I have, in the past, fucked people I didn’t find attractive because I didn’t know how to tell them I didn’t want to.  Lame.  Hurt because dammit, everyone should want to fuck me.  We went our separate ways.

The same Craig’s List ad allowed me to meet the Vegan, whom I knew immediately I did want to fuck.  Nice teeth, great smile, pretty curly eyelashes.  We had great sex.  The Vegan is a biter and left me delightfully covered in bruises after our first session together.

I told Allen and the Vegan’s story at Bawdy Storytelling on September 16, 2009.  At least I think I told the story.  I was so fucking nervous that I don’t remember what I said.  Afterwords people were nice enough to tell me I did a good job, but I suspect they could see what a wreck I was and were just being nice.

Then, on September 22, 2009, I received an email:


Not sure if this is a complete blast from the not too distant past but I have been reading your blog and must admit I enjoy it quite a bit. I also realize how much you love sucking cock and wonder how amazingly well you are at that skill you have perfected.
Using my cock would you be interested in showing me sometime how good of a cocksucker you are?
Hope all is well.

I didn’t at first know who the fuck had sent the email, but a quick email search revealed that it was the guy from the park with the teeth.  I responded that I do, in fact, give glorious blow jobs.  I definitely had no interest in sucking that guy’s cock and thought it a tad strange that he wanted me to do so.  I did, though, want him to regret that he didn’t find me attractive.

Later in the evening I received a text message from a number that I didn’t recognize:

Sarah, this is [Allen] I replied to yur email but wanted to expedite the process with a text.  Do you want to come to my place this evening and wrap your lips around my nice Jewish cock?

To which I responded that my name is not Sarah, because, well, it’s not.  Though he told me his name, I did not make the connection between the email I had received earlier in the day and the text to which I had just responded.  I wasn’t all that offended that he had gotten my name wrong because names are not that important to me anyway, which is why I didn’t notice that the email and the text had the same name.  I’d also been corresponding via text only with a guy, also named Allen.  (Well, not really, but with the same real name as “Allen.”)

[Any grammar or punctuation errors in any quotes from "Allen" are not typos on my part, but have been transcribed exactly as received.]

Then I got another text:

I have no idea why I just called you Sarah!  I’m looking at the letter “s” in shazam (part of yur email address.)  Weird

And another a minute later:

I’m actually sitting here taking some bong ripsbeing very lazy.  I apologize about the completely retarded screw up

An additional email came through:

Plans tomorrow afternoon?
Better yet want to come over my place tonight; hang out, smoke some weed and swallow a load or two of my nice Jewish sperm?

I did not respond to that email.  I was beginning to figure out that the texts were from the same person as the emails.  The same person with whom I had no interest in hanging out.  And what was his fucking obsession with “nice Jewish” things?

A text arrived in my phone’s in box:

Are you interested in having the back of your lovely throat put to some use this evening?

Also during this time I was having me a few drinks.  I get very horny when I drink and I do like to suck cock.  So I made the mistake of responding to his text that we’d have to meet in public and he’d have to foot my drink and cab bill.  Obviously, the vodka was doing it’s job a little too well because I had forgotten that we had already met in public.  He kept wanting me to just go to his place.  I guess he was really stoned and lazy and horny.

Allen called me.  And in my inebriated state I got right to negotiating a location for us to meet.  Then it really dawned on me.  I had met this guy.  He didn’t find me attractive.  Asshole.

He wanted me to suck his cock even though he wasn’t attracted to me?!  What the fuck?!  So I told him that he must be quite stupid if he thought I’d want to give him head.  I hung up.

My phone vibrated with another text:

Sorry I didn’t mean to offend you when I first said that and I’m feel bad that it got brought up again.  I thought you were nice and fun to talk and into smoking weed and just kicking it so i figured even with me saying that to you at you would be into sucking my cock cause I know you also like it a lot etc…

By this time I was worked up into a lather.  I think I called him back to tell him all the reasons why he was a fucking stupid, ugly, asshole.  I brought up that he didn’t even know my name (as if I cared) and that he didn’t find me physically attractive, neither of which translates into me wanting to be generous with my mouth.  I told him he should perhaps try some 22-year-old girls with low self-esteem because I am too fucking old to give a guy head in hopes that he’ll like me.

I told him that while he may not have found me attractive, I certainly did not find him to be much a prize.  I think he didn’t believe me, and it did sound like something a hurt little kid would say: “Oh, you don’t like me?  Well, I didn’t like you first.”  To make my point I mentioned Eugene Levy and British teeth.  He claimed not to know what British teeth were, so I said something about gravestones and suggested he find an orthodontist.

The whole time he just didn’t fucking get it.  I honestly believe he truly and really couldn’t comprehend why if I like giving blow jobs I wouldn’t like to give one to him.  He said it made sense to him that he’d want a blow job from me but wouldn’t want to fuck me.  He didn’t understand that I don’t want to suck the cock of a guy who doesn’t think I’m good enough to fuck.  I called him stupid a few more times and hung up on him again.

He called me back!  When I’m that pissed (angry) and pissed (drunk) it is nearly impossible for anyone else to talk.  I interrupt more than usual.  I talk louder than usual.  I make some pretty fucking cogent arguments.  He wanted to apologize for getting my name wrong, and to again explain that he didn’t see the problem with hanging out (with his cock down my throat) since he thought I was cool.  I suppose I was to be flattered in some way, but I was not.  I think I hung up on him again.

But of course I got another text:

Well, I’m glad we didnt meet somewhere or you didn’t just show up at my place that would have been really awkward:)

To which I responded that I agreed and that he needed to lose my number.

But of course he had to get in the last word:

Done.  And you can say whatever you want about this experience but please do not use my name or image in your blog.  Thank you

No, thank you.

I swear.  True story.

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