Dave the Gorilla

Dave. Dave. Dave...When I saw him, I knew I was either going to imagine a steamy, sex-filled night full of biting and licking and touching and rubbing and cumming and breathing hard and humping and sweating and scratching and queefing and whatever else makes a steamy, sex-filled night steamy and sex-filled...or I was actually going to do these things with him in real life.

I was fine with either but I got one better. We started seeing each other after I approached him while I was high and told him that I would like permission to stalk him and fantasize about him while I masturbated. What can I say? I have charm. And he might have thought I was joking. It was his smile that got me; he had the same smile as the closeted Christian boy I lost my virginity to and while I was in a big city, he reeked of small town farm boy. Yum!

He had scruff on his face, hair poking out of a trucker hat, faded jeans and a flannel on when we met and his style didn't change much, except when he stopped wearing the sexy trucker hats and showed up one day wearing a headband. I'm sorry--are we 8-year-old girls orrr...

I wasn't looking for anything serious. Then again, I'm not usually EVER looking for anything serious and he made it pretty clear he wasn't either, so we mutually agreed that while our first date consisted of a romantic day in the city, laughing and flirting and eventually making out a little bit for a couple of hours, our second date would take place in his bedroom.

Or rather, his bed. The 'bedroom' was more like a storage room since he was 'staying' (or maybe 'squatting' is more the word I'm looking for) in the 'spare room' of his buddy's basement. Guess that band he told me about that was 'getting so big' wasn't as big as he thought.

Nonetheless, I was there for one thing and one thing only. Once we were naked, he couldn't shut up about how sexy I was and I wish I could have said the same. I might have mumbled something to keep the mood going but mostly I kinda just wished he would have fucked me public style with his clothes on.

Now, I love hair on a man. I love the chest hair and the happy trail and the sexy T-shape it makes around his pecs...but this guy had carpet attached to his torso. It was like wall-to-wall shag carpeting top to bottom. I thought to myself, "Okay, whatever. He's not fat so he'll do. It'll just be a little....warmer." I could deal. So we start getting it on. He's on top and I'm a nail digger so my hands go straight to his back...more carpeting. Come on...T-shape chest hair, sexy. Happy trail, sexy. A fucking area rug covering the entire top of your body? It's called laser hair removal, friend.

And by this point I was afraid to see what was under his pants. I suppose this is what I get for telling him he had a nice HEAD of hair--which I later noticed once the hats came off that he was balding right smack dab in the middle of his head. This poor gorilla couldn't win in the hair department.

Turns out his junk was okay and he did manscape. I ended up learning that he usually kept his hairy chest trimmed and his hairy back shaved which I had to appreciate, but like any healthy lawn, there would always be stubble or peach fuzz to remind you that it's there. I wasn't impressed with his short and stout, uncircumcised penis either, so needless to say, the sexcapdes didn't last long.

Plus, he told me that he ONLY liked me for sex and that really the only thing he was interested in was my looks. Verbatim. I get that we're friends with benefits but can you at LEAST pretend you're interested in my mind, you furry twit?

Look buddy, you want me for everything I've got: my looks, my brains, my street smarts, everything. I'M the only one that can want YOU for sex. What a prick. I could tell that he thought I was falling in love with him or something and ended up giving me a long spiel about how I'm a 'sweet and caring girl' but that all he wants is a fuck buddy, to which I replied:

"I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

And that's the end of that! I need to start auditioning these clowns.