You naughty spotted beast, you! Now, what possible joy could a much younger man bring you? Orgasm, schmorgasm. According to Wikipedia, men over the age of forty are twice as likely to bring a woman to orgasm in under twenty minutes. (OK, maybe I’m making this up.) Why you gotta be so superficial, yo? Whatever.
All right, I understand—you are taking a break from bald heads, man titties, and saggy balls. Please understand that from where a man’s eyes are, all of those things appear just fine. Well, yes, our eyes are fucked too. Look, I’m not arguing. You want to date high-haired Justin, go for it.
You know where to find him. Perhaps he’s somewhere on your block drawing chalk figures on the sidewalk. That one’s convenient, but aim a little higher and avoid being featured on Fox News. Try a playground. No, not the swing sets. Look for shiny, hairless chests sprinting back in forth on macadam while trying to stuff a piece of leather through a metal hoop. Just pull up a park bench, and watch. Avoid yelling things like, “That was a fucking charge, Ref!” Just reapply lip gloss, check your phone, and enjoy.
Soon enough, ole squeaky shoes will come bouncing over, and give you some witty line, like:
- “Dude. How’s it hangin’?”
- “Hey, yo.”
- “Did you see somebody run off with my scooter?”
Ignore whatever he says, unless it includes the word “herpes,” and ask if he’d like to get a blue-flavored Slurpee with you after his game.
Yes, I know that “blue” is not a fucking flavor. But, I heard some choad tell the clerk that the machine was out of blue Slurpee. I wanted to hit him with a red brick.
Offer to drive, since his car (if he has one) is most likely full of surf attire, dirty socks, Whopper boxes, and marijuana roaches. Do not take him anyplace fancy. He’s all sweaty. Something like a Friday’s is a good choice. They have mac ‘n cheese and placemats he can draw on. Insist that he sits next to you in a booth. I’ve heard that, oddly enough, man sweat from someone under 25 smells of morning dew and hibiscus, compared to old bastards, whose smell is more like, um, death. During dinner, place a hand on his knee and inch your way toward his stick shift. It will probably be as hard as a crowbar. If not, well, maybe not a good day for you and your recently waxed princess.
These boys are pretty pliable. I suggest you have a roll in the car right after dinner. You can bypass the whole text, call, flowers, candy, blah blah horseshit. You’re not going to date him; you’re going to masturbate with his body. Get on, get off (physically), get off (mentally), and get out of there.
You should insert one of these ponies after every three or four old clunkers, just to prove you still have it, and that there are men who can get it up for you without porn and pills. Just make sure you get your pony back in his stable at a reasonable hour, so he doesn’t miss homeroom.
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