This Terrifying Reason Is How I Learned To Stay The Hell Away From OKCupid

It doesn’t take a Doctorate in Sociology to know online dating is a pretty normal concept these days. What was once seen as a cause for social stigma is now a general fact of being a single adult. And I had been one of those for the better part of a year now.

The lack of distraction was nice at first. I was finally making time to pursue my dreams, hone my skills as it were. I was getting shit done. Kicking names and taking ass. But, as most carbon-based lifeforms are wont to do, I eventually began to long for the company of a significant other.

I began my search for the future Mrs. Farrelly by embracing a more primitive method of social interaction, or, as it’s more commonly called, “actually going out and meeting people.” Unfortunately, that shit got old in a hurry.

The fact of the matter was, most of the women in my general age-bracket were already in serious relationships and this meant that the only new people I was meeting when I went out were all considerably younger than myself; the kind of people who used “epic” as an adverb and thought Green Day was classic rock. The night that I found myself explaining to a girl who Paul McCartney was, I finally decided that it was time to put aside all of my preconceived hang-ups about online dating and make myself an OKCupid profile.

All of the stories that I post online are published under my real name and because of this, I thought it prudent to use an alias for my dating profile (not because I think that I’m in any way famous; just an easy target for trolls). Though, I did tell my real name to every girl I planned to meet up with IRL and even warned them that there was a good chance our date would end up the subject of a bizarre story on the internet. Surprisingly, none of the women were scared off by this prospect and a few of them even thought it was kind of cool.

The first one who agreed to go on an actual for-real-life date with me was this girl named Candice. Our profiles had an extremely high match-percentage and she was, for all intents and purposes, perfect: well-read, good sense of humor, super hot… The whole nine.

Needless to say, I really liked Candice and she seemed to genuinely dig me as well… That is until she stopped returning my phone calls. I had waited the appropriate three days after our first date to contact her. It was a Wednesday and when she hadn’t called me back by that Friday, I sent her a friendly, totally not-desperate-sounding text that simply said:

We had bonded over our mutual love of the character Joey from Friends and I was sure that this reference would do the trick but there was still no response, which left me feeling kind of hurt and more than a little confused. I thought our initial date had gone really well but I eventually managed to shrug the whole thing off. The fact that my OKCupid inbox was currently brimming with replies from other potential matches helped me to get over my initial feelings of rejection rather quickly.

The next girl that really caught my eye was a profile named “Alabama Worley,” which my more awesome readers will recognize as the same name as Patricia Arquette’s character in the movie True Romance. “True Row,” as I liked to call it, was one of my all-time favorite films and the girl in “Alabama’s” profile picture was definitely cute enough for a meet-and-greet. So I messaged her back and here’s where shit started to go full-on Twilight Zone.

Alabama agreed to meet me for dinner at an Italian restaurant near my apartment complex and the date started out well enough. She had what my grandmother would call “interesting hair.” It was a bob cut dyed bright pink and the first words out of her mouth after “Nice to meet you,” were, “So… what do you think of the hair?”

“Quite awesome,” I replied without hesitating and she giggled, flashing me the cutest smile.

“Good.”

“Why?” I asked as the hostess led us to our table. “Is that your catalyst for a successful first date; what the guy thinks of your hair?”

Alabama considered this as we took our seats and then shrugged. “I guess so… It’s been pretty accurate so far.”

The waiter took our drink order and then I suggested that we split the pesto pasta because I loved, it but the servings there were too huge for me to finish by myself.

“And it’s probably impossible to take the rest of it home in a to-go container without getting all that oil everywhere,” she responded in a matter-of-fact tone that had me grinning from ear-to-ear.

“EXACTLY! I usually end up forcing myself to shovel the whole thing down rather than letting them toss out the rest, because that’s just a waste of good pasta.”

Alabama let out a sarcastic gasp and said, “Sacrilege!”

“Believe me, I KNOW. Which is why I was hoping you could help me out.”

“Well, it sounds delicious… Sure, why not.”

I gave her a sincere nod. “Good. Because that was MY catalyst.”

Alabama laughed, sounding genuinely amused as she asked, “A girl that likes reasonably portioned servings of pesto pasta?”

“Exactly,” I said and nodded again. “Congratulations.”

When we were done eating, I walked Alabama back to her car and ask if she wanted to go get a drink. She said she did and so I asked her if she had a particular location in mind.

“How far is your place?”

Alabama followed me to my apartment, where I quickly discovered that someone had recently finished off all of the beer in my fridge (the “someone” in question being Past Joel, bane of my existence.) With an apologetic smile on my face, I made my way back into the den and said, “I’m out of beer but there’s a coke machine by the…”

Then I saw Alabama standing there in just her bra and panties and immediately forgot what I was saying. She responded to the look on my face with a devious wink as she replied, “Soda’s too sugary… I’d rather just suck on your cock.”

It may sound cliché to admit, but you can’t make that shit up. Those words are, verbatim, what Alabama said to me. Naturally, I was in no position to deny her request because if I’m anything, it’s a good host.

Now, when I tell you Dear Reader that this was the best sex I’d had in years, know that I am not being hyperbolic. I swear to god, it was like I had somehow stumbled through a portal into Porn Land. For those of you unfamiliar with the intricacies of String Theory, allow me to explain:

“Porn Land” is an alternate reality that exists parallel to our own where all social interaction mirrors that of your average adult film: a dimension where every UPS delivery results in full penetration and innuendos about “big packages.” It is a wondrous place where every man is hung like a circus freak and all of the women are perpetually DTF.

And I don’t mind telling you that Alabama could suck a dick like a goddamn champion. Before we got too ahead of ourselves (pun intended), we switched positions and I spent the next ten minutes or so eating her out while allowing myself enough time to regain my composure after such an intense blowjob.

Now, I don’t want to brag but I’m kind of a cunnilingus grand-master and it wasn’t long before I had Alabama’s thighs quivering against my ears. By this point, she was rhythmically moaning in time with each flick of my tongue and just as I thought she was about to come, Alabama patted me on my head and I glanced up to see a look on her face that was so clear, I could read it like a road-sign…

NEXT STOP: Bone City. POPULATION: Doing it.

Alabama was the kind of lover who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it, which made everything that much hotter. I held out for as long as I could and made sure to get her off at least once before finally giving in.

We had made our way into the bedroom by this point and I mumbled an apology as I pulled out of her and collapsed onto the bed. “It’s been a good minute since I’ve had my world rocked liked that and my stamina isn’t quite what it used to be.”

She dismissed my apology with a wave and said, “There’s not a moment of what we just did that you need to apologize for… Besides, it doesn’t have to be over.”

Alabama’s eyes widened as she said this and then the beautiful naked girl hurried out of my bed and over to her purse where I listened to her rummage around for several moments. I heard the distinctive hollow pop of a pharmaceutical bottle opening and then Alabama turned back to me, holding out half of an orange pill. “Here…”

She handed the pill to me and I examined the tiny orange half-circle as I said, “What is it?”

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About the author
When Joel isn't writing creepy-ass short stories, he can be found scripting and acting in subversive comedy sketches on YouTube. You can follow Joel on Twitter or support him on Patreon, if you're into that. Follow Joel on Twitter or read more articles from Joel on Thought Catalog.

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