Holy shit, you’ve managed to pull it off again. You’re not sure how or why, but this bitch is all about your nuts. You’re making out sloppily and have your hands inside her jeans playing with her thong. Your friends watch you from afar, cheering you via thumbs-ups and tilted beer bottles. From the brief but magical thirty minutes of conversation you’ve had with this fair maiden, it’s apparent that her morals dissolve with every gin and tonic she drinks.

As you press her on the corner of the bar devouring her face, you realize this really isn’t about you. You did nothing to earn this. You only happened to be at the right place at the right time. She is not into you, but in her state of mind, sleeping with you (or any guy) will make up for the fact that her stepfather didn’t love her enough, or whatever other slut-justification mental gymnastics she’s going through in her head. She’s just needs dick—any dick.

Oh, well…fuck it.

You don’t care. She has a warm, wet hole that wraps itself around your dick. She isn’t girlfriend or even fuck-buddy material; she’s one of those chicks whose sole purpose is to keep you from slapping your dick tonight.

You gave a subpar performance. She wasn’t worthy of the intense fuck sessions you give to the girls that actually matter. She wasn’t even worthy of a hate-fuck. It was she’s-a-random-slut-and-I-don’t-give-two-shits-about-her-having-an-orgasm-god-I-hope-I-don’t-catch-herpes sex, and you nutted in a minute. You don’t even ask her how it was. She’s left unsatisfied and you don’t give a shit.

A couple of hours ago, her push-up bra exaggerated her boobs’ size and perkiness. Now, an uninspiring sight of flab and droop remains. What should have been a luscious booty was nothing more than a ruse set up by her ability to dress well. While she was utterly mediocre-looking amid the bar’s darkness, your excitement to fuck made you overlook many more of her flaws. Now you’re stuck with this creature for the night.

You lie in bed next to her, and she tries to cuddle up. You don’t want her close to you, but you know the courteous thing to do is to allow her to rest her head on your chest. You’re a gentleman and a scholar, after all.

She asks you questions about yourself. You give one-word answers. She says you’re very handsome. You don’t compliment her back. She begins to tell you about her life and problems; you pretend to listen while thinking about the millions of other places you’d rather be. You toss in the occasional “uh-huh,” or “oh, really?” or “cool” merely to keep up the masquerade.

You kind of hate her.

She gives subtle hints that she would like her pussy eaten. You love eating pussy, but you’re not eating hers.

She talks about how she needs a good man in her life. You’re a good man, but you’re not wasting your goodness on her.

She talks about how she doesn’t normally fuck guys that quickly and you’re a very special exception; you pretend to believe her.

She caresses your chest, arms, and stomach; you wish she would just shut the fuck up and go to sleep.

You feel your dick getting hard again; damn motherfucker has a life of its own. You excuse yourself to the bathroom. You decide to take a piss, and your erect dick makes it a challenge to get all your piss into the toilet. You’re buying time so you can lose your erection.

“You disgust me,” you say to your naked reflection. “You never learn your lesson,” you shake your head. You can’t say no to easy pussy, even from such a trashy girl.

Weak man.

A weak man who lets his dick lead him to fuck women below his own standards.

A weak man who lets his dick’s need to find a warm and wet spot for the night override all his logical thought.

A weak man who lets his dick dictate all aspects of his life.

You walk out of the bathroom with your dick at half-mast. She looks at it, comes over, gets on her knees, and starts sucking.

Oh, well…fuck it.