Mr. Romance texted me a picture of his penis.
Submitted by Jenny, Age 33, Knoxville
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He kissed me like he was trying to massage my esophogas with his tongue.
I suddenly remembered I had laundry to do.
Submitted by Deb, Age 23, Michigan
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He wore pleated pants and no deodorant.
Submitted by Mabel, Age 29, San Francisco
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Submitted by Jackson, Age 25, Philadelphia, PA
I was two years out of college when I found myself on a date with this younger girl who was still going to school at my alma mater. I’d always thought she was hot, but I was being realistic and not really expecting too much from this date. She seemed like a good girl, and I doubted that she would put out unless she was in a serious relationship (which I was not about to enter into with her). So, I figured my chances of getting play were pretty slim, but I went out with her anyway because she was a nice person and, hey, hope springs eternal, doesn’t it?
It was an enjoyable evening, but nothing to write home about. I had never thought much of those guys who graduate and then stick around school to poach underclass ass rather than moving on with their lives, so I will admit to being a bit self-conscious picking her up and dropping her off from school. When I pulled up in front of her dorm to drop her off after our dinner, I was ready to cut my losses and call it a night. That’s when she invited me up to her dorm to hang out.
“Hang out”? As in: “hang out with all her underclassmen dorm friends and be that lame guy who graduated but still needs to slum at school just to flirt with some girl who isn’t going to give him any action anyway?” No thank you. And if you are screaming right now as you read this, wondering how I could be such an idiot and miss such an obvious invitation for booty, you are absolutely right.
“Do you want to come up to my dorm room and hang out?”
“Oh, man. It’s tempting, but I’m afraid it’s getting late, and I do have to work tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
Yes, yes, I know, I know. Sometimes we miss things even when they are staring us right in the face. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am a moron.
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Submitted by Cara, Age 24, Ventura, CA
Peter and I dated for nearly two months when I was eighteen. Things were going okay, but I was not serious about it and little things, like his arrogance and unique brand of vulgarity, kept stacking up:
1)He took pride in his unearned wealth that came from his parents’ successful ranching business.
2)My friend overheard him say he would never marry outside his race. He’s half Irish and half Mexican. Nevermind that I’m white and never plan to marry–how does a man (especially this one) limit himself that way?
3)He has a disfigured thumb from a childhood tug-o-war accident, and he once stuck it up my pussy and exclaimed “Stumpy thumb, stumpy thumb!”
4)His screenplay… he asked me to proofread it, and the first page looked like a used overnight maxi pad when I finished with it. It was not only riddled with errors, but it was a badly written rip-off of a movie that I love. To finish the task would have been a waste of time.
Those are just a couple examples. It might sound snobby but by the time he offered me a key to his apartment and asked what I wanted to do for Valentine’s Day I knew I couldn’t continue.
I came down with a convenient cold and didn’t see him for two weeks. I didn’t miss him at all and decided to call and end it. He took it pretty well.
A couple weeks went by and I finally got around to his place so we could trade our things back. He invited me in to talk for a minute and once inside he proudly offered me a seat on his brand new futon couch and asked my opinion. “Yep, pretty comfy. Good choice, Peter.” How much did your parents pay for it?
As he kept scooting toward me, I kept scooting away. When he had me cornered against the armrest, he put one arm around me, the other hand on my thigh, and started to kiss me on my cheek and my neck.
I asked him what he was doing, and he said “I just thought we could have goodbye sex.”
“What? I broke up with you because I don’t want to have sex with you anymore!”
“Aww, c’monnnnn, help me break in the new futon. Please?”
Way to go, buddy.
I grabbed my things, returned his tragic screenplay, and wished him luck on his future futon conquests.
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(17 votes, average: 3.41 out of 5)