We had been speaking for 2 hours. Texting furiously. My mind had been ablaze with lust filled thoughts this whole time and I was finding it hard to concentrate on my work. If my boss had seen this pathetic work rate, she would have been writing out my P45.
Her photo was staring at me from my laptop screen, the battery burning a hole into my desk.
"She better fucking look like this picture"
I had been in this situation before. Shooting some horny chat with an internet fuckpig, thinking I'm speaking to a nubile princess. The disappointment stays with you, especially when you've trawled the depths of depravity having fucked Moby Dick.
"There's no fucking way I am doing that again"
It started off with some quick fire banter. Scattergun lines designed to probe her humour levels. You could always tell the ones where the chances were high. Rapport would quickly be established as you fed her gobbeldy gook. The cold ones would just sensibly reply and leave you standing there like John Merrick on a blind date. How could I work with that? It was like giving a blacksmith a knife and telling him to make a balloon.
Once this was established, I tossed in a couple of sexual grenades to gauge the response.
The response was good. I instantly became drunk on this banter vodka. My head swirling with filth and hands shaking like Michael J Fox making a margarita.
This girl was primed for sex. I just had to unleash the beast with innuendo and sledgehammer chat.
"Soooo, what are we going to do about this?"
"You should come up to mines"
My head explodes like I've just had a weekend break in the Hanoi Hilton. Endorphins start to flood my lymph nodes, like an intense bout of sexual chemotherapy.
"I'll be there in an hour"
I hit the shower, scrubbing my armpits and eradicating 2 days worth of dick cheese. The excitement forcing me into an impromptu grooming session, shaving my pubic hair. Those metrosexuals were right about one thing.
I leave the house
"This better not be an internet fuckpig"
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