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- 5 Things That Make You Look Desperate and Immediately Turns Girls Off…
- 3 Toxic Mistakes That Lead to the Friend Zone
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- How to Raise Your Status Around Girls
- What You Need to Stop Wearing After 25
- Jason Capital’s Honey Trick (Six Questions)
- 10 Articles on Better Sex
- The Style Mistakes That Make You Look Cheap
- What to Talk About with Her to Make Her Fall for You
- Girlfriend Secrets: What Women Really Want
- 10 Ways To TEASE A Woman
- The 9 Types Of Orgasms
- How to Dress Like a Bad Boy
- Three Sex Techniques Stolen From Lesbians
- Top 10 Things Women Want You To Do In Bed
- How To Ejaculate Like A Porn Star
- Five Subtle Signals That She Wants Sex
- Texting a Girl: A Guide To Text Message Game
- 3 Ways to Instantly Turn a Woman Off and Kill Any Attraction She Felt
- How to Tell if a Girl Likes You (5 Fool Proof Signs to Look For)
- What to Say to Girls, Explained
- How to Display Masculine Qualities
- How to Keep Your Power Edge With Women
The Fat Girls Story
My First Piece of Myspace Pussy
This was a story that took place about a year and a half ago when I was new to Myspace. While I’ve went on to have some great Myspace adventures with various girls (thank you Michael Stoute) this story will always hold a place in my heart as the first time Myspace got me laid. The details aren’t pretty… but here goes!
We’ve always had delusions a granger in regards to the house we our renting. Probably because we lived in such shit throughout college, my roommates and I have over glorified this house.
We also always imagined that because we had the house now, girls would just naturally come. Sort of like Field of Dreams.
A common line. “Did she see the house?” or “What did she say when she walked in?”
Like because we had a house (only slightly nicer than a frat house mind you) girls were going to just fuck us.
Like they’re going, “Bobby’s old and kind of sleazy, and his teeth are really yellow. But he’s got a nice house, so I’ll fuck him anyway.”
The first month we have the house, we all basically start blowing off the girls we were dating, getting ready for the onslaught of young new pussy that was awaiting us. Young new pussy is what this house is all about. Yep.
So we were naturally perplexed when a couple weeks had gone by and none of us were yet to christen our new place with a new girl.
“What the fuck is it?” Brian is asking us after a third Friday in a row sitting on floor in the living room drunk watching Napoleon Dynamite at 3 in the morning. Without women.
“I’m telling you, its the bars we go to,” Eric proclaims.
“Shut up with that.” I’m blunt but, Im in no mood for excuses.
“Im telling you, we go to New York, guarantee wed be more appreciated there.” Eric again.
“We are wasting this house. We should have it packed right now with girls flipping coins seeing who gets to fuck us next,” I tell them.
“Maybe the house isn’t as impressive as we think.” Brian says.
“Don’t do it. Dont crush my dreams daddy.” Eric says.
“Give it time,” Me still optimistic.
“I don’t know man. Were almost thirty. You know what grown men share a house at thirty. Crack heads.”
“Youre crushing it, stop.” Eric with hands over ears.
“You might be on to something I finally admit. Crack heads and gay men. Are we the neighborhood homos, boys?”
That Monday I wake up in the morning. I lay in bed. Recollect on the weekend. Took a quick piss and decided I was getting laid tonight. In this house. Without paying. Without calling one of my old stand bys. No it would be a completely new chick.
I got pretty excited imagining what she was going to look like. The one thing that keeps me single; the pleasure of not knowing what the next girl you’ll fuck looks like. Im hoping shes a redhead, cause I haven’t had one yet, and Ive been jerking off to them a lot lately. If not a redhead, Asian. Either way, I am convinced my face is going to be buried in some new girl’s crotch tonight.
Of course there was the slight crick in the plan being that it’s a completely dead Monday bar night and we don’t have any leads to work with from the weekend.
The Hunt Begins
My first thought was to call Tammy and break the rule a little bit. On one hand she is an old standby, and I swore I’d fuck something new tonight. But on the other hand- I am just fucking horny and have to be realistic. I announce my dilemma to my roommates as we were all preparing for work. They don’t have faith in my ability to get laid tonight. I tell them, “I’m getting you two pricks laid tonight too.”
I call out of work. I try to think where I can go on a Monday morning to meet some women.
I head to Barnes and Noble. I always hear stories of successful book store pick ups. Not much talent here this morning though. There is a cute girl behind the counter serving coffee, but I have a vague recollection of a past conversation that didn’t go so well. As the details of conversation become less blurry I decide I better get the hell out of there before she recognizes me.
I hang out in Shop Right for a bit, but it is the first Monday of the month, and it is full of people cashing in their food stamps. Although I was fairly confident I could have taken home this Mexican women that kept giving me the eye, she had two bratty kids that would have posed a problem in closing the deal quickly. I headed home to regroup.
The Magic of Myspace
I am sitting on my computer, browsing profiles on Myspace. I had put a profile up a month or two ago, but still kind of considered it creepy to be contacting girls online. I also quickly found that my off beat sense of humor didnt translate well in emails.
I still managed to waste hours browsing profiles. I looked at it like I was acquiring ammunition in case I ever ran into one of these girls in a bar. I figured I just start humming one of her favorite songs, maybe casually mention how much I love Lost or whatever other stupid show she has listed under TV, and I’d be golden. Id mean it would be fate; shed have to fuck me right?
Fate. A lovely word, I think as my home screen reads new messages. Now, I very rarely got messages on Myspace. My about me and who Id like to meet, might explain it.
Well, if Id have to do a newspaper single’s ad it would read something like this, Single white, male, hung like a use your imagination, women. Or better yet, contact me and I’ll show you. My spare time consists of trying to find ways to sneak strange women out of my room before they realize that I dont know their name. Or how I met them. Im sure you’re reading this and wondering, how can I be one of those lucky ladies? Well its your special day. I am currently taking applications for Wednesday nights. So send at least four pictures. Two of the pictures have to be body shots. And write me a brief essay on why you deserve to be Bobby’s Miss Wednesday Night.
Who Id like to meet:
Adventurous, spontaneous, open minded women. Brazilian or Asian, a plus!
I did not receive many applications, I am sad to report. So I am a bit surprised when I see that its a girl called “Everything I Thought You Know” that has messaged me. I read the email. I have posted it in its entirety.
And so we have a winner.
I click on her profile page to check her out more. View more pics. Only three. I enlarge them and get set to analyze. Adorable face. Blonde. Slightly chubby, but in that sloppy goodness sort of way. Picture Tara Reid twenty five pounds heavier. No clear body shots. An exposed left arm kind of scares me. A tad larger than I would prefer. But as Im looking at her picture my dick is getting hard so its settled. She’ll do.
I go back to her profile page. She is only eighteen. For a moment I feel special. I start believing the hype. I am the man. I am the mother fucking man. Then the thought hits me, what if she is smart enough to be displaying sarcasm. I read her interests, about me, and heroes, and decide that she is, not in fact, that smart. Perfect.
I wrote her back. I have posted the email in its entirety.
I will be at my computer for the next three hours. If you would seriously like to be considered for the role, IM me at Bobbyrio03 on AOL. If I hear from you well take it further.
Now Ive heard of online success stories. So I know it is possible. I just never had a need to bother with it. Until now.
Exactly three hours later she contacts me. It was an extremely long conversation, and in an effort to save space, I will not post it in its entirety. Instead I will break it down into subjects.
Boring small talk
More boring small talk
How hot I am
What kind of piercing she has
What kind of tattoos she has
What shes doing tonight
Does she have 2 friends
Are they hot
Me looking at friends Myspace profiles
Again, what shes doing tonight
Her looking at my roommates Myspace profiles
Her telling me how hot they are
Us making plans for tonight
Now, if youre thinking that sounded too easy, everything will be explained later.
A bit of information I skipped over in the subject matter. Me telling her that one of her friends was too fat for my roommates, and she will have to bring someone else. She tells me that these two girls are the only ones that would be willing to come tonight. I hesitantly agree, laughing inside at the thought of which of roommates would wind up with the fat one.
When my roommates get home I tell them the news. I leave out the small detail above. They are both very happy. We plan the night. We will need: Beer, a deck of cards, food (so that fat one doesnt drag them out to Mcdonalds before things get going) condoms, music… that’s about it. The beauty of eighteen year olds is that they are extremely easy to impress.
The piggies arrive.
They stampede in, one bigger than the next.
My roommates look at me in shock. I shrug. There is an instant decision to be made. The three of us are communicating solely with eye glances. The message has been sent. They are fat. We are all thoroughly disappointed. We will fuck them anyway.
And so its on. I assume the role of gracious host.
I take their jackets. Only my girl will not release it. She tells me its cold. I cringe. I know what that jacket hides. It will not be pretty later. I decide the jacket should stay on until I put a few beers down.
We do the introductions.
There is Katie (horse). There is Aimee (gothic horse). And Kristen (shit smeller). While my horse is no prize, gothic horse is down right repulsive. I once again laugh, thinking about which one of my roommates will fuck her tonight.
And the drinking begins.
We are all sitting at the dining room table. We learn a whole bunch of irrelevant information about these girls. We pretend to be interested. We seem like great guys. The horses love us immediately. There is nothing gratifying about winning the affection of a horse. The speed at which we are putting beers down at 8:45 on a Monday is frightening. The horses are keeping up.
By 9:30 weve become restless. We continually check the blinds to make sure no one can see in. The doors are locked, the lights are dimmed. We turn our cell phones off.
Around 10PM we decide it is time to take this to the next level. Below is straight out of Bobby Rios playbook for banging girls under twenty. It must be done exactly in this order. Take notes!
Speed up the drinking with flip cup
Pair off and speed up drinking even more with beer pong
When sufficiently drunk suggest the game, Never have I ever
Begin sexual talk
Top the night off with Truth or Dare
Yes, it is much easier to do the smooth transition with girls over a buck fifty. But trust me, it works on real girls too.
We pair off.
Eric is with shit smeller, the skinniest of the crew. I am a little jealous. I don’t admit this. Instead I continually point out to him how her nostrils are snared. He continually reminds me that my horse hasn’t seen her hooves since the third grade. He wins the argument. We both win the battle as we watch Brian makeout of with Gothic Horse. We wonder if she is going to swallow him. He seems happy.
I am alone in the kitchen with horse now. In this light, or that many beers, she has cuteness to her. I brush the hair out of her eyes.
“You have an amazing smile,” I tell her.
“You have amazing eyes,” she tells me.
We kiss. The kiss is oddly passionate.
Her hand makes its way down my pants.
She looks perplexed. I shrug and mumble something about drinking too much.
“Show me your room,” she whispers.
Kids, I hope you never have to do what I am about to do.
Oh, yea.I fuck the shit out of her, I eat her pussy, I do her doggy, I let this fat pig ride me, lick my dick like its an ice cream cone, I tell her how sexy she is. I mean if youre going to do it you may as well enjoy it. Then I blow my load all over her big fat titties. I throw a pair of boxers at her to clean up with, and I roll over and go to sleep.
In the morning we hurry the horses out. We sit and brag about the poundings we gave them. It is all just practice for the big game, we rationalize. There is no thrill of victory with fat girls.
And so the house finally got us laid.