If you bitches were worried about Ebola, gird your loins because there's another epidemic taking over the world and it's worse. Much, much worse. I mean I didn't go to medical school or anything but in my humble opinion, this shit is fucked up.
Before you go on WedMD and start overanalyzing your stool and the color of your urine (which I've recently found out is as easy as yellow urine = good, yellow poop = bad), in this case WedMD ain't gonna help your ass. The affliction I'm referring to is oversharing, also known as diarrhea of your fucking mouth.
I've noticed on the last few dates I've been on the conversation goes straight from, "What do you do?", "Do you have any pets?", to "Are you into anal beads and getting smacked in the face while I call you Mommy?". Umm...sorry what did you just say? I was trying to decide if I was ready to tell you my dog's Christian name and now I know that you're probably going to want me to wash your butt plugs post-coitus. I don't really believe in too soon, but TOO FUCKING SOON BRO.
The first time it happened I just figured this guy was socially retarded and not aware of his limits due to his less than stellar looking face. Or maybe he really was drunk off one beer and meant to say, "What kind of flowers should I send you on your birthday?". But then it continued to happen. If you wanted to know at what age he lost his virginity, what her name was, what she smelled like and every person he's been inside since; I can provide you that information on the last three dudes I've been on dates with. Even worse, they didn't seem to notice that the more they talked the faster I drank and stared around the bar to see if there was someone else I could leave with who seemed too drunk to make conversation. I'm pretty sure they thought they were nailing it.
Call me crazy but I don't need to know the first and last name and current location of every girl you've penetrated. If I asked you for a list of references, then this would seem relevant. Do you want to know about every dude who's put it in me? Maybe. But I'm sure as fuck not going to talk to you about it. I get that I'm not going to be anyone's first and everyone has a past and all of that. Also, please note that being someone's first has never been on my bucket list and I would appreciate you getting as much practice in as possible before coming in my direction. Or on me, whatever. You have a past, cool. People want to have sex with you, even cooler. However the more you talk about everyone you've ever slept with the more I decide I'm closing shop early and start to smell the STD's living inside your scrotum.
I get where the oversharing comes from; that son of a bitch called the internets. I'm guilty also; case in point this lovely blog you can't stop reading. But I feel like it's different when it's happening near your face and the words are coming out of their face. If someone doesn't like what I say on the internet they can ignore it. I can't really turn off a guy's mouth when I hate what's coming out of it. (Dear Science, please work on making this a possibility. I will give you all the HJ's ever.) Pounding it out with someone for the first time is always a little awkward if you're conscious. I don't need that to be compounded by losing my concentration wondering what Stacey, the girl that was your first 30 second sexual encounter, is up to these days and if she severely fucked you up by pretending you were super good at oral when really you couldn't find the clitoris if it bitch slapped you. (Dear Stacey, stop lying to dudes and fucking it up for the rest of us. Also I hope you're doing well.)
So future dates, please keep in mind that although I'm fun and open and blunt about everything, I don't need to know about every vagina your dick has lived in for a few moments. (This also includes mouth holes and b holes, thanks.) If something comes up in conversation and it seems necessary to share small details of a past pound, then don't let me squelch your light. However if more than three females are discussed on our date I will stab you. With a broken beer bottle. In the left eyeball. You've been warned.
No comments:
Post a Comment