So my Father, about 6 months ago literally sat me down at the kitchen table and MADE me read (against my good will, I would like to add) this article in Money Magazine called, something to the effect of, 'How to Marry Into Wealth' (Thanks Dad). SO...needless to say, I met this guy at a bar in DC who was totally smitten. Investment Banker at Morgan Stanley, gets club seats to all the best events, I'm not talking the latest Counting Crows Concert either. I mean, The Preakness (spelling?), The U.S. Open, Oh yea, THE OLYMPICS...I'm sure you catch my drift here.
Now let me describe to you the 38 year old fat man. He looks like a slightly younger version of Donald Trump in the face. His hair is slightly red, balding in the front, and his teeth are shaped like a horseshoe but just a little bit too narrow, two of them are just a bit too pointy and he kind of suckles on them when he speaks. His body could be described as...a Weeble Wobble with legs and arms. Beady blue eyes and tiny hands complete the picture.
So 38 Year Old Fat Man starts talking to me, begins telling me about himself and in the back of my head I'm thinking..."Okay Dad, I'm going to make you proud for once." Of course, he asks my number, I give it to him...blah blah blah. We go on a date the following Friday. Now let me just say that I was pretty intoxicated when I met him the first time, not intoxicated enough to realize that he wasn't slightly unattractive but intoxicated enough to think he was well, "slightly unattractive." So anyway, I meet up with him at the Metro and my first thought was "Shit Dre, run...I know you can do it, run far. Christ, what were you thinking? Where is God when I need him?" But, I suck it up and he takes me out to a very nice, expensive dinner, in which I down at least 3/4 of the $70 bottle of wine he ordered (I'm so classy). The date continues...we go to the bar where we met in which his friends were there (all between the ages of 21 and 24...child molester on our hands?). We leave, go to another bar where some more of his friends were, in which I tolerated comments such as "Wow Dude, she's really cute." (and then to me) "What the hell are you doing with him?" My reply in a slight whisper "Not sure, can you hand me a fucking drink PLEASE."
To make a long story longer...I got WASTED. I'm talking, can't speak properly, can't WALK, I'm leaning on 38 Year Old Fat Man, we get in the cab, go back to Clarendon where I do remember the Cabbie bitching because his tip was so shitty, and walk back to my place. We have ANOTHER drink in the kitchen and go upstairs and well, you know. I'd like to redeem myself in this situation by stating that I was SO wasted, I don't even remember it. Oh...but the story continues.
The next morning, I wake up and 38 Year Old Fat Man is BUTT ASS NAKED IN MY BED. Oh my god, oh my god. I ease myself out of bed, use the bathroom, brush my teeth, get some water, etc, etc. Not knowing what to do with myself, I lay down on my stomach, smashed up against the wall, as far away from him as possible. Take a few deep breaths and begin to drift off when... Fuck. Fat man cuddles up next to me and starts rubbing my back...rubbing my ass...rubbing, well...whatever. Somehow...its morning now, I'm no longer wasted...and I fuck him...AGAIN. I was just on top of him trying to get it over with and at one point made the mistake of putting my hands on his chest for support. That may have been the worst feeling ever...straight, thin, silky chest hair. Like thin dog hair, it was terrible. I kept imagining getting one of those stuck in my throat. I don't know why. I can't fathom. I seriously, have NO idea. I still think about and wonder what the hell I was thinking, if I was thinking at all, which clearly I wasn't, well lets hope I wasn't because if my brain thinks like that then...I've got a rough life ahead of me. I was on top of this fat dude, fucking the shit out of him and I remember opening my eyes once...BIG MISTAKE. I'm not kidding when I say I literally had to bite my tongue so I wouldn't throw up. Anyway, so I take him home after that. And now I've got this awesome story to tell
So much for marrying into money. Clearly, I just don't have the stomach for it.
