Pro Bone-o
A cautionary tale
I had a friend once. We’ll call her Melissa. Melissa was married to the American dream. They had a house and a dog and 2.5 kids. Her yard was always perfectly manicured. A trip to Costco and carwash on Saturdays. An American flag hung out front. On the outside, everything seemed perfect. The Facebook posts, the custom Christmas cards, all smiles all the time, at least to the outside world. But for whatever reasons, Melissa was not happy. She secretly loathed her husband and the urbane life they’d made for themselves. She resented him for the children she’d so badly wanted and the big house she was now responsible for. Then one day she’d had enough. She decided to cheat. Not leave him. Not ask for a divorce. No, she decided to pay him back for all the years she'd been sad, lonely, and hurt in kind.
She’d flirted with cheating in the past. She’d even gone so far as to have a little fling with a guy from work. Unfortunately this wasn’t particularly successful. Although she told everyone who would listen that she wanted to get fucked, deep down she wanted to be chased, wooed, and absolutely adored. And while she allowed herself to get swept away with thoughts of love and a new life with her lunchtime suitor, he simply saw her as a part time distraction from his own misery. After six months of internet stalking, she finally gave up on that one and moved onto the internet: the Mecca of dysfunctional losers masquerading as businessman, jet setters, entrepreneurs, and unicorns. And so Melissa began to swipe. She swiped day and night. She swiped while on her computer at work, on her smoke breaks and lunch. She swiped away on her little patio table while the children ran around the house like heathens, shrugging off her priorities as a mother for a glimmer of attention. Her pencil skirts got shorter. Her heels got higher. She dressed the part of CEO, a glorified receptionist playing make believe on the internet, lunches and happy hours with every bachelor in a tie. Time after time nothing stuck and so she had the bright idea to start swiping not just for dick but for tangible services. She began narrowing down her search to lawyers: family practice, contract, grant writing, litigation. Anyone who could potentially give her legal advise and an orgasm. It was genius, or so she thought, til she met just the guy she was searching for.
His name was Bryan with a Y, and he was a douchebag with a capital D.
His name was Bryan with a Y, and he was a douchebag with a capital D. He love bombed her with baby, honey, love, and the infamous good morning. He waited a whole eight hours before he sent her dick pics, his meat sitting on a stack of child custody cases. He was everything she ever dreamed of. After two solid days of texting and a cancelled date with a fake follow-up, he coerced her to his house. Mad at her husband and high on all the promises and feigned interest, she tucked her small children in bed and sped over to a complete stanger’s house in the dead of night. Her birthday plans having been squashed by the inconvenience of family life, he showered her in Walmart bakery sheet cake and a $6 screw top bottle of Rite-Aid’s finest Chianti. She showed her appreciation by letting him cum inside her like the dirty whore she really was. He kicked her out, because mornings come early for officers of the law, and she drove home on that dark lonely highway, having just committed a cardinal sin, smelling of box wine, cheap sex, and not a hint of regret.
High on life and filled with excitement at the possibility of a new love, she popped out of bed that next morning. But as morning dragged into afternoon without a word from her new boo, Melissa’s confidence waned. Eventually Bryan texted. He was extremely busy and apologized for missing his usual morning check in. Late into the night, another text from Bry guy explaining his crazy day and his absolute regret at having to cancel their dinner plans along with the following day’s outing on account of work stuff/kid shit/something more important than her. And then he disappeared like a thief in the night. Melissa would obsess over their interaction for months and mentally bathe in the details of their night together. She was consumed. She thought about him constantly, picking every single word and action apart, looking for some meaning as to why a total stranger would fuck her and never speak to her again.
Melissa would obsess over their interaction for months and mentally bathe in the details of their night together.
Melissa’s make believe life began to catch up to her. She needed help, advice, someone to confide in. She called her oldest friend and begged her to come down for the weekend, to which she begrudgingly agreed. Her friend, in the midst of running a million dollar business, menacing health problems, and the long, slow decline of her elderly dog, put her own problems aside and flew right out, under the impression it was a weekend for them to bond, console, and heal the holes in their relationship. She arrived and was met with an eager Melissa, ready to hit the town and mingle, and while the friend was not particularly in favor of the itinerary, went along silently.
They hit the downtown scene, popping in from bar to bar, all the while Melissa was swiping away. Having found a nice little spot with a good vibe, they miraculously found a seat. The friend ordered a round of drinks and settled in, ready to relax and have a good time. But the serenity did not last as Melissa suddenly wanted to go home. So $50 in Uber fees later, home they did arrive. It was just before midnight, the Craigslist nanny having put the kids to sleep, and Melissa emerged with a fresh outfit and a pair of sneakers in her hand. The friend, mildly intoxicated but fully aware of how deeply Melissa suffered from Stupidbitchism, could only guess it was a successful swipe from earlier. But it was not. In fact, it was the reemergence of Bryan with a Y. Having miraculously awoken from a coma, he messaged her straight away. Abandoning her friend and children, again in the dead of night, to suck his dick seemed like the least she could do. A battle ensued, lines were drawn, but in the end, Melissa chose whoredom over everything else. And so she backed her BMW out of the garage as the children slept silently and the friend stood in the window, tears rolling down her cheeks. And suck his dick she did. In fact, she didn’t return until dawn. She fucked, and sucked, and blew her whole friendship away. The friend was on the next flight home without even a word. Facebook, Instagram, and even mutual friends were blocked. But that wasn’t the worst. The worst was the elder son, who wasn’t asleep after all. Who heard the harsh words, saw the crying, and knew mommy never came home that night. The worst part was when the friend had to say goodbye to a child she’d known and loved his whole life, knowing they’d never see each other again, while Melissa lay asleep on the couch, exhausted from her sexcapades.
…you’re on a road to nowhere, alone with nothing but regret and a burning sensation in your vagina.
The moral of the story here, kids, is that Melissa was a stupid bitch. She was willing to ruin her marriage, her friendships, and her entire life for the momentary feeling of love, be it delivered by some douchebag blowing his load in her face. Now ladies, ask yourself if you’re a Melissa. Be honest. Dig deep. Because if you are, you’re on a road to nowhere, alone with nothing but regret and a burning sensation in your vagina.