I know why you’re here.
You want to know what the three words were.
The three words in the message Country Boy texted me that changed everything. (If you have no idea what I’m on about, or who Country Boy is, you need to go back and read my last column, here.)
His message stared back at me on the screen…
I read it over several times to savour it, like a bucket of Ben & Jerry’s you lie and tell yourself you’re only going to eat half of.
‘Want to fuck?’ it read.
Yes, I did. In fact, riding CB’s D into the sunset was about all I’d been thinking of these past five months, despite the healthy amount of f*ckboy peen my vajayjay had seen since then.
Yeah, yeah…I knew he had the emotional maturity of a potato; and hindsight (read: blood no longer being redirected from my brain to my vagina) had afforded me the clarity of realising just how boring and unimpressive he actually was as a person. (On our third date, I’d asked him if he could do anything with his life, what he’d do. He said he’d always fancied himself a pilot. I pointed out it wasn’t too late to achieve his dream. He responded with something like, “Yeah, but it’s too much effort. My job now is easy, you know?”)
So, yeah. But, TBH, I was kinda bored myself at the time. My options were essentially to attack the pile of laundry on my bedroom chair (at least, it was a chair to begin with – I couldn’t really be sure anymore. It also may have crumbled into dust under my month-old dirty undies and missing socks. Who’s to say?), OR, the other possible route (pun intended) was to get my rocks off. And that would mean finally getting to see if CB’s man jewels were as impressive as his handshake. *Wink, wink*