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Zachary's Perfect Date
by J.T. Benjamin © 2010
I should start at the beginning.
It had been a long time since I’d had a decent swim in the dating pool, if
you know what I mean. I’d been trying the singles bars, the “puppy
play-dates” in the parks, speed-dating, dating services, letting friends
hook me up, I’d even let my mother set me up with a couple of “nice girls.”
Talk about disasters.
So last week, late one night, I’m flipping channels through basic cable and
I came across a commercial for a dating website I’d never heard of before,
perfect_date.com. They’re bragging about the usual success rate and they’ve
got “testimonials” from successful clients and all these hot-looking models
having a good time on the computer and the telephone. The ad was just like
all the other dating service ads on TV, but something told me to give this
one a try, anyway.
I got online and paid the fee. It was a little pricier than normal for
these dating websites, but like I said, I just had a feeling this one was
the real deal. Then, I spent a good three hours or so filling out this
really detailed questionnaire. It seemed like I was answering questions for
a personality test to join the CIA or the FBI or something. Some of them
were really bizarre questions, too, like “What color are your mother’s
eyes,” and “Do you think a zebra is black with white stripes or white with
black stripes,” stuff like that. I finished the test, sent in my profile,
and a couple days later I got back an email with a list of women who could
offer me the “perfect date.”
I sent an email to Gina, the girl at the top of the list, we had a phone
conversation, and we just clicked. It took us two minutes to make a date
for dinner, just last evening.
So I’m ringing her doorbell and I don’t know what to expect, because on the
one hand I was really excited about meeting this girl, but on the other
hand, the fact that we’d connected so quickly over the phone felt
kinda…spooky, for want of a better word, right? I mean, there’s no way
things could go so smoothly, especially setting up a first date. Something
had to be wrong with this picture.
Gina opens the door, and she’s hot. Not hot, SMOKIN’ hot. Nice bod, nice
rack, long wavy blonde hair, big lips, blue eyes, I mean SMOKIN’ hot. And
she’s wearing this tight, little red cocktail dress that pushes up her boobs
to show off her cleavage, and the skirt is really short, and she’s wearing
these three inch spiked heels and she’s so beautiful and sexy I’ve got an
instant hard-on, and I think, okay, this is what’s wrong with this picture.
This lady’s way, way, way out of my league. She’s a starter in Yankee
Stadium and I still need the umpire to put the ball on the tee and point me
toward first base.
I introduce myself and she sizes me up. I expect her to say something like,
“I’m Gina’s roommate, she’s been in the hospital with the swine flu for
three days, she sends her apologies,” or “My mother’s just died, we need to
take a raincheck” or just “Fuck you, asshole” and she’d slam the door in my
She doesn’t do any of that. She says, “Hi, Zachary. I’m Gina and I’m sure
glad I took my birth control tonight! Let’s go!” And for the first time, I
notice she’s got a can of beer in one hand and a martini glass in the
other. She’s two-fisting it! She gulps down the martini and then she
drains the can of beer in three swallows, belches, and says, “Let me get one
more for the road.” She disappears back into the apartment, returns with
half a sixpack and says, “What bad manners of me not to offer you one, as
well. I should be punished. Maybe later,” and she offers me a brew.
It’d be rude of me to refuse, so I quickly drank it before we got to the
car. We’re on our way to the restaurant where I made the reservation and
out of the blue, (between drinks of beer) Gina says, “You know what? I’m
not really hungry. There’s a strip club on west Franklin Boulevard, do you
want to go and check out some naked women?”
Again, who am I to refuse, so we go to this place called Peepers, and holy
shit, it’s a strip club. And I’m not talking about a high-class joint with
bodyguards in tuxedos and eight-dollar beers, this is a dive. This is
in-your-face full-on nudity; you just know the bartender’s got a shotgun
under the bar and the bouncers have almost as many tattoos as do the
strippers. It’s a dark, meaty, animalistic side of human sexuality.
Through the thick cigarette smoke and the smell of stale beer and spilled
whisky coming up from the carpet, you’re just afraid enough to want to stay
and find out how much your arousal can overcome your fear.
Gina’s absolutely fearless. She’s whooping and egging the girls on,
flashing tens and twenties to get them to do more than just flash a little
tit and pussy, and at one point she actually got up on the stage, took off
her blouse and started bumping and grinding her nipples against those of the
girl actually being paid to dance. The club’s manager thought about chasing
Gina off the stage, but everyone was so turned on they were buying more
drinks and throwing money at the strippers and having such a good time he
had second thoughts. Gina got about fifteen bucks, herself.
She’s drinking, and I’m drinking, and we’re laughing and making out in
between dances and she staggers into the ladies’ room for a few minutes and
when she staggers back out she says, “Come on. I was making out with one of
the dancers in the bathroom and she needs a ride home. Let’s go.” This
dancer was just as smokin’ hot as Gina was, and the way they were hugging
and kissing each other you’d think they were long-lost high school
sweethearts. That is, long-lost high school sweethearts as portrayed in a
lesbian porn flick.
So I’m driving Gina and this stripper, Penny was her name, back to Penny’s
place, and they’re making out in the back seat of my car, sucking on nipples
and kissing and fingering each other, and I start wondering when I’m going
to get some of this action. The next thing I know, I feel, first Penny’s
hand rubbing my chest and then it’s Gina’s tongue in my ear and they’re
giggling and cooing and Gina says, “Big guy, I don’t think we can wait to
get back to Penny’s apartment. Let’s find a place to pull over right now,
I pull over in the public park on Pullman Boulevard and the three of us go
scampering off into the bushes, all throwing our clothes off like we’re in
some hippie-type commune. I remember standing in this little clearing
behind the azaleas and looking down as Gina and Penny are sucking my cock,
and then I’m lying on my back while Gina keeps sucking me and Penny sits on
my face, and then I’m fingering Gina with one hand and Penny with the other,
while they’re kissing and sucking each other’s titties and stroking my cock
at the same time. Then, I remember fucking Gina from behind while she’s
leaning against a tree, and she’s making out with Penny while I’m doing
that, and Penny’s massaging Gina’s clit at the same time, and then they
switched around so I could fuck Penny doggie-style while Penny was eating
Gina’s pussy. Everybody’s screaming and grunting and cursing and begging to
get fingered harder, fucked harder and sucked harder.
I honestly don’t remember much after both girls started sucking my cock
again while Penny fingered my ass. I’m pretty sure I came in Penny’s pussy
but I also remember seeing Gina with my cum on her face too, and then it all
got to be a blur of flesh and sweat and laughter and bodily fluids.
When Gina and I woke up, Penny was gone, which was probably a smart move on
her part. We’d had our arms wrapped around each other, still naked, and
frankly, by the way Gina was caressing my penis in her sleep, in a few
minutes we’d have been ready for more. That is, until the cop found us
lying there in the bushes.
That’s the whole story. Crazy, huh?”
The attorney looked spent a moment looking through her files and the notes
she’d made on her yellow pad. She said, “The bad news is there are a lot of
charges, here. Public indecency, public lewd conduct, public intoxication,
defacing that statue of General Sherman, damage to public property…”
“That park bench?”
“Yeah. That’ll have to be replaced.”
Zachary said, “Oh, boy.”
“But the good news is these are all minor charges. And Gina backs up your
story. I’ve talked to her attorney and she says it’s all true. She went to
the same website, she filled out the same questionnaire, she says it was the
perfect date. Right down to the size of your penis and the fact that you
like to cuddle after sex. We can probably make everything go away if you
agree to pay for damages and…”
“And what,” asked Zachary.
“If you provide the web address for that dating site. The D.A. will want
to, uh…investigate your claim.”
“Sure. Give me a piece of paper.”
The lawyer did so and said, “Go ahead and put it down twice. I’ll …uh…need
a copy for my files, too.”
© 2010 J.T. Benjamin. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Bio: Who is J.T. Benjamin? Read his bio on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website.
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