The Dumb Ass

Roger noticed her immediately. She was sitting on the stool at the corner, sipping one of those fancy fruity drinks. He checked the ace bandage that covered his wrist in a tangled mess and smiled to himself as he approached the beautiful woman.

“This seat taken?” he asked politely.

“It is now,” she responded.

I’m Roger,” he said, offering his hand, then cursed silently when realizing it was the one that was pseudo-injured.

“Penelope,” she said, glancing at his hand.

“Hurt it playing racquetball,” he lied. “Slammed it against the wall.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Yeah, hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.” He then smiled before continuing: “A recent study at some Canadian university states that orgasms relieve pain. Care to test that theory with me?”

“Follow me,” she said as she got up.

This is actually going to work, he thought as he stood. Suddenly her knee collided with his groin, causing him to drop to the floor in a pile of agony.

“You could have had me without the cheesy line,” she whispered in his ear. “However, when the swelling in your balls subsides, you can test your own theory by putting that fake injury to use.”

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