I have a confession to make, and it’s not cool: I can’t get it up. I discovered this last Saturday when I finally got Cindy Chatsworth to go on a date.
We’d been chatting for a while. I found her on Tinder and asked, “If we got married, would you be willing to name our kids Sandwich and Twister?” She responded, “Boys or girls?” And I said, “Baby I’m gender-neutral.” Not my best work, but fine. We kept going like that, making the yuks, sharing a laugh, until I finally asked if we could get together and begin planning our massive family (now with the additions of “Stank Tank,” “Girl George,” and “Stevie Dix.” Dear God.) She said she’d love to meet, and I invited her to the Wolf and Sheep in the Lower East Side where you can get a hot toddy and a Guinness for $5.
The date went well. We talked.
I’m going to confess something here, because without it I don’t think my story will make sense: I was also well prepared.
See, I first spotted Cindy on Facebook. She was in one of my friend JT’s river rafting photos, wearing a bikini that made her cleavage heave like a couple buoys in a stormy sea. She wasn’t tagged; I had to snoop around just to find her name. When I did, I didn’t friend request her, that would be creepy, but I looked up her Instagram and followed that instead.
Cindy’s an actor type, sniffing around the world of theatre through the back alley of amateur modeling. She gains a plethora of followers and likes by posting her photoshoots: a yellow sundress in a field showing off her creamy legs; an old-timey pinup shot, breasts spilling out like butter; a thong and a pair of bunny ears. Holy hell.
I found out that she took photos with a certain JM Spitz, so I went deeper. I looked up JM’s website and found the holy grail: sweet Cindy in all her glory, lying on a bearskin rug. No nipples, but her sideboob was divine, along with a luscious view of her backside. She had a sneaky “come hither” expression that just drove me through the roof.
Maybe I should mention her face here too. See, it wasn’t just the buoy bosoms that got my noodle going. It was her smile. She smiled like a next door neighbor, like you might have gone to middle school or something. I fell in love with that face. I’d never dated anyone with that face.
So on our date, I brought up the issues I could remember from her Facebook wall: Activism. The Dakota Access Pipeline (she was shot with a fire hose). Bernie Sanders. Modeling. The Importance of Sustainable Farming.
I ended up taking her home. She was four Guinnesses and three hot toddies deep, and I wasn’t far behind. The whole way she clung to my neck like a drowning woman.
We went to her apartment deep in Bushwick, up a four-story flight of stairs. I was heaving as I pulled her through the door, and then my jaw fell open. There it was. The fireplace, the bearskin rug, the furniture. I hadn’t realized that photo was taken in her own house!
Things went well. I made a move and pretty soon the shirts came off. Next thing you know she was down on the bearskin rug giving me that “come hither” look. Just like the picture! But wouldn’t you know it, that’s just when my junk gave out? I spat in my hand and tried to get it back. I got to half-mast but it wasn’t enough, still too soft. I worked with my hand (too ashamed to ask for help) and by the time I’m at three-quarters-mast, she’s asleep.
All those hot toddies.
I let myself out, slunk down the stairs, and went home. I resolved never to talk to her again.
And the strangest part? By the time I got home I had a full-on woody. I steamed up the old Mac, bathing myself in cold, blue light. Brought up the picture of Cindy on the bearskin rug. And whacked off.
As I came I thought, “I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS.”
When I was done and all cleaned up I dragged the picture into the trash. My cursor hovered over the “Empty Trash” button. I hate this, I thought. I hate this.
Cindy wants to go on a second date, but I just can’t. Meanwhile, in the act of writing this, I’ve masturbated four more times.
I love you Cindy. I always will.
Written by Sam Gibbs with artwork by Pavel Gitnik
Inspired by: https://inews.co.uk/essentials/future-sex-study-dating-desire-modern-loneliness/