Kalah Allen

"What the fuck is a party favor?" That was the last question I posed in an email exchange last summer with a lady I'll refer to as "Nancy." She had a W4M ad in the casual encounter section of Craigslist. I'm not the greatest looking guy, and the dry spell was pretty unbearable. Mix that with booze and porn, and you got yourself a fatso driving out to Gresham to fuck another fatty I've never met. I show up. The kids are at their dad's. The place smells like sugar and mold. We have nothing in common but our height. I bring $20 champagne, beers, some white, and a Viagra. We get loaded and start dry humping on the couch. Moments later we're butt naked and Nancy starts making weird groaning noises. Noises that begin to ruin it. We give it another go and kinda pull it off, but now, post ejaculation, I'm bummed. The smells. The heat. The pictures on the walls on my way to the pisser. Nancy, if you read this, sorry. I tried the wrong door and ended up in the garage, which led to the yard and then my car. I hope you found a good home for my shoes.—Anonymous