The Siren Song Of The Manatee

Fuck me.

I just fucked a fat chick the size of Shaq who was beaten repeatedly with an ugly stick. We're talking serial beatings here.

It started off innocently enough. I logged on to an online dating site, plentyoffish.com, and did some prospecting. The ratio of hot to ugly chicks is probably 20 to 1 on this site. Factor in the ratio of guys to girls on the site is another 20:1. Multiply the result and the answer = fucked.

So the way forward was clear. It was a Wednesday morning, and I was sitting in the house in my robe eating a twinkie. I hadn't got laid in about four months (dry spell fellas, happens to the best of us).

After four months on a deserted island a man will fuck a wandering manatee if he can lay his hands on one. Don't deny it. After four months in Los Angeles, a man will lay with the human equivalent of a wandering manatee. Let's call her Wendy.

I started messaging girls on the site with the subtle, yet intriguing, "I'm taking a survey. Want to fuck? Check yes, or maybe later." My reasoning was threefold: I didn't give a rat's ass about these fat chicks' feelings, I'm an anonymous guy on the internet so I can't get called on it, and while I will stoop to fucking the homo sapiens equivalent of a manatee, by god I will NOT stop to woo her first.

After a couple dozen "survey queries," I managed to get a response from "Wendy," who instant messaged me.

"God, are you for real? That's funny."

"In that picture, is that your ass or a fire truck?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Want to get a drink? At your house?"

And so we had a drink. Okay, it wasn't that short of a conversation -- but it was pretty damn short! No joke, thirty minutes on messenger, then thirty minutes on the phone, then "I can't talk dirty anymore my phone is dying but I'll be there in twenty minutes. What freeway exit is it?"

So I pull up onto her street. This is a ghetto-ass neighborhood. Graffiti, beat up cars, Mexicans riding bicycles at one in the morning. Sketchy. I see her standing outside of her apartment and waving. I crane my head and pull up closer and oh god, she's ugly. I don't know what pictures she posted on the site, maybe that was her hot sister, but this manatee was something else. Six feet tall, a monster, and wide as a house. As I pulled up close I saw her face, which had a crazed expression on it, and all of a sudden I knew she wasn't joking about those six prescription meds she takes.

"Hey! Are you okay? You don't look so excited to see me!"

I summon up all the fake smiling skill I've acquired during four years of business school. "Not at all!" Smile! Not good enough. Maybe if I had an MBA.

Up in her apartment she stares at me and starts caressing me.

"Hey, so you mentioned you have some rum?" I say.

" Oh what's the matter, don't want to talk to me unless you're drunk?" That's exactly right. But so awkward of you to mention it.

"No, no. I just thought that...um...well it might be fun."

She giggles. "Sure, pour yourself a cup." I'll probably need the whole bottle.

I'm sort of getting cold feet about the whole thing by now, but I put in all this work and by god I was going to put this thing in her before I left. So as we sat down to "watch a movie" I started swilling shot after shot of rum.

"Are you okay? Gosh, I've never seen someone drink that much so fast!" Yeah, and I've never seen someone this ugly this close. Oh god I'm going to have to fuck that.

We're about ten minutes into Zoolander (yes, I did manage to salvage something of the evening) and I figure that while more rum would certainly help matters, sort of like how anesthesia helps in a leg amputation, the flipside of the coin was if I drank too much, I would have to wait too long until I could drive home. And the prospect of hanging with this girl after sex scared the living shit out of me. So I tossed aside the bottle and made my move.

You might think "making a move" refers to putting the ol' arm around the shoulder and leaning in for the kiss. It does, usually. But I really didn't want to go there, so I just took off all of my clothes, hoping I could bypass some of the foreplay that way.

I saunter over to the bedroom, dragging her casually by the hand.

"Oh Bill, you're so..."

"So what?"

"So impatient! I mean, don't you even want to talk to me first?" She makes a crazy face. I cleverly dodge that one by not saying anything. I throw her down on the bed, hard, and climb on top of her. I look at her wishing I had a paper bag to put over her face. I slip on the condom and start doing her hard.

"You know I didn't want to have sex tonight on the first date!" She pants.

"Oh really? I'm sorry. It must just have slipped in there." Hot dog in the hallway, you know how it is.

She's going wild, screaming my name, nails on my back—that at least feels good. I'm riding her grimly for about five minutes before she cums once, twice. I haven't. I'm still plowing away at her but it's just not going anywhere. I roll off of her, leaving her there panting like a cow while I head to the bathroom. Deciding she probably doesn't blow much better than she fucks, I finish myself off there. A little bit of cleanup with her toothbrush makes me feel better.

I stride back outside and start putting on my clothes.

"Are you leaving already?" She asks, incredulous.

"It's late babe, I've got to get up early tomorrow."

"But you haven't even been here for an hour!"

Looking at the clock I saw the truth of her words. Just had to delay her crazy manatee mating rage until I was safely out of the apartment...

"Well, I thought we might hang out again Wednesday? Are you doing anything Wednesday?" I said, as I hurriedly put on my sweater.

"No," she said, looking mollified.

"Great, how about we hang out again Wednesday," I said as I walked toward the door. Yeah, right!

"Okay, sounds good! I'll see you then. Good night."

As I walked out the door she calls my name.

"Bill?"

I turned around. "Yes Wendy?"

"You are going to call me, right?"

"Of course." God I'm such an asshole sometimes.

I'm sobbing quietly to myself on the way home, feeling the pain of the ordeal, and I vow that I'll never hit another fatty again. But deep down I know it's in vain. Because the call of the manatee will one day sound again, and god only knows if I'll have the strength to refuse.

-Bill Black