Robotic Rita 1844-332-2639 Ext 413
One of the things I hate about men is how you can never really tell what he’s packing until you get him in the bedroom. I went out on a date with this guy I’d met through an app. We’d been texting for a few days, and I was seriously crushing on him. He said he was six-five with hazel eyes and an eight-inch dick. He sent a few photos, not sexual ones, but pictures of him with friends; in them, he looked taller than his friends. And so handsome… but did he lie about that last detail?
Did You Lie?
There was only one way to find out, and I just prayed I wouldn’t be disappointed. We were supposed to meet for dinner at this little Thia place I love downtown. I scanned the place as I walked in and texted him I had arrived. He said he was there too, but I couldn’t find anyone who looked like the photos he’d sent me.
“Did you lie about what you look like?” I texted, and he replied right away.
“Not really. I’m in the back booth.” Uneasy swirled in my tummy. Why do guys always gotta be playing games? I walked to the back and saw a dude sitting by himself. He stood up to greet me and was no more than five six. “Rita!” He held out his hands, and I put mine up.
“What the fuck? You look nothing like your photos!” I lied because I was mad, and I wanted nothing more than to humiliate him. He tried to explain, but I reached forward and yanked down his baggy pants, taking his boxers with them. “And that isn’t no eight-inch dick either!”
Robotic Rita 1844-332-2639 Ext 413