After talking on one of those gay chat lines, we hooked up in your studio apartment. The sex was hot--I ate your ass out and fucked you silly. And how we kissed--you're so sexy, with those thick, soft lips. What are you anyway, mulatto? Puerto Rican? Who cares; you're a hottie.

By the time we hooked up for a second time, you had moved, and I picked you up and took you back to my place. We kissed and sucked and had a hot time; we even shared a dildo. I liked you, and I was hoping we could fuck around every now and then, especially since you lived nearby. But things have changed.

When I try to reach you online now, you refuse to talk to me. Why the attitude? Is it because you moved to a different neighborhood and refer to yourself as a call boy? How come you've turned into such a stuck-up little shit?

Oh yeah, by the way, the first time I ate your butt out, I had a herpes sore on my lip. It was on its way out, but your boy-pussy might never be the same. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause, asshole.