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.
–Anonymous