Do Not Give Me a Handjob, Do Not Collect $200

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Nice Move

You are one year out of college, fresh off a week at your job working in a downtown high-rise. You’re cabbing it back to your place after a Friday night full of debauchery. Seated next to you is a petit blonde, equally as intoxicated, with the same desire to disrobe faster than Bo Jackson’s 40-yard dash time.

You get to your place. Banshee-like dry humping commences. After ten minutes of adolescent romance, the articles of clothing come off, one by one. Finally, you are naked.

“Awesome,” you think to yourself, “I’m going to bang Reese Witherspoon’s look-a-like.”

After aggressive kissing and boob-fondling, you think she’s finally ready, so you hop the next train to vagina city and start running the spread option on her clitoris, whether by mouth or finger.

She’s enjoying it, moaning even. You are excited, and rock hard. In the moment of passion you move her hand to your big stick, with the idea that she’s going to do more than play five-finger touch on your member.

Five minutes goes by. She is still moaning, and her hands are still placed firmly on little you. You try to move positions, hoping she will perform mouth to schlong resuscitation rather than continue her handjob movements that seem to have been learned from a Lifetime movie.

Ten minutes goes by. Nothing. You give her an eye look that says, “Ok, I would appreciate a blowjob,” but it goes unnoticed. She is a 23-year-old who says she has a Rolodex of sexual experiences, yet she only wants to play your penis like an N64 controller.

She orgasms, then you blow a load of frustration. Like many other men, you have experienced the “Handjob Heisman,” which usually is only reserved for people like my teenage brother outside my parents’ house.

I have a problem with women who only want to perform the things I can do on my own, especially if they are over the age of 18. I hear complaints all the time…

“A blowjob is so much work!”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for sex, even as I lie butt naked on your bed!”

“I just like making you cum, even if I’m doing the same thing you did in front of your 60-inch plasma TV three times this morning after an hour of Duck Dynasty!”

Honestly, if you get drunk, come home with me, and get naked on my bed, only to give me a handjob, I’m going to question your overall cerebral makeup, especially if you are a post-grad young professional accustomed to one-night poundings in the frat castle during your college days. Yes, it is a real-live penis, and oh my gosh, you are in that stage when you are looking for love, but damn it woman, this is not a PG-13 Disney movie, so you might as well put your seven redheaded slut shots to good use and have a night of penetration.

Speaking of redheaded sluts, what about that remorseful one that moved to your same city looking for a new start, trying to escape her sexually entrepreneurial collegiate past? The one who took dicks like Kentucky takes SEC football beatings? The one who everyone knows will drop her pants after a couple shots faster than you can say, “Will you go home with me?” She’s not exempt either. You know who you are, and you’re not allowed to claim you’re trying to “find yourself” while lying naked in my bed, with your only desire being to play with my shaft like it’s a Shake Weight. I know you, and I know what you are capable of, and a handjob is not even double bogey for the course. If I am going to play tongue games in your hole of fame, you are most definitely going to purse your lips ever so gently in a nodding manner upon what makes up my manhood.

Now, if you want to keep your drunken “virginity” intact, I understand. Justin Bieber will be right with you.

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Nice Move

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