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Stop talking, dickface. You’re gonna scare her off.
“—then, when I’m sure you understand that all I want is to stick my dick in you, I take you to the ladies’ room where I get you naked from the waist down, strap on a condom, bend you over one of the sinks and fuck the shit out of you.”
What the hell is wrong with you? Shut your fucking mouth.
“You’ll have the kind of orgasm that’ll still be setting off tremors when you're eighty and living in a goddamned nursing home, so you’ll be able to convince yourself that it’s all good—you used me and got what you came for but in reality, I’m the one who’ll be using you, so I can forget how fucked up I am for ten whole minutes—I get you off, not because I want to, but because the rules of reciprocity demand it—then I walk out the door before you even have time to pull up your panties. Less than an hour after I’ve fucked you, you’ll have the distinct pleasure of watching me do it all over again with some other random stranger.
“That’s what I do. That’s what this is.” I jerk my chin at the cluster of women who sent her over here. I know this is my fault. I did this to myself. I made me who I am. I’m Dr. Frankenstein and the Monster. But knowing that doesn’t make me any less angry. “That’s what I did your friends, and that’s what they signed you up for—sounds fun, right?”
She still can’t find her voice. She just shakes her head at me, because no—it doesn’t sound like fun.
Not anymore.
“Drink’s on the house—get better friends,” I tell her, moving down the bar a bit to get away from her. She stands there awkwardly for a moment, probably trying to figure out how she managed to screw up what she’d been assured was a sure thing.
Way to scare the fish, asshole.