Just Because You’re the “Cool One” to Your Friends…

…It doesn’t mean you can lack hygiene, social skills, and wear a fedora on a date. These are the unacceptable things that Poor Hygiene had in store for me during my fun weekend.


Just Poor Hygiene being him

As with everyone that weekend, I met Poor Hygiene (PH) on tinder. We chatted it up, and after losing and getting my internet back, having a guy walk out on me, my “oh shit this is bad” sensors were a bit lower than normal. Instead of a normal hook up where we just meet at someone’s house, PH wanted to go on an actual date. You know, where you hangout and talk about things you may or may not have in common. Where was this date going to commence at?

Fucking mini golf.

Not just any mini golf. This place was indoors with backlights. I didn’t know this, so when I walked inside the place, I was super bright. Thanks off white top. I texted Poor Hygiene to let him know I was there. That’s when I saw him in his average self: PH was my height (5’8 or so), some extra weight (not fluffy, but not skinny…so dad bod), brown hair that needed attention, about 23, and brown eyes. He was wearing jeans and a button up plaid shirt. Again, average beyond average.

When we went inside, I was greeted by no one being there. At least there were no witnesses to this. I casually knew, and also forgot, that it was the basketball playoffs, and I lived in a basketball city. PH didn’t buy, nor offer to buy, my admission. Not a deal breaker, just not gentleman like.

When we did play, he was a pompous ass. Some of my favorite phrases from him:
“I can get a hole in one;” nine strokes later, his ball went in.
“Oh, you need to hit like me to do better,” even though I was doing just fine.
I’m pretty confident in my life and mini golf skills, but this date topped the cake. Again, if I wasn’t having such low self esteem, I would have just left and had no story to tell. 

When we did talk, he was more self absorbed than a drunk sorority girl. “I’m so well known at cons by my cowboy hate;” I just rolled my eyes to his back. “I convinced this super important ‘My Little Ponies’ guy to come, so I get special treatment;” and again, that’s cool if I enjoyed that fandom. But I don’t. Every time I tried to chime in, I was shut down by him bragging about himself. Also, he happily admitted to being a Brony. At this time in my life, I had no idea what a Brony was, or why I should have ran. But, this is a Brony:


Men that love My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic a tad too much

He then let me know he took friends as furries to play mini golf there the weekend before.

He was also a furry. I may have fucked a furry who wasn’t in his furry attire. Let me just reiterate that I was in a bad place.

Author’s note: a furry is someone that is interested in fictional anthropomorphic animal characters with human personalities and characteristics. So, they dress up as animals.

When we were near each other, I kept smelling something off. At first, I thought it was the actual place. But I started noticing it more right after he talked. I didn’t think anything of it until he kissed me out if the blue. That taste lingered on my poor lips from the assault of his tongue. I don’t think my face could hide my disgust from him, but he didn’t seem to notice it.

Once we finished this not completely terrible golf date, PH asked if I would like to grab a drink. I thought he meant alcohol. Nope, he meant overpriced coffee. I followed Poor Hygiene to a Starbucks where we talked more. I mentioned I should leave to go watch Game of Thrones with my cat. Before I could bolt out of there, he invited himself to come watch with me. I told him I didn’t have real furniture and my place was a mess. PH didn’t care; he decided to follow me back to my place.

We awkwardly watched Game of Thrones on my bed. No touching because you don’t fuck with GoT. After it was over, Poor Hygiene went in for a kiss again. I casually dodged that kiss. This is when he mumbled into my ear something along the line that “this is why I always have condoms.” I felt Catherine dry up a tad to that comment, which left me feeling numb. Before I could react appropriately, he started undressing me and himself. I lounged on my bed as he finished taking off his ten layers of clothes (not appropriate for summer, by the way); when he leant forward to kiss me, I dodged his lips again. To continue the dodging of bad breath, I moved down his body to his cock. It was nothing to write home about. Just like him, it was average, even a tad thinner in girth than average.

It didn’t take long before my mouth was too much for him. PH not only moaned, but gave commentary over how it felt. This wasn’t just, oh that feels great, it was more along the lines of, oh I love how the tip of your tongue touched the right underside of my cock near my balls. It was everything I could do to not laugh. Let’s be honest, I love being told I’m doing well, but his additional remarks made me laugh. A lot. When he was close, he literally tapped my head to stop. PH said it was his turn; I was excited because maybe he’d be great at oral. I laid back on the pillows and waited, and then I felt fingers. Fumbling around fingers that were hitting nothing important. I sighed, rolled my eyes, and forced a smile before asking him if he’d like to fuck me.

That was a long three minutes. He didn’t want to do doggy, he didn’t want me on top, he only wanted missionary. That was painstakingly awful. I immediately showered and dressed, hoping he’d get the hint. He did. Once he left I sat on my bed and contemplated my life decisions. They weren’t that great.


Outlook after this incident

Two days later, Poor Hygiene texted me to let me know he was sick with strep and I should get checked. My response to him was just “okie dokie.” That’s it; that was going to be our last encounter. However, the fates hate me. I went to a convention a few months later and saw him. In his oversized cowboy hat and Brony shirt, leading a group of people to celebrity autographs. So he was a volunteer. Almost a year later I saw him again, this time I was working a booth for work and he saw me and tried so hard to run by. By this time in my life, I finally was more sad for him that he was just so bad in bed. And that he was wearing a fedora.

Lesson learned: when someone admits to being a brony, wearing a fedora, or being a furry, just run. Run away.

The Daring Vagina

2 thoughts on “Just Because You’re the “Cool One” to Your Friends…

  1. nonsenseunicorn says:

    I found myself thinking “no…. NO….. NOOOOO” as I was reading this! But then we all have those ones (or few) that are worthy of a Men in Black wipeout :-p

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