Late last night I get a phone call in answer to my Rentboy ad. Turns out he's a "rich bitch" (his words, not mine) out in Malibu. Ken sans Barbie, have we?
So he talks about how much he wants to meet and tickle my feet and that he'll send his driver to pick me up. Says he's down for the weekend (three days! That's not cheap!).
I say, "Wow. Sounds too good to be true!"
Long awkward pause.
"Hello? Are you there?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies after a while. "Um...I don't like it that you don't believe me."
"Well no offense but I hear it all, man. Don't believe it until I see it, y'know."
Longer awkward pause.
"Well...," he finally says, "If you don't believe me I don't want to continue talking--"
CLICK.
I hung up on his ass.
Another fucking flake who can't get his rocks off the normal way.
Lonely men don't contract me but pathetic ones do try to waste my time. Losers.
No comments:
Post a Comment
All comments/fan letters are moderated prior to publication. If you'd like to write me without posting, please specify so. Thanks for reading Bi-Lateral Troymission.
sexy Troy