I met him for dinner (Indian, so... ha!) and he's attractive, smart, nice, successful. Does something in the area of computer-aided surgery or the like. A very up and coming field, high in demand, short in supply. Like the Swine flu vaccination, only much, much different. Conversation was fine, but he kept going back to this testosterone deficiency he suffers from. At first I thought he was trying to put it out there that he had erectile dysfunction and was unable to do his thing, or that this was some new euphemism for closet homo I'd never heard of. Thinking it might be an uncomfortable topic, I try changing the course of the conversation. He keeps going back to it.
It seems the treatment involved could be extremely difficult, akin to chemotherapy, and it always requires a lengthy hospital stay. Worst case scenario, the treatment can even be fatal. But, fortunately for this poor, sick man, the mere act of ejaculating could nip the disorder right in the bud. A sort of jism cure, I guess.
Easy enough: I recommend he masturbate like his life depended on it. He explains to me that his efforts in that area have always been less than successful. So I suggest adding a little porn, or perhaps a lot of porn. Always works for me. Alas, he thinks porn is morally reprehensible and degrading to woman. Jeesh, I never said it had to be straight porn.
I encourage him to get a prostitute, naturally. But, as a former LDS, this option is also no good. He absolutely could not have sex with someone he is not in love with. God frowns upon that. No way to get around it, his body would absolutely REFUSE to cooperate in such an indecent, immoral act with a total stranger.
As a last resort and a goodbye, I implore him to pray on it.
He shows up at my house (I know, my bad), unannounced and uninvited, in the middle of the night, with good news. He prayed on it. And:
It seems the treatment involved could be extremely difficult, akin to chemotherapy, and it always requires a lengthy hospital stay. Worst case scenario, the treatment can even be fatal. But, fortunately for this poor, sick man, the mere act of ejaculating could nip the disorder right in the bud. A sort of jism cure, I guess.
Easy enough: I recommend he masturbate like his life depended on it. He explains to me that his efforts in that area have always been less than successful. So I suggest adding a little porn, or perhaps a lot of porn. Always works for me. Alas, he thinks porn is morally reprehensible and degrading to woman. Jeesh, I never said it had to be straight porn.
I encourage him to get a prostitute, naturally. But, as a former LDS, this option is also no good. He absolutely could not have sex with someone he is not in love with. God frowns upon that. No way to get around it, his body would absolutely REFUSE to cooperate in such an indecent, immoral act with a total stranger.
As a last resort and a goodbye, I implore him to pray on it.
He shows up at my house (I know, my bad), unannounced and uninvited, in the middle of the night, with good news. He prayed on it. And:
God told him to fuck me.
But only me. I am the chosen one. His life is now in my hands, and I am solely responsible for his fate.
But only me. I am the chosen one. His life is now in my hands, and I am solely responsible for his fate.
I politely declined. He left mad, reminding me that I am NOT a good Christian nor a good human being, and that I should have fun living out the rest of my pathetic, selfish life, knowing that his death was going to be all my fault.
At least he left.
I have no idea if he is going to survive.
And I will never give my address to match date ever again.
So creepo leaves, I resist the urge to call police, and retire to the comfort and safety of my computer.
At least he left.
I have no idea if he is going to survive.
And I will never give my address to match date ever again.
So creepo leaves, I resist the urge to call police, and retire to the comfort and safety of my computer.
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