My Ideal Date

My ideal date starts out with my picking you up at the home or underpass you reside. From there, we go to dinner at a reasonably priced restaurant. At dinner, we exchange pleasant banter. You laugh, then I laugh, we notice each other laugh and look away shyly. It’s like something out of a romantic comedy. As we eat, i’m making sure I use my napkin often, so as to not look like a slob. You remove one of your high heels from a foot of your choosing and gently caress my crotch with your toes from across the table. This is the sign I’ve been waiting for. It tells me that things have been going well enough for us to engage in intercourse or at the very least a make out in conjunction with dry humping. You’re already dressed all scantily clad so i’m assuming you’re down to bump uglies. 

We leave the restaurant and walk in the general direction of my automobile. I drive back to my place because I’d like to impress you with all the awesome shit I have. This will only make you want me more. We sit on my leather couch that was hand sewn by the Dalai Lama on his weekend break from doing weird Buddhist nonsense. We drink 25 year old scotch. The fire place is set and providing the heat needed to prompt you to remove your clothing. You’re all fired up for the sexin’ and whatnot and you say, “I want you to stuff me like Thanksgiving turkey” and i’m all like, “Yeah….I know” 

But we don’t bone just yet. No. Instead, I build up the suspense. I say, “You just wait here…” I walk into my bedroom for a few minutes. You wait patiently and all of a sudden I come out of nowhere with a banjo. And you start to laugh. HARD. “Oh…you think this is funny, huh?” I ask. I start playing as if the banjo gods have possessed me. A powerful wind comes from no where. Papers are flying, your hair is in a mess, that cow from Wizard of Oz is flying in a circular patten, you look around to see if any windows are open, BUT THERE AREN’T! So you’re all like, “holy shit this is fucking strange…but in the most arousing way possible!” I play harder…then harder…THEN HARDER…Your vagina in now Niagara Falls. 

We bone. HARD. 

In the morning you wake up back in your apartment. I am no where to be found. You check your phone to see if I called or something like that. But there’s not even an entry for me in your phone’s contact list. 

Turns out I never existed at all. 

AN M. KNIGHT SHYAMALAN FILM