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F*** Dates

You know what?

Fuck dates.

 

Yup. I said it.

I hate them. Always have, always will. What kind of a label is “date” anyway? Isn’t that a fruit? I’m sorry, but me and my handsome friend here have much more important things to talk about that some smelly old overgrown lumpy-seeds.

Dates are so fucking overrated. The word is sort of like “diet”. Mention it and I break out in nervous hives. Why do we put so much pressure on ourselves? So what, so you want to go out with a new man, have some dinner, maybe a nice bottle of wine, maybe do some dancing, maybe strip naked and do the backseat mambo, so what? Do we really have to label it? Why don’t we shuck the labels, much like he shucked his Calvin Kleins when I nearly ripped them in two?

Image from Dreamstime

So this is supposed to be “paranormal dating?” Okay, fine, I can work with that. It’s parally un-normal how fast we went from gnoshing on fried cheese in a TGI Fridays to me frantically begging for another lash from his whip-like tail. So what? Some girls like it rough.

Maybe he’s a demon. Well, maybe I’m a girl who happens to like that. So maybe he has horns. Well, I’m horn-y, so if the thigh-high boots fit, strap those fuckers on.

There is a time and a place for polite conversation and getting-to-know-yous. And then again, there’s a time when you just want to ravish the shit out of delicious otherwordly being.

And that time, ladies?

Is on your first “date” with a demon.

 

*drops the mic*

Furtastic

In case you didn’t know, here at Darker Temptations, we like our romance with a little bite. In my case, I like it with a lot.

I’m a shifter fanatic. I love reading about them, writing about them and daydreaming about them. I’ve always thought it would be awesome to be able to shift into a big cat. Sorry, I have nothing against wolves, but I’m a cat person through and through.

So when this topic popped up on the calendar, I immediately thought about the heroes I write about and how I’d want our first date to go. You know, if they were interested in a short, curvy, anti-social writer who prefers staying home and watching football and ogling hot men. Uh. You know…whatever.

Okay, obviously we couldn’t go to a football game. As much as I love the game, I wouldn’t want someone to see me acting like a maniac on our first date. It just doesn’t make the right impression. You know, of ladylike poise and language.

We couldn’t go to a heavy metal concert unless he was a fan and wore earplugs. I wouldn’t want the poor guy to go deaf because we were right next to the stage. They have sensitive ears, you know. Besides, sweating and rubbing up against complete strangers isn’t romantic. Well, unless you’re into orgies. *shuts up*

I think the best thing for me to do with my shapeshifter date is to stay home. He can cook for, lest you think I’m capable of cooking. Rub my feet. Feed me bon-bons and laugh at my jokes as we watch horror movies because it’s my remote and I control the television. Later, I’ll brush out his fur while he licks his balls.

It’s a perfect kind of relationship.

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