I Took Black Market Boner Pills Before A Third Date With The Woman Of My Dreams And Blew It

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You can debate the validity of the “third date rule” as much as you want, but in my experience, it is as constant as gravity. The third date is when it goes down. Both daters have sex on the brain. It’s a make or break moment in a relationship.

So, when I went on a third date with a woman recently, I knew I had to bring my A-game. When I say woman, I mean WOMAN. She wasn’t a girl. She’s in her late 20s, working with an incredible body and had a very high paying job. Wife material. She didn’t date schlubs like me. I knew this was my one chance. She would be mine and I was going to close, to-fucking-night.

I had obviously been telling my friends about her. My buddy Rocket (his nickname would prove to be more than ironic in this case) came over for a few drinks the night before our date and I let him know how badly I wanted to catch this elusive fish. He told me that I needed all the help I could get, because he knew I could get stage fright whenever I outkicked my coverage. He called his dealer and told him he needed the “little blue special.” I would soon find out that it was code for Viagra. It wasn’t real Viagra, but a Chinese knockoff. I was young and dumb enough to oblige the offer. I would need the vigor and stamina of a Spartan warrior that night.

The next day, I did my typical date prep. Woke up early, ate a hearty breakfast and a sensible lunch, washed and cleaned my car, went for a long run in the afternoon, jerked off, cleaned my apartment, cleared my browser history, re-filled the Brita, shit, shower, shave, trim the shrubs, ‘logned up (John Varvatos Vintage), polished off two fingers of scotch, threw on the blazer and embarked upon a journey that would hopefully lead to mind-blowing sex.

I had about 15 minutes to spare before our date, so I shot her a text letting her know that I’d be over soon, but she could take her time. No need, though. She said she was ready now and I could head over. God. A woman who was always on time? I had truly hit paydirt. It was decision time. Do I take the knockoff boner pill or do I save it for a lazy Sunday with RedTube? I decided that this was a night where I needed to leave it all on the field. I chugged it down with a bit of scotch and hit the road.

I pulled up to her house and called upon my lady. She looked incredible. Flowing brown hair, flawlessly done makeup, wearing a little blue dress that mashed her supple cleavage together and silhouetted her body incredibly. That’s when I felt the first little twinge in my pants. It wasn’t really that big of a deal. In ordinary circumstances, I’d feel a little blood rush into my little soldier.

She suggested that we have a drink before heading to the restaurant. Sure. I needed to ease my nerves. Sinatra was gently playing in the background. Fuck. I wanted to ask her to marry me right there. She sat down next to me and we talked about our weeks at work. Just some chit chat. All of my jokes landed. The amuse bouche was setting up the main dish beautifully. By main dish, I mean intercourse. She put her hand on my knee after one particularly excellent Big Lebowski reference. That’s when the trouble started. The sheer touch of her hand to somewhere within striking distance of my penis sent a surge of adrenaline and testosterone through my body. In the snap of a finger, I was rocking full chub. I played it cool and said I had to use the restroom. After a short pep talk with myself, my dong went back to a respectable semi. There’s nothing wrong with a little semi. If I had to choose, I’d walk around half cocked 24/7. Really makes your bulge pop.

We headed off to the restaurant after finishing our drinks. It was a beautiful night. I had the moonroof open and the light breeze from outside was gently blowing her hair. FUCK. Boner. Raging hard on. I quickly turned on some sports talk radio to get my mind off of everything. Nothing gets a woman in the mood like some dude working the late night weekend sports show talking about Clayton Kershaw.

My pants tent had been disassembled and packed away by the time we got to the restaurant. We were seated. Good. Sitting down. I could be sporting a gigantic marquis de sade and she’d be none the wiser. She was eye-fucking me from drinks to dessert. We were into each other. I just had to keep Mr. Wang under quarantine just for another 45 minutes and then I could get her back to home turf where I could finally succumb to his wishes and take him trout fishing in her fishing cove.

The conversation was pretty light, but we were still hitting it off. I was doing this on purpose to avoid her saying something that would make me rock hard. Literally everything was setting me off. The brush of my khakis against a patch of pubes had me going from six to midnight. The waiter asking me if I wanted fresh cracked pepper sent me spinning into ecstasy. It was a nightmare.

I made it through the meal and dessert without much difficulty. Then, she looked at me with that side cocked, admiring look that only a beautiful woman can give and sent me into overdrive. “I really like you. I can’t wait until we get back to your place.” Oh god. The rush of blood to my crotch was unreal. It was like I was back in fourth grade with a raging NRB in church. No control over myself. She literally just invited herself back to my place for sex. I smiled back at her and let her know I felt the same way. Although my smile was also forced through a grimace that would make Stallone look like a lesser Baldwin brother.

I excused myself to the men’s room for one last pep talk. Just stay down. 30 minutes, please. Just go away. After an intense concentration session, my meat hammer shrank back down to an unnoticeable size. I locked eyes with her right as I turned the corner and hit her with the perfect “Shall we?” move, took her by the hand and led her back to my certified pre-owned carriage. Once we got in my car, she said it before I could, “How about we go to your place?” Boom. Boner town, USA.

The power of the little blue counterfeit pill was surging through my body. My face was hot, my legs trembled, my balls swelled. I’m pretty sure She started playing with my hair. I was sweating like Cougar trying to land an F-14 on an aircraft carrier. I would not be turning in my wings just yet. I could do this. Please God, just let me be with her tonight.

By the time we got back to my place, I was probably at 80% chub. Not quite full mast, but still just noticeable through my pants. I escorted her up to my place and poured us some stiff (please excuse the pun) drinks. She took her shoes off. I put on Barry White. She smiled at me.

This is where I blow it. I’m sure I could have proceeded and turned out just fine with her. I think I was in a perfectly acceptable situation to have a boner. However, this thing was a throbbing, churning missile of love that needed to be serviced. The wheels of seduction and desire were turning. I had to say something. I sat on the couch next to her and we were about to start making out, when I said it. I have never regretted a sentence more in my life.

“I’ve got something for you…”

Then I looked down at my pants. She saw it. She started uncontrollably laughing. Like maniacally. Like Dr. Evil. She was keeled over on the floor. Then she wrecked me, gasping for air between guffaws:

“Is that your best? Really? ‘I’ve got something for you’? AHAHAAHAHA!”

I blew it. I had bought all of the vowels I could. I could have solved it right there. I could almost see Pat Sajak in the corner, disappointingly telling me that I got it wrong. She started texting on her phone and I started damn near begging her to stay. But she was on her way out.

I had blown it. If only I had waited just a few minutes longer. I might have slain the mighty dragon and had my princess, but it was all for naught. My lady escaped into the night.

I sat there on the couch, staring at my still-pulsating peen…and opened up RedTube..

Image via Shutterstock

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