Slut Review: Katie from Hinge

Katie had a favorable hip-to-waist ratio and an insufferable personality.

GF just sent me a scary text: “We need to talk. I just found hair ties under the bed that are definitely not mine. Did you cheat on me while I was gone? What the fuck. Please don’t ignore this.”

Yes. Yes I really did. Her name was Katie and she was insufferable.

I found her on Hinge. I re-downloaded Hinge as soon as you left.

Once I remembered you could filter by race, I stopped using all the other apps. Within a day I had over 20 relatively beautiful Asian girls in my inbox. Most of them were flakes, they always are.

But one of them was clearly looking to meet somebody. She had “looking for cuddle buddy/fwb” in her profile. She must have been new to the app because girls like this don’t last long.

She had a picture of herself wearing one of those black Japanese maid costumes and lyrics from a Radiohead song. I knew she was the one.

“Please don’t tell me CREEP is the only Radiohead song you know???” Fucking Kill Yourself Katie

Our conversation became sexually explicit very quickly. The sunlight was streaming in through our huge windows, casting a warm glow onto the bed. I sent her a picture: You want to get fucked right here? She replied: Yes please.

I went to pick her up. On the way, I realized I was out of BlueChew (viagra for zoomers), so I stopped at a gas station.

I asked the late-20s Indian guy behind the counter if “these rhino pills really work.” I was wearing a black tank top and grey sweatpants, my fuckboy costume.

He said Oh yeah bro, they really work, trust me, you will be big and strong, he made a flexing motion with his arms. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or just genuinely trying his best to sell the pills.

I asked him which variant he’d recommend. He referred me to a comically large pill and a packet of something honey-flavored. I said fuck it, sure. I had no other option. 

I told Katie to wear something slutty. She obliged. She’s a 22 year old Korean girl attending the University in this area. We spent at least 15 hours together and I did not learn what she was studying. She wore a dangerously thin black tank top tucked in to a white jean skirt, standing on platform Crocs, which added 1.5 inches to her height.

They exist.

The first several minutes of our meeting were deeply uncomfortable: her half-regretting getting into this car with this stranger, and me trying to avoid spilling that I was, at this very moment, Cheating On My Girlfriend With You.

We defaulted to “what kind of music do you like”-tier conversation. I quickly made a soul read: do you like Neon Genesis Evangelion? She said Yes, I love it. Thank god. From that moment on, I knew we would fuck. It’s a show for sad people. She’s a troubled little soldier, just like me.

We got back to my place. I took her up to the roof of my apartment complex so she could see the city and feel my status.

There were many others up there who seemed disturbed by our presence. We smoked a little weed, because we both know it makes sex feel better. She then became very loud and started talking about Guys She Fucked and all other sorts of horrible shit and the normies around us were getting visibly uncomfortable so I decided it was time to go back downstairs. 

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I can’t tell if I prefer a girl who knows how to have sex or one who doesn’t. This girl was definitely a slut of some kind— it was just too easy.

I lifted her up off the ground and spun her around three times and threw her onto the couch. I began kissing her face and removing her clothes and teasing her all over. It made me sad, how easy it was to make her wet. We just met a couple hours ago. Why are you letting me do this. You don’t know me at all.

I had to tell her at least twenty times: do not leave a hickey. Please do not leave any kiss marks on my face, neck, or body. I will kill you if you leave a hickey. I will drive back to the address that you sent me on Snapchat and I’ll kill you, do not leave a hickey.

She was a 6 in the face but an 8 in the sack. She had naturally generous proportions, especially for someone who did little to no regular physical activity. Life is unfair. She was slightly taller and slightly heavier than my precious little girlfriend, which is exactly what I was looking for. I didn’t notice this until I was holding her in my arms.

I’m not sure if this comes across in my writing— but physically, I’m gorgeous. My face is well past decent and I have an athletic, aesthetic, lean, white, 6-foot body. I’ve got Jesus abs and protruding lats. Small nipples, an even frame. Some guys lift and then still look like a lump of shit because God neglected to even out their bodies— or worse, made them brown. Sorry browns, I didn’t mean it. Whatever, anyway, the point is that girls tend to worship me instinctively whenever we get physically intimate like this. They kiss all over my body, squeeze my arms, and let me do whatever I want to them. Unfortunately I have to take gas station dick pills to get hard because my mind is corrupted from years of porn and general anxiety, but it’s okay: I live to serve. 

Katie is not so beautiful. She has a nice body but the acne kind of ruins her face. Just what I was worried about when I was in college. I was right — it is repulsive, a face full of acne. 

I tell her she has “breeding hips” which makes her laugh. She’s fit for someone who doesn’t exercise, she has mid-small triangular perky breasts, like that girl from tomb raider. Japanese or Korean. Don’t know, don’t care. She might be on 4chan if she wasn’t so totally indoctrinated in the other direction.

She talks about 10x more than me, which is convenient, because I can’t tell her much about me anyways. I can’t tell her that my main hobby lately has been cheating on my girlfriend and writing about it. 

She says I Love Your Plushies! You didn’t tell me you had so many cute plushies! 

They’re not mine. 

I tell her this and she still doesn’t register that I might not live here alone.

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I’m reluctant to write about the physical act of sex now that people are actually reading this, so I’ll just skip to end: 

We had been fucking for too long. I told Katie I was going slow because I was about to cum inside her. She then became desperately urgent: 

“Please cum inside me I need you to cum inside me right now please please please fuuuuuck” 

I think: there’s no point in trying to be Good at Sex. They just want the seed. I always got the idea from media that girls want it to last forever, every time.

“I don’t care please cum inside me right now please please please please please” 

She barely knew my name. She really meant it. Terrifying. No one told me that this is how girls really are. So I’m telling you. And I’ll tell you another thing: those gas station dick pills really work.

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Katie had a favorable hip-to-waist ratio but as a person she was insufferable.

She was stupid— so stupid. And not even in a cute way, in an obviously-destroyed by our gay society kind of way. In a “I want to ruin my body with piercings and tattoos but I don’t have enough money to do it” kind of way, in a SSRIs and birth control and IUD and terrible acne and drinking fucking Celsius at 11pm kind of way, in a “oh you’re not a REAL fan of [insert music artist here] if you don’t know THIS SONG” kind of way, in every kind of way this girl was just exactly not what you want in a partner, but of course I fucked her anyway.

I fucked her until it hurt. I live to serve. I can only give, not receive, pleasure.

Not that I didn’t enjoy it. It did feel pretty good to grab her pelvic bones and deposit genetic material into her body, over and over again.

Girls on birth control tend to dry out a little earlier than they’d like, and if they’re addicts like me they just keep going until it’s too painful to continue. Until one of us puts an end to it.

Apparently she came several times, and then she fell asleep on me and 6 hours later we woke up and fucked again, and then she helped clean the blood off my white sheets while I popped an Adderall so that I could Lock In and write it all down.

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She was a troubled little soldier for sure. At one point we’re in the shower together and she tells me she “needs a new therapist,” takes three forms of birth control, Smokes Weed Every Day, wants tattoos but doesn’t have the money for them — it’s not even worth it for me to share my input. By the time she realizes tattoos are trashy and stupid it’ll be too late.

I always want to share my blog with girls like this so they can know me but then they would read stuff like the above paragraph and be sad, and I don’t like making people sad, so I just pretend I’m a boring guy who does nothing instead. It’s for the best. 

I make just one tactical error in my performance. I’m trying to convince her to do some regular physical activity because that’s the only time I ever feel alive and I say:

“you know how most human interactions in daily civil life all feel kind of sterile and gay?” —

She tenses up at my usage of the word “gay.” I forget she’s a female college student on the west coast United States, fully indoctrinated, so I have to explain how I have no hate in my heart towards gay people (i don’t even believe in “gay,” but that’s another story) but I sometimes use the word “gay” in that 2012 way to mean “weird, unnatural, bad.” She doesn’t like that explanation either.

I’m trying to say you should go for a run, Katie. Move your body, it’s free dopamine, it makes you less depressed and insane. Maybe you won’t be so compelled to fuck random guys like me all the time, but all she hears is that I call things “gay” and gets The Ick.

On the drive home I told her “I take this route to work every morning, and also something else you should know about me is that I have a girlfriend.” And she did not like that at all.

Some girls find it hot that I’m cheating with them but most just find it scary or sad. I don’t blame her. She got home and instantly blocked me— probably the best decision she made all weekend. 

Whatever, she’s 22, she’ll figure it out.

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I am 25 and wasting my life on this. My girlfriend is gone for the weekend — she went on a trip to a convention for the thing we used to do together, I’m no longer interested.

All I’ve been interested in lately is taking some other girl from Hinge into this apartment so I can be here where I am right now: chasing pussy, hurting people, wasting everyone’s time. Guys older than 30 must read this and laugh at how “retarded” it all is — sorry, I’m learning. 

I did get one nice compliment from the girl. She said I have a beautiful moan, and she wished that more boys would sound like me. Thank you Katie. I’ll remember that.

Oh and you forgot your hair ties, you stupid bitch.