this message may be offensive
Here we go again. It’s the typical ex banter. He followed me down the hallways of school, almost stomping his sandaled feet along the way. Who the fuck wears socks with sandals?
Even from two feet in front of him, I could imagine him panting from trying to keep up with my getaway strides. He obviously didn’t get the memo as he apparently was the fatass police officer to my nonexistent crime. People parted the way for me and him, sending us looks as if they knew what was going on. I mean, they did, but I guess ex dude and I had to reiterate every fucking Monday morning at 8 sharp. Honestly, people were tired of hearing it and seeing it. I was tired of living it.
“You’re fucking that dick?!” He questioned me, appalled. I had stopped at my locker, blessing the spirits that allowed it to open on the first try. In regards to the topic, I had no idea who he was talking about, so I settled for the typical flair as an answer.
“That dick?” I nodded while bringing myself closer to his stupefied face. “That 12-inch, glittery, pink, phallic piece, which goes deeper than you ever could. And it makes me scream.” The bright red face of his was priceless. I couldn’t tell if his pale skin was flushing from anger, tiredness, or embarrassment. Patting his cheek was all the affection he’d get from me.
“Till next Monday.”