False Advertising

 After the elevator disaster with Manuela, I gave up on the single-male swinger route. It was too chaotic, too risky. I decided to retreat to safer ground: standard dating sites.

I found Isabel.

She was forty, living near the city. Her profile pictures showed a stunningly beautiful face—high cheekbones, expressive eyes, a smile that promised sophistication. It was enough to reel me in.

We met for dinner in her city. She chose a romantic restaurant with dim lighting, the kind of place designed for seduction. In person, the face lived up to the photos. She was charming, and she dropped a promising hint over wine: "People say I like younger guys."

I took the bait. On MSN, I used to send her a specific "kissing smiley" that she called my "naughty kiss." When we walked to my car after dinner, the air was thick with tension. I decided to demonstrate the real thing. "This," I whispered, leaning in, "is my naughty kiss."

We made out in the parking lot like teenagers. The chemistry felt right. Her lips were soft, her response was eager. "Your place or a hotel?" I asked. "My place," she said.

We drove there, the anticipation building with every kilometer. We started on the couch, but it was uncomfortable, so we moved to the bedroom. I was excited. She had such a beautiful face, and I was expecting the rest of the package to match that level of care.

I undressed her. The excitement died instantly.

Her body was... uninteresting. Normal tits, soft belly, nothing firm. But the real killer wasn't the gravity; it was the wardrobe. She was wearing the least sexy bra and underwear I had ever seen—beige, massive, functional cotton. It looked like laundry day at a nursing home. It was a bucket of ice water on a raging fire.

I tried to salvage the night. I undressed, hoping for a blowjob to distract me from the visuals. No luck. She wasn't into it.

Fine, I thought. I'll do the work.

I went down on her, performing the standard service—licking and fingering her bushy pussy until she came. Her reaction was cold. She enjoyed it, but she was shy about showing it, muffling her sounds.

I entered her. It was mechanical. Missionary was boring, staring at that beige bra on the floor. I flipped her into doggy style just to finish the job. I came, lay there for the polite amount of time to avoid making her feel used, and then dressed.

As I drove home, I realized that a beautiful face is false advertising if the passion isn't there. It was just another hollow victory.