So, have you met a nice girl yet?”
So, have you met a nice girl yet?”
You freeze mid-bite, the stuffing like sawdust in your mouth. Your sister snickers. Your dad stabs at his cranberry sauce, pretending he’s not there.
“Not yet, Mom,” you mumble, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
Because the truth? The only “girl” you’ve seen lately is the one from that OnlyFans account you can’t even afford. The one you stalk like a desperate creep, waiting for her to drop another three-second freebie clip because your broke ass can’t pay the $10 subscription.
You can’t take it anymore. The humiliation is suffocating. You mumble some excuse about needing the bathroom and shuffle down the hall, phone in hand. Once inside, you lock the door and sit down on your mom’s floral toilet seat cover, your pants still zipped but your soul already stripped bare.
You pull up OnlyFans and scroll to her page — the one with the blond hair, the pouty lips, and the body you’ve memorized in three-second bursts. You hit play on the free clip. She’s laughing, twirling her hair, and barely giving you a glimpse of anything worthwhile before the video cuts out. But it’s all you’ve got, so you hit replay. And again. And again.
The lighting in the bathroom is awful, and let’s face it — you’re not as young as you used to be. You squint at the screen, fumbling to get things going, when you realize… you can’t even find your dick.
You dig into your pocket for your reading glasses, sliding them on with the resigned air of a man who knows his best years are behind him.
Now you’re hunched over, glasses fogging up, one hand scrolling and the other trying to coax what looks like a turkeys next back into life.
The toilet creaks under your weight, the OnlyFans watermark mocks you in the corner, and you can’t help but think, “This is what rock bottom feels like.”
Just as you start to lose yourself in the rhythm — if you can call it that — there’s a knock at the door.
“Sweetie, are you okay in there? You’ve been gone a while.”
It’s your mom. Of course, it’s your mom.
You freeze, glasses slipping down your nose, fumbling to close the app as your heart races like you’re being chased by a bear. You yell something about a “bad stomach,” hoping she doesn’t ask questions, and shove your phone into your pocket like it’s a weapon.
You look at yourself in the mirror — glasses askew, sweat on your brow, pants half-zipped — and wonder how your life got here.
Thanksgiving? Maybe you should consider marrying someone that no one wants to fuck. Don’t marry the hottest chick off Onlyfans go for the hottest chick in a radical DIY community making sourdough starter with “ancestral bacteria.”
