Truth serum time. I made a post of this article mostly because I wanted to float that flavortown post title over the center field warning track. It tickles me.
I accidentally slept with a Donald Trump supporter
My name is Diana. I’m a 27 year-old bartender. I met this guy on Tinder about two months ago, a few days after I’d moved from Toronto to San Diego.
On a not-unrelated note, Texas is turning blue in our lifetimes, bank on it if these immigration patterns hold. (toronto is not much better than somalia) The only escape will be TEXIT.
We’d been chatting for all of a day, and we agreed to meet at a bar in downtown San Diego. We were just going to play Big Buck Hunter and have some drinks. It was very short notice. We didn’t even exchange phone numbers.
He showed up at the bar, and he was super handsome. Like, really tall—six-foot-four or something absurd. We were wearing matching leather jackets. His Triumph Bonneville was parked outside. This guy looked badass.
It turned out he was pro-choice and an atheist, which was good.
A savvy womanizer knows to avoid God and abortion conversational pitfalls that could deep-six pre-sex scheming.
But the night progressed. We went out to some other bars, had some more drinks, and he invited me back to his place. I was super excited, because I was really into this guy.
It’s always dankest before the dong.
We hooked up, and it was incredible. There was a lot face-touching and intense eye contact. He was cool as hell. I was completely smitten.
BEST SEX I EVER HAD – Canadian Maples
At some point I got up and sauntered over to his bookcase, because I wanted to see what he was into. I saw a few photos, and then a David Sedaris book that I love. I asked him about the Sedaris book and he said he hadn’t read it yet. But then, right beside it, I saw a book about Donald Trump. It wasn’t The Art of the Deal or one of his how-to-succeed-in-business books. It was In Trump We Trust, by Ann Coulter. So I asked him about it. I was like, “Ha ha, this is funny.”
How sweet it is to step out with that shitlord strut *after* splitting a slut’s moistened rut.
Meanwhile I’m a Canadian expat who just moved to America. I pointed that out and he went, “No, no. It’s different.” Why? Because I’m white and in my twenties?
Well, yes. But you still have to go back.
He started talking disparagingly about Black Lives Matter. This entire conversation happened in five minutes, while I was frantically getting dressed to leave. I wasn’t there to argue, and I felt deeply uncomfortable.
I got a Lyft home and I thought I was done with him. The next day he messaged me on Tinder. He said, “Hope you’re still not upset over politics LOL.” I explained that it’s hard for me to remain attracted to someone whose views are so different from mine, and who believes in bigotry and xenophobia—which sucked, because the sex was amazing.
Five minutes of shitlord….
Then he said, “Not accepting other people’s beliefs is the definition of bigotry.”
*tips maga hat at her, grabs pussy* “One more to remember me by.”
So apparently it was my fault.
This is womanspeak for “It was my fault”.
He sent me a “hey” message a week later, which I never replied to.
I couldn’t do it again. It feels taboo to sleep with a Trump supporter.
“If this is taboo, I don’t want to be virtuous.”
But here’s the thing: I’ve slept with a lot of people in my life.
This guy ranked in the top five.
The other four were Putin fans.
Btw, if she’s mounted enough cock to assemble a “top five”, it’s a good bet her total cock count numbers in the hundreds. Marriage material!…….for a beta.
I thought maybe I’d try him again one night at 3 a.m., when I was drunk enough to overlook his political views. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
This is womanspeak for “I did it”.
I don’t want to wake up next to a guy who blames Mexicans for his woes and thinks “bigly” is a word, no matter how handsome he is.
And yet she wrote about that “uncomfortable” evening from two months ago. She can’t stop thinking about him.
Everything she wrote is typical female hamster rationalization for loving a charming Trumpboy. She wearily and half-heartedly hunts for his flaws to absolve herself of personal responsibility while simultaneously craving the invading force of his Trumpenrod. Betabitch BernieBros and mangina Hill shills wept.
This man’s MAGA Game is tight. He wins a green Pepe condom. Feels good man.