Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,19

good. I have friends. I respect the coaches, and they seem to respect me back. I like being a part of the Raiders.

Now the entire team is moving to Las Vegas, and while I’m excited as shit to play in the new stadium that’s fancy as fuck, it’s still an adjustment. Packing up all my stuff yet again after being in the Bay Area for only a couple of years is hitting me kind of hard. I’m having all sorts of flashbacks to the times my brother and I moved with Mom.

It wasn’t just the constant moving that got to us. It was having to deal with yet another one of her new boyfriends. They were all assholes. Every single one of them. Mom has incredibly bad taste in men. She still does.

What sucks more? Over the last few years, I found myself turning into one of those callous assholes. Going through women, one after the other. Not taking into consideration their feelings, what they might want from a relationship, what they might want from me. I knew what I wanted, and for a long time, that’s all that mattered.

Easy sex. A hot, quick fuck. That’s all. Seeing the same woman more than three times? Huge mistake. Three times in the sack and a woman wanted more. More, more, more.

I had nothing to give. I was empty. Hit it and forget it, that was my mantra for a long time.

Not anymore. I’ve seen the light, so they say. My grandma would tell me it’s about time, and I suppose she’s right. I’m a man on a mission, trying to find a woman who I might be interested in the long term. Someone who doesn’t immediately know who I am either. That’s why I went on the Rate A Date app. To connect with someone on a real level, not because of who I am and all the baggage that comes with me.

I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast. I tell myself I’m probably rushing things, but I think I’ve already found her, though I barely know her.

Eleanor.

Sweet, funny Eleanor. She of the bright blonde hair and nice rack. Yes, I sound like a jackass who’s only looking at the physical attributes of a woman, but I can’t help it. I have to find her attractive, am I right? The spark is necessary in order for us to continue.

At least, the spark is necessary for me, and I feel it just looking at her photo, though there’s so much more to her than her beauty. She piques my interest.

When we have our nightly chats, I’m always left wanting to know more about her. She has a good sense of humor and laughs a lot, and I appreciate that. She listens to me intently when I talk, and always offers up her opinion on things. I like that about her too. She doesn’t seem timid or bashful, and she’s not fake either. I can tell.

I have a good sense about those things.

If she does talk about herself, she delivers the information in small bits. Like clues. Like the bread crumbs good ol’ Hansel and Gretel dropped as they made their way through the woods. I’m following behind Eleanor, picking up all those clues and breadcrumbs, yet I’m still hungry. She makes me feel greedy in all ways.

That’s something that’s never really happened to me before. I haven’t been bored once during our conversations, and that tends to happen pretty easily for me. And when I’m bored, I end up doing things I shouldn’t.

Like taking the chat from normal conversation to sexting, only because I’m looking to spice things up a little bit. When they know who they’re dealing with, some women are a little too readily agreeable.

This makes me sound like an egotistical jerk, but it’s true. Certain women want to be with famous men. Star fuckers are what we call them. It doesn’t matter what you look like. They don’t care about your personality. If you’re famous? Yeah, let’s do it. They’re down.

When I’ve shifted it to sexting before, we always get off. I get titty shots, booty shots and maybe even catch a glimpse of some pink parts. I send her a dick pic, we type some dirty shit to each other, and boom, masturbation heaven,

I’m not tempted whatsoever to send Eleanor a dick pic, or switch the conversation to dirty talk. She actually interests me. I look forward to our evening chats. Tonight, though, I want to