After numerous friends’ positive reports on internet dating, Cheer finally decides to give it a try. She begins a conversation with a man who appears too attractive to be on a dating website, proffers signs of intelligence, feels perfectly emotionally unavailable, and seems like just enough of a narcissist to get her motor running.

Cheer and Richie discuss film through the exchange a few messages before Richie asks to meet. Cheer agrees, and a week or so later, they’ve arranged a date on a Monday.

The bar chosen for the date is very small. The entire room can be viewed from the front door, and there are just 8 seats at the bar. Cheer arrives 5 minutes fashionably late and sits at the bar next to the only man who could be Richie. He has facial hair and a hat on—things absent from his profile pictures.

Cheer: “Hi.”
Man: “Hi.”
The man is expressionless, offers no handshake, and does not open his posture to Cheer.
Cheer: “How’s it going?”
Man: “All right.”
Cheer: “What are you drinking?”
Man: “Gin and tonic.”
Cheer orders a Manhattan. It is the worst Manhattan she’s ever had.
Cheer: “It’s really warm out tonight.”
Man: “Yeah.”
Cheer begins to doubt that the man next to her is Richie. She thinks she may be making awkward conversation with a random bar patron—who doesn’t much care for it. She decides to mention something specific, hoping for confirmation, bracing for a truly awkward moment with a stranger.
Cheer: “So, Connecticut, huh?”
Man: “What?”
Cheer: “Connecticut. You just drove down from Connecticut, right?”
Man: “Oh. Yeah.”
Cheer is relieved she has the right guy, but is annoyed by his lack of acknowledgement or enthusiasm.
Cheer: “Your profile says you live in NYC, but evidence suggests that you’re a dirty, dirty liar and you really live in Connecticut.”
Richie: “Yeah, I’m a dirty, dirty liar.”
Cheer: “How long did it take you to drive here?”
Richie: “Oh, about 2 hours.”
Cheer: “Holy crap. You live really far away.”
Richie: “Yeah.”
Cheer: “You’re lucky I like unavailable men. This could still work out.”
Richie: “Cool.”
Cheer: “So, what do you do in Connecticut?”
Richie: “Live with my grandmother for free, and play, I mean, create video games.”
Cheer: “How old are you?”
Richie: “30.”
Cheer: “So, tell me about making video games at grandma’s.”
Richie: “Essentially, I’m building this game that requires thousands of man hours and a team of people. But, I’ve decided to not follow the typical format for creating a game, do the steps out of order, and do it alone, because no one wants to work for free. And I live with my grandmother and play video games, so I can’t exactly pay anyone.”
Cheer: “So, do you feel that you’ll complete this project? And if so, will it be profitable? Or is this a hobby?”
Richie: “Oh, totally profitable. I also have a patent for a design element in this type of game. It’s brilliant, because I’m brilliant, and it’s worth, like, a bajillion dollars.”
Cheer: “That’s cool.”
Richie: “But, I’ll never put forth the effort to make any money from it.”
Cheer: “You’re becoming more of a catch every minute.”
Richie: “I’m a total catch. Have I mentioned that I’m super smart? My IQ test results prove it. I won’t tell you my IQ though, because you’d just feel stupid. Have you ever had your IQ tested?”
Cheer: “No.”
Richie: “I’ve taken all those expensive official tests.”
Cheer: “Why so many?”
Richie: “They thought I might be retarded as a child.”
Cheer: “What a wonderful topic to bring up on the first date.”
Richie: “I’m retarded like that.”
Cheer: “What did you do as a child that made them start testing you?”
Richie: “I didn’t speak until I was 3 years old.”
Cheer: “At all?”
Richie: “Not a word. I didn’t even babble.”
Cheer: “Then, at age 3, you started babbling?”
Richie: “Oh, no. At 3, when I first spoke, I spoke in complete, grammatically correct sentences.”
Cheer: “That’s believable.”
Richie: “So, once I started talking, my parents asked me why I hadn’t spoken before.”
Cheer: “And?”
Richie: “And I told them that I didn’t have anything to say.”
Cheer: “What a plausible tale.”
Richie: “Also, I never walked or crawled. I started running at 9 months.”
Cheer: “Running at 9 months, silent until master of speech at 3. Obviously you’re a genius.”
Richie: “Pretty much.”
Cheer: “So, genius, since you’re not ready to sell your game or your patent, what do you do for money?”
Richie: “I just pick up jobs now and then from Craigslist, work enough to not work for a while, and generally continue to jerk off in my grandmother’s basement while she makes me pie.”
Cheer: “You’re livin’ the dream.”
Richie: “Indeed.”
Cheer: “So, if money were no object, what would you be doing? Would you be making a video game?”
Richie: “Probably.”
Cheer: “Is that your thing though? Anything else?”
Richie: “Well, the other things are very NC-17.”
Cheer: “What?”
Richie: “We’ve been having a very PG-13 conversation, and my other interests are more of an NC-17 topic.”
Cheer: “OK. Try me.”
Richie: “Well, basically I like to have a lot of sex. Like, a lot of sex. And, if I had it my way, I’d have five women.”
Cheer: “So, the answer to your million dollar question is to have a harem of five.”
Richie: “Yeah. I think five would be the perfect number.”
Cheer: “So, these five women… Do they know about each other?”
Richie: “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”
Cheer: “OK. So, why five? Why is five the perfect number?”
Richie: “Well, once you pass five, it’s difficult to see each one very often. I’d like to have them in a good rotation, not just every few weeks. Plus, I can’t have sex with someone for very long without it being more than sex, and more than five of that type of relationship would be taxing.”
Cheer: “I’m starting to find this one hour relationship with you pretty taxing.”
Richie: “It only gets more ridiculous from here.”
Cheer: “Then let’s get another drink. If you’re going to talk about a harem of five—which I’m not yet sure if you’re inviting me to be a part of—I need more booze.”
Richie: “OK.”
Cheer, having learned her lesson with the Manhattan, orders a rye whiskey on the rocks, and Richie follows suit.

Richie: “So, I wasn’t kidding when I said I like to have a lot of sex.”
Cheer: “Contrary to most of our conversation to this point, I didn’t doubt that.”
Richie: “I mean, like twice a day. Or maybe even like, twice a day, but also, three times a day, twice a week.”
Cheer: “Got it.”
Richie: “So, you know, that’s part of why I need multiple girls, because I’d just wear one out. Like, once I was dating these two girls—who knew about each other—but one got super jealous one day and demanded I be her monogamous boyfriend. I told her OK, but that she needed to understand that that would mean that I would only be having sex with her. And, I had to ask if she was, like, ready for that, cause, she knows me, and knows how much sex I need.”
Cheer: “Let’s talk more about your insatiable sexual appetite and your exes. I’m super stoked about these topics.”
Richie: “OK, well, there was this girl I grew up with who I always wanted to fuck.”
Cheer: “Who doesn’t have at least one of those?”
Richie: “Well, this girl is like, supermodel hot.”
Cheer: “So, why’d you never tap that?”
Richie: “She’s a virgin.”
Cheer: “Currently? Or when you knew her?”
Richie: “Both… As far as I know.”
Cheer: “Why is this supermodel girl a virgin? Religion?”
Richie: “No.”
Cheer: “Missing limb?”
Richie: “No.”
Cheer: “Then what?”
Richie: “Her mom had her when she was 18. She was trying to avoid becoming her parents by avoiding having sex at all.”
Cheer: “What a shitty decision.”
Richie: “I know, right?”
Cheer: “So, this supermodel…”
Richie: “Yeah?”
Cheer: “If she asked you to take her v-card now, would you?”
Richie: “Hell yeah. But, I mean, I feel like I’d have to warn her.”
Cheer: “Warn her?”
Richie: “Yeah…cause, like, maybe she’d want to find a smaller penis that would be easier to handle. But, I’d be so flattered she asked me, I don’t think I’d really say that.”
Cheer: “You’d just pulverize that tight pussy without warning.”
Richie: “Exactly.”

The bar is closing early, due to it being a Monday night, and Cheer and Richie get their bill. They each put $30 on a $43 dollar bill, and the bartender asks if they’d like change.
Richie: “Yes. Absolutely. We need change.”
Cheer: “OK. I’m going to the restroom.”
Cheer returns.
Richie: “Do you have like $1? Or like 60 cents?”
Cheer: “60 cents? For the tip? I would never give you 60 cents to give as tip. But, I have an entire dollar.”
Richie: “OK.”
Richie has left $8 on the bar, pocketed the other $9, and asked Cheer for an additional dollar. Cheer initially puts down the dollar, then two more for their extended time at the bar with few drinks.
Outside the bar, Richie: “But wait, you put in like $5 more than me.”
Cheer: “Whatever.”
Richie: “But, what if you never see me again? You’ll never get your $5 back.”
Cheer: “Seeing as you just pocketed our change and asked me for more money, I know I’ll never get any money back. Also, I just put in $33 on our $53 total. I paid $13 more.”
Richie: “No comment. Let’s walk.”

Cheer and Richie walk a few blocks before Cheer stops them.

Cheer: “Are we walking with a destination?”
Richie: “I don’t know. Where’s your apartment?”
Cheer glares at Richie: “I don’t know. Where’s your car?”
Richie: “It’s up a few blocks.”
Cheer: “OK.”

Cheer and Richie arrive at Richie’s car.

Richie: “So, can I give you a ride?”
Cheer: “No, thanks.”
Richie: “Really?”
Cheer: “Really.”
Richie: “Then will you sit in my car and talk with me for a minute?”
Cheer: “No, I’m good right here.”
Richie: “Really? This smoking 1997 Pontiac doesn’t make you want to get inside and take all your clothes off?”
Cheer: “No, no it does not. You can’t talk to me here.”
Richie: “But, it’s so…public.”
Cheer: “Exactly.”

Cheer and Richie are quiet for a moment before Richie speaks.

Richie: “Do you know what a posterior fornix is?”
Cheer: “Posterior forn—”
Richie: “It’s this cavity behind the cervix. It’s like, the deepest part of the vagina.”
Cheer: “Why are you talking about this?”
Richie: “I like finding them.”
Cheer: “What?”
Richie: “Well, you know, because it’s so deep, most guys can never get near it. But, I happen to have a cock that’s good for locating posterior fornices. I thought you should know.”
Cheer: “When you mentioned your size earlier, while speaking about supermodel pussy pounding, I held doubt. But now that you’ve mentioned it twice, I know it must be huge.”
Richie: “I’d like to find your posterior fornix.”
Cheer: “Please stop talking.”
Richie: “I bet you’ve never experienced the full pleasures it has to offer. Even if you’ve had some big dick, it wasn’t my big dick, with my superior moves for posterior fornix pleasure.”
Cheer: “I’ve been so deprived. My posterior fornix is wriggling with anticipation of your godly penis. Finally, I found you.”

Richie: “I’m going to abruptly change the subject.”
Cheer: “Good idea.”
Richie: “You look different from your profile.”
Cheer: “And?”
Richie: “And what?”
Cheer: “You’re not supposed to mention that unless you say I look better, or give a compliment indicating your approval of what you see now.”
Richie: “Oh. OK. I really like your boobs.”
Cheer: “Uhhh…”
Richie: “And, mmmm…your hips.”
Cheer: “Thanks?”
Richie: “And your eyes…they’re alright.”
Cheer: “Just alright?”
Richie: “Yeah. But, your boobs. They’re…mmmm…yeah. They’re like a…a…34C? Yeah? No? Maybe D? You’re not a 32. Yeah, maybe a D. Not a double D. Yeah? See, with sizes, it’s complicated, cause like, the actual size of the cup changes depending on the other measurement, so you could be like a 36C or a 34D and I wouldn’t know. Can’t know, really. I slept with this girl once who was a double F. So, naturally, you know, she was a bigger girl. But, in a nice way. I mean, with boob size, there’s big, and then there are those who are just fat. So, you have to exclude the ones who are just fat, cause that’s different. But this girl, she was just bigger.”
Cheer: “OK, well on that note, I’m go—”
Richie: “She had a really nice round ass too.”
Cheer: “Ohhhkay.”
Richie: “Really round. Unnaturally big and round… But I had to stop sleeping with her because she was crazy. So, yeah, bra sizes are weird, cause, like, Victoria’s Secret’s sizes aren’t exactly the same. Those sizes are a little different. So, it’s hard to ever really tell by size, but yours….mmmm…are nice. I like you.”
Cheer: “Oh, joy.”
Richie: “Yeah, you’re pretty cute…and nice…you’re fuckable.”
Cheer: “Wow, I feel like a winner now. I’m so glad I’ve achieved fuckable status with you. I’m going home now.”
Richie: “Awww. No, don’t go yet.”
Cheer: “Yeah, I’m going.”
Richie: “But, now I’m all riled up, with a long drive ahead of me. And you’re leaving? What am I going to do with this hard on?”
Cheer: “Date over.”