If there's attraction, I can't see why.

Ever been quietly going about your existence when from out the ethers of the universe you’re struck with a bolt from the blue? In some circumstances, it might be labeled as an epiphany. In this instance, for I was impacted with one the other night, the word lacks the texture of horror and unwholesomeness of what was experienced.

Namely, how warped other people honestly can be in regards to who they choose as a sexual partner.

This insight was effectively packaged in the form of a man’s companion. This woman was not only sporting the heights of fashion with a tube-top and spandex shorts ensemble matched with glittered suede boots, but was also possessed of sub-dermal hematomas so pronounced it looked as if she’d dunked her arms to the elbow in tar. Sunken eyes, small cuts on her face, jerkiness to her movements; this woman was hardly what anyone would consider the picture of health. Not only that, but I had to stand unaffected by the lube while she muttered a rambling explanation of what sort of lubricant she was looking for that involved repeated mention of nerve damage and a decomposing opossum.

What the bloody frothy fuck?!

And through it all this guy she’s with is blatantly marking time until he can fuck her.

Call me weird, but I require my lovers to be able to give legal consent. I wouldn’t put much faith in her being competent to select a hamburger, let alone play “hide the Vienna sausage”.

Just as if some dude wandered in with a live squid and bought a tube of KY before hitting the arcade or wanted to know which edible body paint would accentuate a coma patient best, I’m personally quite squicked.