Fucking An Incel

I met a guy once who said he couldn’t get laid
He hated women on account of his lack of fucking
He worked odd jobs
He didn’t understand what was wrong with him
Why no one would suck his dick
He said he was an incel
An “involuntary celibate”

At the time I was working on bettering myself
Becoming a better person
A good person
And my heart broke for this poor incel gentleman
Why ain’t he getting fucked?
Why indeed

I decided I wanted to help this poor lad.
If I could help even one person,
Wouldn’t that make me a good human?
Isn’t that what morality is all about?
Helping one another?

So I monitored his movements
On Saturdays he hit a bar called the Yellow Squirrel
He’d get sloshed and over tip the bartender

One Saturday I went there dressed as a woman
I spent hours on my make up and outfit
My lips were cranberry red and I wore fishnets and a leopard skin dress that was skin tight

I approached him and struck up a conversation
Talked about his favorite bands and how he wanted to be a comedian and at the first opportunity, dropped drugs in his National Bohemian beer
We chatted for an hour and a half and went back to his place

He was drunk enough to think, as he took me from behind, that my ass was a pussy
When he finished, he began to sob
I waited until he passed out, finished myself off on his belly, and left a note on the dresser signed with a lipstick mark

And with that, he no longer hated women
Or at least I imagine that’s the case
We didn’t keep in touch but sometimes all it takes is a little attention from a stranger in a bar to change your whole world view

This is what it means
To be a good person