Bad Sex

The hot, sticky night wafted in through the open window. Atop the bed, eyes focused on the cracks in the ceiling. Whole body tense, eyes shut, fingers working toward a release that refused to come. The fake moans of the porn played out as the video ended...and with frustration, the hands came out from the underwear and palms rubbed against tired, hot eyes.

"I need to get fucked," Sam said.

Singledom had been Sam's lot for months now. Straight out of college, the job offer had been a lifeline—a chance to get started. The only drawback had been the move, away from everyone and everything. Money enough to rent a shitty little house, to live on their own—but not enough time to date. Masturbation had been the only relief, but as the weeks stretched into month, even that had lost its appeal. The same old videos didn't elicit the same excitement they once did; new search terms and tags had provided only modest relief. Sam had tried changing positions, toys...

It was no good. The erotic imagination had been drained, the hand numb and half-crabbed with repetitive motions. Climax refused to come. During hot, sweaty nights, Sam had hoped for a wet dream...and erotic nightmare...but nothing worked. Nothing came.

Sam needed a real human being...and they were too fucking tired to piss around with dating. Getting to know someone. Buying drinks and dinner and pretending to give a fuck about them. They needed something more than a whore but less than a girlfriend. No pretenses. Someone as absolutely horny and as Sam was.

A finger slid across the screen of Sam's phone. The Fuckr app flicked into life.

Not dating apps. No swiping left or right. No being picky. A matching service where you pressed the button and the algorithm matched you with someone down to fuck near by...and that was it. That was the one rule of Fuckr. Whoever it was, you had to fuck them. If you refused to fuck your partner, you were kicked from the app. It didn't matter if it was a good fuck, or a happy fuck, or if anybody was satisfied...but if you didn't fuck them, you were cut off. No more fucking for you.

Fuckr was a service for serious fuckers only, then. Not dilettantes that would be put off by race or religion or acne. An app for thirty-year-old-virgins, balding bachelors, chain-smoking MILFs with sagging tits and bellies, rapists too lazy to hunt, and probably cultists looking for the next sacrifice. It was the last resort for the terminally , the last-chance gamblers in the game of sex. Sam had signed up, submitted the health documentation, and paid the fee, hoping the day would never come.

Except Sam had reached the point where anything with a pulse would do. Limbs had suddenly become optional extras. Coyote ugly moments and strange fetishes were suddenly preferable to spending yet another night alone and unable to get off. Amateur blowjobs and broken condoms were better than another night in the purgatory of sexual frustration.

Even bad sex was better than no sex.

Sam stabbed down on the button that marked the sole choice the Fuckr app allowed.