Chances are you’ve never seen a boy like my son. But every day 27-year-olds like him walk along the path of the meek in a haphazard, heartless, and hopeless jaunt. You see, my son is sick. He needs your help. And there is only one way to cure him of the disease known as virginity.
So, I beg of you – will someone please sleep with my son?
Were you to look at my son Peter, you would laugh and cry. He is a classic loser: pale, weak, with a ghost face bestrewn in greasy bangs, and the body of a limp stick bug. As you know, every virgin looks this way. But you could change that with one simple, consensual act. For just one lay in one day, you could be his elixir.
To be clear, I would be giving you money. Your simple task? Date my son. Court him. Make him think it’s real.
You might think, what could you possibly have in common with a person like my son? Likely, you would think nothing at all. You would be correct. Chances are, none of you are namby-pambys who live in your parent’s basement. Nor do you subsist off a diet of anime, role playing games, and Funyuns. In fact, if you are a virgin and reading this – go away. This isn’t for you. But, it might be for one of your sexually liberated friends, so pass this along to them.
I’ve told myself that if he doesn’t lose his virginity soon, he could die at any moment. Most virgins I’ve known don’t live past 30. My brother Kyle was one of the lucky ones. He lasted 42 years before the virginity took him. After his suicide I made a promise to myself that I would never lose another loved one to such a senseless death. Virginity truly is not the victimless crime I once thought it was.
It pains me to remember when the doctor told us that Peter would be born a virgin. Soul-crushing barely comes close to describing the agony we felt that day. And yet, his mother and I were forced to accept the weight of knowing that Peter would live a trying, dreadful life. But you could take that weight off him forever, just by putting your weight on his body for a few minutes or so, during sex.
Honestly, one of the hardest pills to swallow is that Peter doesn’t even understand that he flunked out of college, now works at Ruby Tuesday as a host, and goes to sober raves because he’s a virgin. He thinks his life is normal, and I wish I had the willpower to tell him – flatly – that it is not and will never be unless one of you kind souls brings him forward into manhood by interacting with his in the primal ritual.
I’m not asking for much. All I’m asking is for you to look deep in the well of our soul and decide if you want to be the person who forever banishes a wicked plague from an innocent or be the person who knows they could’ve helped, but instead, didn’t have sex with my son.
Did I mention I’d pay you? $1,000 a day, for 365 days. You’d net $365,000 in cold, hard cash. That’s a lot of O’s to ensure my son has his first O with a human being before he turns 30.
To be clear, I would be giving you money. Your simple task? Date my son. Court him. Make him think it’s real. It has to feel real. Then, after he has experienced a doctored-but-seemingly-natural companionship over the course of a calendar year, have consensual sex with him. Lastly, make sure you produce an heir. Pretty straightforward stuff.
You may think I’m monster asking for this, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I care about him more than anything else in the world. I’m doing this for him. And if I could fix this problem myself I would. Unfortunately we don’t live in a universe where that’s okay, which is why I need your help. But seriously, if it was kosher, this wouldn’t even have been an issue.
Just pick up the phone and call 877-867-5309. If I don’t answer, leave your name, number, sexual history (number of partners, fringe sexual activity experience, perceived sexual ability ranked from 1-10), and a web address to your college transcript proving you have a Bachelor’s Degree.
After all, this is the fate of my son we’re talking about.