From the creators of Super Market MILFs, College SlutHole, and Real Nurses Who Fuck Real Dudes That Actually Exist and Aren’t Actors or Anything, comes the realest website in all of porn. PokePals presents RealiTube. You want reality? Do ya? Well strap on your Descartes hat because mother fucker here it is. RealiTube brings you the closest thing to a real, unadulterated sexual experience in today’s society. Oh that’s right. It’s here and it’s real. In fact, if it was any more real, we’d be reaching out of the computer screen and groping around for your cock like a blind man feeling for the bathroom!!!!
Because PokePals has the utmost respect for our valued customers, we’ll even show you a sample script from one of our brand new RealiTube videos. WARNING: ABOUT TO GET REAL. REALLY REAL. R-R-R-REAL.
“Hi. My name’s Britney. I’m a sophomore at the University of Pennsylvania. I love horseback riding and talking about how my mom’s side of the family is related to William Jennings Bryant.”
Too real for you? Wasn’t ready for that? Well buckle in asshole because we’re turning the realness level all the way up to Dateline NBC!
“…I have slight scoliosis and a serious underbite because when I had braces I never wore my rubber bands. I lug around my Hello Kitty backpack which is mostly filled with old Au Bon Pain napkins.”
SO REAL!!! I mean, come on. If you’re not turned on by a crooked spinal column and an orthodontic flaw you’re probably gay. Either gay or impotent…or you got shot in your own spinal column and are thus incapable of achieving an erection…which I guess is impotent… But ummm with physical therapy and a little luck you may be able to once again have a gratifying sexual experience.
“…You come up to me at the end of our Econ recitation and spit out some really hot conversation starter like ‘S-S-So how was your we-weekend?’ I barely understand you because I can’t stop staring at your untweezed unibrow. Sound emits from our mouths, but no real information is exchanged. Finally you ask me out. I begrudgingly agree. You ask if Friday’s okay. I tell you that I have a Gossip Girl marathon with my roommates on Friday so we’ll have to do Saturday. You passive-aggressively tell me you were supposed to play NYU in Starcraft on Saturday but that you’ll reschedule.”
Hey you! Yeah, you! Are you hard yet? Well, are you?
“…We decide to go to Qdoba because you can’t afford anywhere nicer. You tell me you have a coupon…buy one burrito get one of equal or lesser value free. I show up fifteen minutes late wearing sweatpants and my old library social t-shirt. You ask me what part of Jersey I’m from. I say Central Jersey. You smile way too enthusiastically and say you live in Central Jersey too. Seductively, I lick my chapped lips and ask ‘What county?’ You say Union. I say ‘That’s not Central Jersey, that’s North Jersey.’ You look down at your shoes in palpable embarrassment.”
I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pretty hard.
“…I talk to you for twenty minutes about Twilight. You repeatedly try to change the subject to sports but I just ignore you. I tell you about the guacamole and sour cream caked all over your face. You’ve been a dirty boy. You let out a real artificial chuckle and, voice cracking, ask me to lick it off. I don’t get your joke and tell you that’s disgusting. We sit in silence for five minutes. Eventually, I tell you that I like Chipotle more. I sigh. It’s not a sexy sigh. Then I start coughing uncontrollably and spit phlegm into one of my Au Bon Pain napkins. I’m still getting over a pretty bad cold.”
I’ll be honest I was just fucking with you before. I’m not hard yet. Probably half mast…a little chubby…alright you caught me maybe three-quarters.
“…We finally head back to your place. You fumble with the keys, dropping them on the ground twice because your hands are so clammy. You put the wrong key in the key hole. ‘Whoops’ you giggle, desperately trying to diffuse the situation. Your voice cracks. I contemplate leaving.”
Okay, so for all concerned parties I’m definitely hard now. No ambiguity here.
“…Your couch is covered in opened sour cream and onion potato chip bags. You grab a handful of crumbs and shovel them into your mouth. Without swallowing, you ask me if I want any. I decline the offer. You wipe your hands on your jeans and ask if I want to play Mario Kart ’64. You spend a good fifteen minutes untangling the wires and asking your housemates how to turn to the right input. We start playing. You nervously keep changing positions and I try to ignore the glaringly obvious erection poking through your left pant leg.”
That’s right. I’m harder than a Friday morning Econ quiz that all my friends did well on…You know, come to think of it, maybe I shouldn’t watch porn all night. Maybe I should start reading my Econ textbook…
“…We finally finish playing. I beat you three times as Donkey Kong. You were Princess Peach. I finally say ‘let’s get this over with’ and walk you to your room. You knock on your door. Your roommate’s sitting there scribbling some math equation. You stutter out a request for privacy. Your roommate glares at you and says something in Chinese. Then he storms out of the room, textbook in hand.”
There’s only one thing in my hand…and it’s NOT my Econ textbook.
“…We sit on your bed for five minutes when, while I’m mid sentence, you kiss me. It’s not really a kiss. You pretty much shove your tongue down my esophagus. I smell the lingering scent of old guacamole on your breath. You bite the inside of my cheek. ‘Oww’ I say.”
Ah yes! Here it comes! The moment we’ve all been waiting for.
“…You fumble at my bra like a confused thirteen year old. Finally you pull out a condom that’s been in your wallet for at least nine months and say ‘So do you want to like do it?’I flat out refuse and resign to give you an ambivalent handjob. Your roommate walks in saying ‘Sorry, forgot my calculator.’ Then it’s over. The rest of my time there is spent listening to you give excuses as to why you only lasted a minute and twenty three seconds. I’m a little creeped out that you know the exact duration.”
RealiTube. Coming to an internet near you. So real, it’s embarrassing.
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