erotic drake fiction

Drake sighed. He’d made his way to the Bad part of the internet again. The part where people made fun of him. It was a sick addiction for him, something he tried to avoid but for the life of him just couldn’t. Part of the problem was that no matter where he went — Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, fuck, even Pinterest — the memes would find him. It wasn’t like he was even searching for them most of the time, they just showed up in his frickin’ timeline.

It was a weird feeling, one that Drake thought was specific to himself, to know that people you thought your friends were totally comfortable with making fun of you online even though you would probably see it. It was like talking about someone behind their back, but not caring enough about their feelings to even worry that it might get back to them.

Drake the type to pronounce “Vegas” like “Viggis.” Drake the type to say “Free Snowden” but not know who Snowden is. Drake the type to steal your girl then tell you to win her back ‘cuz y’all belong together.

Occasionally, he’d repost the most popular jokes about himself to his Instagram, or address the existence of them in public, just to show he knew about them and thought they were funny, because by doing this he hoped that people would get bored of making them and stop. But he did not think the memes were funny, and the memes did not stop. Perhaps people could tell he secretly did not think they were funny. His greatest fear was that people just didn’t respect him enough to care either way.

As he changed tabs from a picture of himself as a smug frog peeing with his pants pulled all the way down to one of him with a tennis ball Photoshopped where his hair was supposed to be, he’d decided he’d had enough. Now was not just a time to be alive. It was also a time to jack off. He closed out of Firefox and opened up an incognito window in Chrome.

Ever since he left the city Drake started fucking less and jacking off more. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have any girl he wanted — he could, and anyone who said he couldn’t it was a god damn jealous hater — it was that he had a sneaking suspicion that no one wanted him for who he was. He was “Drake,” with all the connotations that his name and public identity came with, and no pre-sex NDA in the world could stop someone from interpreting every little thing he did in bed as incredibly goofy, and then telling their friends about it.

For a while he’d tried to curb the mockery by being as boring a lay as humanly possible, just sort of sitting there and asking the girl to do all the work, in the hopes that he’d be so unremarkable in the sack that no one would want to talk about it. But it backfired, and people started saying he was bad at sex. Then he decided to concentrate on the girl’s pleasure at the expense of his own. Around the time he stumbled across an image macro of himself that said, Drake the type to eat the pussy and cum without his dick getting touched, he realized that this too was ill-advised. After that he just said “whatever” and started getting freaky with it, but the one time he asked a stripper to finger his butt while he wore a gimp mask, she leaked it to the gossip blogs, and the world said he was trying too hard. It was then that he’d realized that because he was who he was, no woman would ever not make fun of how he fucked. He resolved to never fuck again.

It had been three months since he’d last felt the embrace of a woman, and by now he’d settled into a routine: look at memes of himself to remind himself why he’d taken a vow of celibacy, go to PornHub, start clicking around until he had eight or nine real quality vids loaded up, and get to 6-jerkin his 6-gherkin.

But today, as he hit the PornHub homepage and checked the “Videos Being Watched” area, he saw something terrible. “1–800-THOTLINE-BLING (UNCENSORED DRAKE PARODY).” It hit him in the face like a slap. Trembling, he clicked, and started watching. It was a man, who sort of looked like him, getting his butthole eaten while crying, in a room that sort of looked like the room from the “Hotline Bling” video while “Hotline Bling” played softly in the background. Many times in his life Drake had wondered if it were possible for a man to get the opposite of an erection. Now, he knew. He worried that if he looked away from his dick, it would actually recede inside of his body.

Just then, his cell phone vibrated. It was Serena Williams, asking if he wanted to hang out later.

Sure, he thought to himself. Why not.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.