This is a submission to @themarkymark's weekly writing prompt.

This weeks theme is: Your first tinder date.

image source. yes, it's real afaik

Imsosmart

by @dirge

“Your first tinder date? No way. I refuse to believe it.” Zayne chuckled and shook his head. “It’s 2018. You’re a beautiful woman in her twenties. No way.”

Nadia sipped her cocktail. The music in the bar was loud. Too loud. And it never changed from the fast-paced tempo of fuzzed out bass and drums. Zayne, her match for the evening, continued.

“Either way, it’s unusual. I mean, this whole thing is. For example, I’ve never dated a black woman. Never planned to. I prefer to stay inside my anthropological subrace.”

“Really?” Nadia asked. She drank more of the cocktail.

“But your features are more white. I can tell by the bone structure.”

“That’s very…phrenological of you to say.”

“It’s scientific fact. Just like IQ.”

“Sure.”

“So what’s your position on Trump?”

Nadia finished her cocktail and tapped the empty glass on the table. She glanced at the bar, saw the bartender was free then looked back to Zayne. “I’ve got to get another drink. You?”

“I’m still sipping on this heady IPA. Would you like to try it? The floral features really stand out.”

“I’m good.” She left and wandered to the bar. Zayne took the moment to let out a fart and then checked his blockfolio app. Still down. Still down like a cuck. Why the hell did you follow the link memes, you idiot? It’s led by a plebedditor. He gripped his phone then stared at his date ordering her drink. Alcoholic, probably. Degenerate. I mean, why else would a black woman be swiping right on a white man? Zayne stared at her from far, drifting off into his fantasy of leashes and bondage. He was surprised when she asked him what he was thinking about, as she was already at their table, having brought him a beer.

That was a good girl. Bringing your Daddy a beer like that.

“Well?”

“I’m just a bit lost,” Zayne said, sipping his beer. “The music is pretty loud.”

“Well finish your beer and maybe we can head off somewhere else.” She smirked.

Totally into me.

“Why not wear an afro? Why’s your hair short?” Zayne asked.

“Why is your hair parted to the side?”

“I like it like this.”

“There you go.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“Oh. We’re getting close now?”

“Just curious.” The music got even louder, forcing Zayne to lean forward to hear her. Nadia did the same, and their elbows touched on the table.

“I don’t have a family,” she began. “My mother and father are both dead. Car accident.”

“Oh shit. That’s too bad. So you’re all alone?”

“Just me. Orphan in the world.” She turned away. Zayne put his hand on her arm.

“We’re all orphans, you know.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“We’re all eternally separated from ourselves, and one another. We all die alone. It’s obvious to anyone with a high enough IQ.”

“You know,” Nadia leaned closer now, rubbing her fingers on his arm. “This music sucks. Why don’t we go back to my place?”

“Yeah?” His friend between his legs twitched in anticipation.

“Just finish your beers like a good boy and maybe I’ll show you something special tonight.”

Zayne chugged his hoppy, “Bearded Man IPA” and left holding her hand. They flagged a taxi that brought them back to Nadia’s apartment complex in West Atlanta. She scanned her key card at the door then walked in the open-air hallways down to her apartment on the basement level. Zayne praised the architecture, commenting on its similarities to Roman techniques. He was, at this point, trying his best to fight the growing nausea in his stomach. Fucking craft beers these days. Too strong. Nadia opened her apartment with three different keys.

“Terrified of crime?” Zayne asked.

“There’s been a number of break-ins here.”

He stumbled inside and collapsed on the couch. Nadia asked him how he felt. He said he was fine and asked if she had any pot. She told him she’d return in a second. Zayne thought about what she looked like under her clothes. A tight body. Blacks are so athletic. Genetically speaking. But their IQs… He drifted off into a drugged unconsciousness.

He felt her hands and opened his eyes. She straddled him, wearing red lingerie. He rubbed his hands over her smooth, creamy skin. “By the way,” she said. “There’s no such thing as ‘anthropological subrace’. Anthropologists generally define race as a socio-political construct. There's no such thing as a 'subrace'. Humans are one race.”

Zayne leaned forward to kiss her chest. He heard her giggle.

“I have a bit of a kink,” she said.

“Yeah?” He opened his eyes, and for the first time took in the room. He sat on a sofa covered entirely with plastic wrap. As was the rest of the room. Zayne turned his head, and his sight lagged, a feeling similar to opiates and ketamine. He tried to speak but his tongue was dull in his mouth.

“I saw my parents die, you know? And when it happened, they kind of just…exploded. And I know it’s weird but I just like the feeling of being blasted. You know? A proper money shot.”

“Girl…your…fuck…stra…”

Nadia drew the knife with one hand and pushed Zayne’s head back with the other. “Such a high IQ,” she said before slitting his throat, ecstatic as the blood sprayed across her face.