“Chicken salad on wheat bread,” I told him after I forcefully swallowed a bite I had not finished chewing. All I wanted to do was keep reading my book.
“Maybe you can make lunch for both of us one of these days?” He flashed me a flirtatious grin.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure what you like.” I hedged, hoping he would let it go.
“I’m sure I would like anything you made.” It was a cheesy line but stillsortof sweet. “You know, the women around here are all obsessed with their grandchildren.”
“I couldn’t tell,” I deadpanned him and rolled my eyes.
A brief flicker of something flashed in his gaze, but he quickly snuffed it out. “It’s actually a game of theirs, even if they’d never admit it. They like to one-up each other on who’s the best grandma, which one has the cutest grandkid.”
“Really? Who’s winning?” the disinterest was obvious in my tone, but he pushed on.
“They all think they are, that’s the funny part.”
“Hilarious,” he didn’t notice my sarcasm, which was for the best.
Tyler seemed like a nice enough guy, and handsome too, but he certainly would never be the type who got stuck in my head. I met that person in a library basement and every spare thought I had since was devoted to him. His voice, his face, the strength and grace in his body all stuck in my head like a catchy tune.
My life fell into a neat routine. I went to work, played my part, and went home again. When I lay in my bed alone and lonelier than I ever remembered being, I touched myself to the thought of the library stranger. Embarrassment still streaked through me when I remembered the circumstances of our introduction.
The reason those feelings turned me on couldn’t be healthy, and I couldn’t afford the psychiatric expertise that might explain them to me. He emotionally trussed me up beneath him, and he probably hadn’t thought of me once.
“You’re pathetic,” I told the flushed girl staring at me in the mirror as I cleaned my vibrator and washed my hands. The purple silicone both vibrated my G-spot and sucked my clit and it was by far the best orgasm I ever had. A lot of time passed since I last had sex and my little electric friend had been ridden hard in the meantime.
My college boyfriend, Sam, was the last guy I screwed. I rolled my eyes as I dried off my toy, remembering the poking and prodding he thought of as sex. He was incredibly smart, sweet too—when he wanted to be—but so vanilla he cried after he spanked me the first time. The little pat he gave my ass didn’t even hurt. I never asked him to do it again, as much as I wanted rougher stuff. He wasn’t comfortable, and it’s not right to ask your partner to do thingsthey’re not okay with.
Besides that, he couldn’t tell a clit from a belly button. The orgasms I had with him were weak, and the majority came from me rubbing my clit while he heaved himself inside of me. I laughed at the younger version of myself; the way she loved him, and how heartbroken she was when he left.
I put the sex toy back in the drawer on my nightstand. The horniness plaguing me was barely dented. I needed some real release, a hot guy who would fuck me hard, and leave. A relationship wasn’t what I wanted, or to be in love, but a man who could fuck me hard enough to make me go cross-eyed would do the trick.
I ran over my options, Sadar, Tyler, a handsome man whose name I never learnedand likely would never see again. None of them were viable candidates. I could go to a bar. There was one around the corner from my apartment. It was youthful and hipstery, with fancy gin drinks that tasted like potpourri. I could find some guy there to take home for the night, but what would I say, “Hey, baby, wanna come back to my place for some pussy?”
I shook the thought out of my head, embarrassed by the mere idea. I ran my hands over my sweat-slicked body. I needed to get an air conditioner before it got so hot I didn’t even want to touch myself. A thought occurred to me. There was another option I could try, one that was perfect for a socially awkward, sex-crazed lunatic like myself: the internet.
I went to my computer and opened up a website that had listings for anything and everything. I clicked the section labeled ‘casual meetups’, and ran over the existing posts. A flutter of nerves filled me at the thought of appearing beside professionals like “Mr. Daddy Fat Cock Seeks a Bottom” and “Mistress Juliette wants to Bleed You Dry”.
My hands hovered over the empty template, trying out a few titles before I settled on, “Seeking One-Night Stand, Serious Inquiries Only”. I rolled my eyes at my lack of originality, who would even click on it with more interesting options available.
I’m an attractive brunette, 26, lots of tits and ass, with a small waist. What I want is simple: I’m shy, single, and I need to get laid. I would go to a bar and pick someone up, but that’s not my style. Seeking a man 25-40, fit, good-looking, and able to do the job right.
If I have to do this twice, I will die of embarrassment. You must chat online with me first and exchange pictures, just to prove to me you are who you say. I’m not trying to date you or see inside your soul. I want to make sure you’re not a creep before I invite you over for some steamy, casual sex.
-Tired of Waiting
I waited for a while, but sadly there was no reply. Finally, I crawled into bed, deciding this was just another failed experiment.
I woke up late the next morning and didn’t even glance at my email before I rushed through the apartment, dressing in a flurry, and racing out the door to catch the bus. I clocked in at ten after nine and tried to slip in with no one noticing.
Tyler caught me the moment I walked in. A taunting smile spread across his face. “Hey, pal, running late this morning?”
I looked around the office nervously. I despised being late. “Yeah, I overslept.”
“Come and see me in my office.” I followed him, noticing the way his clothes always seemed to fit him so well. Was I really about to get in trouble? He wasn’t my boss, but his position was above mine. “Sit down, Claire.” He pointed to the chair opposite his desk. Various pictures of him in places around the world decorated his walls. I noticed there was no one else in the pictures, which struck me as odd.
I ignored the thought and did as he asked while I picked at my nail beds, “I’m sorry, Tyler,”
“Don’t be sorry,” he interrupted me, smiling with genuine amusement as he took in my nervous posture. “I’m just updating your clock-in to nine on the dot and giving you an excuse for where you were when Sandra asks.”