Chapter 2
HOURS LATER, I LAY IN BED, SQUIRMING. I was incredibly, frustratingly horny, not to mention confused. I’d dated a few guys, had sex a few times, but it wasn’t like my sex drive was overactive or anything.
But now I was thinking about ThinkTank. I kept replaying today’s exchange with him and getting all excited and hyped and turned on for no reason I could see. It wasn’t like we’d even flirted!
I was also recalling other casual exchanges we’d had. Once, I’d been raving about Rafail Slutsky. ThinkTank had quoted my effusive praise and responded, Gush over athletes much?
Only the Slutsker, I’d replied goofily, and linked to my folder with the dozens of drawings I’d done of the swimmer god.
I’d say that amounts to an obsession, he replied back.
Yeah, I’m pretty bad, I admitted. I’ve got more sketches, too. He’s my favorite thing to draw.
Last time I looked he was a guy not a thing, he wrote back. From this I gathered he was a sensitive soul, concerned about the objectification of men, which was rather adorable.
Maybe you’d have to be a girl to get his hottie appeal, I told him. Then I added, Wait, I just realized you might actually be a girl. Then, as if my foot weren’t in my mouth enough already, I added, You can be a girl or a boy, as long as your sexual preference is Rafail Slutsky.
Then I promptly deleted my last four posts.
Hmm, where did your posts go @Slutskys2Hot? he replied. They seem to have all suddenly disappeared.
Can we just pretend they didn’t happen? I posted.
No need ;), he said, winking at me with an emoticon, which I remembered at the time I found all primitive and hot. What can I say? I'm an old-fashioned kind of girl. To that, he added, So what’s the big deal about this guy?
Weeeellll, I wrote back. SINCE you ask...Rafail Slutsky competed three times in the Olympics starting when he was 12 and he earned the silver medal in the 200 freestyle event and the bronze in two other events and he would have won gold in the 50 if not for his asthma! That’s why he quit. He’s awesome. They gave him zillions of sponsorships even though he never got the gold. And he’s super nice, he took care of his twin nieces when his sister got sick. He’s traveled everywhere. He raises money for really cool charities like research for visual impairment and child rescue and environmental shit. Even if you don’t think he’s got the most lickable body in this hemisphere, you have to admit he’s achieved some killer accomplishments in his mere 26 years.
Other people had chimed in too, raving about Slutsky’s stats and measurements—mostly his measurements—but ThinkTank hadn’t seemed impressed. So I’d accused him of being a troll, pointing out that BodyDraw was first and foremost a celebrity fan site. Gawking at hot bodies was what we did.
I then told him if he wanted to diss our gawking, he could go do it on a dissing forum.
He said, Do whatever you want. Me, I’ll focus on improving my drawing skills.
And I replied with, I’m not saying I think about him seriously. He’s like a pretend person. Celebs live in a fantasy universe entirely separate from us mere mortals. People like Slutsky aren’t aware that people like me exist. I can’t even swim, LOL.
NOW, HOURS AFTER MAKING A FOOL of myself in honor of the new year, lying in bed all hot and bothered, my body flushed and pulsing, even my feet tingling, I admitted it. I had a crush on ThinkTank.
It was ridiculous. Who crushes on somebody they've never met—hell, gets physically aroused by someone they've never seen? I mean I hoped he was even a guy. And not too ugly.
He just seemed...wonderful. There was something about the way he talked. Something intense and masculine and tongue-in-cheek that was so sexy.
I needed to take care of these bothersome urges. I slid my hand down my body. For once, I didn’t picture my idol, Rafail Slutsky, while caressing myself. No, as I crooked a finger into the sensitive softness of my sex, it was ThinkTank’s dorky avatar floating around in my mind.
Okay, that was just wrong. I tried to give him a real face and body, imagining him skinny, with just a bit of muscle in his arms—mmm, arm muscles—and maybe a line of flab around his middle. That was kind of silly and sweet. But wrong, somehow.
I rubbed myself with a sigh, mentally switching back to picturing him as the goofy cartoon figure. This time I envisioned myself as a goofy cartoon figure as well, so I would match. It seemed less pervy that way. Wow. Not sexy, though. We just kept going right through each other.
I was so, so, so aroused. Damn ThinkTank and his sexy ways. Frustrated and frantic, I worked my clit, and as I did, the picture in my head morphed without my having any say in it. By the time I started tightening with helpless excitement, it was Rafail Slutsky I was seeing, all abs and quads and glutes and tanned skin, water dripping down his spiritually perfect pecs. So I went with it. Fantasy was fantasy. And after the abysmal fail of today, it looked like fantasy was all I’d be having in my bed for a while.
I DIDN’T CHECK THE BODYDRAW FORUM all day. The frame shop where I worked was insanely busy with after-Christmas sales. I could have checked in during lunch, but I was afraid everyone would be talking about my weird, socially awkward posts to ThinkTank. I had a reputation as a reliable, helpful forum member and I felt like I’d gone into crazy-poster-land. Eight years of rep-building, destroyed like that.
After dinner, I fiddle-farted around with my Wacom, drawing mostly penises, because I was still so horny, but I couldn’t get inspired enough to finish anything worth saving.
Even staring at Rafail Slutsky’s Instagram couldn't lift my spirits.
These were the captions on the images he’d posted:
Me and sister Iona and her girls at New Years Eve fundraiser (Sigh. He was to-die-for in a tux, and those kids in their fancy dresses were so darling.)
Popcorn—that’s what I’ve been missing (Yum—wait, why did that remind me of something?)
My ankle bone
I laughed at the last one. For the last year or so, he hadn’t posted any full-body pictures in a swimsuit, only bizarre shots of his hands and feet...I didn’t mind, mind you. Even his hands and feet were sexy to draw. I had a whole separate file labeled Slutsky’s Extremities on BodyDraw.
Finally, after dinner, I checked the forum.
And I almost fell off my chair. I had to put down my phone and call the forum up on my desktop to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.
But it was true! ThinkTank had PM’d me!
The subject line said, Hey
It wasn't much. The body of the message was simply, What’s your question?
I checked the time. He’d messaged me early this morning, not that long after I’d asked him if I could PM him with a question.
My hands shaking, I typed. I had to do it fast, or I suspected I wouldn’t do it at all.
Oh hi. You said something the other day that made me think we actually live in the same city. I named the city and the neighborhood where I lived, hoping I didn't sound like a complete dunderhead. Then I added, Not that I’m suggesting we meet up or anything. I don’t even know you, like if you’re really a guy or ninety years old or whatever. I just thought I should say something. Anyway, that’s all. I’m glad you had a good holiday and sorry about being weird on the board.
I walked away from my desk and nervously texted my friends.
Mission accomplished. I have PMed the subject. My New Year’s resolution is complete.
Their replies came swiftly, one after the other:
That’s it?
And:
Complete my ass. MEET HIM GIRL.
And:
Uh-huh. Go, Cecily. Womp, womp.
Stop peer-pressuring me, what are you, mean girls? I texted back.
Only Amber, a fellow art major, said, I think you should aim higher. Dream the dream. He could be the one.
Which was sweet, but of course she would say that about aiming higher—her dream was literally to climb mountains.
I returned to the desktop, automatically refreshing the page as I usually did...and my heart skipped a beat when I saw a new message in my inbox from ThinkTank.