Chapter 5
THINKTANK: OR NOT...
Oh, god, fuck me, had I really said "ewwww"?
Had I?
HAD I?
WHYYYYYY...
Why had I deliberately chosen to act like a pre-adolescent girl with the guy I lusted after?
Idiocy?
Or maybe it was...idiocy.
I wracked my brain to recover this situation. I somehow had to show him I was a worldly adult.
Me: I must confess I have never done that before.
I whimpered. Now I sounded like a prim Victorian virgin.
ThinkTank: 24 and never been sexted…
Oh hell. This was way outside my comfort zone. Why even pretend otherwise?
Me: It’s not that. I don’t even know you. You don’t know me.
ThinkTank: Well I think your back is fucking pretty and you make me laugh. That turns me on. You’re single, I’m single...
Me: I never said I was single. You either.
ThinkTank: I don’t have a girlfriend at the moment. I thought you were single. Unless you’re exaggerating when you refer to your nonexistent love life on the forum.
Me: I don’t!!!!!
ThinkTank: You want a link? You say something of the sort at least once a week.
Me: That’s stalking.
ThinkTank: LOLOLOL
Me: What’s so funny?
ThinkTank: You’re one to talk about stalking.
Me: Stalking sports celebrities is not the same thing. It’s expected as part of the social hierarchy. It would almost be rude not to. They know that.
ThinkTank: Dying
ThinkTank: Laughing
Me: It’s not like I stalk you anyway.
ThinkTank: Ahem. Been thinking of you. How was your New Years? Can I PM you? And I quote.
And he had me. Might as well own it.
Me: *blush*
ThinkTank: What do you look like? Describe your face to me.
Me: It’s got two eyes about halfway down my skull, a nose, mouth, and chin at the very bottom.
ThinkTank: Halfway down? For real?
Me: Duh! Study your proportions!!
ThinkTank: So your face is proportional. That’s a start. What else?
Me: Are you sure this is not sexting?
ThinkTank: No. Sexting is saying I’m getting hard just thinking about putting my hands around that tiny waist of yours.
ThinkTank: I wonder if the rest of you is as curvy as the start of your ass looks.
ThinkTank: I imagine your voice is low and sassy. I’d like to hear it while I cup your tits. Are they heavy? Or small?
ThinkTank: That’s sexting.
Me: Uh
Me: Uh
Me: Um
Me: OK I have brown hair long and curly it gets all over everywhere.
Me: But I can’t cut it, it’s my one vanity, but I feel like it doesn’t match my face so I keep it in a ponytail.
Me: My nose is button and my eyes are brown and my mouth is dorky wide and my face is heart-shaped.
Me: The shape of my face along with my cheeks being a little chubby means the last pair of glasses I got makes me look like a bug.
Me: Also I have stupid dimples that only show when I’m annoyed not when I smile, so, not charming.
Me: That’s my face. You asked.
ThinkTank: Cecily…
I had to put my phone down, because of extreme embarrassment. I might as well have sent him a high-resolution picture, with how exposed I felt now. I went and got a drink of water. Then I determined I needed something stronger. I opened up a warm can of beer and grimaced at the taste. Finally I braved peeking at the phone again.
ThinkTank: One question, why is your love life nonexistent? You sound cute to me. What’s the catch here?
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, then text-blurted: I have a mild overbite. I’m probably 20 pounds heavier than anybody with a back like yours has ever dated. Compatibility issues aside, I like my life predictable. Guys always find a way to mess that up.
ThinkTank: Wow. That’s a big assumption about my dating choices.
Me: No assumption. I’ve crushed on jocks before. Besides Slutsky I mean.
Me: But let’s take him as an example. He dates skinny girls. AND he has a back not unlike yours. You guys could be twins in fact. I don’t think I’m stretching very far here to conclude that you’re a jock and you date skinny girls.
ThinkTank: Have to admit I’ve been with a lot of slender women.
Me: Told you. Just like Rafail Slutsky.
ThinkTank: You know Slutsky’s dating preference how exactly?
Me: Instagram Facebook Twitter image search
ThinkTank: You’re a devil with that stalking, aren’t you?
Me: I do all right.
ThinkTank: SMH. I told you I like soft women. Are your 20 extra pounds made of bone? If not, well, I don’t see the problem...
Me: Snort. No, it’s just padding in the usual places.
ThinkTank: Tell me you have buck teeth. I love buck teeth.
Me: They’re a little buck.
ThinkTank: Talk dirty to me some more. ;)
Me: Weirdo!!!! That’s not dirty talk. I’m literally describing my teeth.
ThinkTank: I know. I’m holding back here.
ThinkTank: Fuck it. Cecily...I want to fuck you.
ThinkTank: Tell me your pits are rank and puss-filled.
ThinkTank: Because otherwise, I’m pretty certain I want to fuck you.
ThinkTank: Are they?
I could not for the life of me...for all the tea in China...for every cliche ever...reply to ThinkTank’s shocking statement. For a long time. When I finally did type something, I hoped he assumed I had gone to the bathroom or out for a latte or anything to suggest I routinely had smoking guys tell me via text they wanted to fuck me and it just bored me to tears.
I finally said coyly, That’s for me to know and you to find out.
I paused, reading over that.
And sobbed. So much for trying to flirt like an adult.
ThinkTank: LMFAO
ThinkTank: And there goes my hard-on.
ThinkTank: Oh, wait. There it’s back again.
ThinkTank: Does this mean I like puss-y?
Me: OMG
ThinkTank: In all seriousness you sound intensely fuckable. I don’t think I’ve had such a good time in years. Let’s meet.
And...that was it.
I was done.
Officially knocked off the amateur league by a professional.
I threw myself on my bed and pounded it until I was exhausted. And still it felt like my body was burning up for this funny and sexy-backed guy who I knew would be way more than I could handle, even if he didn’t take one look at me and run away.