Chapter 7
A FEW HOURS LATER, I WOKE UP. After having my meltdown, I’d crashed on the bed.
My napping dreams had been turbulent. Slutsky was there, nude except for a fig leaf over his crotch, calling to me to paint his portrait. Tank was there, too, with his dorky avatar attached to the body of a grizzly bear. He was beckoning to me with sharp claws to get me to come closer.
I went back and forth debating between them. Slutsky or Tank. Slutsky or Tank. Unobtainable Olympic god or scary sexy bear-dork.
I woke up sweating. What a nightmare! Except for some reason, I was turned on. My breasts were tight and swollen, my hands tingling...I had to squeeze my boobs, arching like a porno actress just to get some relief.
Then somehow my phone was in my hands.
Me: Are you there?
He answered exactly seven minutes later, not that I was pacing and checking my phone religiously or anything.
ThinkTank: Hey
Me: What did I do to deserve that?
ThinkTank: You didn’t do anything.
Me: Why did you say it then?
ThinkTank: Look, it’s late.
Me: You’re seriously going all evasive on me now?
ThinkTank: Fine. You want to know, Cec? I’m jealous. Fucking Slutsky gets your hero worship. I’ve told you I want to fuck you. I’m real. I’m not a figment or a myth. I’m a guy who wants to see your face, your tits. I want to watch your hair come out of that ponytail. I want to see those hands from the video moving on my cock.
ThinkTank: I’ve fucked too many women, Cecily. Women I barely talked to. It’s an embarrassment to me, that I never had time for relationships. Now I meet you, and I want to meet you for real. I’ve been learning you for so long that I have this picture in my head and I feel like an idiot, I don’t even know if it’s remotely accurate.
ThinkTank: The thing that burns is I know if Slutsky asked you to, you’d meet him in a heartbeat.
ThinkTank: But not me. That pisses me off. Maybe we wouldn’t get along. Maybe we’d have no chemistry in person, maybe you’re jerking me over and you really were born before modern electricity. But I won’t know until I see you, hold you, taste you...but it’s all fucked. I just don’t like this shit.
That was it. He just stopped there. I gaped at the phone, absorbing all he was saying, then stared into space. Deeply disturbed by the truths I was hearing.
Me: But if you wanted to meet me, why didn’t you call me?
There was an oddly long wait. Then:
ThinkTank: Meet me and find out.
Me: What????
ThinkTank: Meet me and find out why.
Me: That makes no sense.
ThinkTank: Look, it’s complicated. My life is complicated. I’ve been doing one thing for so long and now I want other things. I’m not sure of all the answers yet. But as far as you’re concerned, I know I want to see you. What about you? Do you want to see me?
This was all very confusing. I fixed on his last question.
Me: Kinda in a huge way. I mean, yes I do. I made a New Years resolution to talk to you. Not to some glamorous sports celeb. YOU.
ThinkTank: No shit.
Me: Shit. I mean yes I did.
I waited. When he said nothing more, I said, You shouldn’t be jealous. Sure Slutsky’s hot. But he’s not REAL, you know? He’s a dream. I know you’re real. I did think you were more like your dorky avatar though. I didn’t think you were a jock.
ThinkTank: I am like my avatar. I don’t like labels.
Me: It’s not me that started using labels, they did. Jocks. Jocks don’t like me. They don’t even see me. I still don’t know what you’d think if you met me.
ThinkTank: I told you, it all depends on your armpits.
Me: Or yours, asshat!!
ThinkTank: So what are you saying? You’ll meet me?
I pulled my hair with my fists.
Me: Maybe
ThinkTank: Hey. Do something for me.
Me: What
ThinkTank: Describe yourself. Your body.
Me: So you can find out all the deets before you meet me? I don't think so.
ThinkTank: No. So I can get off. I’m tired of jerking off imagining some vague woman. Tell me what your tits are like. Your nipples. Pussy. Belly. Ass. Thighs.
Me: Oh no.
ThinkTank: Sext with me, Ponytail.
I gasped for breath.
ThinkTank: Start with your tits.
Me: Um, I have to go lie down now.
ThinkTank: Good idea. I’ll join you.
Me: NOT THAT!! Geez. I meant I’m dizzy. Not sexy lie down. This is freaking me out.
ThinkTank: You shy about the idea? Or turned on?
How did he know? How did the man know these things?
Me: Both?
ThinkTank: Sweet. So strip for me, Cec. Get naked and lie on the bed and palm your tits. Tell me about them.
Me: Aaargh
Me: Eeeerm
Me: Maybe the phone is better. Or a photo.
ThinkTank: No to the phone. Hell yes to the photo.
Me: Called my bluff. No photo. You’ll just have to trust me that I’m not ancient.
ThinkTank: Baby fucking take off your clothes. My cock is a springboard. I mean it. Tell me what your tits are like.
Me: Shit. Like what do you mean, size, color…?
ThinkTank: Don’t fucking care. Just tell me.
Me: OK OK OK hold on.
Oh my god.
Just from the few things he’d said, I was so aroused the insides of my thighs were sticky. This was crazy. I was not what I thought of as the type of girl who’s comfortable sexting. Sexting meant putting into words intimate things you wanted, intimate things you thought. I wasn’t that trusting.
But he’d already told me his intimate thoughts...oh, fuck it. I yanked off the tee shirt I wore as a nightgown, managing to rip new threads off the threadbare old garment. I scrambled into bed.
I might not be ready for this, but my body sure was. My palms found my swollen breasts. I moaned at the brush of my hands on my hard nipples.
I was so on edge. Sexting was supposed to be seductive and provocative. I didn’t know how to do seductive and provocative on a good day, and definitely not in the state I was in.
I stopped and texted:
My breasts are...I don’t know what to say. My nipples hurt right now. That’s all I know. They’re poky and ow.
I lay there with my fists at my sides, feeling idiotic and needy.
Then he texted back: Big or small nipples?
Me: Big, I guess.
ThinkTank: And your tits?
Me: Smallish.
ThinkTank: Thighs and ass...that’s where the twenty pounds is, isn’t it?
Me: And tummy. It’s all kind of just round down there.
ThinkTank: Fucking A. And that little waist of yours...you sound fucking luscious. Pinch your nipples for me. I want to suck them. Mouth is watering.
Me: Tank this is all great but…
ThinkTank: You OK?
Me: I’m just so...um, I don’t want to text anymore.
ThinkTank: You sure? Can you tell me why?
Me: OK I’m, you know.
ThinkTank: ??
Me: Wet
ThinkTank: Ah...tell me how wet, are you swollen, can you smell yourself? Could I smell you if I were over you in missionary?
Me: OH GOD I can’t talk
ThinkTank: You need fingers in your pussy?
Me: Oh god I can’t say it
ThinkTank: Soon, go down there soon, sweetheart, but first tell me...are you wearing the glasses you told me about?
Despite my impatience, I giggled.
Me: You have eyewear fetish?
ThinkTank: Seem to lately.
Me: Yes, wearing them I’m farsighted I need them to read.
ThinkTank: So let’s see if I have this straight. Big glasses, little tits, juicy nipples. Waist like a corset. Handfuls of hips/belly/ass/thighs...oh, and freckles.
I went still with stunned shock. My freckles were my curse. I demanded, How did you know about the freckles?
ThinkTank: They’re all over your back. And arms in the video. I figure they're all over the rest of you too. Shit. Done texting now, Ponytail. Gonna explode.
I didn’t reply. Tank’s explicit words had hurled me into a sex daze. Forget seductive. I let my knees fall apart and went for my clit in an act of pure, clumsy desperation. I was throbbing so bad. I could hear my own frantic sounds as my body wound tighter and tighter. Those kitten mewling sounds I made had me wondering what his voice was like, if he groaned when he jerked off, and what he sounded like in regular conversation. Deep? Smooth? Rough? Husky? I rubbed and squirmed and imagined him and his big, muscled back there with me and on me and I came so hard I yelled.