No NDA necessary for a call.
— UAB
I settle on bacon cheeseburgers, unoriginal and done a million times before, but who cares? I swap gouda for cheddar, add some vine-ripened tomatoes to the mix, and grill peppers on the side. After what happened with my video camera, I decide against bringing out my DSLR camera and instead take stills with my phone.
When my post is uploaded and set to go live, I email UAB. I agree to her barren offering. A call on Tuesday at noon, over my lunch and while her “child” is at school.
Briefly, I consider she may be lying about being a single mom in her bio. Maybe that’s fake too? I guess you really never know what’s real and what’s made-up with these online people.
I go for a run, sweating away insane thoughts and notions.
By the time noon arrives on Tuesday, I’ve gone full circle—tossing aside crazy thoughts about a woman I don’t know and then returning to them with a vengeance.
Her post this morning on bullshit maxi pads has me laughing, grabbing my stomach, and wanting more for her life and mine. I wonder how many others feel the same as me. Millions, if I have to guess.
My phone rings with an unknown blocked number.
“Hello?”
“Reid?” Her voice is throaty, sultry. One word, and I’m cooked.
Clearing the frog from my throat, I choke out, “Hi, it’s me.”
“Great. Do you want to just get right into it?”
I picture her hair mussed, a tank strap falling off her shoulder. I don’t even know what she looks like. Blond, curvy, tall—I allow myself to believe.
By the way, is it too soon to say,yes, I do want to get right into it?
Striking all lewd thoughts from my mind, I quickly deduce I need to start dating. I’m strung way too tight if I’m getting hard from a phone call and a sexy voice. Attached to a person I don’t know.
“Um, sure. Do you have a name? It’ll stay between you and me.”
“Sure ... Andrea.”
I don’t know if she’s being straight with me, but I go with it.
“Well, Andrea.” I lean back in my office chair and collect my breath and thoughts. “I’m a teacher, of sorts, and I don’t know if you checked out the site, but it began on a dare.”
“I did,” she breathes back.
Put a fork in me ... she’s been on my site. I wonder for how long, and did she like what she saw? I mean, read?
“At first, it was a small, rinky-dink kind of thing. I’d cook up some sausages and crack open a beer, and it sort of took off.”
“Maybe it has something to do with you doing all of that ... with your shirt off? Pardon my bluntness.”
I chuckle. “I do have a large gay-male following.”
“And women, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” I reluctantly admit. “Most of the time, they drag their men over to my site, but there are a few memes made with me.”
I feel myself blushing. Gathering myself, I decide this isn’t the time to act like a schoolboy.
“It doesn’t really matter who reads it or who is a fan. The numbers are there, and they’re always growing. I know taking myself out of the picture will hurt the site. It won’t be the same, and I don’t know if I can do it. I keep going through the options, and can only come up with two. I can start over anonymously, build a new brand and promote it fromGrill and Groom, pretending it’s not me. But that just ... that feels disingenuous. Otherwise, I can sayfuck itand stay the course.”
It feels good to say these things aloud. To a complete stranger, no less.
