Me:I’m looking forward to seeing your picture unblurred. It’s not one of those pictures from ten years ago where you look nothing like you do right now, is it?
Match 1: Nope, it’s a recent pic of me, in the worst angle possible. But don’t worry, those young muscular twenty-something profiles that pose shirtless at the beach with their giant biceps have nothing on me.
Me: Lol. Okay, but if we ever meet offline and you look nothing like your picture, you’re buying me drinks until you do.
Match 1: Best online chat message ever.
Match 1: So. Long, dark, wild braided hair, flushed cheeks, and tucked into bed.
Me: Are you trying to get this conversation uprated from PG-13?
Match 1: Honestly, I’d love a little rated-R in my life, it’s been a while.
Me: I totally understand. My sex drive is entirely too high for the amount of sex that I am not having.
Me: Shit, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have sent that.
Match 1: Don’t be sorry, I like that you said that. I feel the same exact way. I totally thought I deserved sex today, but whatever.
Me: I guess the only thing getting tapped tonight is our phone screens.
Match 1: LMAO. How come you’re in bed this early anyway all by yourself?
Me: Who said I was all by myself? I have a lovely bottle of wine with me. And it’s nine o’clock, that’s a perfectly acceptable time to go to bed when one is trying best to adult and not fall asleep while at work, again.
Match 1: I’m currently adulting in a bar with a beer or few.
Me: Oh no, am I bothering you?
Match 1: Hell no. I’m in a bar down the street from where I live, surrounded by a ton of my friends, and the only one I want to talk to is you. I’m also trying to hold myself back, but I’m dying to know what you’re wearing while tucked in your bed.
A dull achethrobs between by thighs as I read his message. I don’t even know what Match 1 looks like, but just the thought of him wondering what I’m wearing has my stomach twisting into knots. I don’t know what to reply. I’m wearing one of Dex’s old Emerson College jerseys with a pair of cotton panties. It’s not sexy at all, but do I want to even sound sexy to this person? Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe not.
I drink more wine.
Me:An old jersey.
Match 1: What old jersey?
Me: Just an old college jersey.
Match 1: What college?
Me: Emerson College.
Match 1: You went to Emerson College?
Me: No. NYU. The jersey isn’t mine.
He doesn’t respond.Maybe he wanted me to say I was wearing something sexier. I tap on the edge of my laptop and wait. God, everyone is right about me, I’m such a Plain Jane. Julia would have this guy over already and be somewhere between her second and fourth orgasm.
Eight minutes later Match 1 messages me again.
Match 1:I closed my bar tab and left the bar. I’m walking/stumbling home.
Me: I thought maybe I said something wrong because you didn’t reply.
Match 1: You said everything perfectly. You always seem to say everything perfectly.
