Me: Are you drunk?
Match 1: No. But buzzed enough to want to ask you to unbutton the jersey and let it hang open for me.
Me: I’m a little buzzed too and it’s actually already open.
Match 1: Jesus. I have this intense image of you in my head right now, sitting on your bed. You’re leaning back against your headboard, a long thick braid falling over your left shoulder. You’re wearing an old worn jersey, hanging wide open, your breasts peeking out. I bet your nipples are large and pink. They’re hard too, pebbled to peaks and heavy. Your laptop is balanced on your legs, the warmth of its bottom burning your thighs.
It’screepy how on point he really is. I down another glass of wine and warmth mushrooms out across my body.
Match 1:Maybe you’re squirming under your covers from reading this, fisting the sheets that fall between your legs.
Match 1: Maybe your heart is racing because it seems too close to reality and you’re sitting and doing exactly what I’m imagining you’re doing.
Match 1: I’m going to stop right here for tonight. Because maybe I am a little too buzzed to talk to you like this and I think it’s better if I stop right now.
Me: If that’s what you want.
Match 1: What I want is for you to spread open that jersey and show me every inch of you. The color of your nipples and the slope of your belly and how wet you are. So, I think I need to stop now, because I don’t want to ruin whatever this crazy anonymous friendship is by my beer-infused fantasies.
My heart isdrumming and my chest tightens. I liked reading that. I liked it a little too much.
Match 1: Fuck. I must sound like a horny teenager. I’m sorry.
Me: Don’t be. I liked the things you said, but that isn’t normal for me. I guess I just like feeling wanted right now, even if you’ve never seen me.
Match 1: I bet you’re gorgeous.
Me: I’m pretty, but definitely not what anyone has ever thought of as gorgeous.
Match 1: Lies. Didn’t your ex ever call you gorgeous?
Me: I’m sure he thought I was cute, but the word gorgeous I’d probably use for someone like my best friend, Julia. She’s stunning. I told you the whole story already. My ex was into her at first, not me.
Match 1: I bet you’re probably wrong about that.
Me: Lol. I’m not. He and I hated each other at first, but we became friends because the people we wanted to be with didn’t want to be with us, so he got stuck with me.
Match 1: You think your ex was with you because he got stuck with you?
Me: Definitely.
Match 1: Did he say that to you or is that just your view of it?
Me: Why do we always end up messaging about our exes? We have to get over them! At least I have to get over mine. He’s over me already.
I’mon my fourth glass of wine and grimacing as I tap away at my keyboard. I want to get back to him talking about my nipples. How did Dex sneak into this conversation?
Match 1:Your ex is a dick if he made you ever feel like that.
Me: Whyyyyyy are we talking about this? Read this in a whiny voice, okay?
Match 1: Because you obviously still need to vent about him. What did he do that made you think you weren’t gorgeous? Or that he’s over you?
Me: Nothing. He was perfect. And I don’t want to talk about him.
Match 1: Okay. But you don’t have three heads and warts all over your face, do you?
Me: Just the one head, no warts.
