Match 1: I want to see. Show me. Spread your legs and take a picture.
I do exactlywhat he asks. The muscles in my thighs are tense as I open them and snap a picture. It looks dark, but you could definitely make out how slick I really am.
Match 1:You look delicious.
Jane: I wish you could taste.
Match 1: Rub your clit for me. Lightly. Close your eyes, dirty girl. Pretend it’s my tongue.
Jane: Okay. And you keep stroking that beautiful cock. Pretend it’s my hand, my mouth, my tongue.
Match 1: If I were there. I’d lick that pussy until you begged me for my dick.
Match 1: Press your fingers inside. Three fingers. Deep. Pretend it’s me.
Jane: I wish you were inside me right now.
Match 1: Fuck, I’m going to come all over this picture of your pussy.
Jane: Yes, I want you to come on my pussy.
My orgasm surprisesthe fuck out of me, slamming through my body so intensely, I turn my face into my pillow to muffle my moans. I bolt up and struggle off the bed, staring wildly at my phone.I just came to a stranger, sexting with me.
Who am I right now?
I pace around my room. My phone pings somewhere under the covers. I can’t believe I just did that. I’m never going to be able to message with this guy again.If he was even a guy. His profile says he’s male, but who really knows? He could be some deranged lunatic from a woman’s prison. Wait, can prisoners make dating profiles?
I throw myself back down on my bed. There’s a layer of sweat over every inch of my skin and my chest is heaving like I’ve run a marathon. Notifications ding, ding, ding on my phone. I have to message him something. No, I don’t. I could delete my profile and pretend I never downloaded the app.
Match 1:That was the most intense orgasm I’ve had in a while.
Jane: Me too and now I don’t know what to write.
Match 1: You don’t have to write anything. And don’t feel awkward.
Match 1: Don’t let this be the last time you message me. I like this. I like you.
Jane: I like our texts too.
Match 1: Good. Then it’s settled. No weirdness.
Jane: You aren’t staying in some maximum-security prison because you chopped up all the dark-haired women you saw one day because they reminded you of your shitty third-grade teacher who used to slap your bottom with her wooden ruler, are you?
Match 1: No, I’m perfectly normal.
Jane: I bet that’s what all the serial killers say.
Match 1: So, what happened tonight that you needed to be out of your head?
Jane: I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what’s going on with me.
Match 1: Did something happen at the singles thing you went to?
Jane: Besides watching my ex leave with another woman? No. A good time seemed to be had by all. I seem to be exempt from any and all enjoyment.
Match 1: Wait. Hold up. He left with another woman?
Jane: He says he didn’t go home with her. But he’s single, he can do what he wants.
