There are two more pictures attached to my profile—one of my cleavage and one of my ass, which is only covered by the narrow V of my tanga. Alright, I take it back. My drunk self can go to hell. Before it’s out there any longer, I head to the settings and remove the two extra pics, scolding myself internally. At least we used a fake name—Jessica.
Gathering my courage, I read the description Hana and I came up with. Oh, God… It’s bad.
“Down to fuck with a man who has a Jacob’s ladder. Please, only DM me if you have one. Otherwise, abstain,” I read aloud, in case she forgot as well.
“Did it work?”
“Too well. I have 153 messages.”
“I told you it would,” she brags with a proud grin.
Mortified, I open the app’s inbox, wondering what kind of desperate creatures my profile attracted. The first message is a very poorly executed dick pic.
“Ew,” I let out with disgust.
“Damn, that is one ugly dong,” Hana says with unmasked amusement.
“And it’s not even pierced.”
“Men will use every opportunity they get to show their dicks.”
The other messages I open aren’t any better. By the twentieth, I’m certain I won’t go through with that stupid bucket list thing. This is providing terrifying insight into the dating pool out there, and if this is my alternative to being single, I’ll get myself a couple of cats and call it a day. These men are pigs and the odds that I’ll ever let another one inside me are getting slimmer with every dick pic.
The one that takes the cake is a picture with a spunk-covered hand with an attached message that brings back my nausea at once. “Look at what your ass did to me, you dirty, dirty slut,” I read, scandalized. “Okay, I’m done.”
“No, keep going!”
“This is turning me gay, Hana. I swear, I’ve never been as unattracted to men as I am right now.”
“Do you want me to open them so you won’t see how they defiled that beautiful bum of yours?”
Since there is no better alternative, I hand her the phone. While she scrolls through the many messages, I twist to collect the charger’s cable to plug it in. “Okay, this one has potential,” she says after a few minutes have passed.
She shoves the phone in my face and I read the message, reassured to see it isn’t another inappropriate picture.
Eli
Hey, I don’t have a Jacob’s, but my best bud does. Let me know if you’re interested and I’ll set you two up!
“Well, that looks promising,” I say.
“Right? He’s the only one who wasn’t downright sexual and trying to get into your panties.”
“And he has good grammar.”
I visit the man’s profile to get a better idea of what he might be like. Eli, 31, apparently lives in Brooklyn. He looks like a decent guy and gets bonus points for not having a picture of himself with a fish. His light chestnut hair, a little too long in every picture, matches his eyes, which have something in them that beckons trust.
“Too bad it was all for nothing,” I let out, throwing the phone on the covers.
“What?!”
“Oh, come on. It was a stupid, drunken idea. There’s no way I’ll go through with it.”
“It’s not like you’re committing to anything,” she carefully argues. “You can meet up with that guy and decide whether or not you want to go further.”
Ugh, that sounds time consuming.“I don’t like sex enough to go through all that.”
“Then you’ve never had great sex, Gen, because it’sdefinitelyworth it.”
