“Yeah, it doesn’t necessarily change based on how you’re feeling at the moment. Mine, on the other hand . . .”
I really do not want her to be startled by how much talking like this with her turns me on, but Maya laughs. “Oh. Well, we’re talking about vaginas. So I would definitely expect you would have an erection, if that’s what you’re asking.”
It is, and I feel a wash of relief, along with the powerful need to undo my fly. Something I’ve often had the desire to do while on the phone with Maya, but have always resisted until after.
“Okay, good,” I say. “I didn’t want there to be any surprises.”
She giggles, and the heat spreads to my entire body. Are we really doing this? And if we are, what does it mean?
“All right,” Maya says. “I got the email set up. Hang on while I take a picture.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say, and I hold out the phone and snap a shot. I’m hard as hell and pointed straight up, and when I look at the picture, I’m a little too pointed at the camera. My dick looks almost . . . aggressive? Rudely accusatory?
“Shit,” Maya says. I put her on speaker.
“What?” I say.
“I am not used to this.These pictures are not coming out great.”
I laugh. “Yeah, mine either. It’s like a selfie, I guess. It doesn’t seem like there should be an art to it, but there is.”
“It’s kind of dark down there. I’m going to need to put a lamp between my legs or something. Or use a flash. But that would probably wash me out, and I clearly need a good picture for your objective opinion.”
Oh, god. Are we still pretending this is about objectivity? I’m pretty sure from the tone in her voice that Maya wants naked pictures of me for entirely non-objective reasons.
She can’t think she’s going to send this to me and I’mnotgoing to get off to it, can she?
“Hang on,” I say. “I think I have a selfie stick around here somewhere.”
“Whoa! Do youneedone?”
“It’s for the angle!” I say back, but we’re both laughing now, and it’s definitely charged, like we both know we’re enjoying this a little too much, but it feels so good to be connecting like this, after being so scared this was over. And god, the idea of her spreading her legs for me turns me on, whatever the context.
Is she going to get off looking at pictures of me? If so, I’d better make this a damn good picture.
I find my selfie stick and lie back down on the couch, taking a few different angles. “Okay,” I say. “I’m ready. You?”
“I have now pretty thoroughly flashed my bedside lamp,” she says. “But I think I have something acceptable.”
“Okay. I’m going to text you mine.”
“Oh, great,” Maya says. “So when my sister steals my phone, she can findthaton there.”
“All right, fine,” I say. “I’ll email it instead. From an email that doesn’t have my name on it.That way if anyone sees it, they’ll think it was fromTed.” I pull over my laptop to sign in.
“Um, they definitely won’t think it wasTed,” she says.
There’s a long silence.
“BecauseTed’s white.”
Oh. It shouldn’t matter, probably, but now I’m sitting here, signing into my email, my dick still jutting out of my jeans, and wondering what it means that Maya’s ex-boyfriend is a white dude. Is she not into black guys? Sheseemedinto me that night when we kissed, but was she more attracted to him?
“Sorry,” Maya says. “I probably should have told you that.”
“No, it’s cool,” I say. I’m into my email, and I send the picture over to my computer and attach it. Suddenly, I’m all self-conscious. What if she doesn’t like the picture? What if she regrets this? What if this is just a dumb thing that she’s doing while she’s getting over her breakup with the guy she didn’t feel the need to tell me about to begin with, and later it’s weird and—
“Okay,” Maya says. “I’m ready to send.”
