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Toronto, August 18, 2017

Well, this is weird. Never thought that I’d be writing a handwritten letter to a complete stranger in 2017.

I don’t believe I’ve bought a stamp (do we still use those, or are they just collectibles now?) or set foot in my post office in the last five years. But I suppose that’s what you get when you decide to earn some extra credit for your resume and sign up for a program that hasn’t evolved since it was created in 1879.

Full disclosure: I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it would help me land a decent job in journalism, but I’ve heard through alumni that this program is the gold standard for newspapers looking to hire and I need to hone my skills. So let’s see how well I do writing these articles . . . It’s nice that we get to choose our topics, though. I might dare a little in my article themes, see how far I can push my research and journalistic writing as if it were actual facts.

My teacher gave me your info last week when he told me I was being paired with a fellow senior attending college in British Columbia. And that’s all I know about you, with your last name and the first letter of your name. It’s the only thing I like so far, the anonymity of it. How mysterious . . .

Hope you have a better excuse than me to do this. If you’re here of your own free will, forget what I just said. I was just kidding, obviously.

I guess I’ll hear from you soon! Hope you’ll enjoy this first article. Starting off strong (it’s a true story).

C.

Attached article

Dating in 2017: When swiping right gets you killed

Chapter One

WOULDN’T COME BACK

Charlee

“What do you mean you lost it?!” I can’t help my voice rising three octaves as I turn around and find the hulk of a man I picked up in the bar tonight staring in horror at his half-wet, half-hard dick.

“I-I don’t know,” the guy stutters in a thick Scottish accent. He’s still holding his penis like he’s afraid it might fall off if he lets it go. “One second I was in ye, and n-next thing I know, it’s—it’s . . . gone.”

I take a deep, controlled breath. This is what happens when you make horny decisions, Charlee. “How does someone lose a condom, though? Wouldn’t you, I don’t know, feel it come off?” Not that I don’t appreciate having access to efficient healthcare while in Europe, but the hospital isn’t where I want to end up tonight.

“You were just feeling so good,” he says, finally dropping his now flaccid dick from his hands and locking his eyes between my opened thighs, his brows knitted together.

If only I could say the same, but alas . . . Although “gifted” could be used to refer to what is hanging between his legs, I would certainly not apply that word to his techniques.

I groan, my head slumping against the mattress. How long do I have until something gets infected? I reach down and push my fingers inside, feeling, probing, searching.

“I think I’m gonna need some help,” I mutter, pressing the heel of my other hand against my eye. “I can’t find it.”

“Aye . . . hmm. Let’s see. Maybe . . . maybe you can get up and jump a bit? Maybe that’ll get it out?”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “Are you fucking serious?”

“I dinnae ken! Gravity and all, no?”

“What I meant,” I enunciate slowly, “is that I need you to help me find it. Come on, big boy. It’s fishing time.”

Scottish Guy turns red at my words, and I would almost feel sorry for asking him to get up close and personal with my vagina on a one-night stand if it weren’t for the fact that he lost his condom inside me.

“Aye, of course.” He kneels down, his mane of strawberry-blond hair the only thing I can see. He licks one finger, and as gently as he can, slides it in.

I wince.

God. Of all the dating stories I’ve accumulated over the years, this one might take the cake. Forget the man who meowed to his cat when the feline jumped on the bed as we were halfway through it. Or the one who kept asking me if I had come yet, like I was some on-demand orgasm machine. Oh! How about the woman who rubbed my clit like she was scrubbing some tough stain she couldn’t get rid of? Nope, still not as bad as right now.

“You need to relax a wee bit if you want me to stand a chance at getting it.”

Need to r—