EXCERPT #2
CHAPTER TWO
P
The ad titled ‘sick of being a virgin’ captures my attention immediately. It’s written by a guy in his twenties who explains in the understatement of the century that he’s never had much luck with relationships: he’s never been with anyone. I have trouble focusing on the entire text because his profile picture keeps inviting me to stare.
His eyes hold me like a deer caught in headlights. He’s got a bit of a hipster thing going with slightly too long, light brown hair and a goatee. How the hell did he make it this far without so much as a date? Not even a kiss. What’s the catch?
I’ve no choice: this ad, the timing. It’s all a sign, I was meant to find his profile. I nearly forget to breathe when I see his location, barely twenty minutes away from me. Perfect; I must try to pursue him.
It looks like he has spent quite some time fleshing out his profile; he’s trying to give this site a good go while also remaining anonymous beyond his picture and location. His name isn’t mentioned anywhere and that suits me just fine. To me he’s a concept: a few pictures and an assortment of likes, dislikes and worries, but not quite yet a fully formed person.
Supply and demand; he wants a certain experience, as do I. Really, the less I know the better, if I’m going to be successful and avoid emotional entanglement along the way.
He writes that he worries he’d disappoint and has considered visiting an escort, but so far not gone through with that plan. His fear is that all other guys are experienced, whereas he so obviously isn’t. That can change, sweetheart, and no payment will be needed. He blames his lack of game on his larger physique which practically breaks my heart. Whoever led him to believe that was not just cruel, but mistaken as far as I’m concerned.
I keep hovering over the message button. Or should I just send him a friend request? I wish I knew what would be the right way of handling this, but I doubt anyone’s ever written a self-help book on this topic. ‘How to hook up with a virgin on Fetlife’. Too bad, I’d love to read it.
Instead of acting on my impulses straightaway, I decide to grab myself a glass of wine and think. Willing and nearby virgins don’t grow on trees I imagine, not of this calibre anyway. I can’t afford to fuck this up.
Finally I take a deep breath and type out a message to him. Perhaps it would be best to just be honest. The wine is starting to give me a pleasant buzz by now, which definitely helps.
Hi, I read your personal ad and felt compelled to respond. Just as many men would love to be someone’s first, the opposite can be true as well. And frankly I’m surprised you’ve not had more luck so far, because I think you’re very attractive. If you like, send me a friend request and perhaps we could see where this goes?
Too forward or not enough? I can’t decide if I come across as an idiot and decide to just send it before heading to the kitchen for a refill. Chilled white wine isn’t the best drink for this cold weather. Or perhaps it’s the nerves giving me shivers.
Sitting back down with the full glass in hand, I notice one notification: a request. I guess maybe he doesn’t think I’m that much of an idiot after all. Although my heart is racing, my nerves are dulled just enough to transform my earlier anxiety into excitement.
When I hit ‘accept’, his name appears in the little chat box to the side of the page, but I don’t get the chance to think about it too much. His profile reveals extra photographs which weren’t available before and I’m hopelessly distracted. Oh my, I can see why he would’ve set them to be hidden from his public profile because by the end, nothing is left to the imagination.
They say women are less visual than men, and while that may be true, I can certainly appreciate the view. He’s beautiful in a way that an airbrushed underwear model could never be. My wish of wanting something new and totally unlike Jeff may just turn into reality. Jeff was skinnier than average and very boyish and hairless, this guy looks more towards the other end of the spectrum on both counts. If he were gay, I guess he might be referred to as a bear.
It hits me that I’ve spent years being very naive about my sexuality. I never looked at anyone with quite the same mind-set as what I’m doing now and it surprises me how aroused I’m becoming.
Taking a sip from my glass, I’m having a hard time looking away. Not only could I imagine myself having sex with him—which in itself is out of character for me—I am already obsessively fantasising about it. Merely the thought of what it might feel like to touch his chest is starting to make me wet.
I’m done for; I’ve found my first mark.
A chat window pops up with just one solitary word in it. “Hi.”
Before I know it, the wine is set down and my fingers are moving over the keyboard in crazed excitement. Must remember the cover story and not be a cow. It would be a crying shame if this one got away.
“Hey, handsome! Thanks for friending me, I’m finding it impossible to stop looking at your pic, you’re insanely cute...”
“Yeah right. Bet you haven’t seen any beyond my profile pic or you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“Oh no, I’ve seen ’em. Believe me, you’re gorgeous. All over.”
There is a pause before he starts to type again.
“Your shot, is that really you?”
“Yeah. Just you know, wearing a mask so I don’t get myself in trouble... Why?”
“Despite that, I didn’t expect to be complimented by someone like you. Am half expecting you to turn out to be a guy...”
“No way. I’m going to assume that’s a good thing.”
“Definitely.”
After the initial flurry of words exchanged between us, I suddenly struggle to think of any small talk at all.
“Have you had a lot of responses to that ad?” It’s the best I could come up with.
“I’ve only put it up last week, but no, not really. I mean there were a couple of messages but nothing serious. Dunno what I was expecting.”
“Don’t take this wrong, but I’m relieved not to have competition...”
My heartbeat shows no signs of slowing. Really, I would’ve been quite disappointed if someone else had gotten to him before me. I’m not sure what fuels my fascination, but the thought of being a first for someone consumes me. I’ve never had that opportunity; my first time was with a guy who was quite a bit more experienced. And I probably wouldn’t have known what to do anyway.
But I would know this time. I want to show him things he hasn’t experienced before. Hopefully the opportunity will be mine if all goes well.
“Have you been married long?” He’s read the profile, suppose that’s a good sign...
“A few years.” Sally had advised me to stick to a story as close to the truth as possible so I’d be modelling my fake marriage on the near-four-year relationship with Jeff.
“I hope you don’t think I’m a bitch for talking to you while married. I’m fine with the way things are between us, but physically I just need more... I’ve been playing with the idea for a while and finally decided to sign up on here to experiment a bit.”
“Actually, the fact that it’s so secret and forbidden is... interesting. A turn on. He doesn’t know what you’re up to at all?”
“No, this is just for me. He won’t find out, his job takes him on the road a lot.” I hope we can move past this topic soon so I don’t need to keep track of tons of backstory.
“Right.”
“So tell me about yourself, what are you looking for?”
“I guess same as everyone else. Just to not be alone. I mean I’ve got plenty of friends, including girls. But somehow...”
“Ah, the dreaded friend zone. I can see how that would be frustrating.”
“You can only hear ‘I don’t think of you that way’ so many times before giving up.”
“Yeah, it’s hard to change friendship into something more, but it does happen. It did for me.”
“I dunno.”
“The problem is you start off over familiar, there is no mystery.”
“Or, since all of ’em tend to date jocks, there just isn’t any demand for guys like me.”
It hurts to admit it to myself but I know he’s right, at least as far as society as a whole is concerned. I want to tell him that’s only true for shallow girls, but that would be hypocritical since I’m equally picky. Though I honestly am attracted to him just as he is, it was his face that drew me in. I’m a total sucker for a handsome face, or so I’ve discovered just now. Had he not had that, would I have given his ad a second look? I like to think it would not have made a difference but I may be deluding myself.
“Bullshit. It’s all about attitude,” I finally write.
“I’ve always been shy. Not sure that can change.” I hope it can, for my own sake as well as his.
“We shall see...”
“Hey, I just realised I was meant to go out tonight. My friends will be waiting. Nice chatting to you, perhaps we can pick this up again soon?”
Did I scare him away? I certainly hope not.
“Oh, sure. Don’t let me keep you. See you around.”
“Later.” He goes offline straightaway.
I’m left alone in front of the PC, wondering if it’s pervy to keep going back to his photos in between reading his blog posts. He bares all, his worries and fears as well as obviously his clothes. It is just about attitude, I’m sure of it now. Most girls don’t want to date a needy guy, they don’t want to pick up the pieces after years of rejection and put them back together, over and over again. They can sense desperation from a mile away.
But I’m not looking for a relationship, just an experience. And I’m not most girls either. Actually yes, I’d love to make a difference and show him that he can instil at least as much passion in someone as any gym nut. I want to convince him he’s desirable, so we both get something out of this hook-up. I will have had my virgin. Hopefully he will gain a new outlook in his love life, or at least learn a few tricks in bed to help his confidence.
All this seems like a win-win to me. I just hope he feels the same way. Just one last look at his photographs before bedtime. And another. I want him, badly. My hand has a mind of its own and I decide not to worry about whether I’m acting like a crazy online stalker.
I bring myself to orgasm swiftly with my fingers.
Fantasies of his naked flesh pressed up against me stay with me even beyond my release. Wonder if his chest hair would tickle me, or not. I’m sure other than that he’d be pretty soft all over, it would be a nice change. I think I’d prefer a bit of padding after four years of skinny, bony Jeff.
The next morning, I wake up still a bit fuzzy from excesses past. Too much wine, I’m such a lightweight. I’ve nothing planned for this entire weekend, so the first thing I do is listen to my inner longing and turn on the PC. Surely he wouldn’t have been that interested, would he? It’s just me who’s obsessed.
When I log in, I’m greeted by a message. I’ve been getting a lot of those lately from random men wanting to befriend me. But not this time, he sent it around two a.m.
Hi,
Sorry to just run off on you earlier. I just reached back home, hoping that perhaps you’d be up late too. I apologise if this is weird, but I kept thinking about you all night. Maybe you were just being nice, but it’s driving me crazy that you could actually be interested. It’s unexpected. Your photo is very beautiful, wish I could see the rest of your face but even so, you seem way out of my league. Again, sorry if this is inappropriate. I may have had a few...
P.S. thanks for the lovely comments you left.
I’m thrilled. I didn’t misread our chat, I didn’t put him off. But, what comments? As I’ve done so many times before, I open up his profile and attempt to retrace my obsessive actions from last night.
Oh fuck, there it is. A gushing message sprawling over multiple paragraphs right underneath one of his most recent blog posts. I wrote (again and again) that he’s beautiful. That if someone took the time to really see who he is, they’d be lucky to have him. And that I want his virginity, delivered to me on a silver platter.
Right, how drunk was I? I suppose he will have been too, or this whole thing may have gone down differently. This is embarrassing, and yet I can’t deny that I still feel the same.
Before I’m able to continue analysing myself or his message, he appears in chat. Damn, where do I even start?
“Hey :)” he starts.
“Oh hi, what’s up?”
“Nothing much, bit of a headache.”
“Yeah I can relate. So what did you get up to last night?” I ask.
“Just went out. Open mic night where one of my mates was performing with his band.”
“That sounds awesome.” I wonder if it would be weird to bring up his message, or my drunken comments. Should I make some sort of apology?
“Yeah. I found it a little hard to focus though...”
“Why’s that?” I tease.
There’s a bit of a pause before he answers.
“Well, our little chat earlier had me... distracted.”
“I have to admit, I’ve been distracted as well... So, I should ask, what are you hoping to get out of this whole ad thing?”
“Umm, honestly? Maybe not so different from what you seem to want. Experiences. I feel like I should’ve you know... done it by now. If I end up dating someone, how the hell do I explain? I’d need to know what to do, know what I mean?”
“Yeah, experiences sound about right. So in short you’re after some instruction as well?” I ask.
“I guess, yeah. I get that most people would be nervous the first time round, but maybe I’ve been obsessing about it so much over the years, I’d be an absolute basket case.”
“Somehow I doubt that. It’d be totally fine.” Yeah, because I’d be pretty fucking nervous as well.
“Would you be into that, like with someone who’s pretty much clueless?”
“I think I’d welcome the chance to feel all knowledgeable. That looks pretty stupid now that I’ve typed it out...” It feels stupid too.
“Not at all.”
I can see him typing and stopping a few times, so I decide to wait and see what he’s trying to say before responding myself. After about a minute, the next message shows up and it nearly makes me choke on my own breath.
“Would you like to meet up?”
I stare at the text on the screen for a while, my heart pounding in my throat. Yes, yes I do! But I don’t even know you. What if...
When I put my fingers back onto the keyboard, they visibly tremble.
“I’d like to, but I’m a bit scared. What if my husband finds out?” My cover story provides a convenient excuse, but actually I am just terrified that things might go wrong. I suddenly feel like I have a lot to lose; that I can’t be the confident temptress I had pretended to be online and all would fall apart if we meet.
Almost straightaway a response arrives.
“I knew it. Never mind then.”
Hang on, this isn’t what I wanted. I need some kind of encouragement that things would turn out OK, not for him to give up.
“That’s not what I meant, I’m just apprehensive. Suddenly it seems it’s not all that simple.”
“You don’t have to sugar coat it. I understand. It’s not the first time and I don’t even know why I thought this would turn out differently. Just forget it.” No sooner does the message arrive, than he goes offline.
Oh fuck, now I’ve done it.
I sit around for a while, feeling incredibly torn and upset. The sensible part of my brain is telling me that it’s all for the best if this goes no further. Yet I feel so frustrated, that I could happily throw my laptop out of the window. I’m furious at myself for cowardly backing down, and guilt-ridden for making him feel like I’d rejected him. This isn’t how I had planned to celebrate my singledom, is it? None of the things on the list stood out as much as this one and yet I fail at the first hurdle?
No. I won’t accept defeat. After a few deep breaths, I open up his profile and compose a new private message. Time to take back control of the situation.
I know how my messages came across and I’m sorry, but your assumptions are wrong. If you’re free on Saturday, please let me know where & when and I’ll be there, bearing in mind the following:
1. There will be no obligations for either of us; we can say no at any time if we’re not feeling it.
2. I don’t just sleep with strangers, so I expect to be taken on a date first. I’ll have a hotel room booked so we have a relatively neutral place to retreat to in case things go well.
3. Be clean and well groomed; I expect you to make an effort to look nice for me. (To avoid any confusion, I mean common-sense stuff like taking a shower, clipping your nails and brushing your teeth etc. No need to worry about body hair.)
4. I like for a man to make the first move. To help you along, remember that I won’t make ANY physical contact unless I am open to more.
5. You’re bringing the condoms.
Send.
A cold chill travels down my spine when I realise that there is no turning back now. Time to put my money where my mouth is; I told him I want him, it’s only fair that I show it. And to ensure I don’t screw things up, I’ll only keep an eye on messages but stay away from the chat until the deed is done.
It’s Sunday morning and the chat and resulting message are still very much on my mind. Worried that he might not take me seriously, I’m apprehensive about checking my inbox where his response awaits.
Wow, OK. I clearly overreacted, the conversation just seemed to be going in a direction I had seen a few too many times lately, how embarrassing! Please accept my apologies.
How about 2pm at Cineworld?
Damn I’m nervous already (excited too though!), hope you were truthful on your profile about liking shy guys because I’m afraid that’s pretty much exactly what you’re going to get... And I’ll do my best to follow your instructions but might struggle with point 4.
He has no idea I’m going to be equally terrified, which is kind of sweet. I can only hope that he’s as easy to talk to in person as online, and things will somehow naturally progress without too much awkwardness. In any case I’m pleased he’s proposing to meet at a cinema, if the conversation stalls at least we’ll have a movie to talk about.
I respond straight to the point with simply ‘See you then x’ and log off again after having a last nose around his profile page. He really is bloody cute, no matter what other girls have led him to believe. The last thing I see before closing my browser is his most recent status update; ‘Date on Saturday, wish me luck!’ My heart skips a few beats.
The week passes in a blur, though I try not to obsess too much. Seeing Sally at work helps, because I get the chance to spill all that’s happened so far and she seems more excited than I am. This fear is hard to overcome.
We both agree that what’s needed is some retail therapy to calm me down. After demanding that he makes an effort for me, it’s only fair that I do the same. A new outfit is required: new clothes for a new me. I must make a good impression; it’s not every day that one tries to live out a near lifelong fantasy.
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