She posts a mirror selfie on Facebook with the caption: “finally a pic where I look decent lol”
Thirsty dudes in the comments already saying “so pretty” or “no ur beautiful,” and you know there’ll be a dozen of them by midnight. Makes you sick thinking about it.
It’s the same old story. She’s been posting about her breakup with her boyfriend for the last month. Complaining about how she can’t get dicked down steadily on account of quarantine. Pics in her Facebook stories emphasizing her ass as she lays out tanning in her black bikini.
Couldn’t make it more obvious if she posted a photo of herself with the caption “Fuck Meat.”
Anyway, the decent pic.
I roll my eyes because what else are you gonna do? Briefly crosses my mind to hop in her DMs. But no, that’d be too eager. The moment you’re eager she already has your validation and in her mind you might as well not even have a dick. Still, might as well entertain myself.
I comment one word on the pic: “Decent”
No period, because it softens it a little. I don’t “like” the post either, because of course not.
I smile as I imagine her reaction. Then I keep on scrolling and don’t think about it again.
Couple of days later I check my phone at work on break. Turns out I have a pair of messages from her. And they must be images, because I can’t get any preview of the message text.
My oh my. The plot thickens.
I decide not to open it there and then. Facebook will let her see when I open the message. Might as well let her squirm on it for a few hours, checking if I’ve opened it or not.
Plus work is hell on earth and if I wait till the end of the day I’ll at least have something to look forward to.
Few hours later the end of the day comes along. Turn on my phone as I’m headed out to the car. Open up the messages and stop dead in my stride.
It’s a couple pictures of her tits. From slightly different angles. She must have just been getting out of the shower, because you can see water droplets sliding down the curves and her sides, plus her hair is wet. You can barely see her hair though, because she didn’t include her full face in either one. In the second one you can see her lips at least, which is nice.
Well damn. Girlie doesn’t fuck around.
So I text her and we arrange to hang out on Friday.
First weird sign is that she wants me to act like I’m her Uber driver when I pick her up. “I’ll explain later.”
Second weird sign is that once I pick her up she tells me her sugar daddy wouldn’t like it if he knew she was going out with a guy.
And if I had less of a death wish or less of a sex drive I’d have kicked her out right then. But we were already knee-deep in “so good to see you” and “it’s been years since we worked together” and “haha, I’m so new to dating” and “how much was this car?” and “would you have hit on me if I’d been single back then?”
We get to my place and break out the beers. I’m pretty sure sex in the absence of alcohol does not exist.
She starts telling me her life story while I nod and act sympathetic but not too sympathetic.
Lots of complaints about the ex. With enough anger you can tell me and her being together tonight has more to do with him than it does to do with me.
Third weird sign is she tells me she’s been off meth for three months.
Fourth weird sign is she tells me she was arrested at Wal Mart one time for stealing $300 worth of merchandise.
When she’s ready to fuck she just unceremoniously strips down in my living room. When I go to put the condom on she says her tubes are tied and she doesn’t have any diseases. Almost indignant about it, too…
“I know,” I say, but you bet your ass I keep that condom on.
Next morning she starts going on about how we should go get some Ecstasy pills and spend the day rolling together…
As soon as she’s gone I check my apartment. Thoroughly.