stalk you, it read. I work in an office about two blocks from where the picture was taken and recognised the view. I’ve been reading your blog for about two months now and wondering who in the hell you were. I’d love to find out in person. It’s not every day I get a chance to meet my fantasy woman. Below is a little something for you to put us both on the same level. Message me – B.’
Her heart in her throat, she clicked the link.
A video came up, frozen for a moment before starting, and then Carrie was looking at a man’s torso. He was well built, lean and muscled, with a tattoo on his shoulder – she couldn’t make out what it was. The screen wobbled, and the next thing she saw was a tanned woman with large breasts. She was on her back, thighs parted to show off a plump mound with a landing strip leading up from dark pussy lips. The camera panned lower, and the man’s cock came into view.
The woman cooed as he worked the tip in. The camera went in and out of focus as he began to fuck her, his cock wetter with each withdrawal. His pace picking up quickly as breathy sounds came across metallic through Carrie’s shitty computer speakers. He pumped hard and deep. The woman’s moans escalated as he reached down to finger her clit.
The video lasted just under five minutes, culminating with the mouth of the woman’s sex throbbing around his dick. He didn’t come. Instead, the camera panned back and displayed his hard erection hovering over the woman’s flushed pussy.
Carrie closed the video and sat unmoving. She was as wet as the woman in the video had been. The heat between her legs was unbearably hot. As always, with the first hint of her arousal she had the compulsion to reach for the camera and perform, but this time she repressed the urge. Instead, she drank her wine and stood. She was so slippery, and a little ashamed that she could feel the wet evidence that what she had seen had turned her on.
Just like she turned her readers on.
She watched the video again, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth as she gazed at the couple. When the video stopped for a second time, Carrie leaned over and clicked on the profile.
Nothing to indicate gender. Nothing at all, just a generic userpic. Not even a location. Aside from the video, ‘B’ didn’t exist.
Is he the messenger? Or is it her? Did it matter?
‘Unless it’s a crank,’ she said to herself as she returned to the kitchen. ‘Anyone familiar with the city would know the clock on sight.’
Another glass of wine. Another deep gulp. Then, a deflated moment of relief.
The clock, yes. Keyes Tower, specifically? No.
She sank back into her chair and went back to the private message.
The only way to know what she was dealing with was to message him or her back.
She hit reply and began to type.
‘Doesn’t put us on the same level. How do I know that’s you in the video. You could have gotten that anywhere.’
Sent.
She was on her third glass of wine when the reply peeped on her phone. She bypassed it and went for the computer.
‘It’s me. Here’s your proof.’
Attached to the message was a picture. Not the full picture, but enough. He stood before a window, naked from the waist up. The same build. The same-shaped tattoo on his shoulder – the mascot of a local university, she could see now. Behind him was a view of one of the harbour bridges.
She was still examining the photo when a second message came through.
‘Not nearly on a par with your cheesecake, but you get the picture. I almost missed the location when I first looked at your pictures. Was in the middle of jerking off when I noticed the clock. Turn your chat on.’
She stared at the screen. She didn’t even know that the website that hosted her blog had an option to chat. She clicked on every menu she could find without success, reaffirming her overall hatred for other forms of social media.
When she found the CHAT ON option hidden in a bar at the bottom of the screen, she hesitated. She knew she should just call the whole thing off, but he had piqued her curiosity. She wanted the bigger picture before she dismissed him. Having no idea how to actually initiate a conversation with him, and not entirely sure she wanted to, Carrie returned to her mailbox.
In the middle of composing her reply, a window popped up.
ACCEPT CHAT FROM BSANDMAN?
‘Eager, aren’t we?’ she muttered and accepted the request, then waited for his first words.
‘Your turn,’
‘Sorry.’
‘Your turn to prove this is really the girl in the pictures.’
Carrie snorted and took another sip of her wine before responding. ‘I don’t have to prove anything. You just want a private show.’
‘It was worth a try. Are you married?’
‘I really don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘Wow. I just want to know you better. You know where I live. Exactly where I live. You could probably stand at the bottom of my building and see me sitting here at the computer.’
It was true, and a bit of a relief. If indeed he was true, he lived in the tallest condo in the North End, not even a five-minute drive from her apartment. She’d been in it a few times when friends rented there. They were old, but nice.
‘Are you married?’ he persisted.
‘No. Currently single.’
‘Any children?’
‘When did this become online dating? You called me out on my blog.’
‘I wouldn’t say I called you out. More like a friendly wave hello.’
‘With your dick.’
‘Did you like it? Not specifically my dick, but the video.’
‘Fantastic. Kudos on not including a cumshot.’
‘Testy testy testy. Sent you another picture. Go look at it.’
Carrie expected full frontal, but instead she found herself looking at a completely casual shot of him sitting fully dressed in front of his computer. Dark hair. Thick eyebrows and the beginnings of a beard. He had a straight mouth that was twisted into a playful smile. He looked comfortable in a black hoodie.
‘Nice,’ she typed
‘Your turn.’
‘Not a chance.’
‘Come on. I’m dying to see the face that goes with that amazing body.’
Carrie
