The Anti-Boyfriend(26)

Carys: Hey.

He responded almost immediately.

Deacon: Hey. Everything okay? You don’t normally text at this hour.

Carys: Everything’s fine. Are you out?

Deacon: I’m in bed, actually.

Carys: Did I wake you?

Deacon: No. I was watching some documentary. What’s up?

My fingers lingered over the keys before I mustered the courage to type.

Carys: Did you look in my box?

Ew. That didn’t come out right. Or maybe that was the perfect lead-in to this awkward-as-fuck conversation.

Of course, he picked up on it.

Deacon: Huh? LOL

Thanks for letting it slide, Deacon. I rephrased.

Carys: I assume you saw what was in the box you dropped off earlier?

My pulse raced as the little dots floated around.

Deacon: Yeah, and I have to say, I’m pretty surprised.

My heart hammered against my chest. But before I could reply, he sent another text.

Deacon: I didn’t take you for a black licorice person. Worst candy ever.

Oh my God.

Carys: Nice try pretending you didn’t see the book.

I shut my eyes tightly and cringed.

Deacon: What book? ;-)

Carys: The winky face gave you away. You know what book.

Deacon: I had no plans to mention it. It’s none of my business.

Carys: I wanted to acknowledge it before you did. I’m a bit embarrassed.

Deacon: I wouldn’t have acknowledged it. And if I did, I certainly would never shame you for reading about something that’s natural. Not only would that be wrong, it would be hypocritical.

Carys: Hypocritical…because you have a similar book? LOL

Deacon: No. Because self-pleasure is one of my pastimes. I’m pretty damn good at it.

Carys: I take it you don’t need a book then.

Deacon: I could WRITE the fucking book.

Well, then…

Carys: I know I don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, but I still feel weird that you saw it.

Deacon: Why?

Carys: Because it makes it seem like I don’t know my way around my own vagina! I’m not totally clueless. I just figured, you know, since it’s just me…I need ways to be motivated. Thought I’d check it out. See what it has to say. It sounded like a good idea at 2AM.

Deacon: Have you read any of it yet?

Carys: No.

Deacon: I thumbed through it.

Shit. This is worse than I thought.

Carys: You did?

Deacon: Yeah. And I don’t think it’s what you need.

Carys: Meaning?

Deacon: You really want to talk about this?

Carys: Aren’t we already?

Deacon: Okay. Just wanted to make sure, because you seemed embarrassed a minute ago.

Carys: I’m over it now. What did you read?

Deacon: That shit’s too clinical. The steps she goes through…there’s too much choreography. Honestly, I was bored when I should have been turned on. Worrying about where the fuck you put your hand is not going to help you get off.

Carys: Yeah. That doesn’t sound like something I have time for.

Deacon: Pretty sure what you need is to relax with a good fucking glass of wine and some hot porn. The book you bought will have you thinking too much. What you need is to NOT think. Getting off is not so much about technique. It’s about losing yourself until you can’t help but touch yourself. When that happens, you don’t give a fuck how you’re doing it.

It suddenly got really hot in my room. My nipples hardened as I reread that last message a few times.

Deacon: That’s just my two cents.

Carys: Is that what you do when you’re alone? Have a glass of wine and watch porn?

Deacon: Occasionally.

Carys: Do you always need porn to get off?

Deacon: No. It’s a mood thing. Sometimes I don’t need it at all.

Carys: Like when?

Deacon: When I’m turned on by someone or something that happened. Or sometimes, I’m just turned on for no reason. If I’m stressed, I might need more assistance.

Carys: I see.

If he only knew how aroused this conversation had made me. Until this very moment, I don’t think I’d realized just how hard up I’d been. The muscles between my legs ached. That was ironic, because it proved his argument. If you were turned on enough, the mechanics didn’t matter. I knew if I touched myself right now, I could make myself come—all because of this conversation and the fact that I was now imagining what Deacon looked like when he pleasured himself.

There was so much more I wanted to know: what exactly turned him on, who had turned him on last, what he thought about in those moments when he made himself come all alone. I didn’t need a freaking book. I needed more of this—but I wouldn’t dare ask for it.

Instead, I chickened out before I made a total fool of myself.

Carys: Headed to bed. Thanks for the chat.

The three dots moved around for a lot longer than usual.

Deacon: Sweet dreams.

*

A couple days later, a box arrived at my apartment. Given my penchant for online spending lately, I once again had no clue what it might contain.

When I opened it and reached inside, I wasn’t even sure what I was holding. It looked to be a pair of men’s leather pants with the ass part cut out.

What the hell?