I don't know why, but whether I'm horny, satisfied, single, or seeing somebody, I've always found those short little ads in the "Casual Encounters" section on my local classified site fascinating. It seems like you can find anything there, people from all walks of life, with all sorts of different attitudes, and no end of different requests, needs, wants and desires. I'd never gone any further than just clicking idly through, and really, I never intended to go any further. Sometimes, though, the abyss looks deeper into you than you expect.
I sat in bed, laptop in my lap, surfing quietly through the internet. The semester had just ended, but the responsibilities of summer hadn't quite set in, so I was left with more time than obligation, and little on my plate for the day. Having already surfed my normal inventory of pages to check several times, I navigated over to the local classifieds, right into "Casual Encounters". I was single and I'd been in a dry spell for the better part of three months, but I'd never considered looking online, except for amusement and a good sociological case study. I guess I've just always been too much of a romantic, and perhaps a bit too cautious, having heard horror stories enough. But, there's never harm in window shopping.
With a wry grin, I clicked into "Women for Men" and started to skim. The usual archetypes jumped out at me almost immediately. As always, right towards the top, a commitment-phobe, probably using a fake name, wanting to meet at an airport bar for some fun ("NO strings!!"). Below that, a call-girl trying to blend in ("I'm only in town for a couple of days, and I'd love to spend some time with YOU.") Further down the page, a few damaged goods ads ("single mom tired of dating"), a few cheaters ("discretion a MUST") and a no shortage of women who don't seem to understand that even if Mr. Right exists and is desperately searching for a 36 year old divorcee, he won't be reading this board. Then, you get the girls whose ads read like Penthouse forum letters, the self-described "nymphos", ready to meet anybody, anywhere, just because they "need cock". Oddly enough, they seldom say anything about "clean" or "condoms", which makes it easy enough for my brain to convince my cock of how bad an idea that would be.
Occasionally, you'll stumble upon something different mixed in with the vast sea of ads posted by nameless and faceless stereotypes and disorders. These are the ads that don't look like they've been posted five times this week, where just enough personality, maybe even thought, shows through to intrigue you. These are the posts where a single read tells you everything you need to know about the poster. Sometimes, it tells you that you're only an email away from a lifetime supply of crazy. Sometimes, it paints a sad picture, a girl who thinks nobody could want her in a relationship, and has turned to a classified site to fulfill her need for relationships three hours at a time. Sometimes, though, you simply don't understand why such an ad would ever be written, what could make a person want what they're asking for. The ad is a mystery, the tip of an iceberg of personality peering out of the water, challenging you to guess what's floating under the surface. That's what got me to click the link, to write the email, and to arrange the meeting that I never thought I'd make.
The headline itself was unremarkable. "cute college girl for NSA oral or facial (near campus)". I glanced over it at first, but then scrolled back up. I was near campus, and well, most girls don't come out and ask for a facial or oral. Usually, they're doing their best to avoid either. So, I clicked.
"hi. i've never posted on here before, but i'm really horny and i want to suck a guy off, maybe make him cum on my face. no strings, you can watch porn while i do, lights off if you want, i just want 2 taste you cum, then you can leave. i'm 19, no old guys. come to my place right close 2 campus, or i can walk if youre close"
I sat back and thought about it. She doesn't want sex, doesn't want a relationship, and wasn't asking for the guy to do anything in return. Hell, her "lights off" comment made it sound like she didn't even want to be noticed while she did it. What was in it for her? I looked at the post time. Only 20 minutes ago. Her puzzle and her motivation, both intrigued me. Almost without thinking, I clicked the "reply" link and started composing a message.
"Hi", I began typing, tentatively, a slight quiver of nervousness through my stomach as my rational mind thought about the risk. "I saw your ad, and am wondering if you've already found somebody. I'm not far from you. I'm 21." My rational mind laughing quietly at the absurdity of the whole situation, I tipped my hat to my sense of safety. "PS:", I appended, "Are you clean?"
I hit send, with a slight chuckle as well as a fluttering in my stomach. I figured I'd never hear back from her again, and just counted my sending a reply as an interesting experience. So, I went back to examining some of the older ads. After a few more divorcees, a few more single moms, one, very lonely sounding woman looking for a nice, gentle man with genital warts, I gave up and went to take a shower.
When I returned, I noticed a new message in my inbox.
Sender: Aries2345@freemail.web
Subject: re: classified ad
Body:hi!
yeah, youre the first person to respond who isnt like, 50. do you want 2 come over? its early, but im already pretty horny. also, i got tested after my last bf. 1340 blake st. #2
<3 katy
My stomach lurched. Three blocks away from me, down 13th Street. I felt myself instinctively harden as I sat there, wearing just a towel at my desk. Risky, crazy, and mysterious be damned, I was, at least in theory, fifteen minutes away from a blow job from what sounded like a real life girl. My rational mind piped back in. "There's no such thing as "no strings attached", you're just asking for crazy or an STD". I nodded, almost subconsciously, and shut the screen of my laptop.
I distracted myself by getting dressed, but all the while, my mind was at war. I slid on a pair of black boxers. My body ached to feel a woman's lips wrapped around me, and didn't care about the risk, the crazy, or anything else. Then, a pair of jeans. My mind was intrigued, curious to meet a girl who would put something like that out into the world. A simple t-shirt. But the tension in my gut reminded me of the risk, of the danger, and played a thousand worst case scenarios in my head. I slipped my phone, keys and wallet into my pocket.
I stood in the living room of my apartment, glancing furtively at the door. I looked down at the pad next to my phone. "That's what I needed to do," I thought, with an overblown sense of revelation. "I need to go get bread." Nodding my head, I took the top sheet of the pad with me, with only the word "bread" written on the first line, and pushed it into my back pocket. Then, I walked outside, and locked the door behind me.
I started down towards the convenience store, along 13th street. My eyes glanced from house to house as I walked. Danforth Street. A few hundred more feet, a few more smallish, student-rented houses. Carolina street. My heart rate quickened with each step. Blake Street. My eyes darted furtively around, as if to try and find her house without my mind noticing. Then, there it was, right on the corner. 1340 blake street. The first floor door, labeled 2. The tingling in my loins grew stronger still, desperately wanting the attentions of anybody, but at the same time, my stomach tightened further. "Too risky," I told myself sternly, with another subconscious nod for emphasis. Another sigh. I pulled my head back away from the house, and kept walking, stealing glances into windows on the house as I passed. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, I left the house behind. A fence of lilac bushes sprung up, blocking my view, causing a sigh, then a momentary lessening of the tension.
I walked a block further, never noticing a single step, and I ducked into the little grocery, no bigger than a gas station. I smiled distractedly at the young college girl behind the counter, and moved over to the little shelf of bread. I glanced at the different options, and, turning away and grabbing almost blindly, I picked a loaf. Setting the loaf down on the counter, I handed the girl at the register a five and pulled out my cell phone, glancing at my email.
"Nice day," she said. "Town's so quiet in the summer with everybody gone".
Without even looking up, I shrugged. "Not everybody."
She glanced curiously at me, as if to ask why I wasn't following the script.I shook my head quickly, as if to clear the clouds around my head. "I mean, yeah, it's really nice. More people should stick around."
She smiled, a bit awkwardly, and handed me my change and loaf of bread. "Have a good day."
I nodded back in her direction, making a small grunt, interpretable only from the context of conversation. Here, I think it meant "you too." Then, I left.
Back on the street, I started walking towards home. I walked down the sidewalk, silently, one hand carrying a loaf of bread by the end of the sack, the other brushing against lilacs. Right foot. There's the house again. Left foot. Better keep walking. Right foot. She must be waiting there for me. Left foot. Probably with a knife. Right foot. There's door #2, with a snowboarding company sticker stuck haphazardly above the numeral. Left foot. Remember the girlfriend who faked pregnancy in high school? This girl is probably just as crazy. Right foot. The ache is growing stronger. Left foot. What if she's not clean? Right foot. It's been so long since a woman has even touched me. Left foot.
I looked up, and found myself staring directly at the large number "2" on her door, 1340 Blake Street. My stomach clenched down, tighter than before, the tingling growing stronger than ever below. I watched my hand move out and rap against the faded wooden door. My hand never went back to my side. I don't even know if I moved at all. I heard steps approaching the door. It opened, first just enough of a crack to see a single eye, brown iris, and a patch of pale pink skin. Then, the door opened the rest of the way.
She stood in the door, a bit off center, on hand still clutching the edge of the door, at first, saying nothing. I looked at her, my heart racing. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair hung straight, waving slowly as she breathed. Her eyes, brown, looking at me too, jumping from eye contact to aversion. Her cheek, showing just a bit of sign of blush and eye shadow. Quickly, I glanced up and down her body. She was a bit chubby, but healthy, her hips flaring and filling the pair of tight jeans she was wearing, with smallish breasts concealed under a red blouse. I glanced back at her face, taking in the whole of it. She had a healthy glow about her, despite the fact that her mouth was vacillating back and forth between a smile and a look of mild concern. I let out a tiny breath of relief. She looked like, well, just a cute college girl. Just like any other.
She spoke up first. "Uh, hi". She glanced down at the loaf of bread I was still carrying.
I drew a breath in sharply. "Oh, hi there."
