I'd broken up with Jill about a month before and now I was getting a lot of heat from my parents. Heat of the "You need to get out" and "Quit lying around and pitying yourself" and "Get back up on the horse" variety. It was tiring
In fact, even though I rarely left the house - - because I was between semesters at the local junior college and was trying to avoid seeing Jill or her 10,000 friends around town - - I was "getting back up on the horse." Thanks to the internet. In the month since Jill and I had split, I'd practically become a date site junkie. Clicking like on this photo. Leaving a comment on that profile. Swiping left on this face.
This was probably all a way of telling myself that I was still in the game, even if I had little desire to get back into dating itself - - the kind where you meet actual people and do actual things.
As for my parents. Whatever. Saturday afternoon and when my dad appeared in my room for the third time to explain to me what a great, handsome, charming guy I was, I'd finally had enough. I hopped into my car and drove over to Grandma Barb's house.
She was my dad's mom. And, probably because my dad was such a "get back up on the horse" guy and gotten my mom pregnant when she had barely started college, grandma had just celebrated her sixtieth birthday. Grandpa had passed away five years before and, since then, grandma had been living on her own in the little house only a ten-minute drive away. When things got too nuts at home, her place was my default hideout. Once, I'd spent a whole week at her house, being fed too much home-cooked food, getting my clothes washed every day, with an endless supply of ice cream, soda pop, and whatever else I wanted. Not a bad hideout, eh?
On this particular day, grandma greeted me at the door with a worried look and, after being served fresh-baked pie and a cup of coffee, we sat around talking about my parents, Jill, and the fate of modern love. While grandma cleaned up in the kitchen, I pulled out my smartphone and dug back into the dating game.
Grandma returned to the living room and turned on the television to watch her shows. I swiped away madly at the little block of plastic in my hands.
"Charlie," she said finally, during a commercial break. "What are you doing?"
I sighed and explained what I was doing. Internet. Apps. Profiles. Dating. The whole nine yards. Grandma was fascinated by the profiles on my screen and gazed at my phone while I swiped and clicked.
"Good lord," she said. "The world has really changed. Why, back when your grandfather and I met, we hardly even talked on the phone."
I laughed. And then, the lightbulb went off.
"Gee, granny," I said. "Gramps has been gone for a while now. Don't you get lonely."
She tittered nervously and waved her hand at me.
"You're a good-looking woman," I added. "I bet there's tons of guys out there who'd like to hang out with you."
Granny blushed and guffawed. Grandma was in fact a pretty fine-looking woman, I thought to myself. She exercised constantly - - at the gym every day - - and despite a little thickening here and there, she still had a good figure. I looked at her as she watched the television. I'd never really noticed it before but, despite the sweatshirt she wore, she had a really generous rack.
Now, I was feeling truly inspired.
"Where's your cell phone?" I asked, standing up.
"Over there somewhere. On the shelf." She gestured toward the bookshelf on the opposite wall.
I found her phone, powered it on, and downloaded "HookUp," my favorite dating app. Since I knew her email, I signed her up and started a profile, diplomatically fudging her age by a few years.
"There you go, gran," I said proudly, offering her the phone. "All you need to do is add a photo or two and, boom, it's off to the dating races."
Grandma laughed. "Just put the phone back on the shelf, you smart aleck."
I spent the night at gran's and returned home in the morning. My dad greeted me at the door with an apology for being too pushy and things got back to normal. I quickly forgot about gran's smartphone and our conversation.
School started back up and, because I wanted to move on to a four-year college, I signed up for an overload of courses. Before I knew it, I was studying my ass off. Econ in the morning, sociology for lunch, lit for dinner, and math all night. A month had gone by and I hadn't even thought about the dating stuff or all the apps on my phone.
Then, one night in late October, after midterms, I watched a movie with my dad and headed upstairs. Before I went to sleep, I checked my phone. The HookUp app had sent me a notification. Somebody was interested in me. I tapped on the app icon.
Great. Some heavy chick from upstate. I swiped right and paused for a moment before returning the phone to my nightstand. What the hell, I thought. For old times sake.
I started swiping and clicking. But, to be honest, it quickly became depressing. Good-looking women who lived too far away. Not so good-looking women who looked too desperate. I tweaked my search parameters and tried again. Now it was older women who looked too desperate or like they'd just gotten back from their AA meeting. One more time, I thought as I tweaked my search filter again. I swiped. And, swiped again.
That third swipe was the one. A profile picture appeared on my phone screen. A woman in a shiny red corset, her big tits pushed up to magnify her ample cleavage. She was definitely older, although her profile only indicated that she was 50 plus. There was something intriguing about her: an older women with such a sexy style. To find out more, I'd have to swipe right. I lay there on the bed and thought about it.
What the hell. It's only the internet, I told myself as I pushed my finger across the phone's surface.
I exited the app and powered the phone down. A new Econ unit tomorrow, I remembered. Might was well bank some sleep now.
Around lunch the next day, I checked my phone for email. HookUp had sent me a notification. Because I only had junk mail and I was only halfway through my salami sandwich, I opened up the dating app for a little diversion.
"Oh shit," I whispered to myself.
SilverSexy had responded to my swipe. I tapped on her gallery and almost choked on my salami sandwich. There were six photos. In all them, SilverSexy wore the hottest outifts I'd ever seen. Black nylons and heels. That red corset and a pearl choker. My trouser snake started uncoiling down my pants leg when I saw the final photo. SilverSexy with her back to the camera, dressed in the corset and a pair of lacy panties, arms raised above her head.
I stared at that photo and then stared some more. Wide, juicy ass peeking out from beneath the corset and those full, meaty thighs. That's when I realized - - I'd only dated girls. Girls who thought they were being sexy when they wore yoga pants and a push-up bra. This was a real woman. A woman who knew how to dress for a man.
And, there was a message in my inbox.
"You look hot." It read. "And delicious. Stay sexy, SilverSexy."
My pocket python was now fully aroused. A woman who knew how to dress for a man and who was unabashed about her desire. My head spun and I felt hot and prickly. I took a deep breath and typed into my phone.
"You make me hard," I typed. "So sexy."
I went to class. Driving home, my phone pinged. I pulled into a Starbucks drive-through and grabbed my phone while I waited in line. Another message from SilverSexy.
"Thanks." My hand was trembling. "Show me what you look like hard, loverboy."
Jesus. I gulped and stashed my phone in my backpack. I ordered some kind of coffee when I got to the window but I never touched it as I sped home.
