Monday, 29 February 2016

Textually Transmitted Unease

I want you.

I want to touch you all over. I want to rub baby lotion into your sexy body and retreat into the bedroom with red wine...

My friend, the Manics fan with whom I wanted to have sex, hit "send" and, for the umpteenth time, danced out of my way as I tried to snatch my 'phone away from her.

"Who have you been sending stuff to?" I demanded as she handed my Nokia back. "I've got loads of people in the 'phone book, you could have been texting my mum or possibly my sister or..."
"Well, someone called James."

Relief broke over me like a wave. James was a safe person to proposition. Two years older than me, I'd gotten to know him while he was in the sixth form, and now that I was in the sixth form myself, he'd left school. Gone to study Geography at some university somewhere, which he later left after one term, deciding it wasn't right for him.

The text alert sounded and my thumb was on the brink of hitting the button when my friend snatched my back out of my hand and opened James' text.

Tell me moreJames had replied.

I am not who you think I ammy friend ventured. My name is [her name], and I have taken [my name]'s 'phone, and I won't give it back until he gives me a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a red rose.

My dickbrain started to scan the surrounding areas for the nearest florist.

"Here," she said, tossing me my phone. "Bored now." And she floated away, leaving me slightly dumbfounded and speedil texting James back to tell him that it was all her, including the initial text.

That's a shame. I was getting excited, as well. Is she free Friday night?

"Tell him you're not sure," came her voice from just over my left shoulder.

She's not sure.

Well, neither am I, said James.

Another text.

But the baby lotion... could I put it everywhere?

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