“Oh girl, you sound so hot, I want u sooo bad,” big_dixxx_69 types.
“Why don’t we meet??” I type, sending him directions.
“OK!!!! See you soon…” he replies. The chat window closes with a chirp.
We’ve been sending increasingly dirty messages back and forth for a couple days. I’m not even sure what his real name is. All I know is that he says he likes to fuck, lives by Detroit, and that we have a mutual love of the movie “True Romance.” Close enough.
I call my friend to let her know I’m meeting some strange guy from the internet in case my body shows up in a ditch later. “Again?” she sighs. “I’ll be fine,” I tell her. She admonishes me with a few unheard words of caution, then hangs up.
The restaurant I’ve chosen out by the freeway is easy enough to find and it has a vast dark parking lot used by commuters. I’m early, of course. I’m early for everything. I think about going in for a drink, but then decide I don’t want to get up to pee every five minutes. I keep flipping down the mirror and check my lipstick, my hair and my teeth, even though I look fine. Eagerly, I search the faces of drivers pulling in, but most of them are elderly couples coming in for the Friday All-U-Can-Eat fish special. Continue reading