User Unknown

Chapter 3: Games

I watched my screen for a while, picking at a loose thread hanging off my t-shirt as I waited for him to respond. Typing dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared, then disappeared. I could picture a blurred outline of a man typing something, shaking his head, deleting the words and then typing something else. I barely let myself breathe as I waited for his reply, and I realised something: I was nervous. Very nervous. Nervous because I wasn't really sure what I wanted him to say back to me, but I knew what I didn't want him to say. I didn't want him to let me down, gently or otherwise. I didn't want him to tell me, in no uncertain terms, that he had no interest in getting to know me further. I didn't want him to tell me about a girlfriend that he'd conveniently kept a secret up until this point. 

Thankfully, he didn't tell me any of those things. 

unknown*user: I'm the same.

It was an answer that I'd hoped for but was totally unprepared for. I inhaled sharply as I read it, re-reading it again and again, trying to quell the anxious, excited butterflies that were spinning around and around inside of me. 

I wasn't going to let him off the hook, though; I wanted to know what he'd typed out and deleted first. 

anon~girl: You were typing for too long for that to be your response. What did you tap-and-delete?

unknown*user: Okay, I'll answer your question, but only if you answer one of mine straight after.

anon~girl: Fine.

unknown*user: I originally typed: I want to actually, physically meet you.

anon~girl: Well, that's not going to happen.

unknown*user: I know, that's why I deleted it and said what I said instead. Now it's my turn to ask a question: am I allowed to flirt with you? Because I want to. 

I snorted a little when I read his message, but I was thoroughly impressed by him asking for my consent. In a world full of unsolicited penis pictures, especially online, him asking for permission made a very refreshing change. As did his openness. At least I wouldn't need to worry about whether or not he was flirting with me again. 

anon~girl: Are you going to send me a picture of your dick?

Judging by the fact that he'd just asked me for consent to flirt, I didn't have him pegged as the kind of man who would send me an X-rated snap without making sure it was okay to do so first; but you never can be too sure of these things. I figured it was only smart to check. I certainly didn't need to add any more penis pics to my camera roll; they'd all started to look the same to me. 

unknown*user: Not unless you ask me very nicely, and even then, probably not.

anon~girl: Hahaha, then please feel free to flirt away!

As I responded to him, I chuckled, mentally patting myself on the back for allowing this interesting man-creature into my life. And he really was interesting, too. The tiny snippets of information I'd learned about him had done nothing but add all fuel to the flames of my enthusiasm for him. If this had been a man I'd met on a dating app or in a bar, I'd no doubt be shouting about him from the rooftops, declaring my newest obsession to my closest friends and confidantes. 

But the fact that he was a little secret in my pocket, like an adventure that only I was having, just made the idea of him all the more appealing. It's much the same way that sex during an affair always seems to be so much hotter than the sex you ever have with the partner you're betraying. Not that I was having an affair, of course, but my anonymous man-friend didn't know that. He didn't know that I was single because we still hadn't discussed it. Maybe he was having an affair? The idea had already crossed my mind once or twice, but I'd promptly dismissed my concerns, especially after he'd ask for my permission to flirt. 

It wasn't my responsibility to make sure a man didn't have a partner before he slid into my messages. 

Plus, we hadn't exactly crossed any lines from friendship to ... well, something else. 

Not yet, anyway. 

unknown*user: Excellent. It's almost your bedtime. I want to choose what you wear to bed.

anon~girl: Nice try, buddy. That's not a decision you'll be making tonight 😉.

unknown*user: Boring. What decisions can I made tonight then? 

anon~girl: None. Your services are not required for the rest of the day. 

unknown*user: Boooorrring. Let's play a game instead. 

anon~girl: A game? 

unknown*user: Yep, quickfire questions. I'll start: cat or dog?

anon~girl: Dog. Night or day?

unknown*user: Night. Beer or wine?

anon~girl: Wine. Beef or chicken?

unknown*user: Beef. Pop or rock. 

anon~girl: Rock. Leather or lace?

unknown*user: Ohhhh ... you made it sexy!

anon~girl: Didn't you just try to choose what I wore to bed?

unknown*user: Yes, but I never made it sexy. I was going to choose some button-up, gingham pyjamas. 

I laughed out loud and rolled my eyes at his response. There were times when he'd be completely predictable, almost as though we were reading from a script and I already knew what was coming next. I thought about telling him that, but then I remembered that we'd given each other permission to flirt; so, I took that route instead. 

anon~girl: Okay, final question ... black or red?

unknown*user: Black or red what?

anon~girl: Nightwear. You've entertained me, therefore you get a prize. You can't pick what I wear to bed, but you can pick the colour. 

unknown*user: Black. 

anon~girl: Satin shorts and camisole, matching set. Black with lace trim. Enjoy the thought. Night! 

unknown*user: Hahaha, oh, I most definitely will. Good night! x

And there it was: his first 'x'. 

I wondered when that would come along. 

We were DEFINITELY flirting.