Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
But then I realize he’s responded to my message.
Stranger88: I thought about what I want to do with you after I have my way with you in the cubicle.
A little shiver of excitement skitters down my spine at the thought.
There’s a blinking, bold message in the corner of our chat box that says: You are in danger of losing your streak! Respond now!
There’s a little countdown clock, slowly ticking down.
Five minutes to go or today won’t count.
I stare at it for a moment before realizing that not only had Stranger88 responded, but he’s online now. He isn’t out, partying it up on a Friday night, like everyone else. I quickly type in a reply, effectively stopping the countdown clock.
Stranger7721: Not out living it up on a Friday night?
Stranger88: Same could be said for you. Just got home.
Stranger7721: Hot date?
Stranger88: I wish. Worked late. You?
There’s a little voice in the back of my mind, once again telling me he’s probably some married loser and tonight he had to wait until his wife went to bed so he could get online. I have no proof of any of this, of course, but you never know with internet strangers.
Stranger7721: Same.
Stranger88: How was your day? Good? Bad? Little of both?
His question gives me pause, but in a good way. I can’t remember the last time anyone but him asked me about my day.
Stranger7721: You really want to discuss work right now?
Stranger88: No actually. I’d rather talk about you. Tell me what you you’re wearing. ;-)
I look down. For a second I consider lying and saying I’m wearing pink lingerie. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in these situations?
Stranger7721: Why do you want to know?
Stranger88: I want a mental image to go along with my fantasies.
I sigh. What the hell. Might as well. It’s not like I have anything to lose. It’s all just a game of make believe anyway, something to entertain and pass the time.
Stranger7721: I just got home and took my hair down. It’s chestnut brown, straight and several inches past my shoulders. I’m wearing a skirt, a camisole. Nylons.
I press send and gnaw on my lip. I’m terrible at this. I’m much better with facts over fiction.
Stranger88: Nylons? I’m sorry, are you 88?
Stranger7721: Might as well be. What’s wrong with nylons anyway? Kate Middleton wears them. They’re back in style, you know.
Stranger88: I have nothing against nylons other than the fact that they’re an unnecessary obstacle in these kinds of situations. Ripping them off you with my bare hands could be hot though…
I hate the idea of ruining perfectly good clothing items, but in this case, I might be willing to sacrifice a pair of L’eggs in the name of good sex—in my mind, of course.
Stranger7721: Says the guy who fantasizes about cubicle sex.
Rising, I shimmy out of my ruined pantyhose and toss them in the trash, but only because there’s no saving them. I still have hope for my blouse though. By the time I grab myself a handful of stale Cheerios and go back to my phone, I’ve gotten a barrage of IMs from him.
Stranger88: Anything can be sexy if you just believe.
Stranger88: What are your turn ons anyway?
Stranger88: Or you can tell me about the hottest sex you’ve ever had.
Stranger88: I won’t judge.
Stranger88: Still there…?
Stranger7721: Sorry. I was throwing away those unsexy nylons.
Stranger88: Smart move. Thank you. Now we can finally move forward with this conversation. You know, now that it’s past midnight this counts towards tomorrow’s streak too. We’re on a roll here.
I gnaw on my lip as I look around my apartment, fantasizing about what it would be like to have someone on speed dial to call in my 'times of need.' I’m getting ahead of myself though. I’ve never even brought a lover home. Not to this place. Too busy working to even think about it.
Stranger7721: Sorry, was just saying a little prayer service from my nylons. They were brand new. And I’ve never been rich, so it hurts.
Stranger88: I feel you. I was born on that side of the tracks too.
Stranger7721: Really?
Stranger88: Yeah. It’s probably why I’m so driven.
Stranger7721: Same, hence working on a Friday night.
Stranger88: Right. But there are always people who don’t get it. Who don’t see all the work you put in and think things come easy to you.
Stranger7721: Exactly! I’m going for a promotion at work, and I don’t think any of my bosses have seen the good things I’ve been doing. I feel like I’m screaming in a crowded room and no one’s even looking at me.
Stranger88: I hate that—when people make assumptions about you good or bad. Everyone thinks I have it easy. They don’t know I battled dyslexia and worked my ass off to get a college scholarship. Got into a great school, but I never fully felt like I belonged there… which was hard for me because I’m such a people person.