I was officially horny and desperate.
At twenty-seven, sex was already a thing of my past. Long since were the days of going out on the town with girl friends, taking shots and screwing anything with two legs. Now, I was too busy answering phones and being ogled at all day long by the asshat of a lawyer I worked for.
It paid well, don't get me wrong. I scored myself a decent apartment in the nice part of town, and all of my clothes were designer. But the shitty long hours left me with no time for myself.
So when I was on a rare coffee date with my best friend, I almost choked when she suggested I put an ad online looking for a good time.
Sure, the lady downstairs was starting to develop some serious cobwebs. The most action she'd had in the last year was from a cheap electric toothbrush I'd bought at the drugstore on a Saturday night when I was out getting wine. But I wasn't crazy enough to go looking for a fuckbuddy online.
Her logic? Dating apps were too mainstream. If I wanted a good, old fashioned, no-string-attached fuck session, I was better off putting word out on one of those personal ad websites. Because, apparently, that was still a thing.
I told her she was crazy, of course. I told her I was never going to do that.
But after my boss made a sidelong glance up my skirt and called me "hot stuff", I was texting her to ask what website she had been thinking of.
And that was how I came to be sitting at work writing a "sex wanted" ad. I gave a brief description of myself, five foot seven, brown hair, hazel eyes, slim; and outlined what I was looking for. I kept it simple, essentially saying just about anyone with experience was good. I wasn't picky, and seeing as the only opportunity I had was that night, I figured it would get me the quickest deal.
I had received thirty-seven replies by my lunch hour, and fifty-six by the time my lunch hour was over.
Instead of doing work for the rest of my shift, I filtered through the emails, only paying attention when clients came in or the phone beside me rang.
There were a lot of freaky people on the internet, as I suspected. After skimming through all of the messages, I was just about ready to call it quits and declare myself a spinster, closing down the browser and returning to real life, when a new message popped up with the subject line "I'LL BRING THE WINE."
I couldn't help the warmth that pooled between my legs as I opened the email. It was from a young woman, a year younger than myself, by the name of Savannah.
According to her short reply, she'd just returned from studying abroad, and was looking to spend the night out before starting her new career in the city. She'd even included a photo of herself, something I hadn't thought to do.
When I opened the attachment, I was shocked to find a pretty blonde girl smiling back at me. She was petite and pixie-like, and just looking at her photo I started feeling all warm and tingly at the prospects of meeting her.
It was almost too good to be true. Which is why I copied the image into a web search, just to be sure.
To my surprise, it popped up an Instagram feed full of her photos. Apparently she's been studying in Australia, and from the looks of it, she spent a lot of time in a bikini. I browsed through her photos for a few more minutes, resisting the urge to dust off the lady downstairs when I came across one of her in a very short, very tight white dress.
Exiting out of her feed before my boss could come out and see what I was getting myself all hot and bothered over, I returned to her email and sent her a reply, asking what she was doing at nine o'clock that night.
Not five minutes later, she replied with a very suggestive, "With any luck? You."
I messaged her back with my address and favourite wine selection.
*****
By the time nine o'clock rolled around, I was more anxious than a virgin at a strip club.
I had dug out the hottest outfit I owned. Which said a lot, considering it consisted of a high waisted pencil skirt and an almost see-through white blouse. But I made the most of it, freshening up my makeup, letting my long wavy brown locks free from their pins, and deciding at the last minute braless was the way to go.
I'd actually managed to convince myself I was being catfished, and that some old guy with a potbelly was going to show up at my doorstep by the time the doorbell rang. I even kept that thought in mind so that I wouldn't be disappointed when I opened the door.
But imagine my surprise when I opened the door to my apartment to reveal a gorgeous blonde girl in a pair of skintight jeans and a flowery bodice, holding a bottle of my favourite white wine.
"You're Brooke, right?" She asked in a silky voice.
I almost came then and there.
Nodding my head, I motioned for her to come in, closing and locking the door behind her.
"You weren't kidding about the wine, huh?" I replied, my voice coming out breathier than I had wanted.
Her tinkling laugh was music to my ears. "I never kid about wine. It makes everything better, if you ask me."
"Can't argue," I said as I lead her in the direction of the kitchen.
I pulled two glasses out of the cabinet, setting them down on the counter before grabbing my opener out of the drawer.
Once we both had a drink in our hands, we turned towards one another.
