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Heath O-Maker James: That’s it? You like my dog?
I’m sensing that he’s waiting for me to gush about how hot he is. I’m sure that’s what all the women who talk to him do. I’m not one of his groupies. He’s practically a god, yes, but I’m not about to feed his ego with cheap fluff.
Me: Yes, I like your dog. What’s his name?
Heath O-Maker James: Opie. He’s my best friend.
I fight the adorable thoughts running through my head. I swear, I’m a sucker for a guy and his dog. I’m sure it’s yet another way he lures women into his sex web.
Me: So, are you like a prostitute or something?
I guess it would be called a gigolo for a man, but that’s such a stupid word and I refuse to use it.
Heath O-Maker James: No, nothing like that. I just like sex and making women feel good. If you’ve never had a guy make you come before, chances are he’s doing something wrong. You need to be with someone who knows what they’re doing. I can make your pussy explode just by using my fingers, and I’m far better with my tongue. Do you like to have your pussy eaten?
I’m taken aback by how blunt and sexual he is. I don’t know this guy and I’m definitely not comfortable talking like that to someone I don’t know. Without responding, I click out of Twitter and bring up Instant Messenger again and see that there’s a string of messages from Stephanie. They mostly blather on and on about how hot he is.
Me: I gotta go, Steph. I’ll talk to you about it later.
Stephanie: Don’t hang up on me, Callista. We need to talk about this O-Maker some more.
Me: Later. I promise.
Okay, so maybe I do lie to my best friend once in a while, because I have no plans on talking about it later with her.
*****
