I’m busy squeezing out the teabag when I see a reply pop up immediately.
Dropping the spoon, I roll my eyes again as I reach for my phone.
Their reply is instant.
I tut and type.
I don’t know why their single-word reply riles me up even more than all this pussy footing around, messaging me for no apparent reason. Surely they have better things to do with their time, like waxing their chest or dragging a small vehicle around a gym.
I pull a face at such thoughts and throw my phone back on the counter, although again I don’t lock the screen. I also keep an eye on my phone as I move to the fridge to get the milk.
It takes exactly one quick sniff to realise the cucumber was not the only thing to not survive the three days I was away.
“For fuck’s sake,” I say as the odour from the carton hits my nostrils. I start pouring it down the sink, and as I do, my eyes seek out my phone. I can see the bubble of another new message from ElBaby and my stomach tightens at the sight. It’s not excitement, I tell myself quickly. Why on earth would I be excited about a message from a sex-obsessed stranger living on the other side of the world? But I am curious. What else do they have to say after that passive-aggressive and frankly, unoriginal ‘Wow’?
I dispose of the carton and then pick up my phone. I notice there are actually three new messages.
I read each message once, twice, and then wait for the curl of displeasure to unsettle my stomach but while I found what they said earlier patronising and a little insincere, I don’t feel it now
But itispatronising, right? Why is someone whose job it is to have sex, to talk about sex and be sex-obsessed claiming to be interested in asexuality, something that I have come to learn shines a light on just how prevalent compulsory sexuality is, not to mention how harmful and divisive it can be?
I text back, because why not? I’m never going to speak to this person again, much less worry about what they may think of me. It’s not like they’re…
I click on their profile. They ARE following me.
That’s weird.
But still. It’s a free world. I’m not following back.
My inbox symbol lights up. They’ve replied.
I scoff out loud.I rapidly type and send.
I roll my eyes again and am about to discard my phone again and focus back on my tea, shower, stress-relieving orgasm plan.
Their reply comes quickly, as does a follow-up message.
Something inside me melts a little and my breathing slows. I read that last message a few more times and by the time I’m done, they’ve sent another one.
And just like that, my chest tightens again.
