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Cabin Fortress: Can we chat again?
Goodtothelastdrop: Yes.
I pushed back in my chair and spun it around. “Yes!” I quickly rolled back to my desk.
Cabin Fortress: Looking forward to it.
Goodtothelastdrop: Me too.
Cabin Fortress: Sweet dreams, Vee.
Goodtothelastdrop: You too.
I leaned back, my arms dangling off the sides of my chair. Speaking to a woman on the internet wasn’t unusual for me. There would be few women in my life if I didn’t go the online route. I was a programmer as well, so the computer was my natural habitat.
But this felt different.
A peek into Veronica that I didn’t usually get. And yes, it wasn’t really fair she didn’t know it was me, but in this instance, I needed all the help I could get. There were far too many men interested in her post.
I sat back up and reached for my keyboard. I dashed off a quick note, adding a link to a song I thought she’d enjoy.
Keeping me in her mind with a song was a good first step.
Just before I sent off the note, I noticed that I’d addressed it to Veronica. I quickly corrected it to Vee. She’d never used her full name in the few times we’d written to one another.
I could only hope that one day we would reach the stage where both of her names came into play. For now, I would take all of Vee I could get.
Six
Vee
Vee,
I’m glad we got to chat last night. I haven’t enjoyed myself like that in a very long time. However, I’m sorry I kept you up late. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with those who look forward to your perfect little confections at the café. Especially the brookies. They’re my fave. Can’t wait to chat again. Until then, here’s a song by one of my favorite singers.
Yours,
Fortress
SONG: Baby Be Crazy, Brantley Gilbert
I smiled as I reread the message that contained my new favorite song then hit replay for probably the hundredth time over the last week and a half.
If there was such a thing as being addicted to online chatting, I was on my way to finding out.
We were talking so much that it was becoming the favorite part of my day. After I took a shower, I’d bundle into a robe, wrap my hair up in a towel, grab a glass of wine, and sit down to talk to Cabin Fortress.
As the days progressed, we both relaxed. We talked about everything and anything—and sometimes we veered toward crossing the line from polite conversation to making each other moan.
We were so close to going to the next level. Cyber moaning would lean to real life moaning—and hopefully, procreation.
Assuming we could just climb this last little hump of hesitation.
I was all in. Mostly. It was foolish to pin my hopes on one Murphy Masterson ever noticing I was pining for him like a virgin every time he came in and ordered from anyone who was not me.
And I had not been a virgin in a very long time. Going back to feeling that fumbling and clueless was no fun.
Cabin Fortress made me feel the opposite.
