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The negative thoughts began to kill my mood. I was a twenty-two year old wallflower. Stacy and Linda were always bragging about how many guys asked them out or told them how pretty they were. Random guys would just walk up to them on the street.
But no one ever does that to me. I’m Miss Third Wheel, tagging along on dates, the funny, fat friend who’s always available to hang out. Did I want to be that my whole life?
After all, my job as a copy editor for a woman’s magazine doesn’t exactly help me meet eligible guys. All day long, all I see are women. No men work for the magazine, not when you have endless articles about hair care products and medications for menstrual pain. Yeah, it’s pretty boring when you get to the nuts and bolts. Movies make magazine jobs look glamorous, but trust me, the nitty gritty is dull.
I used to fantasize about the office being more like the set of a Shonda Rimes show with tons of McDreamies and McHotties wandering the halls. One of them would look my way, and electricity would rocket through the air. Then bam! After a couple seasons, I’d be married to my doctor or lawyer hearthrob, no questions asked.
So yeah, reality is a lot different, to say the least. In the office, my co-workers shared stories about their dating lives, most of which involved a different guy every week. Most of the time my mouth was open in shock as they spent lunch hours sharing secrets, talking about monster appendages or wet moments in bed.
“His dick was eight inches long, ladies. I am not exaggerating! I almost fled before he could stick it in,” whispered Barbara, a beautiful staffer from the Style & Beauty section. She took a teeny bite of salad before continuing on with today’s lunchtime tale.
“But all I can say is I’m glad I didn’t run because once he started, it was all good,” she confided, breath coming fast, face growing hot. My other co-workers giggled as they ate their sandwiches like a bunch of prairie mice.
“Girl, I completely agree. A large cock makes you want to run at first cause you’re not sure if it’s going to fit,” announced Mary, the outspoken head of the research department. “But then he gives it to you and it’s soooo good, cravin’ it morning noon and night,” the woman drawled in a Southern accent, fanning herself.
Because we’re like a bunch of chickens in a coop, chirping about this and that, including penis size. In fact, penis size was our favorite topic. At this point I was well versed in men’s physical anatomy, even if I’d never actually seen much in real life.
Because most of the time, I would smile, laugh or nod my head like I knew what they were talking about. They all believed my long-distance boyfriend, Jake, didn’t get the opportunity to see me that much because work had him traveling from one location to another. But obviously, Jake was fake. He was someone my imagination created to fit in, nothing else.
And suddenly it was show time.
“What about you, Katie, any wild stories about you and your boy toy?” asked Laney with a sly, crooked smile.
I almost choked after the question was asked. Gulping down some water, I tried to look unperturbed.
“He’s out of town again. We don’t get to see each other much these days because work keeps him on the road.” The lie fell so easily from my lips.
“Well tell him you expect a night focused solely on your needs when he gets back,” cooed Sally, an older woman from accounting. Fortunately, another co-worker launched into her latest sexcapade, so the attention was off me already. Thank goodness. Saved again.
Because yeah, we’re told in childhood that lying is wrong, but I’d suffered enough humiliation. My virgin status at my age already embarrassed me beyond belief. I didn’t need people at work knowing and making fun of me. So Jake was born out of necessity, and nothing else.
But the thing is I hadn’t really been with a guy before last night. Elaine’s set me up on a few blind dates, but the dates ended up being lame. Generally they were short trolls that wanted me to worship them for no reason at all. Where did that come from? I didn’t get it. The shorter the guy, the bigger the ego.
Take last time for example. The man Elaine set me up with had been absolutely puny, probably five two, with bad breath and hair coming out of his ears. What was she thinking? Was I that hard up?
But there was no way to get out of it now. As I approached the table, Elaine jumped up.
“Katie, there you are! Katie, meet Randy. Randy, Katie,” she said, beaming like a proud mama.
