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Taylor: Imagination isn’t as good as the real thing. Let me see the goods!
Taylor had given me the invite me home look when we parted at the end of trivia, but I didn’t expect her to be this forward. I guess waiting two days before texting her was a good idea after all.
I adjusted myself on the couch, stretching my legs out. I aimed the phone so that it got a good shot of everything from the waist down. I made sure my junk wasn’t outlined or visible or anything. It was a pretty innocent photo.
Taylor: That’s good, but it’s not quite what I had in mind.
Brody: Cancel your plans this weekend and you’ll get to see plenty more of me.
Taylor: Come on! Give me a peek!
Taylor: If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.
Brody: You now have my attention.
I bit my lip and wondered how far we should take this. If this was one of my normal hookups, I wouldn’t hesitate at all before snapping a photo of my junk. Especially if it got me some sexy material in return.
But this wasn’t just a hookup. This was a girl I really liked. I didn’t want to jump straight to sexting. I wanted to take her out to dinner and get to know her better.
Before I could figure out what to say, Taylor responded.
Taylor: Send me a photo of your junk, and I promise I’ll reciprocate with one just as juicy.
Taylor: And I’ll take a good dick pic, too. Not one of the old ones I use on Grindr.
Brody: Wait, what?
Taylor: Oh, are you a top? I can send you other photos. But I’ll need to get a mirror.
I gawked at my phone before realizing what was going on here.
Brody: You’re not Taylor Fox, are you?
Not-Taylor: I can be whoever you want me to be. Just send me a photo and we can make it work, baby.
Brody: I knew this was a wrong number. You don’t sound like her at all.
Not-Taylor: HER? Taylor is a boy’s name, honey.
Brody: There are plenty of girls named Taylor! Like Taylor Swift!
Not-Taylor: T-Swifty is in a league all her own.
Not-Taylor: So how about that dick photo?
I groaned and checked the phone number. It had already washed off my hand, but I had taken a photo of it before entering it into my phone.
“Five, one, oh…” I read off, checking every digit. “Yep, I entered it right.”
The only thing I could think of was that the one was actually a seven. They were kind of similar. So I called that number.
“Two Sisters Thai Food, how can I help you?” came the reply.
I hung up. “Luna, girl, somehow I got the wrong number.”
My dog cocked her head and stared at me with crystal-blue eyes.
“She works at the University of Utah,” I said. “I can drive over there and look for her. Wait. That’s dumb. I’ll just look her up on the school’s website. No problem.”
