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Not wanting to lose my nerve and chicken out, I quickly signed up for an account and made my profile. I uploaded a picture from my younger sister’s wedding five years ago; the best picture I had, honestly. I was wearing a lavender dress with a bodice so tight that it made my itty-bitty titties look like C cups, and my light brown hair was curled in perfect, wavy ringlets. The makeup artist had worked miracles, making all my imperfections less exaggerated by thinning out the bridge of my nose and making my small hazel eyes pop. When I tried to recreate the look at home, it looked like I had slammed my face in an open make-up bag.
My fingers hovered over the bio, not sure what to type.Honesty is always the best policy.Wanting to be straightforward and in the spirit of keeping things simple, I typed:Not looking for anything serious. Just DTF.
Chapter two
Iwassittinginthe first meeting of the day when I received my first dick pic. My boss, Mr. Smith, was standing at the head of the table, droning on about quarterly projections. As the conversation moved from projections to increased department complaints—all thanks to Marcie, though Mr. Smith was tactful enough not to name names—my phone buzzed.
Holding my phone underneath the table, I opened the unread message on the hook-up app and let out an involuntary gasp. I gaped at the image of a very erect and very veiny cock nestled in a bed of black pubic hair. No preamble. No how-are-you? Just a dick pic from a stranger at 11 AM on a Monday.
“Skye? Are you listening?”
I lifted my head to find everyone in the meeting staring at me. Even Marcie, who sat through these meetings with a glazed-over look on her face and dried drool in the corner of her mouth, lifted a curious eyebrow my way.
I forced a smile, hoping I didn’t look as sweaty as I felt, and shoved my phone deep into my cardigan’s pocket. I turned the screen towards my body as if the whole team suddenly had X-ray vision and could see the cock proudly displayed on my phone. “Y-yes. Sorry. I’m listening. Please continue.”
My boss regarded me for a long second before turning his attention back to the entire team. “So, as I was saying, we are going to be integrating a new developing system. It’s going to require some overtime as we install this new program and work through all the bugs.” There was a unanimous groan throughout the room. “Don’t worry, overtime has already been approved . . .” He pointed towards me in a chopping motion while his eyes remained locked on the crowd. “I’m going to put Skye in charge of this project. She’ll integrate the new system and then later on, meet with us so she can show everyone how to use it.”
His announcement was enough to startle me out of my mortified state. Overtime or not, he didn’t ask me. I shouldn’t be surprised; he always puts me in charge of new projects that require staying after. I assumed it was because I was reliable, and he trusted my judgment; Marcie told me it's because I am the only one in the department who won’t say no.
Out of the corner of my eye, Marcie folded her arms over her chest and gave me a pointed look that screamed,“I told you so.”I ignored her, at least I’m not the reason we’re having this meeting.
As soon as the meeting was over, I rushed to the bathroom to deal with the phone situation in private. I locked the bathroom stall—checking it once again to make sure no one barged in on me—and pulled out my phone.
I leaned against the side of the stall, chewing my bottom lip as I stared at my phone. Opening with a dick pic was such a bold move, how was I supposed to reply? Do I say thank you? But that was the beauty of it, right? I didn’t have to be the right amount of witty and charming, while not being too intimidating to men’s shallow ego. This app had brought us together for one reason and one reason only—to fuck. This was going to be a conversation that transcended beyond words, and what a fucking relief.
I closed out of the app’s messaging system and opened his profile, wincing at his username—MuscleMan69. The name was a perfect fit though, because his profile picture was him standing in front of a gym locker room mirror, shirtless and flexing. The only thing veinier than his cock were his thick, corded biceps and forearms. I couldn’t really tell what species he was—definitely not fae or elf—his skin was a muted green-gray and his face was obscured by the duckbill of his baseball cap, which had the words“Pumping & Cumming”proudly embroidered on the front.
He looked so different from Carter, who like most fae men had a lean physique and found big, hulking muscles too barbaric, but maybe that’s exactly what I needed—a palette cleanser. A much-needed change.
Still, I wish I could tell what species he was; the picture was too grainy to really tell.
It doesn’t matter if he’s fae or not. You’re not going to be taking him home to meet your parents!
So true. I opened our messages again and typed, Do you want to meet up? The blue blinking dots appeared below my message, letting me know he received my message and was typing a response. I chewed my lip as I waited, mentally patting myself on the back for being so open-minded and totally not bigoted.
He messaged back with a simple “Sure,” and asked if there was anything that was off-limits.
I’m not looking for anything crazy. Just a quick screw.I paused, staring at the message.No kissing,I quickly added. He could ram me with that veiny cock as much as he wanted but kissing almost felt too . . . intimate.
It surprised me how quickly he messaged back:Want to meet up tonight? In the manufacturing district? I have to be down there for some business later, so we can meet up before.
Something turned in my stomach—a new feeling I couldn’t quite identify. Excitement? Nerves? My intuition told me this was the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had. Tied with the time I agreed to go on that first date with Carter.
If you’re going to do this, better do it tonight, so you don’t have time to chicken out.
I agreed, confirming the time of 7 PM. He sent me the details of where to meet him. From a quick precursory search, an image of an alleyway sandwiched between two buildings showed up on my phone. Marcie wasn’t kidding about these back-alley dick appointments. It would take a lot of mental prowess to get over the ickiness of being bent over a dumpster as a stranger fucked me from behind. But I was willing to do anything if it meant breaking Carter’s vise-grip hold on my heart.
I hesitated for a moment, feeling the urge to ask MuscleMan69 if he’d killed any of his other hook-ups. I dropped my phone in my pocket and stepped
out of the bathroom stall.Don’t be crazy. Just because he likes fucking strangers in alleys, doesn’t mean he’s dangerous. Marcie loves it, and she’s not a murderer. Plus, you’ll bring pepper spray. You’ll be fine.
Later that evening, on my way to meet my dick appointment, I ran into Ms. Williams pretending to water the flowers on her porch. The whole hallway knew the flowers were fake, and Ms. Williams used it to eavesdrop on passing conversations. And to make next-door neighbors late for their scheduled dick appointments.
“Going somewhere, dear?” Ms. Williams raised an eyebrow at the plunging neckline of my little black dress. If I was more blessed in the chest region, I’d feel more embarrassed. Modesty was important among fae, especially the older generation, but since I was almost as flat as a board, I couldn't care less about Ms. Williams’s critical eye.
The only thing I cared about was the fact I was already running late. Mr. Smith had approached me after the meeting and asked me—no, told me—that he needed me to stay after to install the new program. And because I have the softest spine in the office, maybe in all of Baltimore, I agreed with an overly enthusiastic smile. Marcie offered to stay after to help, but I batted her away, telling her to have a good night. She didn’t have to suffer because I couldn’t say no.
I barely had enough time to run home, shower, and haphazardly shave before rushing out the door in the sexiest dress I owned. It had been a while since I wore my sexy-date dress and it had been pushed all the way in the back of my closet, next to the wedding dress I had bought when I still thought Carter was going to propose. I stared at the pristine white dress sealed in the plastic bag and considered canceling the date and spending the rest of the night trying to find the bottom of my wine bottle. But by some miracle, I found enough strength to put on the black dress and force myself out the door.
