Chapter 8
8
I have zero expectations as I begrudgingly install the dating app on my phone. I’m only doing it to get Emma off my back. I’ve been in Moonvale for less than a month, but she keeps pestering me to get out more and make friends. She sent me a link for the MeetCupid app and insisted I get it, telling me that I could select the option to look for friends rather than dates.
That was my intention. Go get some coffee with a stranger, listen to them talk about their hobbies and feel awkward about how I have none of my own now, and then report back to my sister that I tried to make a friend, but we didn’t click.
But as I’m setting up my profile and faced with the option of selecting what I’m looking for, I hesitate.
It’s been ages since I’ve been on a date. Even longer since I’ve had sex. Working constantly and stressing out about making ends meet to pay for your dad’s medical bills and sister’s tuition isn’t exactly conducive to dating. I haven’t felt the touch of anything other than my own hand in forever, and even that’s been infrequent.
Finding someone to hook up with might help with all the stress I can’t seem to shake.
Coming back to Moonvale is supposed to be the beginning of finding some kind of happiness again. Would it be so bad to go on a few dates? I won’t get my hopes up for something beyond casual, but that’d be better than nothing, right?
Fuck it. I check the “dating” box and finish setting up my profile. Which takes longer than I’d like, because I realize I don’t have any recent photos of myself. I haven’t done anything that’d warrant taking a picture in years. Well, Emma took one of me on the day I moved in, but I looked sweaty and awful, so I immediately deleted it.
The photo I manage to dig up from the recesses of my phone for my profile looks like a stranger to me. He’s smiling wide, with a thick beard and genuine happiness behind his eyes rather than the forced, hollow look I’m sure I’d see if I tried to take a smiling selfie now.
Will I ever be able to recognize that past version of myself again?
God, I fucking hope so. I’m tired of being who I currently am.
Though, the odds of changing don’t seem high as I dive into the app. The thing I failed to remember about dating apps is that the sense of hope you have when you’re joining gets crushed within minutes of actually using the app.
I swipe through the profiles of women it presents to me, and with each one I reject, the stronger the urge becomes to uninstall the app and stick with the hermit-like tendencies I’ve developed.
It’s not that the profiles are bad , per se. There’s just no spark of interest.
Emma would tell me I’m being too picky and to swipe right on any woman I find remotely attractive and see how it goes, but that’s not how my brain works. Objectively, I can appreciate that a woman is pretty, but pictures and generic blurbs about how they love tacos and Taylor Swift don’t give me what I need to feel compelled to talk to them.
I need wit. I need something that shows they understand the absurdity of life. That they’ve experienced more than peace and happiness. I’m not attracted to the best, most sanitized version of a person. I need at least a glimmer of something real behind the polished veneer.
Which makes being on an app like this futile. The whole point is to put your best foot forward to make a good impression. I know that I’m being an asshole by not giving these women a chance.
As I swipe away yet another profile, I lose my grip on my phone, and it tumbles out of my hand down to the floor. I have no clue how the hell that even happened, but maybe my body is trying to save me from this pointless endeavor.
I pick my phone back up and sigh, setting it down on the table. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub at my temples, trying to get into a better headspace.
How did I do this before? I used dating apps and went out with women before I moved to the city, so it’s not like it’s impossible for me. Thinking back, I remember swiping right on anyone I found vaguely interesting, and used conversations to figure out if there was actually anything there. The concept of wasting that much time is foreign to me now. But what else am I doing here besides trying to get the house in order and slowly losing my mind about the nonexistent ghost haunting me?
I take a break from swiping to finish up my dinner and clean up. It’s late, so I shower off the sweat I worked up prepping the living room for painting and then get ready for bed.
As I lie under the covers, I give the app another shot. This time, I force myself to slow down. I comb through each profile and let myself sit with it, trying to imagine what personality might lurk behind the smile of the woman sandwiched between three of her almost identical friends. I make up a potential backstory for why these women love hiking and beer so much. I still haven’t felt any interest, but at least now I’m entertaining myself.
I make myself swipe right on a few, and I won’t lie, it still hurts my ego that none of them appear to be matches, despite not actually wanting to date any of them.
I’m about to call it a night when I see her.
Well, rather, read about her. The profile picture of a curvy redhead with a soft smile is as generic as all the other photos I’ve seen, but what’s written there makes me pause.
Jessie, 31, Moonvale
Favorite things to do: Home DIY, baking, accidentally killing plants, and contemplating what I’d do in an extreme survival situation. I hate to tell you, but if we end up stranded together, I might end up eating your ass. And not in the fun way.
How do you spend your Friday nights? Staring into the void, doom scrolling, plotting the downfall of my enemies.
There’s something familiar about her sense of humor the has me swiping right, and the match notification pops up immediately. A surge of an emotion washes over me. Hope. I’d almost forgotten what it feels like. Maybe things are finally turning around for me.
Jessie: You know that’s an immediate red flag, right?
I grin at my phone. She must’ve read my reply to her most recent question. She reached out last night to ask what I would do if there was an alien invasion. No, “hey, how’s your night going?” just straight into aliens. I love it.
Noah: What? Fight Club is a perfectly acceptable favorite movie.
Jessie: Ugh, I didn’t have you pegged for being a total douchebag bro.
Noah: We’ve been talking for less than a full day. Of course you don’t have me pegged. That’s at least a fourth or fifth date activity.
Jessie: It’s cute how you think I’m going on any dates with you after that answer.
I laugh. I told her the same bullshit answer I used to give my coworkers, who were absolutely “douchebag bros” as she aptly put it, to see how she’d react.
Noah: Alright, fine. It’s Little Women.
Jessie: No, it’s not.
Noah: It is!
Jessie: Pretending that you like a movie like that doesn’t give you as much sensitive dude credit as you think it does.
Noah: I’m not lying. My sister and I watched it every year with my mom because she loved it so much. Now every time I watch it, I feel like she’s with me again.
Jessie: That’s so sweet.
Jessie: Wait, with you again?
Noah: Yeah, she passed a few years back.
Jessie: Fuck. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you like that.
Noah: It’s okay, you didn’t know. Besides, I’m enjoying you teasing me.
Jessie: Oh yeah?
Jessie: Well, there’s a whole lot more where that came from.
Noah: I can’t wait.
The next morning, I hear from Jessie again. I was trying to play it cool and leave some time between messaging her, but I’m more than happy to talk as much as she wants. I haven’t felt this excited about talking to someone new since I moved away from Moonvale.
There’s a swell of regret and sadness inside me as I remember the amazing woman I was talking to back then. I try to block the night we met from my mind, because I hate the shame and bitterness about the unfairness of life that accompanies it.
None of that matters now. I can’t change the past. Besides, she’s probably blissfully married and completely forgotten that one guy she went on one date with years ago.
Dot was way too gorgeous and smart for me. Both traits she shares with Jessie, along with the similarities in their humor. I guess I have a type.
Jessie: Okay, so I gotta know. Who is your favorite character in Little Women?
Noah: That’s easy. Jo.
Jessie: Ugh, that’s everyone’s favorite.
Even though we’ve never met, I can imagine her face twisting in mock disgust. It makes me smile. I’ve been smiling so much lately that my face hurts.
Noah: Apologies for being basic.
Noah: Why, who is yours?
Jessie: Jo. Though I gotta say, I’ve always had a thing for the Professor she ends up with.
Noah: Ah, so you like older guys with dark hair?
I’ve got one of those two covered, so it’s a start.
Jessie: Yes. If they’re not assholes.
Crap, where did that come from? Can she somehow tell that I’m a miserable shell of a person? I thought I was doing a good job hiding that.
Jessie: What about you?
Noah: I’m not into men, so Professor Bhaer never did it for me.
Jessie: No, I mean, what’s your type?
Noah: I like a woman who is smart, calls me on my bullshit, and teases me.
Noah: Also, I’m finding myself partial to curvy redheads lately.
Jessie: Nice line.
Noah: It’s not a line if it’s the truth.
It’s Friday night and Jessie and I are talking again while I pretend to tidy the house up a little. She’s far too distracting for me to get anything done.
Jessie: Do you have any plans for the weekend?
Noah: Shockingly, I do for once. My sister is coming to stay for a few days.
Noah: But I’m free next weekend.
Noah: If you were asking because you wanted to go on a date. I still can’t quite tell if you like talking to me or not.
Jessie: Hmm, I’m undecided.
Noah: What could I do to convince you?
Jessie: Are you always this eager to please?
Noah: Honestly, no. But you seem more than worth the effort.
Jessie: Are you sure you don’t just have a kink for a hot woman being mean to you?
Noah: Why can’t it be both?
Jessie: Haha. Well, in that case, be a good boy, and maybe I’ll consider that date.
Fuck me. Jessie seems to be done messaging me for the night, but all I can think about is how sexy it was that she told me to be a good boy. I’ve always fallen into the more dominant role with the women I’ve been with. I enjoy it, but they take it as a given that I’ll take control in bed because of my size and gender. Having a woman tease me and hint at making me work to please her is hotter than I ever would’ve imagined.
I set my phone down on the bedside table and palm my erection through my sweatpants with a groan. I was already in bed when she messaged me tonight—the fourth day in a row that we’ve talked. Four days of messaging back and forth are all it’s taken for me to develop an infatuation with a woman I know next to nothing about. I’d chalk it up to being starved for this kind of connection with someone, but it’s more than that. There’s something so goddamn familiar about her. When we talk, it feels easy, like we’ve somehow done this before.
Fuck, I want to meet her. I don’t want to wait to go on a date, but it can’t be helped. Emma insisted on coming this weekend and I’m not about to cancel on her after all she’s done for me. I’ll have to settle for talking and hoping my crush feels even a fraction of what I do.
My eyes shut and I conjure up what I imagine Jessie looks like from her single profile picture. She’s soft and generously curved, which is exactly my type. My mental image isn’t very clear, but it’s enough to make my stiff cock twitch. I tug my sweatpants down my thighs, freeing my dick, then give it a testing stroke, my thumb smearing through the bead of pre-cum that’s already formed on the tip.
It’s been so long since I’ve done this that the touch makes me grunt at the frisson of pleasure, the sound seeming to echo through the silent bedroom. I freeze, then realize that unlike living in an apartment with thin, shared walls, I can be as loud as I want to.
I can let go.
I take a second to spit on my palm before gripping my dick again, and give it another tug, firmer this time. I moan as I imagine Jessie watching me with a smirk, like my desire for her amuses her. Like she loves how pathetically aroused I am from a few days of casual chatting.
My stomach clenches and I almost come at the thought. I grip hard at the base and wait for myself to calm down enough to continue.
She wouldn’t want me to blow my load that fast. Coming right away isn’t what a good boy would do.
God, why does that turn me on so much?
I groan again as I allow myself a slow stroke, wishing she were here watching.
Then I feel it.
A chill running down my spine. The creeping sensation that I’m not alone. I shiver, but my dick throbs even more with need.
My eyes dart around the dim bedroom. There’s nothing here.
“There’s no ghost,” I mutter to myself, but it doesn’t help. I still feel like I’m being watched.
This is ridiculous.
I raise my voice and speak out into the room, attempting to use bravado and humor to push away the tingling, absurd fear setting me on edge. “If there’s a ghost in here with me, quit lurking. Either lend me a hand or leave.”
Nothing happens.
Of course nothing happens.
I let out a laugh, the tension in my body easing. Between the spike of adrenaline and how close I was before, my cock is still hard, giving a frustrated throb at the interruption.
I reach down and wrap my hand around it again, ready to give myself the release I was rapidly approaching.
A puff of air against my neck is the only warning I have before I feel the mind-bending sensation of an invisible hand wrapping around mine and forcing me to squeeze my cock in a vise-like grip.