by Hope Irving
Tig: What do you have in mind?
Unsure whether his question is innocent or completely inappropriate, I remind my sluggish self that the guy collects women, so, of course, it’s the latter.
Alie G: Are you in bed?
Tig: You didn’t answer my question.
Alie G: I think I just did. Answer my question, Tig;)
Tig: I’m almost in bed. Why?
Alie G: Adult convo, remember?
Suddenly Instagram seems like the wrong venue. It limits the number of PMs, so it’s not ideal when we’re chatty. I offer to switch to Messenger.
Alie G: What are you wearing?
Tig: Are you serious right now?
Alie G: Obvly.
I can almost hear him snicker on the other side of the ocean. I can almost see him gawk in his bed. I can almost sense shivers roam across his disgustingly tattooed body.
Alie G: Is there a problem?
Tig: You’re asking a lot of questions tonight.
Alie G: So are you, but you don’t answer any of mine;(
Tig: I’m just… shocked. Isn’t that a guy’s line?
Alie G: Wrong answer: I hate labels and stereotypes. And it’s January 1st so I thought we’d start fresh. Just wondering if you’re wearing a tux.
Tig: Lol.
Alie G: What? I’m genuinely curious.
Tig: My answer should be genuine then;) Well…
I twist a strand of my short hair around my fingers and wait. This time, I don’t have to press, and he doesn’t disappoint.
Tig: Is boxer briefs the answer you were after?
Alie G: No tux then;(
Tig: Oh, come on! First, I’d NEVER wear a tux. Second, I look pretty good right now. Third, what are YOU wearing?
It’s followed by a devilish emoticon. If he thinks that he’s going to win at this game, he’s terribly wrong.
Alie G: 1) Too bad, I love a man in a tux. 2) Do you now? I need evidence. 3) Nothing.
Tig: Tease! I’ll go first.
Now we’re talking… It wasn’t that hard to redirect the conversation. The funny thing about men is that sex is on their mind 24/7, and that’s a fact, not a stereotype.
Within seconds, my phone chimes and I’m faced with a heavily tattooed, but very decent, four-pack above the elastic band of a boxer brief. The evidence that I’ve been soliciting has been graciously provided.
Odd, I thought he was skinnier when I Googled him after my chat with Sybil.
What I’m faced with is delectable—no bulky muscles, nothing but appealing, lean abs that I’d be happy to lick if they didn’t belong to him and had a dusting of body hair instead of ink.
This is a new aspect of Tig that I’ve been meaning to discover. I didn’t want to come on too strong at first, and I intentionally chose to differentiate myself from anyone he would encounter on a hookup app. Clearly, he knows that I’m not interested in sex, let alone a relationship.
Tig: Happy?
Alie G: Impressed.
Tig: Ha-ha.
Alie G: I mean it. You work out and it shows. Kudos!
Tig: *Blushing* Goal has yet to be achieved, but getting there. Now it’s your turn;)
Alie G: I work out too.
My bicep curl emoji is definitely not what he wanted; I’m laughing to myself though, eager to see if he takes the bait. Soon enough, a knowing smile appears on my face before I can stop it and stay focused on my own goal. Yeah, my goal is more meaningful than his. I’m surprised that he isn’t as shallow as I’d anticipated, but a man who broadcasts his abs the first chance he gets must be, right?
Anyway, when I said that I work out, I meant it. I’m not sporting washboard abs, but I exercise consistently and watch my diet to increase my chances of staying cancer-free. I let out a disappointed sigh; I honestly enjoyed discussing paintings, books, and music with him. Sadly, his most recent texts and picture prove that he’s merely another meathead. I should focus on my initial objective and keep in mind that he’s not somebody I care about. I’m here to make an example of this manwhore. Since when is whore an insult and manwhore praise? Since when can’t women own their sex life? Since forever, and I can’t accept it.
Tig: Oh, please, you know what I meant. I show you mine, you show me yours. It’s only fair!
Alie G: I’m a tease, sue me! Just so you know, I’m a big fan of fairness.
He has no idea how true this is. He has no idea who he’s up against. He has no idea he’s a pawn in my scheme. Another text pops up.
Tig: Still waiting;) I can’t believe you’re chickening out. It’s so unlike you! Chicken;(
Alie G: Because you know me so well.
Tig: I think I know you well enough by now.
Maybe he does, or at least formed an image of me based on the meager details I’ve provided. One text after another.
Alie G: Fine. But it’s hen to you;) I’m a female and embrace my differences.
Tig: Now that you mention it, I’d be more than happy to embrace them at some point.
O-kay, so the real Tig is showing his virtual face at last. It took you long enough!
The devil emoji seems to be his go-to this morning, and his rapid-fire messages don’t give me a chance to reply.
Tig: For now, I’m still waiting for the evidence. Maybe you bragged over nothing. Tease!
Alie G: Already told you I was. Are you 2 busy with your hand to focus on my texts? And FYI: never said I’d reciprocate.
I’ve led him on and decide to grant his wish. After all, I want him hooked; I’ve got to throw him a bone, right? Furthermore, I’d hate for him to think I’m not a woman of my word, even if I meant what I told him. I never agreed to send a pic of my abs—or any other body part, for that matter. I cave nonetheless and swiftly snap a few hot shots before debating over which one to send. One that I’m proud of. One that doesn’t show my scars. One that barely includes the swell of my breasts… because that’s the closest he’ll ever get to them. Once again, he beats me to it, and I wait before sending it.
Tig: Busted. My hand is at work, but I’m picturing yours instead.
You wish, you perv!
Wow, this derailed abruptly, and I didn’t see it coming. He must be as intoxicated as I am, although I think he once mentioned that he doesn’t consume alcohol. It might be a good thing that I’m buzzed enough for two. I’ve refrained from pursuing my hidden agenda for too long. Then why am I squirming under my comforter?
Tig: Still, Queen Hen… (Don’t think I didn’t notice ur diversion.)
Alie G: Guilty as charged, King Cocky.
Tig: Nice try, but for someone as well-read as yourself, you should know that King Cocky isn’t the male equivalent of Queen Hen.
Alie G: Duh! What did you expect?
I’m typing the rest of my text so furiously that there isn’t time to second-guess my answer. I guess that I’ve earned being called young and impulsive by my oldest sister.
Alie G: Wanted me to name you King Cock without having seen the goods? Dream on, King Cocky.
Tig: Are you requesting a dick pic after asking me if I was palming my package?
There is such a wide variety of emojis that I can’t keep up. Once again, he shoots another text while I’m re-reading some of our earlier ones, and heat rises in my southern region, and I press my legs together to suppress the sudden urges.
Jesus, I did come on strong. Maybe too strong?
Tig: How many drinks did you have at your supposedly boring party? Not that I’m complaining, just stunned… I guess. I’d be happy to provide more evidence. I have nothing to be shy about in that department either.
Alie G: It’s a figure of speech. I was trying to be witty. And I insist, you ARE cocky!
Tig: Figure of speech, my ass (which is one of my other strong assets, btw).
There’s no point in denying anything further, so I divert the conversation slightly to stop making a fool of myself. I drank way too much last night.
Alie G: Fishing for compl
iments, are you?
Tig: Stating facts is all, Queen Hen;)
Alie G: Obvly. And to make things clear: dick pics scare me, so that’s a hard pass.
Tig: You prefer sampling the goods over a pic. So do I.
I finally hit send, hoping that my ab diversion will work better.
Alie G: Oops, I got sidetracked by your devious mind and almost forgot.
Tig: Holy shit, you do have great abs! And I won’t comment on the angle you chose.
Nope, there’s no need. You and I both know that it’s to entice your imagination since you can’t see my tits!
I send another devilish emoticon instead of spelling it out for him.
Tig: I’ve watched some of your videos on YT, but it only succeeded in frustrating me.
Alie G: Is that so?
Tig: Indeed. A faceless woman with a decent body that I now know is even more appealing.
Alie G: Thanks. I’m a private person.
Tig: I love your concept of “private person” when you send me a pic like this one.
Alie G: Nothing revealing about it.
Tig: I’m not sure I agree. As much as I love playing games, maybe we should meet up?
My body goes rigid when I read his suggestion. I do want to see him in person. I mean, that’s been the whole point since day one. Lure him. Seduce him. Dump him. But my treatments aren’t over and my doctor said that I needed rest and I shouldn’t be traveling for a while. That’s also why I took a leave of absence from school after finding out that I was sick. That’s also why I worked with new sponsors to make more money. That’s also why I had so much free time to interact with despicable Tig. Before I ignore my phone to get some breakfast—my appetite grew with that unexpected exchange—I settle for a short answer.
Alie G: Soon.
Chapter Nine
My Strange Addiction
Tig
First, the casual Instagram poster became my daily fix of fun, wit, and confession. Then, New Year’s Eve happened.
What triggered such eagerness? What the hell ignited such excitement? What the fuck jump-started such horniness?
Despite the fact that I’d be proud to claim responsibility for it, that would be a lie; I don’t think that I would have dared. Trust me, I’m all for ridiculous shit like this when it comes to the anonymous hookups.
My relationship—or whatever you call it—with Alie G—whatever her real name is—is of an entirely different nature—whatever it could be labeled. She’s anything but anonymous.
Must be why her sexting caught me off-guard. Like, really off-guard! Like heat- coursing-through-my-body off-guard. Like an irrepressible-urge-to-palm-my-massive-erection off-guard.
Before New Year’s Eve, my thoughts hadn’t been sexual as far as she was concerned. Granted, I’d wondered what she looked like, but I wasn’t interested in her that way. And that all changed this year. Almost a month ago already. Abs were shown. Words were put out there. Doors were opened… And it definitely fueled my dirty mind and had me fantasizing about hearing her voice or seeing her in person.
Do I really want that?
“Which team are you, again?” A harmless punch to my bicep tears me away from my reverie. The words don’t register because I’m having a flashback of the first time that I got off thinking about her…
Yup, that’s a spank bank favorite.
“Why are you blushing now?”
“Excuse me?” I straighten my spine, tilt my head towards the girl sitting beside me on the couch, and stiffen.
Which team… What is that supposed to mean?
I peer over at her and burst out laughing, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the almost empty bowl. “I love you, you know.” I pass it so that she can swipe the last few kernels and I kiss her little cheek.
She fidgets under the friction of my scruff on her tender skin. “I know. I love you, too, Uncle Tig.” She returns the kiss. “So… as I was saying… with all the big muscles that you got now, I was wondering if you changed your mind and switched teams?” She munches on her Saturday evening snack while we binge-watch the Twilight Saga. Again. Her parents would be so mad at me, if they only knew; thank God, the girl can keep a secret!
“Are you insinuating I’m Team Jacob?” Her severe stare pins on me, and I bite the inside of my cheeks to hold back my immediate thought as she nods. “How dare you have so little faith in me, Chloe!” My fists land on my waist, and I shoot her a look that feigns outrage. “You should know by now that I’m a man of my word.” Letting my arms fall naturally, I flicker my gaze to the flat screen, then back at her. “And while we’re at it, there’s one more thing you should know.” I lower my voice for effect. “You can’t trust a guy who doesn’t have hair on his chest!”
“Wooow… I’m not sure that’s appropriate.” Yeah, probably not, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Since when have I ever been appropriate?” I tease her and wink.
Her soft giggle makes me happy. I love this girl, but it’s my turn to laugh my ass off when she adds, “Anyway, I disagree because I trust my dad.” She makes a sweeping gesture with her arms, as if to prove that I’m out of my mind.
And just like that, my mind is assaulted by the unwanted vision of a shirtless Graham; I choke on the remainder of my popcorn. I saw his chest back when I fixed his tattoo. From what I remember, he had some, but this conversation is just too much anyway.
“Okay, Chloe…” I cough into my elbow to contain the potential germs. A practice that Delia instilled in me. Old habits die hard. But now, Chloe does it too, and I find that incredibly endearing. “Who’s inappropriate now? That’s TMI right there!”
“Oh, puh-leeeease!” She taps on my back to help dislodge the popcorn from my throat. “I heard Soraya make fun of your friend from the gym because he shaved his torso to show off his muscles.”
“Who? Lucas?” She nods again, and I’m torn whether to continue this awkwardly fascinating conversation about body hair with a ten-year-old. After all, I, too, am mostly hairless to showcase and enhance my tattoos.
“That’s not the point, Chloe.” I sigh as I make a subtle change of topic. “You know I don’t like werewolves, right?”
“True. You did say that once.” She stands up and leaves the room before I’m able to reply, coming back with two cans of Dr. Pepper. This guilty pleasure is part of the ritual on the occasional weekends that I babysit her, as is playing Super Smash Bros on Sunday morning. She’s always excited to let Shulk—who is said to favor brains over brawn—beat the crap out of Palutena—the light goddess that I choose to fight in the video game.
“Uncle Tig?”
“What?” I turn my attention back to Chloe after she plops onto the couch and lands a second punch to the arm that startles me. Again.
“You’ve been daydreaming a lot… You never used to be like this.” She squirms in place, finally abandoning pale Edward—who’s having a pissing contest with Jacob—in favor of yours truly.
Her comment troubles me somehow, and I freeze instinctively, thankful that she chose to focus on something other than my suddenly flushed face.
So much for being a suitable babysitter… At least I’m reliable, right?
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know how to explain it... You’re much more relaxed than you used to be.” She shrugs, visibly struggling to find the right words. “You don’t frown as often as you used to.”
“Get out of here!” It’s my turn to gently slap her arm. She chortles at that. “Are you serious right now? I don’t frown!” I counter.
“Of course, you do! See, here.” Her delicate index finger, coated in grease and salt from the popcorn, traces a line between my brows to prove her point. “A frown.” She pauses.
A shy smile takes residence on her pretty face as she pauses one more time, but I have to interrupt her. She’s on point, but the way she expresses things is adorable. I focus on suppressing my impending laughter, though; I wouldn’t want Chloe to
believe that I’m making fun of her. I think that she’s too cute and too smart for my emotionally impaired self. She has a unique way of drawing out some of my most deeply-buried emotions, and whenever she’s around, I’m teetering between laughing and crying.
I love Soraya, but young Chloe gets me on a whole different level; she doesn’t accept any of my bullshit excuses and calls me out on my legendary grumpiness.