Thursday 13 February 2020


“What’s he saying?” Immy said, bouncing on the sofa.
“He wants to sext.” I looked up and blinked at them both. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Fran drained the rest of her wine and put her glass down. “Get on with it, woman!”
“I have no idea who this person is!”
“That’s the point.” She leaned right forward and grinned. “You don’t have to worry about ever running into them at the grocery store. Unless you actively decide to meet this person, the chances of you meeting them are basically zero.”
“She’s right,” Immy said, finishing her wine with a nod. “Have your sexting with the stranger and do yourself a favor.”
“Do myself a favor?” I stood to follow them to the front door. “How would that be doing myself a favor?”
Immy shrugged on her sweater. “Push the button, Hannah. Flick the bean. Tiddly your winks.”
“Masturbate,” Fran said brightly as my cheeks burned. “If he wants to sext, at least get yourself something out of it.” She pulled the door open.
“I’m not—I can’t… I am not masturbating to text messages with a stranger!” I cried, following them into the front yard.
Mrs. Keighley, my next-door neighbor, was in her yard watering her flowers even though it was ten p.m. At my words, she froze, drenching one of her beloved rose bushes, then peered at me over the rim of her glasses. “I guess it depends if you know what the stranger looks like, Hannah.”
Once again, my cheeks flamed.
Were all the old people in this town damn horny?

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