Your heart skips a beat as you feel your phone doing that little buzz thing. You reach for it, look at the screen and see that it’s indeed a notification indicating that you have a message waiting to be read. This is not the moment to read it, as you are not alone right now.
You look up from your phone, and your eyes meet the eyes of your friend. You hope she doesn't notice your blush, while you put away your phone again. Two weeks ago you arranged to meet with her, and now you're sitting here, in the restaurant. Even though she's your best friend you haven't told her about this weird online fling. About the man who is writing you, messages you, who tells you he adores you, who tells you what he wants you to do. It started as a silly game, and maybe it still is silly or a game or both. Nevertheless it feels real, it makes you feel alive. It's like you own this man, he's your own private plaything, living inside your telephone. You sure want to keep him for yourself, and no one should know about him. Not even your friend, let alone your husband. Or does this man inside your pocket, inside your phone, as anonymous as you are to him, own you? And then again, does it really matter?
The conversation with your friend continues, but in the back of your mind you wonder what the message on your phone entails. You realise that there is someone, this man, somewhere, thinking of you, right now, and not in the most mannerly way. It arouses you, but of course now is not the time to be aroused.
You excuse yourself and leave for the bathroom of the restaurant. There, alone, you reach for your phone again. But you don't want to skim through the message. Instead, you want to take the time, savour every word of it. He sure knows how to write. And besides, this man, your little plaything, told you that you may only read his messages when completely naked. Silly? Sure. But you've learnt that when you play along with him, the reward is there. You can either laugh it off, or be aroused and do as he says. It's a choice. It's always a choice. A free fantasy world next to your day to day worries. If you want to live to see this secret world you have to play along. And oh, how you need this escape. You put the phone away, and start to unbutton your dress. Moments later, with all your clothes in one hand, you grab the phone again, and start reading his message.
You look up from your phone, and your eyes meet the eyes of your friend. You hope she doesn't notice your blush, while you put away your phone again. Two weeks ago you arranged to meet with her, and now you're sitting here, in the restaurant. Even though she's your best friend you haven't told her about this weird online fling. About the man who is writing you, messages you, who tells you he adores you, who tells you what he wants you to do. It started as a silly game, and maybe it still is silly or a game or both. Nevertheless it feels real, it makes you feel alive. It's like you own this man, he's your own private plaything, living inside your telephone. You sure want to keep him for yourself, and no one should know about him. Not even your friend, let alone your husband. Or does this man inside your pocket, inside your phone, as anonymous as you are to him, own you? And then again, does it really matter?
The conversation with your friend continues, but in the back of your mind you wonder what the message on your phone entails. You realise that there is someone, this man, somewhere, thinking of you, right now, and not in the most mannerly way. It arouses you, but of course now is not the time to be aroused.
You excuse yourself and leave for the bathroom of the restaurant. There, alone, you reach for your phone again. But you don't want to skim through the message. Instead, you want to take the time, savour every word of it. He sure knows how to write. And besides, this man, your little plaything, told you that you may only read his messages when completely naked. Silly? Sure. But you've learnt that when you play along with him, the reward is there. You can either laugh it off, or be aroused and do as he says. It's a choice. It's always a choice. A free fantasy world next to your day to day worries. If you want to live to see this secret world you have to play along. And oh, how you need this escape. You put the phone away, and start to unbutton your dress. Moments later, with all your clothes in one hand, you grab the phone again, and start reading his message.
