Stranger for a day

This story contains profanity and minor sexual content.

1. Write a story about two characters who surprisingly end up spending a holiday or event together.

Strangers No More

There was little I could do to avoid the big event of the next day, my birthday. I’m suddenly realizing that I have less years to live than I have already lived, and I may be destined to live those days alone. I needed something or someone to take my mind off this day. I didn’t want to leave my home, because I’ve already changed into my after-work worn-out sweats, but staying inside didn’t seem like a better solution. 

I’ve been borderline antisocial the last few months, and it’s been even longer since I’ve physically been with another guy. Tonight, I needed another man. My marriage ended on my birthday a year ago when my husband, or rather ex-husband, Steve told me that he was having trouble being married to another person who was the same age as he was, because it made him feel too old. As we entered our fifty-fifth year of life, and twenty-second year as a couple, I was suddenly told I was old, and then I was abandoned, left without a partner. I had no choice but to go forward, while I suppose he thought that he could go back. I was devastated and decided I would never let another person in my life. I would never allow another man to enter my brain or my pants. 

That word “never” rarely lives up to its definition, and tonight it was being challenged. What should I do, and where would I even go to find a man? I remembered one option for meeting strangers, and against my better judgment and self-control, my hand was reaching for my phone. The next thing I knew I found myself relaunching my account on one of the gay hookup sites. I had initially gone on this site a few years ago when I wanted to stay current with the app scene, and then again when Steve and I disastrously decided to experiment with an open relationship. 

“Noooooooo.” I do not want to go back into that mess of humanity. “Nooooooooo.” I do not want that time-suck to run my life again … but there was something stronger than my brain controlling my hand. It didn’t matter what I was thinking. Soon I was back online and staring at streams of men’s faces, torsos, legs, and feet, and as I dug deeper into some of the picture galleries, I was viewing photos of body parts that I’d never even seen on myself. 

Instantly, I was in the swiping groove, and soon realized there was no shortage of other men doing the same. I found myself sending out “Hi,” “Hey,” “What’s up?” to just about anyone who looked like they would be interested in me. While scrolling through pictures and reading profiles I recognized some of the same faces I’d seen many years ago. How did they not age, and I how did I start looking like my father? 

Now the game of waiting for a response began. Minutes passed without any replies, nor any new messages from anyone interested in me. “I’m a loser. I’m ugly and old. I’m a fool for even signing in to this addictive app.”

Finally, my phone pings, and I have a message. I dive for the phone, almost knocking over the snack table with the remnants of my dinner still sitting on it, to see who is messaging me. There he is, someone with the profile name, DICKens. I immediately think: clever name, he knows his English literature. He must be a professor at NYU or Columbia. He probably has a beautiful apartment on the upper west side, with shelves of books he’s written right next to the shelves of his awards. He’s single, has a BMW, and a summer place in the Hamptons. He is pinging me because he saw in my profile everything he needed to know about my physical appearance, life accomplishments, and prospects of me as a life and soulmate. DICKens is surely the reason the universe made me return to this hookup app. 

When I look at his picture, his face is shrouded in darkness, making his features indistinguishable, but I am willing to ignore this, choosing to imagine what his book cover portrait must look like. I have to instantly decide if I am going to wait a minute before answering his message -- hoping he’d think that I was finishing reading a chapter of the latest NY Times bestseller -- or return it quickly, so that he doesn’t feel ignored, and sign off. I decide to first to open his profile, expecting to read all I’ve fantasied about him. 

Title – Horny Slut. I am a little surprised, but I decide that this could be fun, and encouraging the idea that our sex life would be adventurous. His profile continues with, “Married,” – (Oh no!) – and “Playing on the Down Low,” – (Not my professor!) - and he is looking for someone who wants him to walk into their house while they are blindfolded with their naked ass up in the air so he can fuck them, and leave immediately. 

I feel devastated, but I have been lonely enough to momentarily entertain the prospect of his visit. I had responded with, “Hey. What’s up?” I was hoping for a witty reply that would erase his initial impression. “You ready to get fucked?” he answered. I tried to find an appropriate response, but after returning his message suggesting that I’d like to get to know him better, he immediately blocked me. Again devastated, I told myself to take the phone out of my hand and turn the goddamn thing off and go to bed. Instead, I started reading more profiles, this time more carefully to avoid any more surprises. 

I found one guy whose profile read perfect to me. I sent him a “Hello!” Minutes pass and no response. I started scrolling again. Bingo! Another. “Hey there.” No response again. Back to scrolling. Another. “Howdy!” There were no answers to any of my inquires. In a matter of minutes, a bored diversion turned into an obsession and quickly into desperation. 

Finally, after hours of staring at the same pictures I remembered I’d never updated my profile, so I decided to look at how I had years earlier described myself. Maybe that was the answer for why I was being ignored. I saw that the only picture I had posted was of my legs, from the prospective of looking down on a beach chair. I didn’t have a face picture, my bio still read that I was married, I didn’t have a place to host, and I was over 50. Now really, who on this app wouldn’t jump at that profile? 

A new sound on my phone alerted me that it had turned midnight, and it was officially my birthday. “It’s time to give up,” I told myself and just as I was forcing the grip on my phone to release another ping with a new message arrived. 

“Good evening. I’m 56 years old. I like your profile picture of your feet on the sand. I have one of those myself. I’m single, and I hope your mate doesn’t mind that I’m messaging you. I’m in town visiting and like you I do not have a place to meet, but I feel I’d enjoy getting to know you better.” 

This thoughtful, articulate message stunned me. I immediately responded that I was no longer married, that I also liked his beach profile photo, and that I would like to get to know him better as well. We sent messages back and forth for hours. The night sky turned from dark to dim morning light then to the strong sunshine of day. Finally, I told him that I had to get some sleep because it was my birthday today and in two hours my friend was taking me to a birthday brunch. But one last question opened another conversation which led to another topic and suddenly my time was running out and I still needed to take a shower and get to the restaurant. He said he also needed to clean-up because his host was taking him out as well. We decided not to say good-bye, and to keep our messages going while getting ready, and then would continue to visit during the entire walk to our destinations. 

When I arrived at Café Mona, where I was meeting my friend Mckenzie, I told my phone partner that I had to go, but hopefully we could reconnect later, on the app. He agreed, and before shutting down I said I had one final question, “What is your name?” But at that moment before I could receive a replay my phone battery went dead. I left the conversation disappointed that I didn’t know his name, what he looked or even sounded like, and could only hope he would remain interested enough to find me again. 

I was the first to arrive at the Café and Mckenzie came in right after me. Soon after taking our seat, I heard Mckenzie asking if her friend could join us. The one thing I didn’t want to do was meet another new person. I felt too tired to be upbeat and charming, and I’d already told my life story last night and this morning. 

But, when her friend arrived at the table I looked at into his pale blue eyes, dark hair with a splash of grey hair and dressed in perfect European style I channeled my charm into overdrive. Before Mckenzie could say a word, I introduced myself as Jerry and he did the same telling me his name was Jon Paul. 

For the rest of the lunch Jon Paul and I never stopped talking, and rarely disconnected from each other’s eyes. Mckenzie excused herself saying that she had to return to work, which was an obvious lie since it was Sunday, but we hardly noticed her disappear. Jon Paul and I spent the rest of the day together as in a movie montage, walking through Central Park and drinking coffee and eating ice cream at outdoor cafes. 

We finally ended up at my apartment where the first thing I did was plug my phone into the charger. I expected a long list of Happy Birthday text messages, but the phone returned to where it had been when the power was lost right before brunch. The sex app was still open and there was one message. My mind raced with the remembrance of the night and morning spent talking with the unknown man, and I felt a tinge of guilt that I could feel so many of the same feelings about two men in one day. I decided that I wouldn’t look at the message, so that I could give my full attention to the man I’d just spent a perfect afternoon with. Before I could put my phone down Jon Paul must have noticed the confused look on my face because he told me to answer my message, it could be important. I did a double take at the message and then at the man sitting on my couch as I read the message from the man many hours earlier, “To answer your final question, my name is Jon Paul. What’s yours?”