Little.Bird: Oh please Matt. You're waiting for me to tell you where I live.
Night.Owl: Then tell me.
Little.Bird: Seattle.
I felt a funny twist in my gut. Washington, not Colorado.
Night.Owl: Ah. I've never been out that way.
Little.Bird: You should visit some time. Great food, great atmosphere.
Night.Owl: Your boyfriend sounds like a real charmer.
Little.Bird: Lol. Sure. Doesn't matter, I won't be with him much longer. Brb.
Hannah was gone for ten minutes. Fuck, had I upset her?
Little.Bird: Back.
Night.Owl: Wb. Are you okay?
Little.Bird: Yeah, I'm fine. I wanted to change into something more comfy.
I stared at the screen for a full minute before forcing my fingers to type what my brain was screaming. After I typed it, I stared at the words for another minute before hitting enter.
I must have been losing my mind. Or turning into a creep. Or both.
Night.Owl: So what are you wearing?
Little.Bird: Lol! All the walls are coming down tonight...
Night.Owl: Haha. God, sorry. I have no idea why I just typed that. Ignore that. Such a creeper right now.
Little.Bird: No, it was funny, that's all. You're not a creeper, trust me. I'm a girl who used to play online games. I know what creepers are.
Night.Owl: Well, whatever.
I felt my face heating. Hannah and I were having our first actual conversation and I asked what she was wearing.
I, a successful and very taken twenty-eight-year-old man, had become the equivalent of a horny fourteen-year-old. Real smooth.
Little.Bird: Matt, I said trust me. You are -not-a creeper. You're like the anti-creeper. That's why I laughed. It's like suddenly Mr. "I'm not looking for friends so don't piss me off with details about your life" wants to know what I'm wearing. Do you still want to know?
My blush of embarrassment was rapidly turning into a flush of anger.
Night.Owl: Yes, I still fucking want to know. That's why I asked, so either tell me or drop it. I don't need you to make me feel like a dipshit for asking.
Little.Bird: Okay! I'm sorry. Don't get angry. I'm wearing a blue bathrobe.
Night.Owl: A bathrobe...?
Little.Bird: Yes. It's a soft fuzzy blue bathrobe. Hits me about mid-thigh.
Night.Owl: Is that all?
Little.Bird: Yes.
I felt a throb between my legs. At the time, I had no idea what Hannah looked like, but that fact didn't seem to matter to my dick. I slid the laptop off my thighs and onto the mattress. I pressed a hand to my sex. And I waited. Where was this going?
Little.Bird: Do I... get to ask what you're wearing?
Night.Owl: Lounge pants.
Little.Bird: Is that all?
Night.Owl: Yes.
Little.Bird: Yummy...
Night.Owl: Hannah. You should let your robe hang open.
Little.Bird: Alright.
My mouth gaped. My erection pushed against my palm. Alright? She took my order so calmly and without hesitation. Was she really doing it?
I conjured up an image of a young woman seated at a computer desk, her small robe hanging open and her full breasts bared to the screen. I shoved my pants around my hips and freed my shaft. My whole body was tingling.
I needed to tell Hannah to stop and that I wasn't single and that we were going to ruin our pleasant anonymous online friendship.
Night.Owl: Describe your body. Spread your legs. God, my heart is pounding.
Little.Bird: Mine too. I spread them. Telling you this stuff is making me wet.
Night.Owl: God, Hannah.
I began to pump my cock with one hand, pausing to swirl my thumb over the head. I could feel the lean muscles along my thighs and arms locking up—tensing in excitement or else willing me to stop. I needed to stop.
Little.Bird: My breasts are... big. 34DD. They sit high on my chest for natural breasts. My nipples are dark pink. They're really sensitive. I'm curvy. Hourglass figure I guess.
I was ready to come. Already. I let myself moan into the silence of the apartment and rocked my hips into my hand. Oh god oh god oh god. I groped at the laptop keyboard.