Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
I learned that lesson the hard way. Now I keep my food in my room. I have an ancient dorm fridge under my desk. The compressor is loud, but it keeps my cheese and mayo cool. And there’s a loaf of bread on the desk.
Making my sandwich takes only a minute. I put it on a paper plate and sit back on the bed, my phone in one hand to entertain me while I eat.
I still have more studying to do. But I can burn a few minutes on a game. Or—and this can be even more fun—scrolling through the Kink app.
It’s been a while since I had a hookup. There’s been too much schoolwork and too many weekend hours at the club. Lately, I fall into bed in the wee hours of the morning and try to sleep a few hours until Mr. Jockface starts playing loud classic rock while he does sit-ups and pushups in his room. At home I’ll bet he has an entire wing to himself. Keeping quiet for others has probably never occurred to him.
The app’s home screen loads, offering me a tantalizing question.
What are you hungry for today?
As if sex is a handy buffet table I could sidle up to whenever I feel the urge.
Actually, it’s a viewpoint that fits my sexual appetites pretty well. Some people use Kink to find partners who will fulfill a precise sexual fantasy. But I’m more of a variety seeker. Sometimes I’m in the mood to party with curves and the lighter touch of feminine hands. But guys are a whole lot of fun in bed, too.
Sometimes I don’t have to choose at all. Kink also has a section for couples looking to add someone to their bed. That’s what I tap on now. Threesomes waiting to happen.
It’s not waiting for me tonight, of course. I have to finish homework for two classes before a weekend of late-night club shifts. But a guy can dream. Besides, it takes time to cultivate a threesome. You have to be sure that everyone is on the same page.
I flip past a couple of images that are familiar. One pic shows a hot couple that I’ve already partied with. They were fun, but the guy is too much of a Dom for my taste. He wanted me to kneel, and I let him know that wasn’t an option. Then there’s a gay couple. I’m not in the mood for two dudes, so I flip past it.
And, whoa! Fresh meat. There’s a shot of a couple I’ve never seen before. They’re on a beach somewhere. Her bikini leaves nothing to the imagination. Perfect tits and a stomach so flat that she might as well be on the cover of a magazine.
The guy has a well-muscled arm curled around her little waist. He’s kind of beefy, but his proportions are nice. I’d like to slide my hands down those cut abs and into those swim trunks. They have little red lobsters on them, which makes me roll my eyes.
But all in all, they are a hot couple. Definitely appealing. The photo is cropped at their shoulders, so I can’t see their faces. But that’s just common sense. My photo is the same.
I swipe right.
The screen shimmies. You’re a match, hot stuff, the app tells me.
“Aw, shucks,” I say aloud, because I like my apps to flatter me. Then I get down to the serious business of inspecting the profile.
Male, 20s, in a relationship with female, 20s. She wants a m/f/m threesome for her birthday. I’m totally open to that. Looking for a one night thing in a few weeks.
That’s all he gives me. Oh, and his handle is LobsterShorts, which makes me laugh. At least he can acknowledge the ridiculousness of that preppy bathing suit. Another vote in his favor.
My handle is SinnerThree. Because I acknowledge the truth, too.
I finish my sandwich and set the plate aside. The guy’s profile has a glowing dot in the corner, which means he’s active on the app. I’d lay all my money (which, fine, is none) on him having made this profile only hours ago. He seems kind of green. But that’s not a turnoff. I’d bet the rest of my nonexistent fortune on the fact that he’s never gotten off in front of another guy.
Blowing minds is at least half the fun, right?
As a rule, I keep the app’s geolocation setting switched off. It’s nobody’s business where I am. But when I’m trying to decide whether to engage, I’ll turn it on for a moment just to see if I can guess whether I’m looking at another Darby College student.
With those shorts? Probably. But I change the setting anyway.
Location: .9 miles away.
I turn it off again. Hmm. Less than a mile is pretty close. He could be a student, or an intern at the hospital. Or—and this is the worst-case scenario—a grad student who will show up to teach the next business course I take. Now that would be awkward.