Page 50 of Poetry On Ice

Jesus Christ. This guy.

If I was thinking clearly, maybe I wouldn’t do it, but I’m not, so I do. I create a username and password for him and send him a link to a photo vault app I’ve heard about. He messages immediately.

?

It’s a private messaging app that’s hard to hack. Photos and videos disappear after forty-eight hours. You can’t save or download them, and if you try to screenshot them, I’ll get a message letting me know you’re a perv.

He hearts the message when, really, I think this is one of those times you could get away with a thumbs-up. For some idiotic reason, I find myself smiling absurdly at my screen.

Pussyboy?

Seriously? You made my username Pussyboy?

Aw, thanks, BB—you know I love that shit ;)

I’m smiling because I've had a few drinks. That’s why.

And that’s why I can’t stop.

It’s definitely not because even though I started talking like this to insult and annoy McGuire, I’ve accidentally tripped and fallen face-over-ass into my new favorite kink.

Wait. You’re Ringwrecker?

I was going to suggest Douchecanoe for you…

…but I guess Ringwrecker checks out

He follows that up with a string of hearts and a kissy face emoji. I’d tell him to knock it off if it weren’t for the fact that my hand is back in my pants and my thoughts are coming through a little slow.

I’ve watched the memento video about six hundred times already tonight, and that’s a conservative estimate. I can’t watch it again. I can’t do it. My voice in that video is so unhinged and horny. Hearing it feels like having a nail driven into one of my sinuses.

It’s terrible.

And I can’t click on his profile again. My pride won’t allow it.

Can you imagine if he got another alert about it?

God, no. Can’t do that.

I log into the vault app and send him the video he’s asked for.

There. That’s it. It’s done.

Time to log off.

I don’t though. I’m so wired. I make a mental note to schedule an appointment to see a veterinarian first thing tomorrow. I need sedation. A horse tranquilizer, that’s what I need.

I pick up my phone and put it down again.

I open the vault app and shut it down quickly.

McGuire is still live on it. He’s watching that fucking video of himself gushing cum from his asshole, my cum, and he’s hearing my fucked-up voice when he does it.

I open the app again and let my fingers hover over my screen for a while without typing.

Look, if you have any idea how to message someone and ask for nudes without sounding creepy, hit me up. Just go right ahead and let me know. Tell me what to say, and I’ll do it because I’ve got nothing. Nada.

Send nudes