Page 22 of Stag

Panics, my ass. I think she gets jealous of her sister having attention on her, not that I thought she wanted my attention specifically, because she clearly hated my sexy ass, but just attention in general.

Me: You’re a perfectly capable human being, why does she feel the need to be your guardian angel?

Fuck me, I’m chatting with her! And I mean, since she’s not going to be able to talk to me on the phone, this is the closest we’d get to a call, right?

She was taking a while to reply, and I wondered if I’d offended her, because her other replies had been fairly rapid. I just kept getting bouncing dots, then nothing, then bouncing dots. It was shredding my fucking nerves as I waited. If she blocked me, would I even know, or would I be staring at this chat for the rest of my life, wondering?

Claudia: She’s always looked out for me, that’s all. She’s older, by minutes, and she sees herself as my protector, especially since we were twelve. Maybe I shouldn’t have moved in with her, because it’s making her make me crazy.

That was her longest message so far, so if she needed time to compose them, could I really complain?

Me: What happened when you guys were twelve?

Was that a dumb question? Was it too nosy? Was it a natural way to carry out a conversation? Fuck me, am I this shit that I can’t hold a damn messaging conversation with a person?

Claudia: I could hear until then. I got sick, and lost a sense. It’s not like someone did that to me. It just happened.

Oh hell. So she’d been able to hear for twelve years? That’s fucking awful. How the hell did she cope with that transition? Was it sudden? Did it go gradually? I had so many questions, but I didn’t want our conversation to focus on that, because it was clearly a long time ago. She looked about my age, after all.

Me: I’m sorry about that night in the club. The first one. I’m so used to chicks ignoring me that I kinda lost my shit. It wasn’t cool.

Claudia: Are you being kind to the deaf lady because you realise it’s a dick move? FYI chicks is what assholes call women. You’re saying you’re not one, aren’t you?

Fuck fuck fuck. She was already seeing through my bullshit, only it wasn’t bullshit, was it? This was me. The real me, no fronting, no bigging myself up, or trying to impress the guys, just being myself.

Me: I didn’t mean to offend. I’m used to hanging around with a bunch of guys who say that shit, I guess it rubbed off on me.

She sent an emoji, a blushing face with big wide eyes. Shock? Horror? Who the fuck knows.

Claudia: I rather enjoyed you rubbing on me. Is that too forward?

Holy shit!

Claudia

It was risky. It was insane of me to even put my number into some random guy’s phone, but I swear I could still feel that kiss. I mean, I’d literally had my vibrator in my hand, and the memory of that kiss in my head, when he messaged. I didn’t get off yet, but this felt like the most delicious foreplay. Did that mean I was being too risqué? Was I being dumb by talking like this to a guy I didn’t know? What if we met up and he jumped me, thinking that’s what I was up for? I stared at the discarded vibrator and giggled. Wasn’t I?

Unknown: I enjoyed that too. Kinda wanna do it again. A lot. Is *that* too forward?

I was biting my lip, picturing him and me dancing together, imagining how it’d feel to be wrapped in those strong tattooed arms again, remembering how sweet it was that he’d used an app to tell me what song was playing. How he seemed to intuitively know I needed reassurance in that moment.

Me: I don’t even know your name. Surely I should know what to call you before we even think of… doing anything ‘forward’.

I wondered if it was something sexy, something gothic and tragic, or if it’d be something normal like Steve, or Dave. Eric. Nigel. Neil. Simon. I was hoping for a little more intriguing, but just because he was sporting serious guyliner tonight, didn’t mean he wasn’t just an average guy every other day.

Unknown: Stag. That’s my name, and it probably sounds weird as fuck. I’m a biker, we all have different names with the club, usually for a good reason. Mine isn’t, just an FYI.

Stag. He was named after a male deer. Stag? What the hell did it mean? In US terms, it probably meant he was a loner, going alone to things like parties, which would at least mean he’s single. He had to be single, right?

Me: Stag because you go places alone? You’re not in a relationship, right?

Always put those important questions out there, I mean, I really want to see him again, and I don’t want to find out he’s seeing someone. I hoped he wasn’t ‘that’ guy.

I updated his name in my contacts, and waited for his response. It was taking a little longer than I’d hoped for. Was he coming up with a story?

Stag: No, it’s because I lost a fight with an actual stag. It’s a fun story, really. It’s why I have two big scars on my body. Fucker was mean. All I did was bump it with a car. And I’m definitely single. Painfully so.

Painfully so? What a strange way to put it, but then maybe it’d been a while for him too. Well, there’s my confirmation, right? He’s not in a relationship, and I want to see him again, I want to talk to him, or talk and watch his lips for answers. At least he’d know why I’m watching them. Sometimes people think I’m hitting on them when I do that, although with him, maybe I would be. I knew how those lips felt now. Knew he was good with his tongue. Oh yeah, my vibrator was definitely getting lucky tonight.