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A Man Has Needs

You have known Bridget and her boyfriend Nick for quite a while. She’s cool, but honestly when you hang out with her, you’d rather it be with both of them, because you’re really attracted to Nick. You have found yourself fantasizing about him — usually it involves being somewhere with the four of you, or a bigger group, at a party or an outing where you find yourself alone with Nick for a few minutes and make out to demonstrate that you’re into each other, and then make secret plans to hook up later because you know you want each other. Or one of you meets up with the other couple but have some time alone because someone is early or someone is late.

It’s just a girlish crush… or so you thought until recently. You have surprised yourself by thinking of Nick more while masturbating, and being a little more forward and flirtatious when you’re around him, most recently last weekend when you were over at their place for dinner with two other couples. Oh, yeah, you need to get that slow cooker back.

You are slumming it at home, watching your favorite streaming video service, comfy in your slippers and pyjama pants and old long-sleeve t-shirt (hey, it’s soft!) You’ve been invited out by a co-worker and a friend, but honestly you just want to do “nothing” for a couple days, so you made up an excuse to stay in. You ate leftover whatever from the fridge for “dinner,” and now you’re digging into your ice cream, of course straight from the carton.

A knock at the door interrupts your show, of course right when the characters are whispering and you’re trying to listen intently. “Shit,” you say out loud, and back it up then pause. You don’t want to answer the door, but you would hate yourself if it was someone who noticed a neighbor’s roof was on fire or whose kid wrecked her tricycle and was bleeding from the head or something. Or maybe it’s a delivery — you thought you weren’t getting anything until at least tomorrow, but you might have that screwed up because you just don’t care to think about adult stuff much these two days. You peek out the window beside the door, and see a guy holding a metal tub or something. Taking a step back, you think for a sec. Huh, no uniform, right? Not a delivery. Wait a second… that’s not…. you take another peek.

You leap back and almost drop your ice cream carton. You do drop your spoon, of course with a loud clatter. “Shit!” you say, out loud again. It’s Nick! You hope he didn’t just hear you through the door. You frantically retreat back to the kitchen, which you evidently subconsciously think is a safe place to hide, or think. That metal thing must be your slow cooker — he’s so sweet to return it, but… now? You shouldn’t open the door — you should pretend that you’re not here, and say sorry you missed him if he ever says he stopped by. But what if it’s Nick and Bridget? You didn’t see her, but you weren’t looking hard. What if they, or he, heard your spoon or cussing or saw the TV (or you!) through the window and know you’re home and think it’s weird for you to hide? Why are you so nervous? Maybe because the man of your fantasies might come face to face with you when you’re, um, not at your best. You have no idea what your hair looks like, either.

Another knock. “Shit, shit.” You throw the spoon at the sink, and of course it bounces off the front of the counter and clangs to the floor. You pick it up and make it on the second toss, then stow the ice cream in the freezer. You scurry past the front door and find a mirror, just to make sure you don’t have a big blob of ice cream on your shirt or something stuck in your teeth or that your hair isn’t all whack. You are surprised to see that you look almost presentable. If it’s Nick and Bridget, you could hang out for a bit unless they’re on their way somewhere. If it’s just Nick you could…. what? Try to get him to stay as long as possible? Flirt without seeming too weird? Ugh.

You’re nervous as you approach the door. Not really nervous about the way you look, but just uneasy, scheming a way to get him to stay for more than the four seconds it will take to hand your appliance over to you in the doorway. Maybe you could pretend to stub your toe so he can look at it? Or turn your ankle so he’ll have to carry you? Or fake being scared of an intruder so he’ll stay and protect you? The crazy girlish fantasy flashes blitzing through your head aren’t doing anything to calm your breathing, so you focus. It’s just a slow cooker, you tell yourself, nothing to get all worked up about. The disappointment of knowing deep down that fantasies are just fantasies helps you calm your breathing and relax your muscles.