Page 5 of Choke Up

Three messages were in my inbox, and while two of them scared me off pretty much immediately by coming on way too strong, one of them seemed nice enough. I blocked a dick pic, and politely responded to the second guy that I wasn’t looking for anything, only getting a feel for the app and friendly chats. When he got pushy, I blocked him, too.

I warily responded to the third guy, mostly just because I didn’t want to be rude. I returned his “hi” with a “hey” and we chatted about how aggressive some of the messages have been. He told me how to change my settings so I didn’t attract so many weirdos, and we’ve been texting almost constantly since then. As much as I don’t want to admit that Elliot was right, I’m kind of loving the app now that I’ve made this connection.

Even though I never changed my username from the automatic first name and initial, the anonymity of the app makes it easier for me to communicate more openly. I've been more open and honest with ‘Johnny’ than I have with anyone before, and our conversation has moved from friendly to flirty more comfortably than I'd ever be able to manage in person. Johnny admitted that his profile name is an alias, because he’s still in the closet and not ready to come out. He was just curious and looking for a friendly chat. I understand, of course, and honestly, I've enjoyed texting back and forth with him so much that I'm not really in a hurry to meet in person. It’s so much easier like this.

I got brave earlier today and was going to send him a picture. Thus the reason I was wearing underwear and a crop top when my roommate came in. All I can be thankful for is that he didn't come in before I'd put the crop top on, or the attempts at the mirror pics of my ass. I'm not the most confident, and these kinds of pictures are not the norm for me. But something about talking to Johnny makes me want to be brave. Brazen, even.

I click out of the chat thread with my brother and over to the conversation I was having with Johnny. I scroll through some messages from last week. He'd made me laugh, telling me about almost setting something on fire in one of his labs. When I sent a laughing emoji, he'd said he wished he could see me laugh for real. So I took a picture and cropped it so all that was showing was one side of my mouth and the dimple in my cheek when I smile.

No one has ever told me I'm beautiful before. And okay, yeah, it's a stranger on a college hookup app, and it was a heavily cropped photo. He couldn't even see my whole face. I really shouldn't be so easily flattered. But it made me feel special. I want to smile more, show him more.

That little picture led to a close-up of his own smile, stubble darkening the bottom of his cheek. I spent so much time overthinking every pixel of that photo, considering whether the golden tone of his skin was natural or from a summer spent outdoors. I ran my hand over my smooth jaw, wishing I could feel stubble and pretend I was touching him.

JOHNNY: Sorry about the scruff. Need to shave.

ELLISH: I like it.

ELLISH: I think it's sexy.

JOHNNY: Oh really?

JOHNNY: Maybe I'll skip shaving more often ??

JOHNNY: It'd probably feel rough against your soft skin.

ELLISH: I think I'd like that.

JOHNNY: You think?

ELLISH: Not something I've tried before.

The stranger in the closet had rougher skin like that, maybe a five o’clock shadow that suggested he might be older than me, but not quite scruff. I shiver every time I think of that night and consider how much worse my swollen lips would have looked afterwards if the stranger had a rough beard like Johnny. My stomach clenches when I think about the way Gabe looked at me when they got back in the car the night of the graduation party. His gaze landed directly on my lips, and then down at my neck, where I later noticed I had a faint purple bruise—I'd been caught. And although my scattered thoughts ranged from guilt to embarrassment, my overall reaction was exhilaration. I knew right then what I needed to get past my crush on him, and talking to Johnny is giving me that same thrill. He’s exactly what I need.

My mention of not having tried something before led to a pretty open discussion about things we haven't tried. Since he's in the closet and I'm a sheltered art nerd with zero confidence, we made it a game. We take turns asking each other questions, which have ranged from very innocent and even silly, to downright invasive. The rule is, you have to answer the question, or send a picture—no faces or identities, just something random.

So far, Johnny has answered all my questions except one. I’ve asked his favorite color—blue; his favorite food—strawberry rhubarb pie; and then I got really brave and asked if he was a virgin—no. I asked if he played any sports and he sent me a picture of his elbow, which I took to mean yes. When he asked me if I was a virgin, I sent him a picture of my belly button, which I'm assuming he also guessed meant yes.

Ping.

My phone sends me alerts back-to-back, pulling me out of my reverie. Brad sighs angrily, and I turn the sound on my phone off before climbing up into bed to focus on the conversation with my brother.

ELLOITH: Killjoy.

ELLIOTH: There's a party this weekend. Want to go?

ELLISH: You're not serious, are you?

ELLIOTH: It's the first party of the season at the athletic dorms. Nothing too crazy.

ELLIOTH: Come on, it'll be fun.

ELLISH: It doesn't sound like you'll need a DD if it's at your dorms, so I'm not sure why you're inviting me.

ELLIOTH: Come on, don't be like that.

ELLISH: Honest?

ELLIOTH: Bring the blue-haired girl with you. And any of your nerd friends. Open invitation.

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