Page 35 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
Never anything like this, though.
I toss a packet of stickers on my bed, close my blinds, and then strip out of my clothes. Naked, I ask myself again if I’m really going to do this. It’s rash, irresponsible, and crazy. It’s not the kind of thing a divorced forty-year-old woman is supposed to do.
Or maybe it is.
I don’t know.
But I’m doing it.
I place a sticker on each of my nipples—the stickers are just barely large enough to cover my nipples, and I mean barely. If my nipples were to get hard, the stickers would probably pop off. I make sure my bed is neatly made, and there’s nothing on the floor around the bed, and then climb on the bed and try a few poses with my phone in selfie mode.
God, this is hard.
Why am I doing this?
Because I’m dumb, and horny, and desperately want him to like me.
Because I desperately need his approval and compliments; the affirmation that I’m still attractive to someone is addictive.
Yeah, I realize all this, objectively.
Still doing it.
I snap a few photos. The picture I end up liking best is of me sitting up, weight on one arm, with one leg curled under me and the other bent up and crossed over to hide my core, with my torso twisted to face forward, chest pushed forward, shoulders back. The expression on my face is the hardest part to get right, I find. Try too hard to look sultry and I just look constipated. Can’t be a blank look either, or a typical selfie grin. And not too serious.
Finally, after about thirty deleted tries, I have one I feel is decent. I’ve edited it a tiny bit, just to brush out some wrinkles and work some magic on the lighting, but I’m pleased with it, for my first and only nude selfie.
My tits look good—big, firm, perky. The stickers are coming loose in the photo, which even sort of adds to the sexiness of it, because you can almost but not quite get a glimpse of my nipples.
Before I send the photo, I text Jesse: I’m going to send you something. You have to promise me no one will ever see it except you.
His reply is instantaneous: I’m actually alone in the bathroom at the moment. And I promise on my life, and on my honor as a man.
Me: Okay, well…I’m probably crazy for sending you this, but…here you go.
Before I can second-guess my recklessness, I send the photo.
And immediately panic.
Oh dear god—what did I just do? I just sent a man a topless photo of myself.
He’ll show it to Franco and James and everyone he knows.
He’ll post it online.
Worse yet, he won’t like it and he’ll ghost on me.
He texts me back a few seconds later: Holy shit, Imogen! I have no words. None.
Me: that is, very literally the only nude I’ve ever sent anyone.
Jesse: Really?
Me: Absolutely. Like I said, you bring out the worst in me. Or, to be fair, not the worst, just…the craziest. You make me do crazy shit I have no business doing. Like sending you a nude.
Jesse: I see nothing crazy about it.
Jesse: You’re incredible. I have to stay in the bathroom and not look at the pic just so I can go back out without embarrassing myself. My buddies are probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
Me: You like it that much?
Jesse: Imogen. Legit, I’m fighting the urge to whack off in the bathroom of this fucking bar. That’s how much I like it.
Me: I’m not sure I believe you’re that turned on. I might need photographic proof.
Jesse: Are you soliciting a dick pic from me?
Me: *blinks innocently* why, no. That would be positively salacious of me.
Jesse: Can’t say I’ve ever actually taken a picture of my own dick before.
Me: You can be…creative about it. Also, you don’t have to. I was just being silly.
Jesse: Don’t walk it back now, Imogen. Never apologize for what you want, and never hesitate to ask for what you want. With me, and in life. You deserve everything you want and more.
Me: Don’t ruin our witty banter with your damned heartfelt saccharine bullshit. ;-)
Jesse: I’m locking the men’s room and taking a photo for you.
Jesse: And now I feel even more respect for the guts it took to send that to me. This is awkward and embarrassing and difficult.
Me: I took and deleted about thirty before I got the one I liked.
Jesse: Yeah, I’ve taken like fifty and there’s someone banging on the door. This one is okay, I think. Not as good as yours, but then, you’re a goddamn goddess and I’m just a scruffy nerfherder.
Me: You’re gorgeous, and I love that you just quoted Star Wars to me.
A few seconds later a photo pops up in the thread, and I immediately tap it to make it full screen.
