Deacon: Pretty sure what you need is to relax with a good fucking glass of wine and some hot porn. The book you bought will have you thinking too much. What you need is to NOT think. Getting off is not so much about technique. It’s about losing yourself until you can’t help but touch yourself. When that happens, you don’t give a fuck how you’re doing it.
It suddenly got really hot in my room. My nipples hardened as I reread that last message a few times.
Deacon: That’s just my two cents.
Carys: Is that what you do when you’re alone? Have a glass of wine and watch porn?
Deacon: Occasionally.
Carys: Do you always need porn to get off?
Deacon: No. It’s a mood thing. Sometimes I don’t need it at all.
Carys: Like when?
Deacon: When I’m turned on by someone or something that happened. Or sometimes, I’m just turned on for no reason. If I’m stressed, I might need more assistance.
Carys: I see.
If he only knew how aroused this conversation had made me. Until this very moment, I don’t think I’d realized just how hard up I’d been. The muscles between my legs ached. That was ironic, because it proved his argument. If you were turned on enough, the mechanics didn’t matter. I knew if I touched myself right now, I could make myself come—all because of this conversation and the fact that I was now imagining what Deacon looked like when he pleasured himself.
There was so much more I wanted to know: what exactly turned him on, who had turned him on last, what he thought about in those moments when he made himself come all alone. I didn’t need a freaking book. I needed more of this—but I wouldn’t dare ask for it.
Instead, I chickened out before I made a total fool of myself.
Carys: Headed to bed. Thanks for the chat.
The three dots moved around for a lot longer than usual.
Deacon: Sweet dreams.
* * *
A couple days later, a box arrived at my apartment. Given my penchant for online spending lately, I once again had no clue what it might contain.
When I opened it and reached inside, I wasn’t even sure what I was holding. It looked to be a pair of men’s leather pants with the ass part cut out.
What the hell?
Then I noticed the name on the billing receipt. Deacon’s. Although the address was mine.
Even more confused, I took out my phone. I couldn’t even type the question without laughing.
Carys: Did you order assless chaps and have them sent to my apartment?
Deacon: Wow. They came fast.
Carys: So this isn’t a mistake? Do I want to know what you’ll be doing with these?
Deacon: They’re a gag gift for my buddy, Adrian. He and I are always sending each other weird shit as practical jokes. He was complaining that he had nothing to wear for this costume party he’s going to. So, voila.
Carys: And you thought to send them to ME because???
Deacon: Just wanted to see your reaction. Plus, I figured this would make us even. You accidentally sent a masturbation book my way. And now I sent you assless chaps.
Carys: That was so thoughtful of you.
Deacon: Thank you. Just trying to be a good friend. ;-)
Then came the worst thing that could have possibly happened. I meant to send the laughter emoji. Instead, my finger hit…the tongue.
Ugh! It was at the top of my choices, since I responded to Simone earlier after she sent me a photo of her dessert. I just sent the tongue in response to assless chaps.
Deacon: Okay???
Carys: Sorry! Wrong emoji! My finger slipped. It was supposed to be a laughing face.
Deacon: So you’re not an ass licker then.
My jaw dropped.
Deacon: Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
I was mortified.
Deacon: Too much?
Carys: YES. Just a tad, TMI King.
Deacon sent a zipper-mouth emoji.
I threw the phone across the couch, still embarrassed—but laughing.
CHAPTER 9
Carys
WE’RE JUST FRIENDS
Fall flew by, and before I knew it, winter was upon us in New York. I couldn’t believe I now had a nine-month-old. Over the past couple of months, my friendship with Deacon had grown stronger, but it was still just that—a friendship and nothing more.
He’d chosen not to go home to Minnesota for Christmas, instead going to Vail on a ski trip with friends from New York. While he was away, my mother came for a two-day visit from Florida. And that was enough. By the end of her stay, I’d had enough of her criticisms about my parenting and ignorant questions about Sunny. I loved my mother but could only take so much of her.
Now it was January, and I looked forward to what the new year would bring. My job was going well, and Cynthia had given me more responsibilities.
Since I was working in the office today, Simone and I met for a quick lunch. We hadn’t gotten together in a long time, so we had a lot to catch up on. I’d only now told her about the day Deacon had to watch Sunny—the day he’d saved my ass.