The world felt infinite and I felt so small and when I told my dad that, he smiled and told me no matter how big I grew, I’d always feel small when I looked at the sky. And that feeling small wasn’t the worst thing in the world to feel. That feeling small meant you were big enough to see that the world didn’t revolve around you.
He was a good man.
HOG
P.S. I ordered a few things from Amazon today. A toothbrush and leaf blower. I tried to find the two most random things I could imagine. Did I do okay?
P.S.S. Favorite movie and why?
From: avagracewentworth
To: heartofgold
HOG,
In college, I memorized the constellations. The professor taught us how to navigate the night sky and every time I found one, my stomach flip-flopped, wondering why I even had the right to understand the sky. Who was I to read the stars?
Your dad’s words were wise.
Favorite movie? Easy.
Titanic. I saw it in the theater twelve times and sobbed. Every. Single. Time. Then I’d come home, my cheeks streaked with tears, and my sister would look at me as if I were insane.
She’d say, “It’s like you think the ending is going to change. But Kate is always going to let go. Leonardo's always going to die.”
She didn’t understand—and still, doesn’t–that it wasn’t about the ending. It was about the journey. The end only hurt because the story was so beautiful.
If Kate and Leo never fell in love, would anyone have cried?
I mean, sure, a ship’s sinking is sad, but so is all of history. A battle lost, a country besieged. But I don’t collapse in tears over history books recounting the Revolutionary War.
Yet when the iceberg hits—I am lost at sea, my face covered in a flurry of tears. I fight to catch my breath but I can’t breathe.
It’s the love story, the fight, the dream. The longing for more than what you have.
That’s what gets me.
Maybe it all goes back to my deepest desire. To love and be loved.
Also, though, I’d like to be seen.
Speaking of... who are you, Heart of Gold? I’m becoming a bit besotted.
AG
10
I’m becoming a bit besotted? Who do I think I am? Jane freaking Austin?
I blink, determined to be present. To stop dreaming of an email exchange with a stranger. A literal stranger.
It’s bananas. But also, intoxicating.
The emails have been coming every few days for a month and I’m giddy every morning with the prospect of checking my inbox.
And last night, when I told him I was besotted it was not an exaggeration. I’m falling for an email address. What does that say about me?
Right now, I don’t care. I spend the better part of the night touching myself, thinking of him for the thousandth time. Of HOG’s hands on my ass, whispering gentle words and soft strokes as he fills me up with his cock—because of course, this internet-man has a big cock. The biggest cock, and it is a cock that fills me.
Much like Samson’s had. It fills me like Samson filled me, and fucks me like Samson fucked me. My pussy whimpers in release and then I ask for more.
It’s hot. All of it. I can’t get enough of it. I want more. Everything.
Him.
HOG.
When I fake-fuck him he looks like Samson, the man who had me and left me. Samson was unavailable and detached, but HOG... he is committed and all in and writes me nearly every day and I write him back, which is why now I am pressing my thumb to my clit, rubbing in small circles, harder and harder until I come with a flood all over my fingers. It’s still not enough.
I’m horny and hot.
The alarm on my phone wakes me from my early morning fantasy. Dammit. All I want to do today is sit in bed and compose emails to my internet not-quite-lover, but I can’t. Sophia’s final gown fitting is today and as the maid of honor, I need to be there.
The bridal boutique is beautiful. The shopkeeper hands champagne to Sophia, her other two bridesmaids, and me while we wait for someone to bring out Sophia’s gown and our dresses. Mom’s here too, but she’s in another area of the shop, her dress is being measured as we speak, and she's paying for the purchases.
“So, what are you up to these days, Ava?” Cecily asks. Cecily is Sophia’s oldest childhood friend. Her question is ridiculous because I know that she knows I’m not dating anybody, mostly because she gets all her gossip from Sophia.
Cecily is wearing heels and slacks and, is she wearing pantyhose? Instead of answering her question I try and get a look closer at the exposed top of her foot, but then I realize I’m looking little creepy so I meet her eyes and smile with feigned interest.