“Me, too. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”
I dashed to the bathroom to wash up and lose the butt plug. Good thing no one was around, because this outfit was one my housemate Eliot would definitely label TMN—too much naked. He was shy and got embarrassed easily, and that bunny tail would have definitely sent him running.
When I returned to my room, I threw on a fuzzy pink onesie and dove onto the bed. I spotted my stuffed goat sticking out of the pillows and grabbed him in a hug as I asked, “Are you there?”
“Yup. Just got back.” I was relieved. Even though he’d said he wanted to hang out, I expected him to change his mind once he fully came down from his orgasm. “You look cute. What are you wearing?”
I pulled up the hood, which had bear ears on it, and stretched out my leg so he could see the feet. “A teddy bear footie pajama onesie. It’s cold tonight.”
“Are you into age play?”
I shook my head. “I’m not a little, I just like cute things. I grew up with strict parents who never let me express myself, so I guess I’m making up for it now.”
“I think it’s great that you’re enjoying yourself,” he said. “So, tell me, who’s your friend?”
I held the toy goat up to the camera and grinned as I told him, “This is Jeff. One of my housemates gave him to me for Christmas.”
“Please tell me Jeff’s last name is Goatblum.”
I started laughing and asked, “How’d you guess?”
“It was the only real choice with that first name.”
There was a brief lull in the conversation, and I started to get worried that I wasn’t being entertaining enough. If this was a date, I’d ask him about himself—where he lived, what he did for work, all that stuff—but I’d learned a lot of the men who subscribed to my fan page really just wanted to remain anonymous. The more I thought about it, that actually made sense. They came to me for a break from their real lives, so I shouldn’t be reminding them of it.
Fortunately, Hawk took the lead by asking, “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
“I love making things. I’ve been taking some ceramics classes, which are awesome. I love sewing, too. Gran taught me how. I make a lot of my costumes and stuff.”
“That’s fantastic. It sounds like you and your grandmother are close.”
“We were, but she died four years ago. I lived with her after my parents kicked me out when I was fifteen.” It was so obvious I didn’t date much. I’d managed to mention two depressing things in one breath. So much for light banter.
“I’m sorry about your grandma, and that your family did that to you.”
He sounded so serious. I smiled brightly and quickly changed the subject. “She taught me how to do something else too, besides sewing. Want to see what it is?”
“Absolutely.”
I hung off the edge of the bed and fished around beneath it. When I sat up again, I was holding my ukulele. I sat cross-legged so I was facing the camera and spent a minute tuning it. Then I strummed it while singing an upbeat version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
When I finished, my audience of one applauded and exclaimed, “That was fantastic!”
“Thanks.” I felt my cheeks heating up and tried to turn the conversation away from me by asking, “Do you play any instruments?”
“Yeah, a couple. My mom insisted on piano lessons when I was a kid. Then when I was twelve I decided I wanted to be the next Jimi Hendrix, so I asked for a guitar. My parents bought me an acoustic guitar instead of an electric one, but I actually learned to love it.”
“Do you still play?”
“Sometimes. It’s right here in the corner of my bedroom, hang on while I go get it.” I heard some rustling, followed a few moments later by the sound of him tuning a guitar. “I’m back,” he said, as he continued tuning. “Since you played a song for me, I’ll return the favor and play one for you. What would you like to hear?”
“Do you know any ABBA?”
“Not well enough to play it. How about some Fugees instead?”
“Awesome.”
He then proceeded to play and sing their gorgeous rendition of “Killing Me Softly With His Song.” When he finished, he said, “You’re crying.”