Trust (Wrong 3)

“Well, I think it’s catchy.”

“Why do men do that?” I ask, glancing around the table in disbelief. “Do you know how many dick pics—”

“POD’s!” Everly interrupts.

“POD’s I get sent with nothing more than two words exchanged? They say ‘hey,’ I reply back ‘hi,’ and the next thing they send is a picture of their dick. It’s bizarre.”

“They want to prove they have a dick, obviously. In case you were worried they’re a eunuch.” Everly states this calmly, like it’s a reasonable explanation, while the rest of us stare at her. “Funny story, I was actually worried Sawyer might be a eunuch because he made me wait like, all night to have sex on our first date.”

That story is greeted by the three of us staring at her, silent.

“What? He’s not. I mean, he’s really not, if you know what I mean. He’s the opposite of—”

“We get it, Everly. Thank you.”

“Anyway,” Everly continues with her story. “A lot of men catfish their dick pics, so the only way to verify is in person anyway.”

“What?” I ask, tilting my head at her in confusion.

“You know, when they send a picture of some random dick from the internet, because it’s bigger than theirs.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Does that really happen?”

“All the time,” Everly says, nodding confidently. “I saw an article on it. On a blog.”

“Anyway,” Sophie interjects and turns to me. “Back to Chloe. How is the dating going?” She reaches behind her and rubs at her back while she talks.

“Well, I got asked to fuck a guy with a strap-on,” I mumble and stuff a piece of bread into my mouth.

“I’m sorry?” Everly asks, leaning forward. Sophie shifts in her chair uncomfortably, rubbing her bump, and Sandra sighs, because she’s already heard this story. Everly’s my best friend, but Sandra is my dating confidante. Everly is filled with good intentions, but she’s… a little invasive. She’s forever trying to set me up with guys she’s picked out and it’s just too much pressure. Plus if she actually managed to set me up with someone I liked she’d be so smug about it. And she’d probably follow me on the dates to watch and text me pointers.

So I talk to Sandra about these things. She’s been on the receiving end of Everly’s matchmaking shenanigans, so she gets it. Sandra is very discreet. I can send her all the details of the guy I’m meeting and know that she’ll never use it, unless I actually do disappear while on a date. Everly on the other hand would use the information to Facebook-friend the guy, run a background check and befriend his mother. So Sandra is the one I send the details to. You know, the safety details—who I’m meeting, when, where etc. I watch a lot of crime television, specifically Criminal Minds, so I always make sure someone knows where I am if I’m meeting a date. Just in case he turns out to be a criminal or whatever.

“A strap-on,” I repeat. “Penis,” I clarify when no one speaks.

I’m met with silence. I glance around the table at their shocked faces and then stuff another bite of pasta in my mouth while shrugging again.

“I’m gonna need you to back this story up,” Everly says while holding both hands up and bending her fingers towards her like she’s directing traffic. “Back. It. Up.”

“Yeah, I think we’re going to need more information,” Sophie agrees.

“I got a match on the dating app I’m using. The guy is gorgeous. He messages me immediately and I’m all hell yeah, fist-pumping myself in my living room. The message says, ‘One question. Will you fuck me with a strap-on?’” I pause and look around the table. “So I think he’s joking and type back, ‘Only if I can pick the size,’ and I’m proud of myself for being so quick on my feet, you know? I’m sitting on my couch laughing when his next message comes in. It said, ‘Any size you want. I’ll buy.’ He was serious. That’s what dating looks like. Men messaging and asking if I want to fuck them with a strap-on. I think it’s me. I attract weirdos.”

“I don’t think it’s you,” Sophie says soothingly while Everly shakes her head in agreement.

“No, I think it’s me.”

“Once—back when I was single—a guy left in the middle of sex,” Sandra says and we all swivel our attention to her.

“Stop!” Everly throws her hand up. “I know you’re shy but I cannot believe you’ve kept this story from me when I’ve known you almost a year. A year!”

Sandra blushes and covers her eyes with her hand. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Too late. I need the details.”

“So this guy, we went out a few times. I thought it was going well, you know?” She glances around the table. “We met for coffee a couple of times. Met for drinks at this really cute place another time and it turned into dinner. I thought we had something.”

“And then…?” Everly asks, drawing the words out.

“We had sex. Halfway through he stopped, pulled out and left.”

“That is not a true story,” Everly says.

“It is.” Sandra nods. “I promise you it is.”

“Was he still hard?”

“Yup. Pulled out. Pulled up his pants and left. I never heard from him again.”

The table is silent again while we mull that over. Then Sophie reminds us that she dated a gay guy for two years.

“Dating sucks,” I conclude.

“I got kicked out a guy’s apartment once,” Everly offers as her contribution to dating horror stories.

“You broke into his apartment, Everly. You stole his key and broke in. You’re his dating horror story, not the other way around,” I remind her while Sophie and Sandra laugh.

“Minor detail, Chloe.” Everly groans. “It was still a painful learning experience. Anyway, enough doom and gloom. I’ve got the perfect guy in mind for you.”

“Of course you do. No.”