The Classifieds Ch. 01

Wanted
Woman seeking woman for Primal Play in City Park. CNC Role Play. Must be fit and able to run.
-Small Builds Preferred-
–Include a photo–

You are licking your finger to gain traction on the thin newspaper sheets, when a personals ad catches your eye. Not one for the classifieds, you can't even recall how you stumbled on the section but your mouth parts as you read over the ad. How peculiar it is to see an ad requiring a written response is the first thought to cross you might which causes a slight shake of your head. How is your first thought about the type of response and not the request itself?

As an avid runner in City Park, you find the idea of people hunting each other morbid. Without another thought you read on, entertaining yourself with the real estate section, followed by the local art scene spread. Checking your watch you realize you're an hour behind your normal schedule, so you bus your cup to the counter of the bookstore and grab your bag, ready to get back into the groove of things before it's too dark for your after work run.

Back home, you're quick to pull on your fitted running clothes and shoes before darting out the door. Earbuds in, you lose yourself in the pace of your breath in comparison to the drum of your feet on the cement. Exercise is an escape into yourself; It is the only way you can see the world clearly. Sweat coating your body, you feel mosquitoes try to land and fail, as you brush by their slow flying paths. Rounding the last bend on your regular route, you catch the view of someone behind you on the trail, seemingly keeping pace with you. The Lo Fi beats in your ears contrast the rise in the speed of your beating heart, as the pace of the person behind you quickens.. You pick up pace as well, feeling the need to evade this runner, this threat. Arms pumping, you are losing the lead, you are too slow. In a last ditch effort to evade being caught you tear off the path to the right and misstep, tumbling to the side.

The runner is over you, saying something. Asking.. If you are okay. Your delusion breaks away and your heart rate starts to return to normal as you realize how insane you must look on the ground with sticks caught in your hair. You grasp the muddy grass beneath your palms, trying to regain your focus.

Alone, you right yourself physically and mentally taking in the state of your clothing. Upon standing you realize you must have fallen into a puddle as your pants are soaked;.But, wait. The wetness is soaking from the inside out- not the other way around. How did you find being chased arousing? How did you see being ... hunted...as a thrill?

How the reality dawns, oh so slowly, over you in the dark of the park's running path. How the ad had taken on a life of its own inside of you- in more ways than one.

Returning home, you water yourself like one of your house plants, inside and out. Washing away not only sweat and mud, but the overwhelming feeling that you're going to write a letter to someone tomorrow. The thought of taking pen to paper is an adventure of its own.

Pulling out the bookstore stationery set you purchased years ago but never used, the texture of the thick manilla paper causes the sensation of electricity to creep up your fingertips, as you pen the first lines. Licking the envelope closed, you are mentally brought back to your damp fingertip finding the thin edges of the newspaper just yesterday. How long it seems it has been since reading the article that has encompassed your every thought. Shit, you had to google some of the terms in the ad to make sure you wouldn't regret sending the letter. You wont regret it.

As quickly as you mail the letter, you gain a response. Sipping coffee on your back porch, you ponder opening it. Opening the door fully into the reality of what you would be a part of. Into the reality of what you craved.

The letter sits squarely in the center of the table, untouched since its delivery from your mail slot. Its crisp white edges cause you to mindlessly play with the corner, making it spin in place until you can take it no longer. You rip it down the shorter edge, catching the still moist seal against your wrist as you devour the letters contents with your eyes.

City Park. 3.12.23. Sunset.

-Evie

Sunset was in an hour. How was the seal still wet? Flipping over the piece of mail, you realize it has no postage. It was hand delivered. Scattering your worries to the wind, you slip your feet into your shoes and head out the door.

To Be Continued..