Trivia Anyone? Ch. 02

It should not have seemed implausible, now, in this night of firsts, that it would be someone else's eyes casting a spell on Allison. The mesmerizing black pearls she wielded from behind naturally long, fluttering, butterfly lashes had been responsible for enchanting men throughout her life. The ease with which she could command their attention turned into something of a sport.

And she painted her eyes to fit the role she chose for any given day. Whether it be the pouty, helpless nymph or the dimwitted bimbo- the brooding seductress or severe intellectual- she had a color scheme to match. And the more easily they fell for it, the more quickly she moved on. She was invariably drawn to men not moved by these womanly wiles.

She had toyed with men over the years, even allowing one of them to put a few a babies in her (her words). None of them had been able to hold her interest for much longer than it took her to make them cum. Allison used men to satisfy a psychological need because none of them were capable of satisfying her sexually.

It wasn't that she hated men; she had many worthwhile relationships with those with whom she worked or shared some community connection. She hated the weak, hypocritical, lying varieties. Exposing them was as satisfying as leading them on.

There were two that had managed to get beneath the façades Allison carefully crafted. In her more sentimental moments, she might even admit that she loved one of them. The other was simply more convenient to keep around over the course of their years-long, on-again/off-again relationship.

David, the man she married and divorced twice, was more like family than a lover. He was from the neighborhood. His grandparents had known hers, their parents went to school together, they'd all lived on the same street for generations. Despite everyone in both families recognizing their incompatibility as domestic partners, the village was happy all the same to have their communal bond strengthened and solidified.

Their marriages were really more for tax and legal benefits than love. Same with their divorces. Neither of them pretended to maintain any semblance of fidelity past either honeymoon. Two nights of intimacy had produced two beautiful children and some much needed write-offs.

It was Hale that Allison kicked herself for letting get away. He was the only man she ever wanted, ever pined after, ever felt. She was certain that he would be the first man to finally bring her to orgasm. Their courtship ended as unexpectedly as it began.

Thomas Hale- or Hale, as his friends knew him- appeared harmlessly enough in Allison's Instagram feed one day when he commented on a photo his friend was tagged in. His friend, Nick Carlson, happened to be a grade school classmate of Allison's. Each of them followed Nick.

The post in question featured Nick and his daughter who, at the time, was a blossoming 16 year old high school senior graduating two years ahead of her class. The caption Nick wrote was, "This beauty is gonna make someone really happy someday..."

And while Nick went on to brag about how proud he was of his daughter's achievements, Hale fixated on that first sentence. His response arrested Allison's attention. "Let's hope it's herself," Hale replied.

Allison was dumbstruck. Her normally free-wheeling impulse to offer subjective, opinionated commentary lambasting friends and strangers alike on the internet was suddenly tongue-tied. Hale had crystallized Allison's frustrated male-bashing manifesto into four words.

She felt compelled to write Hale despite her trepidation with reaching out to strangers on the internet. "You've done something no other man has ever been capable of before: you've left me speechless."

In the middle of typing a more substantive message to provide context to her first message, he replied back.

"Thanks?"

As she continued typing, another message came in.

"Have we met?"

She frantically typed, hoping to complete her message before he had a chance to send another confused message.

"You'll forgive me if I've offended, but, pray tell, what have I said or done that so thoroughly upset you so as to steal the words from your lovely mouth?"

Almost there, she panicked and couldn't seem to type anymore. Her pending message was now a twisted wreckage of autocorrected nonsense as his next message entered.

"It seems you've quite a lot to say, miss. May I call you miss or shall I refer to you as Miss 1976? Or would you prefer AllieBelle? Miss AllieBelle1976? How about Allie? Oh, you kids these days with your cell phones and tape cassettes. Get off my lawn!"

Allison nearly dropped her phone laughing so hard upon reading his last comment. Totally dumbfounded, she deleted the two paragraphs she had written and replied simply, "OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT IS THE FUNNIEST SHIT I'VE EVER READ!"

"Inside voices, darling. Inside voices,"

"I'm dying over here."

"You were typing an awful lot there earlier. Forgive me for interrupting your thought process. I'd love to hear what you really had to say."

"I wanted to say something about what you commented on Nick's post"

"oh."

"I see."

"Is that what offended you?"

"NO!"

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"You don't have to shout, darling. I can hear you just fine. Now go on, tell me what it was that upset you so..."

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"Uh oh. This must be a doozy."

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"The suspense is killing me."

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"Shall I guess what it was?"

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"Alright. You asked for it."

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"Ok, it must have something to do with my failure to use proper punctuation. I know, I hate how our society is devolving into a braindead conveyor-belt of mindless followers who cannot even be moved sufficiently to properly finish a sentence."

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"I'm still new to the whole 'talking to strangers on the internet' thing. Do those dancing dots you keep putting on the screen mean something?"

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"Do they signify disapproval? Are they like wagging an angry finger at me?"

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"Oh, heavens. I must've really gone and done it this time. It was not enough to drive real women away...Now even the virtual ones shoot me down."

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"Wait a minute? Are you even a real person? Hey Siri? Hello? Can you hear me? Hello? Miss 1976? Is this thing on?"

Allison waited a full minute before she sent her message.

"I am a real person. My name is Allison. I was typing a message but you kept sending your messages before I could finish. After a while I just stopped typing to see how far you'd go. You're fucking hilarious. I'm dying over here reading your messages to the point I can't even remember why I messaged you in the first place."

This conversation sparked what became an relentless, all-day/all-night, three-month-long text string. Allison hung on Hale's every word as their conversation soon grew more intense. It was the first time she had ever interacted with a man without having a physical framework as context.

His profile had no clear photos of him. His bio was blank. There were only three posts to his timeline, one of which included the backlit photo of a figure who appeared to be on a ranch that was his profile pic. The other two photos were landscape photos.

Having a private profile, there was no way for Hale to see any of her photos, save for her profile pic which was dominated by her oldest son, Jeremy, with her hiding behind him. She had changed her profile pic to try and cut down on the unsolicited dick pics that flooded her inbox when she posted pictures of herself.

Much to her dismay, he initially didn't ask to see, nor offered to send any photos. A part of Allison felt a vain, adolescent desire to send him unsolicited photos of herself with the hope of rousing his carnal appetite. Another part of her was drawn all the more to him for something she had never felt before- interest from a man for something other than her looks.

It took little time for Hale to establish an assertive tone in their conversation. Within days, Allison swooned to his dominant tenor. She found herself submitting to his unusual requests, willingly playing along with his increasingly perverted games, sometimes even egging him on to push her even farther.

Coworkers noticed Allison often distracted at work, constantly on her phone or stepping away from her desk for long periods at a time. Time she ordinarily spent with friends and family was consumed more and more by her submission to him. All of her time and attention was devoted to Hale. When she wasn't chatting with him, she was writing poetry to him, drawing pictures, making playlists or completing tasks he had set out for her.

After a sustained campaign of pleading and bargaining, Allison managed to get Hale to reveal his mailing address. She regarded this as one of the most exciting moments of her entire romantic life- like reaching virtual second base after weeks of trying. Her mind flooded with ideas, but most importantly: what to send first?

Making her way to the shops of old downtown, she went straight to the tiny stationary store she had gone to with her grandmother whenever someone in the family died and they needed to send condolences on fancy paper. The tiny bell rang as she burst through the door, eager to find just the right stock. An ancient man who smelled of cigar smoke and Altoids helped her select from the finest parchment he had to offer.

Ten sheets and ten fancy envelopes plus a small bottle of ink set her back $36.72. And while this was not exactly a small sum of money for Allison, she paid it without batting an eye at the price. Her mind was back at her house already, clearing off the small desk by the window where she would set up the ink well next to her fancy plume pen.

As fast as her feet could fly her home, she put to words the feelings that had been on the tip of her tongue since the morning:

I hope these words touch you as you touch them...

I send you a kiss from miles away

Holding my breath until it reaches your lips.

Painting on a thick coat of her favorite, racecar red lipstick, she planted a kiss at the bottom of the page before spritzing two pumps of her most prized perfume on the back side of the page. Licking the envelope to seal it felt more erotic than many of the kisses she had given. Her heart bounded wildly as she made her way to the post office.

She would not risk dropping this missive in a box, delaying its delivery or, even worse, having it be lost in the mail. Allison happily paid priority shipping to ensure prompt, guaranteed arrival of her first ever love letter. The giddy suspense was maddening as she tried her best not to reveal what she had done to Hale before the letter arrived.

Days passed and the knots in her stomach grew tighter as she waited for Hale to receive the letter. Her normally adept use of subtle suggestion was derailed by her unmitigated impatience. It seemed that none of her hints to Hale that he should check the mail were having any effect. When finally at her wit's end, set aside any hints of ambiguity.

"Don't you ever check your fucking mail?!?"

"And good morning to you, too, my dear."

"And, yes. I do. Most days I stop by in the morning on my way to work."

"And?"

"And I also enjoy stopping in at Jake's Diner for a cup of coffee and a chat with Phyllis."

"Then I'll normally top off the tank at the Flying J where I'll take a leak before I head out.

"Why the sudden interest in my movements?"

"I sent you a letter days ago and I'm dying over here. I'm afraid that I sent it to the wrong address and it's gonna be returned to my home address and that someone is gonna get it and open it."

"Well you can put your worries to bed, darling.

"Your letter arrived yesterday."

He sent a photo of it sitting on the counter at the diner next to his plate of food and coffee.

"You got it yesterday and didn't tell me?!?"

"And you still haven't opened it?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!"

"I've been savoring it.

"It's been with me since I pulled it from the box.

"I've examined it carefully.

"Given it my fullest attention.

"It's been in my breast pocket where it has tempted my senses ceaselessly.

"The stiff card stock has conformed to the shape of my chest.

"The edges of the envelope have begun to give slightly as I perform my labors throughout the day.

"I slept with it on my pillow overnight, unable to detach myself from the bedeviling fragrance that pours from it.

"I pulled the shirt I wore yesterday from the hamper, fearful to wash away the perfume that now permeates the fabric.

"I have denied myself the satisfaction of tearing open the envelope and hungrily devouring all its contents.

"Imagining this same irresistible temptation to rip your clothes off and consume your flesh the first moment I have you near me.

"How will I ever be able to contain this animal impulse to feast upon you, feeding these primal cravings you awaken in me

"Without destroying your body with untamed lust?

"How can my words ever convey this savage yearning to tear into your body with my bare hands, sinking my teeth to the bone, tasting your flesh..."

"In a way that expresses the tenderness with which I would nurture and protect you?

"Your scent oversaturates my senses...

"Overwhelms them...

"I can hardly see or hear anything at the moment...

"Without it being tainted by the hunger that haunts me...

"Hunger for you.

"So I'll beg your forgiveness for not mentioning the arrival of your letter.

"And for failing to show my appreciation for your thoughtful attention.

"I had hoped to spare you this ridiculous display of hopeless juvenile sentimentality.

"It was my intention to reply in kind when I had recovered my full faculty of reason and goodjudgment.

"Alas, I have done that which I sought to avoid,

"Bored you with my petty appetites."

As was often the case when Hale would riff on a text thread, Allison followed along, spellbound. She had grown accustomed to waiting for him to finish thoughts before she would begin to reply for fear that she might disturb the flow. Holding the phone in her trembling hands, waiting on bated breath for him to continue, she moved from her desk at work to the bathroom stall at the far corner of the ladies room before she endeavored to reply.

She had so much to say and none of the words to say it. If only she could borrow his talent for words for a moment. He always seemed to know what she was going to say before she could say it. So often he amazed her with his ability to write what she felt more precisely than she could, revealing truths about her that even she did not know.

Surely he must know the effect his flurry of messages had had on her. In this moment, she could feel him waiting, as if he was watching her squirm in her bathroom stall, peering through some secret peephole. She wondered if he could see her through her camera at times.

But his insights were far more invasive than anything a camera could reveal, almost like he could hear her thoughts. A looking glass gave him glimpses into the darkest recesses of her mind; the secret gardens where her hidden desires flourished, the hallways where her fears played hide and seek. His curious inspection of these well-guarded corridors led him deeper into the shadows of her subconscious, shining light into the obscurity of fantasy even she forbade herself to explore.

Allison did little to hide from Hale's intrusions, curious herself to learn what he might find. It was when he opened up to her, as he did in this last volley, that she felt herself losing control. She needed desperately to get inside his head, to know him, feel him, understand him- and most importantly- to have him.

"I am so happy it's in your hands.

"I was afraid it had been lost in the mail.

"I'm glad you like the perfume. It is my favorite."

She grew nervous when she noticed he had read the messages and had not replied. The minutes passed without any activity. Trying to play it cool with Hale was a fool's errand.

"Please tell me of this hunger."

When he read and didn't reply, she couldn't help herself.

"Is it anything like mine for you?"

She was growing more desperate.

"If only you knew what I had wanted to send to you.

"It was all I could do to send you just the letter.

"I've already sent you more.

"But it's nothing compared to what I truly want to send."

"I'm listening..."

Her heart leapt when she saw his message flash on her screen.

"My words can't tell you what yours do to me.

"But I can think of something else that can."

The next day, Hale received a small box that had been shipped overnight. Along with it were two additional letter sized envelopes matching the card stock of the first letter and emanating the same perfume as before.

Hours passed since Allison sent her customary morning greeting without any response. Checking the website, she confirmed her package had been delivered hours ago. Frantic, she sent a message pleading with him to answer.

"You're torturing me.

"I die a little every minute you make me wait.

"It's like holding my head under water.

"I'm going crazy.

"Are you ok?

"Are you upset?

"Did I upset you with what I sent?

"Talk to me.

"Say something.

"Anything!"

"Hey, sorry. I got your package.

"And your letters.

"Thanks.

"Haven't had a chance to open them.

"I had something come up.

"Trouble birthing a calf."

Next followed a photo including himself, Manuel, Jose and Bessie. Manuel and Jose were hands on his farm and Bessie was birthing a calf.

When the dust had settled a few hours later, his message buzzed in.

"The smell of your anticipation which stains your gift excites me more than you can imagine."

He had received the panties she had sent that were still soaking wet with her desire. She had sealed them in a ziplock bag to ensure they were still moist by the time he held them to his nose. The note inside the box read, "from my lips to yours".

It did not take much for her arousal to pool inside her panties with Hale's frequent sexual innuendo and double entendre. She found herself in a state of near constant arousal as they exchanged suggestive messages, most of which only thinly veiled their erotic overtones.

"I am beyond excited.

"So far past excited.

"I walk around in a daze.

"You don't know what you do to me.

"Who am I kidding? Of course you know!

"I am like a stupid little girl in love for the first time."

Her own words caught her off guard. Did she just say that she was in love? Was she really in love? Was it possible to be in love with someone you have never met? And only after eighteen days? She shrugged it off and continued.

"You make me do things I would have never dreamed of doing.

"How do you have this power over me?"

Over the course of the next several weeks, she would send him daily letters bathed in an assortment of her favorite perfumes. He would respond to each of them with elaborate prose suffused in his one and only cologne. His letters would usually contain requests.

They were cliché at first beginning with a lock of her hair and pieces of her jewelry. He quickly progressed to more unusual demands such as her pubic hair or dirty socks. She was surprised when he finally asked for photos.

Only, they were not the photos for which she might have expected him to ask. He wanted very specific photos in very precise poses. The first was a photo of her bare left ankle with her hand on her shin. It was to include the foot up to the knee and no other body parts.

He insisted that none of them have her face in the frame. They were all to be new photos taken only after he had requested them. She was to use a polaroid instant camera.

In this new aspect of their communication, she felt a renewed confidence. Allison was an accomplished photographer and enjoyed the challenge of catering to Hale's unusual tastes. She thrived on his compliments of her artistic use of light and shadow, the clever angles and perspective she captured. Following his requests, she made her way up her body, carefully avoiding the parts he excluded from each assignment. The temptation to send him full frontal nude photos was eating her alive. The text string that followed spiraled quickly out of control.