Anonymous Encounters(6)

By: Cassandra Dee


“Here ya go,” she said, looking bored. “Here ya go.”

And looking down, sure enough, there was a ticket for the second tier, standing room only. People milled about around me, the crowd buzzily excited for tonight’s performance. But I was dumbstruck, all the blood draining from my body. Oh my god, was I really gonna do this? Oh my god, oh my god.

My thoughts were cut off by the Will Call woman’s impatience.

“Next!” she bawled loudly, already eyeing the long line behind me. “Next!”

And with dazed steps, I moved out of the way, caught by the swell of passerby, moving with numb feet towards the door. Could this be really happening? Was I going to meet up with my unseen correspondent, this guy who called himself Donny? Why did he call himself Donny anyways? It was such a funny name, bringing to mind Donnie Wahlberg of New Kids on the Block, a former boy bander from the wrong side of Boston. Was my anonymous guy the same type of Donny? Once cute but aging now, with squinty eyes and a buzz cut? Or was he something else entirely?

And that’s why this whole thing is so crazy. Because I’m at the Great American Music Hall after chatting on-line with a virtual stranger. And it’s not like we’ve been chatting for weeks or months. We’ve only chatted once. That’s right, once, this afternoon. Other than the initial email he sent me on Discreet Encounters, we’ve only had one on-line session, and my partner in crime was completely unforthcoming then, telling me nothing about himself despite my not-so-subtle attempts to pry.

So what the hell are you doing? screamed the voice in my brain. Rachel Smith, what in the world are you doing? Are you crazy? He’s probably some psycho stalker, some ax murderer who specializes in luring women to their deaths, you’re insane to be here!

And of course, the voice was right. I was insane to be here. But the thing is somehow that chat entranced me. There was a way about the man, a darkness to his tone that was devastatingly sexy, a deep, knowingness that permeated his every sentence. I can’t put my finger on it, but somehow the manner in which he parried with me, answering my questions with the subtlest replies, always guiding but never forcing, made something flare inside, something hot and sensual despite my logical brain trying to tamp it down.

So I was here now, on the steps of the Great American Music Hall. Whoever said curiosity killed the cat was probably right, because I was about to get my pussy fingered by a total stranger. Holy shit. Me, boring Rachel Smith, such a dunce that I actually gave my real name without thinking twice, is signed up for a rendezvous with a total stranger. And not just any rendezvous, but one where he’s gonna touch my sweetest spot, caressing places that no man has ever touched before.

Because I’m a virgin and yet I’m gonna let some random guy stroke my clit and push his fingers into my interior canal. I’m gonna let him feel me until I scream, until the swell breaks and I shatter. Me, Rachel Smith, who works at the school library wearing staid button-up sweaters and boring knee-length skirts. Oh my god, I really was crazy, someone take me to the insane asylum now.

But it was too late because the crowd swept me to the front of the line, and with unseeing eyes I presented the ticket to the usher. As she scanned it, a beep sounded, and the woman didn’t even look up, already onto the next person.

“Level two,” she mumbled. “Staircase to the right.”

Again, I was buffeted by the crowd, pulled by the human sea in the right direction and found myself standing at tier two sooner rather than later, stunned, the good angel on my shoulder still warning me to stop. Get a hold of yourself, she admonished. Get a hold of yourself. It’s not too late to back out. You can still turn around and leave, it’s fine.

But the thing is that the human tide had me boxed in, and besides, I didn’t want to leave. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and you know what? I kinda like it. I kinda like being different from my usual tame persona, the kind, dependable Rachel that everyone knows. Not that I don’t want to be kind and dependable, but I want to live a little too. I want to feel sexy and crazy, I want to let my hair down and do things that no one would dream of when they see a plump girl with curly brown hair and a shy smile.

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