One of the fantasies I’ve been daydreaming about lately starts in a bar.
It’s a regular night. I’m probably with friends. I’m dressed to kill (I’m always dressed to kill). And a man approaches me (par for the course).
Instead of engaging or sending him away, I turn to him with that sly smile that says this is about to be fun.
A game is coming.
This is not a vanilla interaction.
“I normally charge men to speak to me,” I say with eyebrows raised. “You’re cute, so I’ll give you a discount. 5 euros per sentence. Pay up front and you can ask a question.”
He pays. We talk. I calculate and hold my hand out for more each time he reaches his pre-paid threshold. He begs for my contact. I give it. He knows the drill and sends before he DMs.
It’s the beginning of a long-term engagement. It sets the tone. For teasing and short answers and mystery. So much mystery.
I can’t stop thinking about it.