Page 101 of Not Dating Material

I think I’d suit a tail.

Have you ever done that? Like dress up, or furries, or animal play or whatever? I can picture you as a horse, and I’ll give you three guesses why.

It’s your dick. Just in case you didn’t get that.

Sorry, you’re probably working. I’ll stop now.

One more thing first!

You’re cute.

Bye.

When I look up from my phone, it occurs to me I have a smile stretched over my face and a pleasant ache in my chest. Molly is … phew. I scroll back to the photo he’s sent, and how one man can be so fridging cute is beyond me. I know I need to write back something, but I’m not good at this. At being friendly and texting cute things and sending through every thought that’s in my head.

My own emotions have never mattered, and talking about them has always been useless anyway, so why start now?

I tap my fingers on the side of my phone as I try to figure out what to say.

Me:

I think this is one of those times you’re red-flagging again. Over forty messages? Dude, be cool.

I hit Send, then reread what I wrote, cringing when it doesn’t sound as playful as I meant it to. Okay, try again.

Me:

I just mean for some people, it might look needy.

Not me!

I’m okay with it. Because it’s not like we’re dating anyway.

Like, as friends, that’s okay. You can message.

For other people though, they might not like it.

But I do.

To be clear.

I’m horrified as I read back over every message that I can’t stop myself from sending.

And now I sound like a trash monster. Sorry.

It’s really okay.

Gaahhhh what’s wrong with me?

Is this what it’s like for you? Panic-texting? Why can’t I stop?

Molly:

Like I said, you’re cute. I’m gonna attack you with snuggles when you get home.

Me:

Siiiigh. I guess I asked for that torture.

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