Page 8 of The Bachelor Auction

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Once I’m home,I boot up my laptop and log into my travelbuddy.com account while I peel off the piece of fabric Brenda generously called a dress. When I set up my travelbuddy.com account, I was seeking a way to escape my frustration with the fact that it’s been two years and our business still hasn’t caught foot.

As an up-and-coming site for busy, successful city professionals looking to be hooked up with anything from the right spa to restaurants and short-notice, weekend getaways without wasting time on reservations, I wasn’t the right clientele—for obvious reasons. But there is a section that allows you to chat with people, which is what I almost solely use it for.

Almost a year ago, I was browsing places, dreaming big dreams that my bank account couldn’t fund, and adding those to my wishlists, not interested in visiting the chat section or making friends, when I noticed one user in particular seemed to like a lot of the same things I did and commented on a variety of posts that I was interested in.

LuckyLuke’s comments weren’t just insightful, but also funny; he seemed to have traveled to a lot of those places and had the inside scoop for anyone who was interested. In a bold moment of wine-induced wittiness, I replied to one of his comments in what I thought was a clever way to tell him that not all hotels wash the sheets as often as they claim. He sent me a private message in response, stating that he’d make sure to always carry a travel mattress from now on. After that, our communication took off, albeit in a more private direction than I had initially expected.

Confession time.

I’m not particularly good at building friendships outside of work. It’s not just the fact that I don’t have much time. I simply love the privacy that comes with connecting to strangers online. I feel I can be whomever I want to be without worrying what others might think of me. There’s no harsh judgment, no real criticism, no fake pretending to be interested in whatever’s going on in their lives—after all, they don’t know me and I don’t know them, and I don’t feel obliged to reply when I lose interest.

The message I’ve been looking forward to all day is already there, waiting to be read.

Subject:Re: I think my bestie’s trying to pimp me out…

How didthe pimping out go? After reading your last message, I can’t imagine what your bestie might be up to, but it sure sounds like fun. Did you hook up with a “very successful and filthy-rich CEO/billionaire” who’ll see past your bra size and hire you for your publicity merits?

By the way, you keep mentioning your breasts, fuelling my dirtiest fantasies, but I have yet to see proof that you’re not lying. You see, in a city of females addicted to salad, soy lattes, and late-night spinning classes, natural Ds are almost impossible to find. In order to believe you, I’ll need to see proof in the form of a few close-up and well-lit photos, preferably before we meet in real life.

I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous of that guy. We’ll soon be celebrating our one-year virtual anniversary and haven’t even talked on the phone yet.

By the way, when will you finally agree to meet? My right hand’s slowly developing carpal tunnel syndrome.

— LuckyLuke

Smiling,I peel off my dress and bra, and in a moment of brazenness I open the camera app on my notebook and position my naked breasts in front of it to take a few pictures. I don’t intend to send them to the stranger I’ve been talking to for nearly twelve months. That would be reckless, and completely out of character.

Without taking any pictures, I close the app and proceed to type up a response.

Subject:Re: Re: I think my bestie’s trying to pimp me out…

No,I didn’t hook up with a “very successful and filthy-rich CEO/billionaire.” In all honesty, I thought my bestie was just joking when she pitched her idea to me and waved the charity tickets in my face. Let’s be real, she sounded absurd. Her plans always do, but this time she really topped herself. I’ll be pissed at her for the next ten years for actually going through with it and for wasting a lot of money—money we don’t have.

And so we’re a few hundred bucks lighter (we actually had to pay for the table) and another day closer to bankruptcy.

I’m sorry to hear about your carpal tunnel syndrome. The photos aren’t going to happen, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. Maybe I would be more inclined to give in to your constant requests for a meeting if you sent me proof of those ten inches you keep mentioning.

— Bumblebee07

Still smiling,I send off the message and log out of my travelbuddy.com account. I know I’ll never agree to meet LuckyLuke, mainly because he’s nothing more than a momentary escape—a means to help me forget the failings of my life. Our daily banter always brightens my mood, and so I tell him everything, leaving out the private details that could give up my identity, such as who I am, my company name, and so forth.

While he listens and always makes sure to follow up, the sexual innuendo is always there, fuelling my fantasies, just like I’m fuelling his.

He’s probably some weird, lonely, middle-aged guy with too much time on his hands. Or maybe he’s a pubescent boy who finds it easier to express his fantasies online rather than chat up girls at school. Either way, I don’t care.

I’m not stupid enough to think what we have is real. Or that he’s been completely honest with me. I don’t even believe that he truly likes the silly cartoon ofLucky Lukehe uses as his profile picture, which was some European kids’ show that I had to look up. For all I know, he’s based somewhere in Europe with literally an ocean between us.

There’s no way a guy’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth when he’s safely hidden behind the anonymity of his computer screen. All I want out of this is the fantasy persona I’ve created in my head. And boy, does he deliver with those ten inches I know he’s made up. Because there’s no way the guy hasn’t embellishedthattruth. But I’ll take what I can get—even if it’s just a picture in my head. There have been too many lonely nights, and any company—virtual or not—feels nice when it comes with no obligations, no expectations, and more importantly, no heartbreak.

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