Page 31 of Hero Hair

Chicks and fucking are fair game in discussions so long as they’re only girlfriends or sidepieces. The second they turn into wives, you forget they have a vagina. It’s odd because you know sordid details about Mold-A-Dildo kits, and fingers in asses, and what sounds they make while they have orgasms, but when your buddy marries that same hot girlfriend, you are supposed to forget it all.

Mason changes the subject to our next jump, and I listen to him prattle on and nod in appropriate places, because I’m still eating, and he doesn’t expect me to respond verbally. My phone flashes a text message. It’s another photo from Teala. Of some green fucking plant in the lobby of her yoga studio. Where are the tit pics? She doesn’t send me actual text messages very frequently. It’s usually photos without captions. I turned off all the notifications for my fucking apps. Deletion wasn’t an option. Not yet. I’m not ready. And what happens after I fuck Teala and return to my old carousing ways? I don’t have time to reinstate my profiles. It’s freed me in a way I didn’t know I craved. The tether to my phone disappeared.

I’m not sure what she expects me to reply with. I’m staring at the photo when Mason makes his way to my table. I’m finished eating.

“Who are you swiping at?” he asks.

No one has noticed I’m not my normal self. I’ve realized I wanted this challenge. Needed it, even. It’s not about Teala even if it seems that way. It’s about determining how much control I actually have over my body and emotions. I control things. Nothing else does. Not even my dick. I snap a photo of the trash from my lunch in front of me and send it to her. If she wants a game of random, I’ll give her that.

“Ahh, you know, just the usual,” I reply.

Mason scrunches up his face.

“What the fuck are you doing? Did you just take a picture of the water bottle?”

This is where I could come clean, but Mason has a big mouth and everyone will know within hours that I’m not swiping any pussy on this trip and it will be more of a spectacle than I want. Typically, I’ve got at least three chicks waiting in whatever city we’re traveling to. It’s a game. See how much of a whore Macs can be. My need for sex almost affected a start time once and I got in trouble. Not real trouble, but it was enough to force a chick cap. I meet Mason’s eyes.

“Texting my friend. How’s your girlfriend?”

A trick everyone should know. People love to talk about themselves. They prefer it to almost any other sort of conversation. Even if it’s bitching about their horrible lives, it still means more than if I was talking about my awesome life. He takes the bait.

“I broke up with her. It got stale.”

Picking up my trash, I wad it using one hand. “Too many missionary trips?”

He shrugs. “She was awful at head, too.”

I nod like I know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Joining the dark side now?”

Mason squirms. “No one is as dark as you.” Little does he know. “It’s hard to find anything stable with all the trips. It’s okay, though. Being single works right now anyways. Maybe after deployment.”

I agree with him and tell him it’s a great idea. I tell him about a few of the apps I use, and he seems interested, if only for the reason to switch the conversation back to me and my life.

“Hey, I gotta get back at it. I want to get on the next lift,” I say, hiking my thumb at the door. I palm my phone when Teala texts back and slide it into my pocket. My dirty little secret isn’t so dirty.

He’s looking at his own phone, searching the app store for the ones I just mentioned. Mason is a good guy. I wonder if I can turn him into a baby me. The thought makes me smile and cringe. Giddy with power, but sorry for the corruption.

Mason mumbles his goodbye, and I amble out the door into the cool breeze. I take the phone out of my pocket to find a photo of her bare foot against a solid dark, wooden floor. Just one foot, and I wonder where the other foot is. Is it in some yoga pose pulled over her head? What position is that? Could I fuck her in that pose? My mind wanders away from me for a second and I tamp down on my testosterone coursing straight to my dick.

Her toenails are light blue, like an Easter egg. I think it’s an unusual color choice for nails. Red and pink are what I’m used to. One of my favorite sights is of pretty pink nails on fingers wrapped around my cock. Yes, that’s a sight I like, one I’m accustomed to. I resist the urge to ask if her fingernails are blue and send a photo of Tahoe floating to the ground in the distance, his large lumbering legs dangling like useless strings. She won’t be able to recognize him nor has she even met Tahoe before. That’s a meeting I’ll avoid at all costs.

That is amazing! You must love that. What do you love? Give me a list.Is the text message Teala sends back.

Ah, something worthy of her words. A few moments later Tahoe lands safely. Landings are always sketchy depending on the winds. Knees get blown pretty easily. We’re big men and unless conditions are for us, landings are against us. I watch as he unhooks his chute and bends down to start retrieving the nylon fabric that spreads across the ground around him.

Your foot was so beautiful. I wasn’t sure what could compete with it,I reply back to her quickly.

The gray bubble pops up instantly. She’s into our conversation, or she’s bored, perhaps in between classes or already off for the day. She told me her schedule, but I’ve already forgotten it.

I wouldn’t be disappointed if you wanted to send me photos of other body parts.I send it before I think twice.

My heart hammers, but I try to distract myself by watching landings as I type out a list of the things in life worthy of my love. There are a lot. It’s not as if boobs and pussies aren’t something I typically get in messages, but they aren’t from people I’ve met before. They’re strangers I’ll meet up with later. This is somehow different. Everything about Teala and me is different. The gray bubble disappears, and her message comes through. A photo of her hand. Red nails. I laugh, and then another message.

Your list is longer thanWar and Peace.I just rattled off the first things I could think of. I pocket my phone.

Making my way to the plane, I pick up my chutes—the main and the backup. With a stomach bordering on too full, I get on the small aircraft and ready myself to deal with nerves. Believe it or not the worst part of skydiving is the ride in the plane. They pack us in too tightly. What if someone bumps my gear in a way that makes it defective? The smell of fucking farts is also foul and nerve-wracking. Ascension causes gasses in the body to exit. I still curse out Moose and scowl at the shit-eating, or better yet, shit-stinking grin on his face. There are two benches lining each side of metal tube of death. Lights that the pilot turns on let us know when it’s time to start falling out into the sky. I stare at the red light above the hatch with disdain and will it to turn green.

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