Page 1 of Beg Me
ONE
Istare at my phone screen, tapping a restless rhythm on the kitchen counter with my free hand. The sleek interface of the Desire app glowing back at me. It's not like those other dating apps with their cartoon hearts and desperate attempts at cuteness. This one knows exactly what it is.
Meet your match.It boasts a red font atop of a black background. The matching part being a kinky partner who will make my dirtiest fantasy come true.
"This is stupid," I mutter, but I don't close the app.
My thumb hovers over the first question. Basic stuff—name, age, location. I fill those out quickly, mechanically. It's when I hit the preferences section that my throat tightens.
Dominant. Submissive. Switch. Curious.
I select "Submissive" before I can talk myself out of it, then immediately lock my phone and set it face-down like it might bite me.
"Jesus Christ, Tess." I push away from the counter and pace my small apartment. Three steps one way, four steps back. The walls feel closer tonight.
My ex's voice floats through my head:That's a little much, don't you think? Why would you want me to talk to you like that?
I grab my phone again, unlocking it with more force than necessary. The app is still open, waiting patiently for me to continue my confession. The next section is labeled "interests" with a drop-down menu of possibilities that makes my skin flush hot.
Degradation.
Praise.
Control.
Worship.
I select them all, then unselect them, then select them again. My finger hovers over "humiliation" for three heartbeats before I tap it.
"Fuck it," I whisper to my empty apartment.
The bio section stares back at me, a blank canvas waiting for an explanation. What am I supposed to write?Hi, I'm Tess. I want someone to call me filthy names and make me beg for more.
I type:Looking for something real. No games.
Delete.
Professional woman seeking?—
Delete.
I take a deep breath and try to type something honest.
New to the kink world, but have been fantasizing about it forever. I'd like to get to know you before I let you degrade me.
I stare at the words, feeling naked already. Too much. It's too much. I take a deep breath and move onto the next question, the one I've been dreading.
What's your dirtiest fantasy?
My finger traces the rim of my coffee mug, now cold and forgotten. The cursor blinks patiently, waiting for a confessionI've never spoken aloud. Not to anyone. Not even to myself, really—at least not in complete sentences. Just fragments that surface in the dark when I'm alone, that make me press my thighs together and hate myself a little in the morning.
I could lie. Write something acceptably kinky but sanitized.
But that's the whole point of Desire, isn't it? The promise in their slogan:Where your dirtiest desires come true.
If I'm honest here, someone might actually...
My stomach flips. Someone might actually do these things to me.
