GIRL 27 ~ ACCOUNTING GIRL
Her pictures made my heart pound, but I never thought she’d answer me back. When she did, I jokingly emailed that I usually administered a quiz to see if a woman were entitled to show up at the candlelit table, something to take her sexual temperature with, but for her I’d waive the test. Her reply was that she was disappointed, especially since she’d hoped that if I took her temperature, I would take it anally.
Boom, first email, and the girl comes right out and says she loves to be fucked up the ass.
Okay, let me just confess right now that I was in lust with her from that very moment. She made my blood boil. What better chemistry could you ask for?
She was incredibly optimistic, a total live wire. I loved her on the phone, and her emails were erotic and tense. In preparation for our date, I wrote her a twelve page erotic poem. If Girl 6 had taught me anything, it was that no red-blooded heterosexual female could resist poetry.
She showed up at a restaurant in Philadelphia frequented by CEOs and mobsters. She looked just like her pictures -- alluring and sexual and pretty.
Immediately I knew something was wrong. A sadness was washing off her like a chill ocean breeze. When I asked her what was troubling her, she looked at the floor and insisted all was well.
Halfway through the first bottle of wine she told me the story. She’d been adopted and embarked on a lifelong search for her biological mother. What she found was awful. The mother had kept the sister before Accountant Girl, and the one after. Accountant Girl had been singled out for adoption. She was stunned and stung. She had made the mistake of taking her seven year old son with her to that first meeting, and at one point he said, "why is grandma so mean to you?"
The evening was ruined. I consoled her as best I could, and spent the rest of dinner wondering how this crushed woman could be so optimistic and free and sexual on the phone.
Maybe it just didn’t matter. Maybe we were all this broken. Look at me, I thought. This parade of freaks after Girl 6, who was herself a freak. They say you attract who you are. It was hard news.
Her pictures made my heart pound, but I never thought she’d answer me back. When she did, I jokingly emailed that I usually administered a quiz to see if a woman were entitled to show up at the candlelit table, something to take her sexual temperature with, but for her I’d waive the test. Her reply was that she was disappointed, especially since she’d hoped that if I took her temperature, I would take it anally.
Boom, first email, and the girl comes right out and says she loves to be fucked up the ass.
Okay, let me just confess right now that I was in lust with her from that very moment. She made my blood boil. What better chemistry could you ask for?
She was incredibly optimistic, a total live wire. I loved her on the phone, and her emails were erotic and tense. In preparation for our date, I wrote her a twelve page erotic poem. If Girl 6 had taught me anything, it was that no red-blooded heterosexual female could resist poetry.
She showed up at a restaurant in Philadelphia frequented by CEOs and mobsters. She looked just like her pictures -- alluring and sexual and pretty.
Immediately I knew something was wrong. A sadness was washing off her like a chill ocean breeze. When I asked her what was troubling her, she looked at the floor and insisted all was well.
Halfway through the first bottle of wine she told me the story. She’d been adopted and embarked on a lifelong search for her biological mother. What she found was awful. The mother had kept the sister before Accountant Girl, and the one after. Accountant Girl had been singled out for adoption. She was stunned and stung. She had made the mistake of taking her seven year old son with her to that first meeting, and at one point he said, "why is grandma so mean to you?"
The evening was ruined. I consoled her as best I could, and spent the rest of dinner wondering how this crushed woman could be so optimistic and free and sexual on the phone.
Maybe it just didn’t matter. Maybe we were all this broken. Look at me, I thought. This parade of freaks after Girl 6, who was herself a freak. They say you attract who you are. It was hard news.