After paying for my soda and walking back out to the road, I open the app again. My high has worn off enough that I can focus a little clearer on the questions now. And I decide to take the stupid quiz because I have nothing better to do and I’d like to prove them wrong. Who, I don’t even know.
Do you consider your taste in sex normal? Duh. Yes.
You are good at making decisions. Agree or disagree. Um…not exactly a sex question, but I guess if I had to choose, it would be disagree.
Does it bother you to be seen naked or seen pleasuring yourself? What the fuck? I mean…bother me? I don’t love the idea, but it doesn’t bother me. So, no.
Are you interested in having sex with multiple partners? At once? No.
You use sex as a form of escapism. Agree or disagree.
My fingers pause over the screen for a moment. Why are they asking me this? Who doesn’t use sex to escape? Yes.
Do you tend to find sexual partners you consider out of your league? Sure. Again…who doesn’t?
The next round of questions sounds more like actual sex questions. And I find myself flying through them, sure as hell that I’m not answering anything out of the ordinary. These are things everyone wants.
So when the screen starts generating the results, just as I turn onto the street to my mother’ house, I’m wearing a smug smile. But when the screen pops up with a list of kinks, I freeze in my tracks.
Experimental.
Brat.
Submissive.
I read the last one a few times because I’m worried I’m still high and confusing that word with another one. Submissive.
Then I let out a hearty laugh, standing under the street light. Submissive? This stupid quiz is a joke. Even if this is my “kink,” it doesn’t mean I have any desire to be bossed around by a lady in black leather. Just because some people like this stuff doesn’t mean it’s for everyone.
Those kinky bastards can have all the fun they want, but I’ll stick to regular sex. It does the job just fine. With a swipe, I close out the app and pick up my walk again.
But as I’m opening up Instagram, a notification pops up on my screen, and I come to a standstill.
One new match in your area.
What the hell does that mean? Against my better judgment, I click the notification. It flashes to the app again, but now I’m staring at a profile. There’s no picture, and the profile name is nothing but a jumble of numbers and letters. The only things it says are Female and kinks: Dominant, Master/Mistress, Brat Tamer.
That’s it. For all I know this lady could really be an eighty-year-old dude, who may or may not be a serial killer using the app to lure in unsuspecting submissives. Never in a hundred years would I ever message this person or agree to meet them. And especially not just because an app says we like the same stuff in the bedroom based off some internet quiz.
But even after I swipe the app closed, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m just too curious to let it go. It would be so easy to contact that profile. Start up a conversation. Meet up and know for sure if the whole thing is bullshit or not. But, of course, I’m not going to.
Like I said, they’re probably a creepy serial killer.
But…maybe they’re not.
Rule #6: Don’t flirt with internet strangers during the staff meeting.
Maggie
Garrett: The PR team needs the social media passwords again.
Hunter: Did you get the email I forwarded from the Dev team?
Mia: The decorations I ordered for Masquerade night weren’t signed for and now they’re stuck at the post office. Help!