As the guys laugh at him, I stare in contemplation.
“I’m fucking serious. How nice would it be if you could meet up with someone who likes the same weird shit you do? You wouldn’t have to hide it or be embarrassed by the kinks that get your panties wet.”
This time I do laugh because this whole thing with Emerson could have been avoided with a simple conversation with his partner, and the fact that Garrett seriously thinks an app will solve that problem for him is laughable. Men.
“You’re fucking crazy, Garrett,” Hunter says with his girlfriend, Isabel, by his side.
“I am not,” Garrett argues. “Who here doesn’t have some freaky bedroom desires you’ve always wanted to do but are too afraid to ask? I mean, obviously, Emerson isn’t afraid to ask.”
There’s more laughter and jeering, teasing Garrett because they take everything he says as a joke. And I guess, so do I because what he’s proposing is easy to imagine—from a man’s perspective. No shame. No fear. No creepy assholes waiting to take advantage of you. In a perfect world, an app like this would be awesome. But we don’t live in a perfect world, and Garrett has no clue what it would be like for women.
“Come on. I’m serious,” Garrett replies. “Out of all the shit you’ve done, what is the one thing you wish you could ask for? You know you have something. So let’s hear it.”
“You first,” I say, knocking the ball back in his court.
“Fine.” After straightening his spine, and mustering his courage, he announces, “I like to watch.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, he does. No one can be surprised by that. But the guys still show their interest and I sit back and smile. When it comes around to Hunter, he deflects, naturally. But it’s the demure redhead on his right that proudly announces her taste for group activities, which really stirs up the conversation. I give her props for owning up to that.
But when their eyes all fall on me, I shake my head vehemently.
“Don’t look at me,” I announce.
“Come on, Mags,” Hunter says with a smile.
“I don’t have a kink. I’m completely vanilla.”
Garrett narrows his eyes at me, and I bite my bottom lip to hold back my bashful smile. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
“What?” I laugh.
“I bet you’re the kinkiest person at this table,” he jokes, and I let out a loud laugh.
I wish he was right.
A couple hours later, we’re in the parking lot saying our goodbyes. Emerson walks me to my car, like he does every week, and as I pull my keys out of my purse, he lets out a laugh.
“Garrett has some crazy ideas,” he says.
“He does,” I reply, thinking nothing of it.
“This one could actually work, though. Don’t you think?”
As we reach my car, I stare up at him. “No, I don’t think it would.”
His face falls. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t know a single woman who would feel comfortable giving away that information without it feeling exploitative. The minute we admit we’re the least bit kinky, men take it as a personal invitation to overstep.”
“What if we vetted our members? Put safety protocols in place. Made it more welcoming to women.”
I tilt my head and shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’m not the best person to ask. I’m not as…sex-driven as you guys are.”
“Well, I wouldn’t do it without you,” he replies, and my lips tighten into a thin smile at that. I believe him, and I don’t know what Emerson sees in me that no one else does, but my world would be a better place if more men could have an ounce of the respect he does.