Page 7 of Baby Girl

“Thanks, you too,” the elevator door closed as I was finishing speaking.

Wes was one of those guys that was as nice as a human being could ever be. I met him a few weeks ago when I moved into this place. I had just graduated college, and was scheduled to go to Columbia at the end of the summer, and got a friends end section of her lease in a loft in Old Town, in the bar district. The lease ended the week I was supposed to leave for New York, so it worked perfectly. I thought it would allow me to really enjoy my last summer before I went away for grad school.

As the elevator began to rise, I powered my phone back up. The elevator door opened as the phone beeped. Thank God. I opened the text screen.

Heather Whore: Hey

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Heather. Why is it that whenever you want a text from someone, you always get one from someone you don’t want one from, and that just makes it worse. You’re mad at them, because they’re not the one you want to hear from, and it also reminds you that the person you did want to hear from didn’t text you yet. I looked at the text again, and didn’t respond.

I reached my door, and fumbled with the keys, holding my phone in my hand, hoping for a response to the text. Placing the phone between my chin and my shoulder, I unlocked the door. I turned the door handle and pulled the key from the door. As I was swinging the door open, my phone beeped. I dropped my purse on the floor, dropped the keys and stopped. My heart racing, I looked at the screen. Please, please, be Erik. Please. As I opened the screen, I realized that I was bouncing on the balls of my feet, hoping it was him. I kicked off my heels and looked at the screen.

Erik Ead: You’re a good girl. I’m pleased with you, Kelli.

I read and reread the text message. Something about it turned me on. It also started to make me angry. I read it again. You’re a good girl…I am not a girl, I am a woman. I read it again. Every time I read it, it turned me on a little bit more; the thought of him calling me a girl. I have no idea why, but this guy was crawling inside of my head. I’m pleased with you, Kelli. I read, reread and reread the message again. I pleased Erik Ead. The hottest hunk of man to ever grace this earth. My head started to spin. I ran to the couch, and flopped down onto the cushions, facing the ceiling. Holding my phone above my head, and facing the ceiling, I read the text again, and thought…

I could feel my heart beating in my throat. I wanted this to work so much. I wanted him to want me as bad as I wanted him. Why would he have me text him if he didn’t want to know me? If there wasn’t at least a little part of him that didn’t want to see me or get to know me? He wouldn’t. I looked at the screen again. I began to type a response.

Erik Ead: Would you like me to call?

I looked at the message, and pushed send. Think long, think wrong, that’s what I have always said. Instantly, the phone beeped.

Erik Ead: Please do.

I stared at the screen. My heart raced even more. I thought of what he might want to talk about. I felt like I may get sick. Bile rose in my throat. I unbuttoned my slacks, and dropped them to the floor, kicking them toward my bedroom. I took off my shirt, and threw it to toward the room as well. Lying on the couch in my bra and panties, I selected his name and pushed send. The phone rang three times.

“How are you, Kelli?” his voice made me wiggle on the couch. I crossed my legs.

“I’m good, how are you?” I responded.

Lying on the couch half-naked, I looked at my stomach. I felt fat. I was close to my period, and I felt so inflated. So bloated. I looked great, but I felt like shit. I wondered if he looked at me now, if he would even want me. A “C” cup breast size wasn’t much by today’s standard. In the purchased boobs world we all had to compete with, five foot nine, 120 pound girls had a huge D cup. My small frame made my medium sized boobs look bigger than they were. Hopefully they would be big enough for him.

He should be happy; I looked good for someone that was bloated.

“I am well, thank you. I’d like to meet you for a cup of coffee in the morning, your thoughts?” he said very in a very matter of fact tone. I loved hearing this guy talk.

“I don’t have to work, so sure, what time?”

“How about nine?” he asked.

I uncrossed my legs. Kicking one over the back of the couch, and placing my other foot on the floor, I laid there, legs spread, and smiled, answering, “That sounds great, where?”

“Espresso A Go-Go, downtown, you know the place?”

“Yes, it’s a block from my house,” I responded.

“I will see you there. Sleep well,” he said. And that was it. He was gone.

Excited and disappointed at the same time, I crossed my legs again. Thinking of him, I started to tingle and feel warm. What would it feel like to have his hands touch me? Would he touch me, or was he just trying to get to know me? Did he want to be friends or lovers? I couldn’t continue to have these thoughts. My mind was running all over the place. I walked to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

I got my wipes and wiped the make-up from my face. As I brushed my teeth, I imagined him and I having coffee together. The thought excited me. I couldn’t wait to hear his voice and see him walk. I finished brushing my teeth and weighed myself. 120 bloated fat feeling pounds. I fucking hate the menstrual cycle. I walked to the bedroom, and got into bed. Looking at the clock, I was reminded of the time, 6:34. I couldn’t stay awake any longer. The thought of seeing him in the morning was more than I could take. I set my phone on the dresser, set my alarm, and fell asleep.

************

When the alarm went off the next morning, I bounced out of bed, excited to start this day. A typical Saturday was sleeping in until about nine, and being lazy. Who would ever think I went to bed on a Friday night at seven o’clock? I sat up in bed and looked at my phone. It was flashing. I had forgotten to text Heather back, I was sure she had texted me wondering where I was. I opened the text screen, and looked for messages. There was an unopened text from Heather, and one from Erik. I opened Erik’s.

Erik Ead: Kelli, I like watching you walk. I like watching your mouth open and hearing the words form on your tongue. I want to know you. I don’t want to know you from having you text me your favorite color, your favorite restaurant, and your list of favorite songs; I want to know you from exposure. I want to witness you exist. I want to absorb you.

I stared at the screen. I reread the text countless times. What was this guy doing to me? What was his plan? Whatever it was, it was working.