Date: Wed, 16 Jan 2019 15:46:27 -0500 From: RJ Subject: Catfish Chapter 1 Catfish by RJ This story is about the developing relationship between a teenager and his older brother. If themes of incest offend you, do not read this story. Catfishing is a real problem due to the rise of technology -- do what's best for everyone in the long run and be yourself. If you have any comments about my work, or even just want to chat, please don't hesitate to message me. As always, please support Nifty in any way you can. Please note that this story will touch lightly on the topic of depression. If the discussion of depression triggers or bothers you, please do not read any further. ~ Chapter 1 ~ My phone is blowing up right now. I can hardly keep up with the texts, emails, Snapchats, DMs, Tinder messages, or hits on other various apps. But this is pretty typical for a Friday night. After a long week, all the boys who are lonely or horny (or a mix of both) hit me. Well, not me, technically. Milly. They all think they're talking to some hot brunette from LA. "Everything okay in there?" I'm trying to respond to at least ten guys at once. It's almost a rush. A high. It's this compulsive, addictive need to make sure I give and receive the maximum amount of attention possible. It's so dire that it's painfully obvious to me that I have a problem. I know I shouldn't be lying to these guys about who I am. It's not even fun, necessarily. But it makes me feel good. "Josh?" I sigh. "Yeah, just one second," I call out from the bathroom. First things first. Two of the guys are horny, and I'm in the middle of coaxing nudes out of them. One of them in particular has a crazy big dick. It's insane. He's my favorite to talk to because he's the easiest guy to get dick pics out of. All I have to do is send one of the hundreds of tantalizing pictures of "Milly" that I have on reserve and he'll give his dick from any angle I want. It's so easy to manipulate guys, I've realized. You just have to tease them a little, stroke their egos, compliment and flirt just enough for them to think that this might be something real, and all their walls come down. They tell me their most perverted fantasies. They show me any part of their bodies I want to see. They unknowingly give me plenty of material for me to jack off too, but I always feel bad right after I cum. The same thoughts run through my head. "Stop this. You know better." But I simply do not want to. "C'mon, Josh," I hear him calling out, and I roll my eyes. He can be so impatient sometimes. I apologize to a couple of the guys I'm in mid-conversation with, saying something like "Ugh my mom needs me, brb" before locking my phone and pocketing it. I check myself out in the mirror. I look fine. Dark reddish hair that's buzzed on the sides but longer (or "grip-able", as Mr. White would say) on top. Super dark eyes that look like emeralds in the right lighting. Pale, smooth face, since I can't seem to tan nor grow any facial hair to save my life. And that same, annoyingly dejected look I always wear. Some people have Resting Bitch Face. I just look absent. I take a breath and flush the toilet to make it seem like I was actually using the bathroom before I wash my hands. Once I'm dried off, I leave the bathroom and enter Mr. White's master bedroom. He's there waiting for me on his bed with his robe open. My eyes are automatically drawn to his abs before fixating on that cock hanging between his legs. God, he's hot. Smooth, chiseled body. Glistening ebony skin. Those perfectly plump lips on that structured face of his. Even the glasses make him look hotter. He's the ultimate teacher fantasy. "Your clothes are still on," he says, eyeing me up and down. Am I upset that I'm having an affair with my English teacher? No. That's every gay boy's wet dream. Plus, he doesn't talk about his wife or kids when we're together, so I can at least distance myself from that. Besides... It's just sex. At least, that's what I tell myself. "Sorry, Mr. White," I say, pretending to look bashful. He likes it when I play up the shy thing. I take off my shirt first -- a shirt that he let me borrow. Now all I'm wearing is a pair of briefs. I hide my body with my arms as I cover my groin with my hands, peering over at him. He grins slightly. "I keep telling you to call me Tariq." I just smile, but there's no way I'm calling him by his first name. That's far too familiar. "C'mere, babe," he says. Babe. I wish he wouldn't say that. I also could do without all the candles in the room. He's far too romantic with me, and I'm just not into him that way. Nor would I want to be. That would stir up way too much trouble, considering he's a married father. But I like the attention, and since I don't have sex with anyone else, I need him. And because I need him, I tolerate the romantic advances. The pet-names. His snobby intellectualism. All while telling myself "Don't worry. It'll never happen." Once I get between his legs he reaches out and runs his hands down my smooth torso. I like how we look together. The stark difference in skin tone turns me on for some reason. Maybe it's because, in terms of diversity, there's not much in our small town. Besides two other classmates, he's the only black guy I know. There are a handful of Asians, and a single Mexican family. The rest is a sea of white. That's another reason why I like catfishing. I've been far too bored of the fact that the vast, vast, vast majority of people surrounding me already look like me. Catfishing allows me to diversify. He works his way down my lean figure until he gets to my hips. Then, his hands move backwards, grabbing my ass. I close my eyes, biting my lip as he touches me. Then he shifts onto the bed more, resting back on his elbows. His robe falls open a bit, exposing his body. I lick my lips. I know what that look means. So I crawl onto the bed between his legs, move my fingers around his cock, and wrap my lips around it. He moans instantly. Mr. White is a sucker for a good blowjob. I should know. I've been on his dick since junior year. And now that I'm a senior, close to graduating, it's only obvious that I know what to do with him by now. I give him lots of eye contact. He gets solid in my mouth as I look up at him while I bob up and down slowly. It has to be slow. I have to really get into it, make it look like the only thing I ever want to do is suck the cum out of him. I hold his cock in my hand and stroke him along the tempo of the blowjob. His eyes flutter a bit but he keeps them open, breathing a little heavier. Can't forget the tongue. I run it along the ridges of his cock and he grunts a little, even raises his hips up to get deeper into my mouth. More. He wants more. So I give him a little more. I remove my hand and slide down slowly. I ease him into my throat, taking him deeper, and deeper, and deeper, until I have nearly all of it. It's tough. Mr. White is not exactly small, and though I don't have much of a gag reflex, it's not the simplest thing to fully deep-throat a big dick. But he loves it anyway. I very slowly slide off of his cock, panting lightly and then swallowing any spit that accumulated in my mouth. Mr. White just smirks, picking up his wet cock and giving it a few strokes before beckoning me up with his finger. So I straddle him. If he's lazy (a.k.a., if he feels like being serviced completely), his favorite position is reverse cowgirl. Personally, it's not my go-to. But considering the way he wore me out doggy-style less than an hour ago, I'm fine with giving him what he wants. I press my ass against his cock, grinding against it. He holds it between my cheeks, slapping it against me a few times. I hold onto his thighs a bit as I raise myself up. I feel the head rest against my hole and as I start to lower myself, I feel him stretching me out again. My eyes roll back and I whimper slightly. Damn, he's so big. But his cum from earlier is still inside me. Makes it much easier to take it right now. I slowly work my way down, giving him a proper show. Like a lap dance, except he's completely penetrating me. I grind, move up and down, swivel. I give it my all, but make sure it's at that slow speed he likes. See, after we fuck vigorously, like we did an hour ago, he likes to finish off the night with something gentler during round two. I reach down between my legs and stroke myself as I ride him. I look towards the door. I always imagine his wife waltzing in on us. One of these days she'll come home early from visiting her mom with her kids, and she'll be excited to surprise her husband. And instead, she'll find me, one of his "star pupils" (his words, not mine) riding his dick to high heaven. I wonder if she'd notice the bruises and red marks on my body. Being pale means I bruise easily. Anywhere her husband grabs me, he leaves a mark. Especially when we feel like getting rough. But maybe today is not the day she'll walk in on us. I just bite my lip and close my eyes, stroking myself a little faster until I'm on edge. I have to ride it carefully. I don't want to cum before he does. I don't have to wait too long, though. I feel his hands on my hips as a nonverbal signal to tell me that he's close. I grind a little faster, working my ass against his crotch to get him deeper in me. He swears softly and then grunts, and I feel it. I feel him cumming. I let out a moan of my own and lean back a bit, spilling my own load on my lower body. A wave of blinding pleasure washes over me quickly, almost too quickly, and I relax my body once I slide off of him and lie down. I know exactly what'll happen next. He'll try and get me to sleep over, no matter the risk. He'll say it's fine, that his wife and kids always stay the night at his step-mom's when they visit. No one would ever know. And I'll decline, like always. I don't need him thinking this is something that it's not. That's reserved for Milly's boys. But before he can start, I remind him that I have plans (which I actually do -- all my friends are at my house right now, without me), and he gives up trying to convince me once I have my jeans on. I make sure I have my wallet and phone and keys before saying goodnight to him (without a hug or a kiss or any of that nonsense) and taking my leave. He offers to take me home, but I'm already tired of his company. Plus, I like the walk. I take the back exit like always so no one will see an underage high schooler leaving a teacher's house in the middle of the night. As I take the long walk home, I check my phone. As expected, plenty of missed messages. There's even one from Mr. White that says "Miss you already" with a winky-face at the end of the text. I ignore his and text Kelly that I'm on my way before I start to check the rest and then scroll through Tinder, my best supply of men. I bury myself in the world of Milly, the fake girl-next-door. After all, SHE'S the one who gets all the nice compliments and praise and horny texts. What do I get? It's honestly stressful, keeping up with it all. I have a myriad of messaging apps, hundreds of organized photos that I regularly steal from this girl's personal porn blog (it's obscure enough for people to not find it, and authentic enough for the nudes I use to seem real in context), and a whole host of men vying for my attention. Once things get too serious (like if they ask to meet or video chat), I have to cut things off with them. Which means I'm constantly cycling through guys. Constantly meeting new people. And that would be awesome, if it weren't for the fact that it's not fucking real. Sometimes that realization hits me like a ton of bricks, over and over. But most of the time, I delude myself enough to believe that the compliments and adoration and attention I receive is genuinely for me. It's pathetic. Once I get back to my house, I pocket my phone and step inside, met with a bunch of girls yelling "Hiiiii" and "Heeeey" at the same time. I smile. The plan tonight was to have a little group of us over before graduation, just to hang out and reminisce. I'm late because of Mr. White, but Kelly knows where the spare is so I told her to just start without me. I join them in the living room, where they're passing around vodka Kelly had stolen from her dad's stash and swapping stories about all the stupid shit we've done during the past four years. We all graduate high school in just two days. Two damn days. "Hey, wait!" Kelly says, turning her head towards me just as I sit down. "Before I forget! Do you remember that fake account we made?" she says with a laugh. "What was the name?" Now all eyes are on us. We've never mentioned the fake Milly profile we made to anyone. She must have been talking about it earlier. When we made it years ago, it was for a one-time thing. She doesn't know I'm still using it, though, so I pretend I'm only just now remembering it. "Oh my God, yeah!" I say, laughing. "Wasn't it like Miley or something?" "Milly!" she says, cackling. "It was Milly!" She's such a lightweight that the alcohol is making everything seem ten times funnier to her. She looks to the rest of our friends, who look intrigued, and starts to explain the origins of Milly Johnson. Her and I made a fake Facebook profile specifically to target her boyfriend at the time. She suspected he was cheating because of rumors flying around, but we figured if we could catch him in the act, we'd have the proof we need to call him out. He took the bait way too easily. All we did was flirt a tiny bit and he was begging for nudes while sending his own. I kept up the profile behind Kelly's back after seeing how easy everything was. "Do you think the profile is still up?" Kelly asks me. I just shake my head. "I deleted it," I tell her, and she pouts slightly. "Oh well. It was funny as fuck though." Thankfully the topic switches once another friend remembers some drama about junior prom. We laugh for a while before the front door clicks open. Kelly squeals and quickly attempts to hide the vodka, but it doesn't matter. It's not either of my parents. It's my brother. He walks in and stops, looking surprised at seeing all of us here. "Whoa. No one invited me to the party?" The girls all giggle slightly. "Must have gotten lost in the mail," Kelly says. "Sorry, Drew." Drew. I hate that Andy wants to be called that now. Says it sounds less "childish," even though that's what he is -- a big kid. Thankfully, he allows me and only me to call him Andy. "Next time, sent a pigeon or something," he says with a little grin. Most people would say him playfully flirting back with them is inappropriate. We're all either seventeen or eighteen, and he's twenty-five. But I know him. He doesn't mean anything by it. He's just that sweet, dumb, loveable guy that gets along with everyone. "Hey," he says, pointing to me, "can I talk to you for a sec?" "Sure," I say, standing up and following him into the kitchen. He takes off his jacket and sets down his bag and keys on the counter. Must have picked up some "groceries" on the way home for Mom (which is her key word for Vicodin). "What's up?" "I found out something today," he says with a smile on his face. I raise my eyebrows, waiting. "You gonna tell me, or do I have to guess?" "Marco is gay." That's surprising news. Marco's this guy that Andy befriended recently, I think through work. I actually met him once. He was cute, if I remember correctly. But I just want to laugh. No matter what I tell him, Andy's always on the lookout for "potential suitors" for me. Any time he meets someone gay, he tells me about it as if I'd be interested. "Good for him," I say, amused. He groans, putting his hands on my forearms. "C'mon, Josh, you gotta get yourself out there. And you'll be eighteen soon...ish..." He thinks about it for a moment before standing up straight. "Actually, maybe it's weird," he decides, considering Marco is even older than he is. I just pat his chest. "You tried." "I'm gonna find someone for you," he says, holding up his finger with a determined expression. "I promise you." "You don't need to find me anyone," I tell him. "I'm fine." "You're not fine, you're sad," he says. "And I don't want my little brother walking around sad all the time." "So a boy is gonna make it all better?" I tease. He laughs. "Who knows? Anyway, we still good for tomorrow night?" I smile slightly. Wednesdays are his days off, and he's been begging me to go bowling with him for weeks. And since I don't have finals tomorrow, I figured we could go then. "I am if you are." "Prepare to get your ass kicked," he says, lightly tapping my chest repeatedly with his fist as if he was a boxer. "Dreeeew!" someone calls out from the living room. I think it's Julie. Her voice is distinct. He arches his eyebrow as we head back into the living room. "Yeah?" he asks, glancing at the girls. I was right. It's Julie. The loudest of the bunch. "Are you still single?" she asks, smiling flirtatiously. "As hell," Andy says, and all the girls giggle. "I'll be 18 soon," Julie says, and everyone's snorting and trying not to laugh. "That's sweet, Julie," Andy says, clearly turning her down. That's what makes me laugh. "You kids have fun," he says before turning to me. "I'm gonna head upstairs. I'm beat." "Okay. G'night," I say, and he messes with my hair before practically sprinting up the stairs to get ready for bed. I take my spot on the floor and sigh as Julie speaks up again. "Your brother is so cute." "He's such a teddy bear," Kelly says, playing with her hair. "A strong, redheaded teddy bear. I love him." "Thank you?" I say with a slight laugh. "Oh my God," Julie says, holding her arms out in a way that she needs everyone's attention. "Brilliant idea. We should make a fake profile and get Drew to talk to us." I immediately oppose the idea but literally everyone else is on board. "Oh my God, yes!" "Hell yes!" "That would be soooo funny." "Get his nudes!" "I bet he's hung." "God, right? I just wanna see his dick sooo bad," Julie says, and everyone bursts into laughter. I'm the only one irritated by this idea. That's my brother. Leave him out of all that. And then, suddenly, I'm hit with a harsh pang of guilt. How big of a hypocrite am I? Turns out I suck at bowling. I haven't been since I was a kid, and that was duckpin bowling. AND they had the railings so that seven-year-old me would never hit a gutter ball. But this? This is embarrassing. I've foiled three frames already. "I hate you for taking me here," I groan as I come back to my seat. Andy just laughs, standing up. "Oh come on," he says. "It's fun." "Says you. You're good at this." Two strikes and a spare. We all know who's going to win this first game. "I'll teach you the technique," he says, grabbing his ball from the rack and taking his turn. "Watch and learn." He goes all out when it comes to bowling. He has his own shoes. Even a blue, pin-striped bowling shirt that sort of clashes horribly with his hair, but he's never cared about his appearance much. Which is strange because he's still pretty good-looking. He's tall, so he's got that going for him. Hair similar to mine, but he has the scruff to make him look fashionably homeless. He doesn't work out, but he's not necessarily unfit. He kind of has a footballer's build: no six pack or defined musculature, so he's a little soft, but he's clearly strong and capable. A teddy bear is a good way to describe him. He's always warm and his hugs are incredibly cozy. He holds the ball up to his chin like a professional, intensely focused. He waits several seconds before walking up to the line and doing that stupid dip bowlers always do. Clearly it works though. He lands a strike, and in his excitement, does a little victory dance that makes me laugh. He grins as he comes up to me. "And that's how it's done." "You look ridiculous," I say, trying to one-up him at least somewhere. "I think you meant 'professional'," he says, gesturing for me to take my turn. I roll my eyes but step up. Maybe I'll try something new. Granny-style, perhaps? As soon as I squat with the ball in my hands, I hear Andy cracking up behind me. "Talk about looking ridiculous." "Fuck off," I say loudly, getting a rude look from a mom nearby. I just snort slightly before focusing on the pins. One, two, three, and I toss the ball down the lane. Amazingly, it goes in a straight shot, and I nearly scream when I get nine pins down. Even Andy cheers, laughing. "I really didn't think that would work," he says. "Neither did I," I say, feeling a little victorious myself. It doesn't work the second time, of course, so I don't get the spare. But still. Nine is better than zero. I take a seat and let Andy take his turn when I notice my phone light up on the seat next to me. There are a few missed texts, but the most recent one is from Mr. White. When I open it, there's a picture of his hard cock with the caption "Thinking about you." I lock my phone immediately, nervous that someone saw. I hate when he does this when I'm in public. Sends pictures with no warning. But at the same time... it's hot. And he knows how obsessed I am with that dick of his. But this just means I have to send him something back. "Fair is fair," he always says. I sigh. "I'm gonna use the bathroom," I say to Andy, and he nods, focusing on his turn. Once I get to the bathroom I lock the door and open the message again, biting my lip at the sight of that delicious dick of his. It's almost hypnotizing. It's a shame that all I really like about him is his skill in bed. I don't even like his writing. It's pretty subpar for an English teacher, if you ask me. I head over to the mirror and undo my belt, slipping my pants down slightly and cocking my ass out. Not completely -- it's mostly just a tease, but I snap him a picture that gets the curve of my ass as well as the crack. I send him the picture and say "I'm in public, you perv." He'll get a kick out of that. I make my way back to our lane and I see Andy typing away on his phone with a smile on his face. He's not much of a texter, so of course I'm curious. "What are you smiling about?" I ask once I pass by him, heading towards the rack. "Huh?" He looks up and then shrugs, still smiling. "Oh. Nothing. Just, this girl messaged me this morning out of nowhere. Said she liked my picture." "Yeah?" I say, smirking slightly. That's nice to hear. Even though he always bags on me for not dating, he's almost worse. He rarely talks about anyone he's talking to unless he really likes them. But that's as far as it gets. I've never once met an official girlfriend. I wonder if he's ever had one. "She cute?" "Super cute," he says, nodding. "Even her name is cute. Abby Smalls. Adorable, huh?" My smile disappears. Seriously? I thought they were joking. But Julie actually went ahead with making that fake profile after all. They all spent a solid ten minutes yesterday brainstorming names (she liked Abby Smalls), but I thought it was just for fun. "You sure she's real?" I ask as my ball comes up. He looks confused. "Why wouldn't she be?" I sigh. I love Andy, but he's so easy to take advantage of. I just grab my ball and head up to the lane, thinking. Julie obviously just wants his nudes. I wonder how long it would take for her to get them. Once I finish with my turn (of course, I gutter ball it since I'm distracted), I take a seat and pull out my phone. Time to do a little investigating. I do a quick search for Abby Smalls and within seconds find the profile that Andy is messaging. It's embarrassing. This profile doesn't even have friends, and it consists of one selfie. There was no effort put into this at all. It took me a long time to cultivate a believable following for my Milly profile, so this is just ridiculous. I look at Andy as he finishes up getting another spare, looking his typical happy-go-lucky self. I don't want him to do anything stupid. Or be coaxed into doing something stupid. I could be direct and just tell him exactly who is behind Abby Smalls. But I don't really want to get my friends involved, nor have him thinking I associate with weirdos (says the biggest weirdo around). So I try to end this the back-way. I text Julie. "Can you leave my brother alone, thanks". She responds almost immediately. Probably because she was just texting Andy. "Omg has he told you about me already". Then, "This was a genius idea". I sigh heavily through my nose. Does she think I'm kidding? "Seriously leave him alone. I'll tell him it's you". She doesn't want to let up. "Oh come on it's totally innocent", she messages me. "You literally said last night that you just want his nudes". "I proooomise", she says, before sending "Look". A few seconds later I'm hit with a bunch of screenshots of their entire conversation since this morning, followed by the message "He's really nice to talk to". I scroll through the pictures, surprised. How the hell did they talk so much just today? What do they even talk about? I can't check until after it's my turn to bowl, and in my eagerness to read the messages, I rush. Turns out rushing is the good way to go, because I get a fucking strike. As Andy takes his turn, I skim through all the back-and-forth Julie sent me. Their conversation started off simply enough. Julie commented on his photo saying how cute the dog in his icon is. Small conversation about dogs. Then the typical "Who are you, where are you from, what do you do for a living" Q&A. Then a lot of nonsense. There's some joking and playfulness without heavy flirtation, but I notice something else. Somewhere near the end of the thread, Andy mentions that he's been "having a tough time." The hell does that mean? It doesn't help that Julie, ever the attention whore, doesn't ask specifics and merely responds with "Awww honey me too". As I scroll around more, some key words from Andy stick out -- self-deprecating ones like "stuck" and "useless", which are strong words coming from him considering he smiles like it's a full-time job. I know Julie has a slew of mental issues of her own that she's not at all afraid to share to anyone who will listen. But it seems like Andy's been revealing a side of him that I've never seen. A side that can relate to Julie. And my eyes focus on a few messages right in the midst of it all: Julie says "I'm sorry, I totally feel like I'm opening up waaay too much but you're so easy to talk to". And Andy responds with "I think it's just easy to talk to someone about this stuff behind a screen, you know? Cuz I can't talk about my feelings in person". I don't get it. Is he lying to Julie in order to seem more relatable? No way. I highly, highly doubt it. If it's one thing my brother isn't, it's dishonest (Julie, though, is the opposite). But this is totally new information. Who would have thought that my goofy brother is capable of depth? That he feels more than what he portrays to the world? I think about it the whole time we're bowling. How much do I really know about him? I guess I never thought about it before now, but maybe we're not that close. We get along really well (maybe because he's not an instigator and has always been nice to me), but is that all? We don't talk that much, really. Not about anything deep, at least. And our schedules are always opposite, so it's not like I see him often. When we do see each other, we have a good time, but we don't exactly sit and talk about what's really going on with us... Shit, maybe we don't really know each other. "Is everything okay with you?" I ask in the car on the way home. He looks confused by my question. "Yeah," he says as if it's obvious, smirking slightly. "Are you?" He's joking a bit, but I'm not. "I'm serious." "Why are you asking?" "I don't know," I say, biting my lip. "I just always wonder, 'cause you're so... happy and whatnot." He laughs a little. "I see what you're saying. But no, everything's fine." "Not sad or anything? Because that's my job," I add, trying to make a joke of it. That probably wasn't the right thing to say, though. He smiles slightly. "I'm not trying to steal your job." I consider asking if he'd tell me if he was going through anything. But it feels pushy to me. I don't want to put him on the spot. Nor do I want him to put ME on the spot in return. After all, I understand completely what he means about how hard it is to talk about feelings in person. Hell, that's half the appeal of being a catfish. I wonder if I'll still feel the same way when I'm his age, though. It upsets me that I don't really know my brother too well. And what's this about "a tough time"? I could ask Julie to investigate with her Abby profile, but I don't trust her. Frankly, I want that shut down because I know no good will come of it. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I realize I need to tell him. I don't really know the laws or anything (they confuse me as far as what's considered "illegal"), but Julie is seventeen, and I know Andy won't like that. "Abby Smalls isn't real," I blurt out. He pauses, glancing at me before focusing on the road. "What do you mean?" "She's not a real person," I tell him. "It's Julie pretending to be someone else." "I... What?" When I look at him, I realize he's staring at me, and I snap my fingers. "Pay attention to the road," I say, and he does so, but he looks upset. Damn it. "She likes you, but she knows you won't talk to her because she's so young." He stays silent for a while. "So she just made up a profile to talk to me?" "Pretty much." I've never seen him mad. I almost wish he'd get mad right now, if just to satisfy my curiosity. But he looks increasingly upset the longer he thinks about it. He also lifts his hand to his ear and plays with his piercing -- a nervous tick he's developed ever since he got only his right earlobe pierced. "That's fucked up." I wince slightly, as if he said it about me. "I know." Then, "I'm sorry." He sighs through his nose. "Thanks for telling me." Telling him was the right call to make, but holy shit, he looks so sad for the rest of the night. We get home and whip up something quick for dinner, but he's no longer his animated self. That's the thing with him. Because he comes off as happy and bubbly 24/7, when he looks sad, he looks broken. He retires to his room early, maybe to sleep. He must have been super excited to talk to someone, really talk to someone. And then it was ripped away from him. I wonder if I've done that to other guys. Been that "perfect girl" that can talk to them about anything only to disappear when they get too into me. I wonder if it hurts. There must have been a number of them. Christ, I'm an awful person. And yet, here I am, in bed, perusing Tinder for more guys. Tinder's a fun way to link up with a variety of men, and if I trick the app into thinking I'm always changing locations, I get a slew of fresh faces from all across the US. It's even fun just to look through their profiles and imagine what could come from talking to them. Milly's pretty popular on Tinder, but if the guys end up being boring or weird, I just ignore them. Plus, I like to focus on not too many guys at one time. I have so many unread messages that it's ridiculous, but I need to keep them on reserve in case I need to replace someone I'm getting rid of. I swipe past over a several dozen men in a row, finding them increasingly dull. I either find them unattractive, boring, or their profiles corny. Man, tonight is not my night. Just when I'm about to give up, I hit another profile. Andy. Fucking Andy. My first thought is, "What the hell is he doing on Tinder?" He must have signed up recently, because I've never come across him before. Then another thought hits me out of nowhere. Like a stroke of fucking genius. This is my chance. This is the perfect opportunity to get to know him from an outside perspective. "Behind a screen," I believe were his words. Maybe I could use this to my advantage, get insider information about this "tough time" and the sadder part of him that he keeps hidden. Foolproof, right? I swipe right and am immediately hit with the notification that we're a match. I grin a bit. I knew he'd like me. Well... Milly. I think about what I should say. I have to be careful about how I act now. He's not disposable, like every other guy I talk to. I actually want to get to know Andy through Milly, so what should I say? "Hey?" Maybe I'll take a leaf out of Julie's book and mention something about the dog in one of his pictures. Always a good conversation starter. But before I can even decide how to word it, my phone dings. A new message. From Andy, on Tinder. I open it up eagerly. "Hey!" he says, with a cute little smiling emoji. "well hi there" I send back, biting my lip. This is so wrong. I shouldn't be fooling him, especially after how upset he was about the Abby Smalls profile. "Fair warning: I don't know what I'm doing", he says. "You're actually the first girl I talked to on here so bear with me". I laugh a little. Somehow I find that endearing. "ooo a newbie", I say playfully, adding a winky face. Then: "I promise I'll be nice". Hm. Maybe that was way too flirty. I need to tone it down. I'm way too used to the horny boys on this godforsaken app. "cute puppy by the way", I decide to add. "he/she yours?" He responds pretty quickly. "Practically", he says. "I work at a dog shelter and she only seems to respond to me". That's true. I've seen this dog in person, and she cowers when faced with anyone who's not my brother. If Mom wasn't so vehemently opposed to having a dog, he would have adopted her by now. "aww poor thing. at least she has you to take care of her". That seems good to say. A vague comment that can be taken as a compliment. Probably a good idea to start adding tidbits about "myself" so that this conversation isn't one-sided. "I've always wanted a doggie". "Yeah? What's your dream dog?" I respond without hesitation. "siberian husky, for SURE. they're fuckin beautiful". "Really? That's my little brother's favorite too". I pause. How does he know that? I've probably mentioned it to him once, years and years ago. I'm surprised he still remembers. I bite my lip a bit, hesitating before sending another message. "oh, you have a brother?" "Yeah. His name's Josh", he says with a little smiley at the end. Just seeing that stupid emoticon makes me smile too. "cute name", I send back. "He is pretty cute haha", he says, which makes me laugh. A wave of selfishness hits me hard, so I decide to direct the conversation towards me even more. "what's his deal? is he as nice as you?" I send a second message as if to clarify why I'm asking about me: "there's always one fucked-up sibling". Andy responds quickly. "Oh no he's great". Then, he sends a longer message. "He's way quieter than I am but he's smart as shit, a hundred times smarter than me, especially when it comes to people and stuff. Always helps me out. Wears his heart on his sleeve, which I wish I could do. I don't really believe in energy or anything but something about him always makes me feel calm, so it's good to be around him". I bite my lip reading that message. Does he really feel this way? That he wishes he could "wear his heart on his sleeve" like me? That he thinks I'm way smarter than he is? That my presence calms him? I never would have guessed. He has always been incredibly good to me, but he has never expressed any of these specific things. Neither of us have. "so you must be the fucked-up sibling then", I say with a playful emoji. "Hahah", he says before sending "Honestly I might be". Now we're getting somewhere. A perfect segue way into what I really wanted to get into in the first place. The gears are already turning. I could simply ask him to explain, and he might open up quickly enough. But maybe he needs to know more about me first? Before I decide, he sends another message: "Anyway, I should probably get to bed. It's super late. Talk tomorrow?" Damn it. We were so close. But he's right. He should get to bed. It's past midnight, and he's usually in bed much earlier than I am. So of course I say yes, already anticipating our next conversation. We have plenty to discuss tomorrow.