Getting a Clue | ✓

Chapter 3

I had no idea what to text Jethro, and I kept going back and forth on whether I should even do it at all. On the one hand he seemed to actually want me to, which was weird, but on the other, like, what was I even after here? I wanted to talk to him again because I wanted him to touch my dick, but that wasn't exactly what was on offer.

But when it came down to it, I was past actually being able to resist that lure. He was hot and he was nice and he'd given me attention. My self control was miles short of being able to resist that.

The problem remained, though: what to say? All I really knew about this guy was that he liked making jewelry. What did straight guys even talk about with each other? Girls, maybe?

Well, there was only one girl in my life I wanted to talk about. I was going to send him a picture of my dog, Pippi. I had nothing better to offer in this world than a picture of her and, as a bonus, if he dissed my dog I could stop having a crush on him.

She was small and mostly white and a good, good girl. My parents got her for me soon after I started high school because I wasn't coping so well. Life had only been getting harder and I hadn't been getting any better at dealing with it. It was like one of those old arcade games where there was no real win state — just a slowly ramping difficulty until you ultimately lost.

And then there was therapy and diagnosis and more therapy. Don't get me wrong, I still felt like I was slowly spiraling towards ultimate doom, but keeping myself afloat right now was too much work to worry about the future.

It didn't take me long to get a good picture of Pippi because she was a good good girl, the best girl, and also she really wanted the dog biscuit I was holding. I pressed send.

I flopped down on my bed and Pippi started digging at the blankets next to me, making herself a cozy nest. My life was now on hold until he replied. I was absolutely not going to be getting anything else done. Fortunately, he only kept me waiting a couple of minutes.

Cute <3, was his first message.

Who's this?, was his second.

Whelp, I spent two weeks trying to figure out what to say to this guy and turns out I screwed it up anyway. Who the fuck you are would have been a great and very easy place to start, Casper. This was probably what not being able to see the forest for the trees meant. Exactly this thing.

Casper, I sent back, because at least that communication path was crystal fucking clear. The future was a dangerous mystery, but this one next step in the conversation was easy.

And then he didn't reply for ten. Fucking. Minutes.

I was debating which was more likely — that he'd decided he hated me or he'd forgotten who I was entirely — when my phone finally pinged again. He'd sent a picture back.

He was in the picture because I guess if you're the attractive you make sure you're in every picture. There was a black and white rat on his shoulder — presumably his own pet — and he was scratching its ears with fingernails he'd painted turquoise.

What was I even supposed to say to that? Like, thanks for the picture, dude. Really helps to make my fantasies about touching your soft, soft hair all the more vivid.

I like your nails, I sent back, then cringed at myself. That was barely less gay than that other thing. The rat's cool too.

Thx! Have to save it for the weekend because not allowed at school :(

This guy seemed to have a new look for every day. I barely had a look at all. I just had clothes that were tolerably comfortable. The closest thing to fashion I had was the necklace he'd given me.