**Author’s note: this is truly awful. It’s the first bit of fiction I’ve written in a very long time, so the gears are rusty and stupid, hence this drivel. The only other time I can recall writing something this painfully dumb was in 8th grade when I was going through my crush on Tommy Lee Jones phase and I wrote what I guess can be described as fan fiction about him for our vocabulary words assignment. I’m pretty sure I used words that had no business describing Tommy Lee Jones. And if you were wondering, it was a story about how after filming The Fugitive, he traveled in his limo to Nebraska and picked me up and took me to California. I was so precious. End note**

The blue LED light flashes on my phone, letting me know I have a new message. I swipe the security pattern to unlock it and see I have an email. I smile to myself and know it’s him. Well, either him or Travelocity announcing its newest promotion. One of these days, I’ll take that $58 flight to Las Vegas, I swear, Travelocity.

I go to my email and my smile becomes wider. I was right; it is him. I read his words and that damn smile gets bigger still. I’m such a lucky woman. I can’t believe I met this guy. It’s kismet or something. Fate. Destiny.

He’s perfect. He’s funny, handsome, smart, and best of all, a lawyer! My parents always wanted me to meet a financially stable man who will provide for me and take care of me, and I found him.

There’s just one little thing…well, two…okay, three, no–four little things. One, he lives in Florida. Two, he’s married. Three and four, he has a son and a daughter. Alright, these things are really big things, but it doesn’t matter because I love him and I’m sure he loves me.

Hey sexy, he writes. I love it when he calls me that. Been thinking about you all day. Hope my favorite girl is doing well. I had another dream about you last night. You were terrific 🙂 I have to take Ben and Molly to soccer tonight, so don’t be too sad if I don’t respond right away. Damn kids. She was too busy getting her hair done to take them, otherwise, I’d be all yours tonight. Sorry, babe. Talk to you soon. Much love, J.

Damn. I don’t get to talk with him tonight. That bitch wife of his…if I ever met her, I’d punch her lights out. She doesn’t appreciate J like I do. She doesn’t love him as much, or even care about him. I do. I dream about being with him. I have a plan. I’m going to fly down to Florida, go to his law office, walk into his office and surprise him. I want to let him know what he means to me. I want to profess my devotion to him. I want him to leave her for me, and then the two of us and his kids will go to the beach and play in the sand and the warm water of the ocean. Later, when we get to his house and put the tired kids to bed, we’ll share a bottle of wine and end up making love on the living room floor, just like I always picture it.

Since I can’t email him tonight, I lay in bed and watch movies, but my eyes wander constantly to my phone to see if the light will start flashing any moment. Hey baby, I missed you too much…or something equally romantic. I sigh and my cat, Jinx, stretches out beside me, his front paws splayed out and his toes flexing. He lets out a tiny meow and goes to sleep.

I suppose you’re all wondering how I met J. Well, Facebook, of course. He is the friend of a friend of a friend. I comment on a post of my friend Sarah and he liked it. See? Meant to be. Some force stronger than us brought us together. He asked to be my friend and I accepted and I guess the rest is history! I found out so much about him. He’s also in a band, which is totally fucking hot. I’ve always wanted to bang a guy in a band. I do admit our friendship escalated quickly to I guess what some people would call inappropriate behavior, but it was mutual. He emailed me a naked picture of himself and I returned the favor. Oh my god, you’re even more gorgeous naked, he wrote. The things I want to do to that body…

Is it still considered sexting if it’s by email? I don’t know. Sexmail? Ha!

And I guess technically you can say he’s cheating on his wife with me. Maybe not in the physical sense, but definitely emotionally or whatever. He tells me really personal stuff, and I do the same. He’s the only one that knows I “experimented” with girls for a year after I graduated college. And I know he got a girl pregnant while they were in high school and he used the money he was going to buy an electric guitar with to pay for her abortion. That’s so nice. Most guys would have bailed, but not him.

I keep looking at my phone and the light blinks. I sit up quickly and scare Jinx off the bed. I pick up my phone, my heart racing to read what he’s written, but I see it’s just a message from a friend on Facebook. I can’t believe what I’m reading. This bitch has some nerve to write me lies like this. I throw my phone across the room and it bounces off my dresser.

This bitch Katie, she wrote to tell me that J asked to be her friend on Facebook and started hitting on her. Like, really hitting on her. That crazy bitch is just jealous. I told her about him and what we had and she is making up this stupid story for attention. There’s no way this is true and she’s a lying whore. I walk over to pick up my phone, hoping it’s okay. If not, this will be the third phone I’ve broken this year. I see she forwarded me his email.

That son of a bitch.

I don’t know what hurts worse: the fact he trolled one of my friends, or the fact he wrote to her exactly the same things he wrote to me. Both suck equally.

I’m angry and hurt, but mostly angry. I fire off a two word email: FUCK YOU. I unfriend him on Facebook, and I delete all the emails from him I’ve saved. A few minutes later, my phone flashes again. I see it’s an email and I snort in anger. Hey, what’s this all about? You okay? Did I do something? he asks. How about you emailing my friend Katie and telling her all the same things you told me? How many other women have you done this to? How about that, you lying sack of shit? 

I don’t ever hear back from him. I can’t say I’m that sad about it. I mean, I am and I’m not. It was wrong to do what he and I did, even if it was over email and not in person. I never hear from Katie, either. I guess she moved to Florida. Good luck to them both.

**Author’s note again: I should have rewritten that Tommy Lee Jones story instead of this shit. **End note.

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