Fuck Valentine's Day(5)

By: C.M. Stunich

“Is your dick pierced?” I blurted, and Quinn paused. Then he stood there and stared at me with a blank facial expression that made me sick to my stomach. I kept myself from bolting by attaching my eyes to his belly button. Now that, that was pierced. My Mystery Man's wasn't. Shit.

“Um, no,” Quinn said, and that was that. “Save you a seat?” I turned around and ran all the way to the parking lot.

I plugged the address into my phone and drove my old, beat-up Geo Metro through town like a crazy person. When I arrived at my destination, I found out that it was actually a gym, and not just any regular, old gym. It was a boxing gym. It was big and old and crumbly and tough looking. I sat there for the longest time glancing between the picture and the gym, watching men come out in droves, women, too. They were all tough, ripped, and sexy, plus they were soaked in sweat. How was I supposed to know who my stalker was?

I swallowed my anxiety and stuffed the picture into my purse, keeping only the card clutched in my hand. I got a lot of stares (probably because I was wearing a pink sweater instead of a black sports bra) as I made my way inside and came face to chest with a massive, hulking man with a permanent scowl and – get this – a scar down the right side of his face. How cliché is that?

“Can I help you?” he asked as I tried to peer around him at the various punching bags, rings, and exercise equipment. I don't know what I was looking for. I mean, it's not as if my Mystery Man's Prince Albert was going to be displayed for all the world to see. I'm not sure what I was expecting to see or do there, but I had to ask. I mean, you would, too, right?

“Yeah, um, I'm looking for someone.” I held out the Valentine's Day card and the big man looked down at it with a grunt. When he crossed his arms over his chest, I seriously thought his muscles were going to explode through the skin on his arms. They were as big around as my thighs!


“Well, I don't exactly know that … ” I said as I dropped my hand to my side and tried not to crinkle my card. It was my only clue. Why I cared, and why I was seeking this guy out and not filing criminal stalking/indecent exposure charges against him was kind of beyond me. Something about it was intriguing in a kind of weird, fucked up way. Guess I was just the world's kinkiest virgin.

“What's he look like? He the guy from the card?” I snorted and the big man shifted, giving me a whiff of jockstrap and old socks. Eww. I tucked some errant strands of hair behind my ear and tried to remain calm. So what if a good dozen men and a handful of women were checking out my ass from the free weight section of the gym? I'm wearing my good jeans, so the view should check out okay.

“No, um, he's not this guy.” I lifted up the card and examined Cupid. Damn. “I mean, I don't think so. I guess, I wish he was this guy, you know?” I laughed, and it echoed strangely off the cement floors and brick walls. Nobody else joined in. I took a deep breath and focused on my task. “See, I don't exactly know what this man looks like. I … ” Scar Face's nostrils flared, and I took an involuntary step back. What was I supposed to say? That my guy had his junk pierced and abs like rocks? They've been in the locker room, so maybe if you … Stopped that train of thought before I started going on about this seven inch cock in my picture and how I really, really wanted to meet it. “Okay, so I think I'll just go and come back later.” The man snorted through his nose like a bull, and I turned on my heel and booked it out of there.

When I got to my car, there was a note taped to the driver's side window.

Glad you came to find me. Want another clue? Call Me. This was followed, of course, by a phone number. There was a conversation that played out in my head that went something like this:

Rational Andi: Are you fucking serious? Call the cops and turn this bitch in BEFORE he cuts off your head and hangs it in his living room as a light fixture.

Horny Andi: This is just a silly prank, Rational Andi. Don't be such a cock blocker! Let's have some fun for once. If it wasn't for you, I'd have gotten laid by Jake Tandor senior year.

Rational Andi: Jake was a douche! You're so lucky I protected your cherry berry from that prick.

Horny Andi: I don't have a cherry. I masturbate with an eight inch rubber cock.

Rational Andi: I meant your metaphysical cherry, Gawd.

Horny Andi: I'm shutting you out. I think we have an unhealthy relationship.

Rational Andi: Go fuck yourself.

And then I dialed the number. The phone rang for awhile and then went to voice mail. Disappointed and in no way willing to leave a message, I hung up, vowing to try again later. Seconds after, a text arrived.

Check under your favorite chair in calculus tomorrow. Signed, Your Secret Admirer

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