there.
I was so intrigued by your ad I had to email you. I don't usually do this, but there's always a first time. :)
My name is Lynn. I suppose you want to know what I look like, right? I'm just over six feet tall and slim in build. I'm not Brad Pitt, but I can hold my own.
I'm a sculptor—yes, I make a living as an artist. I also play bass in a band but that's just a hobby. I'm ashamed to say that I really love reading philosophy. :)
I expect you'll email me back, but you can't really know if you click with a person until you meet. So I'd like to propose a museum outing one afternoon. What do you say?
Lynn
--------------------------------------------
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: One more thingÉ
I guess I should tell you one other thing about me. I'm currently undergoing some changes in my life. Big changes, but good ones. I haven't had the sex change operation yet, but it's scheduled for next month.
Anyway, I hope we can get together. I have a good feeling about you.
Lynn (again)
--------------------------------------------
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: yo
you sound hot. want to hook up?
--------------------------------------------
"No." Freya hit Delete, set her laptop aside, and flopped back onto her bed.
Today at work, Charles had cornered her and given her an ultimatum: initial mockups in one month, or else. And Charles really meant it when he said "or else."
The thing was, she wasn't any closer to feeling sexy than she was a week ago. She'd had the ad on craigslist for several days, and so far she'd only attracted freaks.
If she were being honest, she'd admit that the there'd been a moment when she'd felt that spark she used to have, and it'd been at the Ethiopian restaurant with Cavanaugh.
Honesty was overrated.
It was only four days since she'd put the ad online. She needed to give it time.
Only she didn't have time.
She pounded the mattress with a fist. She was going to tap back into her sensuality if it killed her. She just couldn't depend on the ad alone.
The Thai cooking class started later this week. She'd gotten her art supplies out but facing the blank canvas had been as traumatic as facing Photoshop at work.
She needed to do something else. Something physical, to get herself moving. Something like—
She snapped her fingers in sudden inspiration. "Belly dancing!"
Scooting off the bed, she opened her dresser and sifted through it. It only took a few minutes to find what she was looking for.
A few years ago, she'd taken an interpretive dance class, not because she loved to dance but because she was assigned to design their website and wanted to get a feel for what they did. Since it seemed like the unofficial uniform for the class, she bought herself a pair of black leggings and a skintight, wide-collared crop top.
She'd gone twice before the instructor asked her to stop attending, but it wasn't her fault. Being told to be lint would crack anyone up, especially when everyone in the class seriously applied themselves to adopting lint-like qualities. Who wouldn't laugh if someone ran by, crying, "I cling, I float!"
To complete her outfit, she tied a bright scarf around her waist and checked out the results in the mirror. Not bad, really.
The front door buzzed.
She glanced at the clock. After eight on a school night—who could it be? Anna would have just let herself in.
Hurrying downstairs, Freya opened the door to find Eve standing on the porch, a covered plate in her hand. "I come bearing cookies. I baked after work."
"Uh-oh." She moved aside to let her friend in. "What happened?"
"What makes you think something happened?" Eve asked too breezily as she walked up the stairs.
"If you're baking on a workday, it's because you're upset. What did your dad do now?"
"Nothing." She set the cookies on the coffee table and curled into one corner of the couch, pouting. "Except he didn't
I was so intrigued by your ad I had to email you. I don't usually do this, but there's always a first time. :)
My name is Lynn. I suppose you want to know what I look like, right? I'm just over six feet tall and slim in build. I'm not Brad Pitt, but I can hold my own.
I'm a sculptor—yes, I make a living as an artist. I also play bass in a band but that's just a hobby. I'm ashamed to say that I really love reading philosophy. :)
I expect you'll email me back, but you can't really know if you click with a person until you meet. So I'd like to propose a museum outing one afternoon. What do you say?
Lynn
--------------------------------------------
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: One more thingÉ
I guess I should tell you one other thing about me. I'm currently undergoing some changes in my life. Big changes, but good ones. I haven't had the sex change operation yet, but it's scheduled for next month.
Anyway, I hope we can get together. I have a good feeling about you.
Lynn (again)
--------------------------------------------
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: yo
you sound hot. want to hook up?
--------------------------------------------
"No." Freya hit Delete, set her laptop aside, and flopped back onto her bed.
Today at work, Charles had cornered her and given her an ultimatum: initial mockups in one month, or else. And Charles really meant it when he said "or else."
The thing was, she wasn't any closer to feeling sexy than she was a week ago. She'd had the ad on craigslist for several days, and so far she'd only attracted freaks.
If she were being honest, she'd admit that the there'd been a moment when she'd felt that spark she used to have, and it'd been at the Ethiopian restaurant with Cavanaugh.
Honesty was overrated.
It was only four days since she'd put the ad online. She needed to give it time.
Only she didn't have time.
She pounded the mattress with a fist. She was going to tap back into her sensuality if it killed her. She just couldn't depend on the ad alone.
The Thai cooking class started later this week. She'd gotten her art supplies out but facing the blank canvas had been as traumatic as facing Photoshop at work.
She needed to do something else. Something physical, to get herself moving. Something like—
She snapped her fingers in sudden inspiration. "Belly dancing!"
Scooting off the bed, she opened her dresser and sifted through it. It only took a few minutes to find what she was looking for.
A few years ago, she'd taken an interpretive dance class, not because she loved to dance but because she was assigned to design their website and wanted to get a feel for what they did. Since it seemed like the unofficial uniform for the class, she bought herself a pair of black leggings and a skintight, wide-collared crop top.
She'd gone twice before the instructor asked her to stop attending, but it wasn't her fault. Being told to be lint would crack anyone up, especially when everyone in the class seriously applied themselves to adopting lint-like qualities. Who wouldn't laugh if someone ran by, crying, "I cling, I float!"
To complete her outfit, she tied a bright scarf around her waist and checked out the results in the mirror. Not bad, really.
The front door buzzed.
She glanced at the clock. After eight on a school night—who could it be? Anna would have just let herself in.
Hurrying downstairs, Freya opened the door to find Eve standing on the porch, a covered plate in her hand. "I come bearing cookies. I baked after work."
"Uh-oh." She moved aside to let her friend in. "What happened?"
"What makes you think something happened?" Eve asked too breezily as she walked up the stairs.
"If you're baking on a workday, it's because you're upset. What did your dad do now?"
"Nothing." She set the cookies on the coffee table and curled into one corner of the couch, pouting. "Except he didn't
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