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If We Had Sex

by Vilia Kinell

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© - 2007 Vilia Kinell, all rights reserved.
May not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without written consent!
But please feel free to share amongst yourselves for private use, if you so wish. (heck - I'd be honored!) <g>



Disclaimer: Nope. They’re mine. All mine. No online communities were visited during the penning of this short piece of fiction, although a bulletin was shamelessly taken from an unknown source. I make no money on this so you can’t have any either.

Alcohol Warning: Wine-induced buzz largely responsible for online adventures.

Language: Yes, without it we fail to communicate and express ourselves. Swearing occurs.

Sex: No. But there’s talk of it.

Thanks: My Beta Beanie – Thanks your very helpful suggestions and comments!! And whoever wrote the bulletin that inspired this.

Notes: Although it’s not expressively written - This is Alternative Fiction, meaning physical expression of love (or future love, in this case) between two adult, consenting women is depicted, hinted at and/or punned with. If this is illegal where you are or you are under the age of eighteen (18), please grow up, move and come back later. If it just flat out offends you – Go away.

Comments and/or feedback:Welcome at vilia@neminat.com or my MySpace page. =)


If We Had Sex


“Another day, another dollar…” I sigh as I finally reach my office again after that dreadfully boring meeting. I thought the whole point of having various directors in strategic places would ease up some on the workload but boy, was I mistaken! The relief of the day finally being over is short-lived - there’s a post-it note on my computer screen that catches my attention. A name and a time followed by ‘urgent’.

“Great…” Another sigh. “Even more meetings! There goes my social life…” I fall into a resigned silence and think; What social life?

Ignoring the sticky-note left by my secretary, I start looking through the papers that lay scattered on my desk. There’s a report somewhere that needs to be copied and filed, which really isn’t my job but I’d rather do it myself and be certain I have the right figures at the end of the day. The last of the directors leave for the elevators and I can for the first time today hear the low humming of the air-conditioning unit, a sound easily drowned out by chatter, fingers tapping on keyboards, shuffling feet and rustling papers. Not to mention the traffic outside. You know it’s late when even the cars slow down and the streets grow empty.

My thoughts drift again to that proverbial dollar. Why am I here? Really, when you get right down to it, why the hell am I here? Heading up a company I’m vastly bored with, doing nothing nobody else can’t do better if only they tried, just earning those damn greens! Something to pay the bills with... What good is money when there’s nothing worthwhile to spend it on, anyway? Which, upon closer thought, I imagine is a somewhat mute point since this internet thing has been taking up so much time lately and my bill for it proves just that.

I pause in my paper-sorting tasks and look to the computer. It’s shut off and the black screen, still with the yellow post-it note on it, beckons to me. As if the machine could talk, it says; Turn me on.

Shaking my head slightly, I have to smile at the sudden appearance of a butterfly or two, stirring deep inside me. They make their point and I acknowledge their presence, but the computer is left alone. For now… The cause of the ever so welcome jitters is just an email away. I know that there’s something in my inbox. I can feel it. And it’s from Her.

The temptation to read what she has written is almost overwhelming but first things first. Get the papers sorted, prepare for that other meeting tomorrow, go home, find food in the empty fridge... Then you can check your inbox.

The ride home was a long one.


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With the laptop firmly squeezed under my arm, a surprisingly still hot meal of Italian take-out in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other, I make my way from the kitchen into the living room. The computer is turned on almost before I put the glass and plate on the coffee-table.

I have long since stopped bothering myself with my new antics. What initially started as a typo in an email-address had for some undiscovered reason turned into a conversation of sorts. And things went on from there, as they tend to do. The improbability of it all was what had baffled me earlier but I was now so far past that stage that it didn’t matter any more.

My dinner made its way down slowly as the PC took its time booting up. It was a dreadfully slow machine, but it did its business and also gave me time to prepare for whatever it was she had written.

I was half-way through the pasta and nearly as far along on the wine when the laptop finally stopped buzzing like it always did before it was ready for use. A couple of quick clicks and striking of the keys and….. “no new messages”.

“What!?” I nearly sputter the red drink as I exasperate my shock before I swallow.

“But… what…?”

So I refresh the page to see if there’s a mistake. Surely the email has to be here somewhere! Has it gone to the spam-folder? I check… No. Trash? No. “What the…”

I immediately begin searching through every folder I have in my email-account but there is nothing new. Stumped, I sit back on the couch, watching the screen in disbelief. I knew there had to be some sort of communication from her. There always was! I knew that both because, well… there always was, and because I could tell when she had sent me something. It was uncanny the way I could sense her writing to me. It was like some strange, supernatural bond we seemed to share. I just knew. Felt it in my spine. Like she was really there, addressing me face to face, darkening my doorstep, as plain to see as if she was in the room with me… There had to be something somewhere!

A small thought began to nudge me from the farthest reaches of my mind’s basement.

No…Why would she?

I took command of the touchpad and steered my browser to another website. Had to think for a minute what my login information was and was rejected twice due to “incorrect password”. Then I think of her; of when she talked me into opening this silly account. She has a very good way with words, she does!

Checking, checking, looking again… Nope. No new messages here either. No private ones, no comments. A couple of new friends requests but not from anyone I know. Why do people want to add someone they’ve never met or talked to, anyway?

A wrong-click and I’m greeted with the full-frontal of my very naked profile. No background image, no profile-picture, no posts in the Blog-section, nothing posted in the ‘About Me’ or ‘Who I Want To Meet’.

Although I can think of someone to put there…Man, this place looks horrible!

I click on, looking around, not having anything better to do and needing some type of distraction from the disappointment of my hunch betraying me.

That’s when I see it. A bulletin post from one very specific ScribbleGirl… Subject: "If We Had Sex?"

Can you blame me for suddenly being very curious?


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Clicking the title of the bulletin proves to be more problematic than expected when you’re in a hurry. And also strangely nervous… I end up clicking the wrong one and have to backtrack before getting to what I really want to read.

With remarkable self-control I read the first couple of lines out loud.

“Lets play the "If We Had Sex”-game... Now don't be scared... you never know who really wants to do you! Here are the very simple rules to the game - Reply to me privately and then repost it empty so others can fill it out for you.”

I stare blankly at the screen for a minute wondering if I should read on. Of course I do anyway, no matter what my so called rational side thinks.

1. Would you be in control?
2. Would you pull my hair?
3. Would you whisper in my ear?
4. Would you talk dirty to me?

And the list goes on… I can’t help but wonder just why she posted this. Just bantering with friends? Honestly wondering who would reply? Or… does she want me to reply. Did she do it for that sole reason? Surely not… But what if… And should I reply? What does that say about our relationship?

The two butterflies from before speed-breed like bunnies and instantly produce hundreds more. I gulp what’s left of my wine and go to get the bottle from the kitchen.


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It’s a full ten minutes and two more glasses of wine before I reach for the laptop again. Berating myself for my cowardice and thinking 'I’m being ridiculous', I decide to at least answer the questions. I don’t have to send the thing! I can just… answer them… and leave it at that. Who knows? Could be self-educating… or something…

Yeah, let’s tell ourselves that!

I take a deep breath, mostly for show, even though no one’s watching, another sip and then…

1. Would you be in control?

I read it twice despite still remembering it from before. I begin to type; “If you’d let me,” but erase that and just put in a short and simple “Yes.” Don’t have to be diplomatic and nice or romantic if I’m not gonna send it, do I?

2. Would you pull my hair?

Hmm. Would I? I don’t know. “If I need to.” And that’s to say 'if you don’t do as I say', I muse quietly.

3. Would you whisper in my ear?

Most likely – “Yes.”

4. Would you talk dirty to me?

I chuckle at that. “Yeeez.”

5. Would you kiss me with a little tongue or a lot of tongue?


6. Would you say my name?

Easy – “Yes, I would!”

7. Would you go down on me?

If it was the wine or the directness of the question, I don’t know, but I blushed. It was probably because of who asked it… I type “Yes,” and quickly move on to the next question before I start thinking too much about it.

8. Would you let me give you a hickie?

There’s something young and sweet about that… I think to myself and answer, “Yes!”

9. How many rounds would we go?

“How many do you have the stamina for?” I type before thinking, consider revising, but instead decide to add – “That and then some…”

10. What would you wanna do afterwards?

What would you like here? A cuddle-kitten with pillow-talk or following up with Round X in the shower? I wonder. I ponder my reply a bit, also marveling at my own previously to me unknown wishes… “Bask in the afterglow…”

11. Would you take off all your clothes then take mine off slowly?

“The other way around…”

12. Would you lick and bite me all over?

Hehehehe, would I ever? “Oh yes indeed!” I find myself grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

13. Would you like to play or get straight to the point?

Anything to prolong the pleasure! “Most definitely Play!” But which game is a different question all together… I’m still grinning.

14. Would you want me to take my time?


15. How freaky are you, 1 - 10?

Um… Define ‘freaky’, please! Could be oh so many things… Be safe. Go in the middle! “Five” Gonna have to ask about that later!

16. Would you want it fast or slow?

“Don’t be silly – Both, of course!” I say aloud to the screen as if she could hear me then decide that’s a pretty good answer and write it down on the questionnaire.

17. Where would you wanna "do it"?

Oh, honey… I chuckle again and feel my cheeks heat slightly. “Don’t be asking things that will take forever just to write!”

18. Would you be loud or quiet?

I want to say both here but that might be too ambiguous… “Depends on the situation…” I type and raise a very suggestive eyebrow, quickly reminding myself that she can’t see me, thank god, and won't even read this since I’m not going to send it.

19. Would you want me to be loud or quiet?

“Whatever’s your fancy, love, but being loud never hurt anyone…”

20. Would you mind if I liked you?

I snort. Now you ask the ‘careful’ questions!! “Not at all.”

21. Do you like me?

Oh yes! But should I say that…? Heck! Like she’d find out!! “YES!”

22. Would you call me the next day?

An evil grin spreads across my face. “I wouldn’t have to – I’d still be there/you here…”

23. Would you scratch me?

Excuse me? Scratch? What’s this? Some type of modern slang I’m suddenly too old for?? Could it be… Guess it could… Why can’t people just come out and say what they mean!? Ahh, hell! “Yes.” I think.

24. Would you let me scratch you?

“Yes again.” I think…

25. Would you have to be drunk?

“Nope.” Although I do have to say I’m feeling a light buzz at this very moment…

26. Would you date me?


27. Would you do it today?

I actually check what time it is and consider this one in a peculiarly sober way. “Yes!”

28. Would you do it tomorrow?


29. Do you think that we would go any further then just sex?

I most desperately hope so! “Don’t see why not.”

30. Are you going to re-post these so I can answer them for you?

Um… No. Not gonna send it back to you either but what can you do? Although it would be fun……… Or unbearably embarrassing! Don’t forget the painful, horrible and completely petrifying embarrassment! For the love of god! Hmm, what to write…? “Yes.”

31. Would you make love to me or fuck me?

Oh. “Sweet, sweet love, my love.” I wait a beat as the thought settles in. “For starters…”

And so – end of document. No more questions. And no more wine either. The entire bottle – gone! And the leftover pasta has gone cold… Zipp-e-di-doo-dah!

I remove the small computer from my lap and place it on the coffee-table, looking back at some of my replies. I laugh quietly again, both for having bothered filling the thing out and some of the things I said. Could have filled it in quite differently, but somehow these replies felt like a good-sized middle ground. Not too meek for our alert exploratory relationship and not too bold either. Definitely not too bold!

I feel as if I should reevaluate where I want this thing to go. Should we stay as we are? Being sometimes very daring pen-pals, a thought which I find quite laughable to be honest, or should we try taking it further?

As if by divine intervention, the browser makes a clicking sound and a pop-up ad fills the screen. In the background I can see the browser jumping to the default page of the online community as an unexpected result of it. I stare at it, mortified, knowing all too well what just happened. The damn page just sent my response. I don’t have to look to confirm it but do anyway. Breathing all but forgotten, I click on the tab saying Sent, and sure enough. There it is. The brainless response to the one person I can honestly say I’ve had a good time talking to. A very good time!

Several minutes pass before I remember to blink. Out of the myriad of thoughts invading my existence I only manage to take notice of a few. That I am juvenile to have an account on this online community, that I am gullible to open the bulletin, silly to fill it out and bloody stupid for not deleting it the minute I was done!!

Now she would see it. She would see it and she would read it and she would wonder what kind of a sick freak I am and never talk to me again! Heh, at least I can now say that on a scale from one to ten – I am unquestionably a 10 when it comes to freaky!

Unless she really did send that out to test the waters… But who am I kidding!? Of course she didn’t! I’m not that lucky.

I click my way out from the message center so I can log out, shut off the computer and go somewhere and die but on the way I see something. A little icon next to her name on my contact list. She’s online!

“Oh FUCK! FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!”

I don’t even bother with logging out correctly or shutting the laptop off the ‘normal’ way. I just throw myself on the power switch and jab at it till the computer stops humming and the screen goes black. I run to the kitchen to see if there’s anything at all that will help bring back the comfortable buzz I was so rudely ripped out of. I need a drink! A damn strong one at that! But the previously consumed wine now seem to play swimming pool to the butterflies that are back tenfold.

As I rummage through the cabinets, still empty fridge and even the freezer for something to calm myself with, I feel it. I really feeeeel it. She has sent me something once again.

The End ?? =)

Comments and/or feedback:Welcome at vilia@neminat.com or my MySpace page. =)
(Ooooh!! Online communities!!!)

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