Wanted: Looking for a male model with a porn star-sized…
Delete. Delete. Delete.
In need of a handsome gentleman with a well-above-average…
Delete. Delete. Delete.
This is the worst. How the heck am I supposed to find a non-creepy guy with a giant you-know-what to pose nude for me?
I close the tab for Craigslist and shut my laptop. I’m terrified to open the messages I’d get after posting an ad like that.
Peggy is not paying me enough for that nightmare scenario. Actually, she is. That’s the worst part. She’s throwing money at me.
My parents were horrified when I told them I wanted to go to art school after years of them paying for private school.
“All that money and work for what?” my mother asked when I told them what I wanted to do. “To sling a paintbrush around like a toddler?”
“You’ll never make a cent,” my father said, disgusted with the direction I was choosing to steer my life in. “You’ll be homeless but at least you’ll be able to paint a nice sign begging for change.”
And here I am, one year out of art school and I proved them all wrong.
I know how lucky I am. How much I need Peggy. Most of the students in my art school who graduated with me are either waiting tables or are getting crushed by the gig economy, doing graphic design for peanuts.
I’m the only one getting paid to paint and if I’m not careful, my patron will drop me and I’ll be waiting tables at the diner down the street.
I get up with a sigh and stretch my legs around my townhouse. I can’t think of this right now. I’ve been stressing about it all day. I need a break. I need a night off.
My eyes spot the bananas hanging in the kitchen.
I turn away and spot my cactus in the corner. Oh my god. I never realized it looked just like a…
This is too much.
I can’t get this out of my head. I’m seeing big cocks everywhere, except where I need to.
I’ll visit my friend Angela where she’s working and see if she knows anyone who can fulfill my very specific needs.
And if she can’t… maybe I’ll have to use that cactus for a model and hope for the best.
* * *
“For how many people?” the beautiful hostess asks as she grabs a few menus.
“Just one,” I say with an awkward laugh.
“Oh,” she says as she quickly looks me up and down like she’s trying to see what’s wrong with me. “There’s an elderly lady sitting alone by the window. Do you want to sit with her?”
“Umm,” I say nervously as I look around. “Not really.”
“It’s just…” she says, hesitating. “Won’t you be bored?”
“Did you bring a book?”
“Can I just sit down please?” I ask as I get a strong urge to back out of the restaurant and run down the street.
“Okay,” she says, sounding surprised that I can sit with myself and not be bored out of my mind. “But if another single comes in, do you want me to sit them with you?”
I think about saying ‘only if it’s a hot guy with a giant cock,’ but then chicken out. “No, but can I sit in Angela’s section?”
I can see the lightbulb going on in her head. “Oh! That’s why you’re here. I thought you had no one to talk to, but you know Angela.”
She power walks through the restaurant and I have to hurry to keep up. It’s a beautiful place with big quiet booths, thick carpeting, and fancy paintings on the walls. The kind of place where couples go on Friday nights with some of the men hiding engagement rings in their pockets. The kind of place where single women like me don’t often get to go to.
“Mila!” Angela screeches when she sees me.
She runs over with an armful of dirty plates and gives me an awkward side hug.
“Are you sitting in my section?”
“I hope so.” Unless there’s a communal table for losers this hostess is going to stick me at.
“Put her at table nineteen,” Angela says to the hostess. “Let me just drop this stuff off and I’ll come see you.”
She scampers off and I’m secretly gloating inside when I get seated at table nineteen. By the window. The best seat in the house.
‘Enjoy your sad little meal,’ the hostess says with her eyes.
“Would you like a newspaper or something?” the hostess says with her mouth.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I say bluntly as I open the menu and dismiss her.
She walks away with a shake of her head.
“What the heck is her problem?” I ask Angela when she comes back empty-handed.
“Is Candice being a bitch again?” Angela says with an angry huff of breath. “She made a single woman cry yesterday. She thinks she’s above everyone because she has three boyfriends.”