Rebecca Jane Stokes

We love the sounds our bodies make. As a crass woman I’m perpetually delighted in each and every fart, gasp, sigh, rumble, queef, or slap my body produces.

You dread being the first to arrive somewhere. I know being late to meet people is gauche, but my fear and hatred of being the first to arrive someplace has made deciding where to be some place impossible.

The last man I dated was the living embodiment of a Sonic Drive-in: He was lazy, nostalgic, had a thing for women wearing roller skates, and would put deep fried pie in everything if given the chance.

With no prospects lined up and two nominally active accounts, I decided to start sending men who had visited my profiles the sort of messages I receive on a daily basis.