The Innocent Wildcard

I kick off my shoes after a long day serving drinks at the country club. I groan and reach down to press on the red areas of my feet. Damn it...I need new shoes...or I need to stop standing for so long. I'm sure they're swollen. I close the hotel room door, which is where I live since it's closer to my job and cuts rent in half. $30 a night beats $950 any day. That's not even including bills. At my last place, a one-room apartment, my rent was $1250. I'm saving $350, which is nice. I can use it on necessities. I walk to the club, which is five miles away.

I don't mind walking twice daily to keep my stomach flat.

My soles are killing me! I open the glassy door to the shower-tub combo in my bathroom, while I run cool water. I turn to the vanity, where a bowl sink and tall mirror are. An olive-skinned, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl stares back at me in the mirror, yeah that's me. Hmm...I'm breaking out, I noticed. I move closer to examine the pimples all over my forehead. "Ugh! I need to cut out sugar." My light voice pouts, then sighs. My hands open a bottom cabinet on the vanity to retrieve Epsom salt while I walk back to the tub and pour the salt in. I sit on the wide ledge and swing my feet over to submerge them into the steaming water. Ahh...that's so much better! A buzz from my back pocket makes me smirk. I slide it out, face unlock my phone and click on Tinder. Nine messages wait. I reply to each.

All the men were thirsty and all they wanted was sex, I teased some and left the rest hanging. I rub my sore back as I view 3k matches and swipe right on a dozen. Each of the guys is a 10 in looks and they could even model. But I know looks don't always mean the guy will be the one. Hot guys are sluts....man whores, not husband material. They're good to toy with and nice to look at, but that wears off after a while. Beautiful men don't seem to settle down until they've sown their oats as much as possible. I need someone who's hubby material. I'm not dumb. I know I won't find that on Tinder. I'm just on the app to pass the time while I wait for Mr. Right.

Some people think men don't want virgins. But I think men find us hotter than fast girls or cam girls. Judging by the men in my inbox, which has to be close to one hundred, I found that this surprises and arouses them. I haven't had one guy get turned off; instead, they wonder how tight I am. I love telling them I'm completely untouched.

No insertion of any kind has gone inside me. Sex toys aren't for everyone. Some guys ask if I don't have experience, then how would I be good at sex? I study technique books for mouth positions and sex positions.

Their stunned replies always amuse me. I guess they think virgins are still living in the 1950s. They probably think I don't masturbate...I do. I'm not entirely insane! All I know is that I won't be unprepared. Whoever my future husband is will be screaming on our wedding night. And yes, the honeymoon will be traditional. No sex beforehand...yet fooling around will be allowed.

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In the morning, I wake with my hair all over my head and the sheets in a twist around my body. The alarm from my phone blares the air like a siren. The only sound that works for me. I showered, washed the suds from my hair, flipped it back, and then got out. I take two towels from a rack and wrap one around my head, then one around my breast. For breasts that are a 24b cup, I'd like them bigger and higher. This is one of my flaws. If only I had money to throw away my insecurities. The FaceTime tone vibrates my phone. I rush to the counter and read the screen.