Fear Me

“Send me your photo. Any part of your body you want. Not necessarily intimate.”

I feel a strange tingling in my stomach—and how my pulse starts to race. I can’t deny it: the virtual conversation is getting under my skin. Without thinking too long, I pull my feet out from under the blanket and point my smartphone camera at them.

No reply comes for a minute, and I start regretting that I let myself get involved in this photo scam.

“ I was a bit carried away. It turned out more intimate than I expected. Size thirty-seven, right? I was imagining thirty-eight.”

I have no idea how that could happen, but at that moment I suddenly clearly picture the tone my interlocutor could use to say it—low, charmingly hoarse.

“Dinner is at seven tonight.”

“How will I recognize you?”

“No way. You’ll recognize me.”