Forget about Elsa, message Chloe the alt looking chick

You decide not to punish Elsa letting her live her life. You message the slutty black hair chick.

A click of the thumb, a tap, and Elsa's face vanishes, relegated to the back burner of a mind already boiling with self-loathing and a desperate need for distraction. You switch to the match with Chloe. The eighteen-year-old with the silver-studded nose and the vacant, challenging eyes.

You type, keeping it simple. A proposition. "Hey." A greeting for the ages. Three letters that carry the weight of your entire rotten soul.

A reply bubbles up almost instantly, the three little dots dancing and then resolving into words. "Hey daddy ;)"

The endearment is a slap and a caress. It's exactly what you came here for, exactly the validation your sick ego craves. The irony isn't lost on you, that you're running from the very real problems of being a father by seeking out a girl who wants to call you "daddy" in a completely different, transactional context.

You lean back in your leather chair, the cool creak a familiar sound in the quiet study. You're in control here. This is your domain. "You free later?" you type. The bluntness gives you a thrill.

There's a pause this time, longer than before. You watch the screen, your pulse a slow, heavy drum in your ears. "Maybe. U gonna make it worth my while?"

Your fingers fly across the screen, the promise taking shape. "Always."

"Pick me up at 7. Walmart north exit. Don't be late." She sends a location pin.

Walmart. The quintessential monument to suburban life. You're picking up your anonymous hook-up at the same place Ava buys paper towels and Kyler buys nail polish remover. The layers of irony and depravity are so thick you could choke on them. But you don't. You just type back, "See you then."

The plan is set. The escape route is clear. For a few hours tonight, you won't be the worried father or the disconnected husband. You'll be "David," the generous sugar daddy.

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