I’d met her on NewYorkMinute, the more exclusive and private site for the city’s elite professionals. A site that was built around the idea that a meet-up needed to happen within the first three conversations. Every profile was nameless and picture-less, with a simple series of telling paragraphs and a percentage of “match-ability” based on questions answered.

For whatever reason, JerseyGirl7 was a one-hundred percent match for me, but I never asked to meet her in person because I didn’t trust the results. For one, I thought she had to have answered as a joke to be that high of a match with me sexually, and for two, I didn’t have the energy or the time to waste on another potential disappointment.

Not only that, but I actually enjoyed having her as a pseudo-friend, even if she did have a smart-ass sense of humor and a tendency to reveal way too much about her deepest, filthiest fantasies.

With her fresh on my mind, I logged into NewYorkMinute and saw a message from her that was dated from a couple of hours ago.

Subject: I have a date this weekend and I need your advice ...

So...I think this Friday is the day I’ll finally get laid after all these dry months.

Email me when you get a chance or when you get done with your so-called “patients.” (You don’t have to keep lying about being a doctor, you know? We’re never going to meet, so what’s the point in constantly pretending to be something you’re not? Just tell me what you really do for a living, and I’ll tell you what I do, too. :-) )

PS — You were right about my last date. It didn’t end well and he was an asshole like you predicted, but you’re cocky enough as is and I’m not stroking your ego for another second.

**JerseyGirl7

I reread the last line of her email a few more times and smiled before closing the app.

I’ll deal with her when I get off ...

THE DOCTOR

New York, New York

Garrett

By the time I left work, it was nine o’clock at night and my tolerance for incompetence had reached a new low. I’d had to berate the interns in my department for being careless with their patient reports, sit through a two-hour session with a miserable married couple who was better off divorced, and force myself to finish reading a forty-page report on a new therapy technique.

Somewhere in between all of the stress, I’d depleted my newest supply of Twizzlers, and the last thing I wanted to do tonight was join my staff for the celebratory “Number One Practice in New York, again” dinner. Instead, I found myself polishing the trophy in my living room, placing it right next to the previous years’ awards on my shelf.

I stared at them all for a long time, knowing my father was somewhere above saying, “I fucking told you so, son.”

Hitting the lights, I headed into my kitchen and poured myself a glass of bourbon — quickly tossing it back before pouring another. Then I pulled out my phone and logged into the NewYorkMinute app, noticing that JerseyGirl7 had sent me a second message for the day.

Subject: The Advice.

Your “patients” must be really driving you crazy today, since you’re too busy to answer. (This doctor thing is quite the charade ...) So, I’ll make my questions brief:

1.) Me and the guy just exchanged pictures and he’s sexy and mouth-wateringly-hot. This has absolutely nothing to do with this email. I just wanted to rub that fact in your face.

2.) Do you think I should wear a dress with stockings or a very revealing top with tight jeans? As a guy, which one says, “I’m definitely interested in sleeping with you after this date?”

3.) He said he “couldn’t wait to slurp [my] pussy” ... What does that mean?

4.) I really need this to work out. Unlike you, I would prefer not to go another month relying on just my fantasies and my hand ...

ALSO — If we ever do meet and I wanted to give you a small gift for all your advice over these months, what would be appropriate? A make-believe doctor kit? A collection of better porn?

**JerseyGirl7

I smiled and fired off an immediate response.

Subject: Re: The Advice.

My “patients” did drive me crazy today, but not as much as my staff. (I have no reason to lie to you about my occupation.) Thank you, so much, for keeping this week’s sad and pathetic questions brief.

1.) Seeing as though I’m far from gay, I’m not sure why I would give a fuck if the guy you’re about to see is “sexy” or “mouth-wateringly hot” at all.

2.) You should wear a dress. No stockings.

3.) It means he has no idea how to eat pussy.

4.) I’ve told you about the danger of making your silly assumptions when it comes to my sex life ...

ALSO — A bulk package of Twizzlers would be “appropriate” but your lips wrapped around my cock would be preferred.

**D-DOCTOR

She emailed me right back.

Subject: Re: Re: The Advice.

He definitely knows how to eat pussy. You should SEE all the dirty messages he’s sent me. I’m sure they’re far filthier than anything you’ve ever sent someone.

**JerseyGirl7

Subject: Re: Re: Re: The Advice

I highly doubt that ...

**D-DOCTOR

I scrolled through our never-ending thread of messages, all the way up to when they first began, when I realized this woman definitely had an obsession with talking about sex. Which was quite ironic because from the time since we’d “met,” she hadn’t had any sex at all. All of her dates had ended in disaster, for one reason or another, and I’d learned more about her personal vibrator use than I ever wanted to know.