I am by no means a technophobe. I am a fan of gadgets and am right there at the electronic store chanting “open, open, open” when the latest new thing come along.

However, text messages are the bane of my existence. I just can’t understand why someone would spend the time typing a message with their thumbs when they’re holding a freakin’ phone. The first chain text message I received almost resulted in my commitment into a nice padded room with a matching jacket. You see people screaming into their phones, but rarely screaming at their phones.

I’ve trained all my friends to only send texts that don’t require a response. So I was surprised to hear the incoming text sound in the middle of my work day.

Text: I want you.

I didn’t recognize the phone number attached to the message, and where the hell is area code 541? A quick Google search told me it was northwest Oregon, with Eugene being the most populated city in the 541 area.

Curious, since I don’t know anyone from that part of the country and to receive something along those lines, one would hope you’d at least recognize the sender.

But you know me, I’m always willing to play, and while not a fan of normal “How R U?” messages, this one was at least interesting.

Hannah: What do you want to do to me?

Text: Pound my cock inside you until you cum screaming my name.

Oh! Well, it just keeps getting better.

Hannah: MMM. You’re making me wet.

Text: Wow! Lisa, you really got into it this time.

Lisa?!? Who the fuck is Lisa? I damn near shouted that in the middle of my office.

Then it hit me that I’m actually the one who’s been masquerading as someone else; that if someone is in the wrong, it’s me. But damn it, I feel like my lover just called out the wrong name in bed.

Am I obligated to confess at this point? I’m not quite sure of the protocol. But I’ve always been one who will admit to mistakes and own up to my misdeeds.

Hannah: Confession time. I’m not Lisa. I think you have the wrong number.

Text: Do you think I can have the wrong number again tomorrow?