This Location of Unknown Possibilities by Brett Josef Grubisic Page B

Jake began to prioritize the day’s meetings.
    He expected a few department heads to report in; otherwise he’d be closely tethered to office phone lines. There would be plenty of time to check back online. Ads had a pastry’s shelf life and responses would dry up shortly in any case. After that, producing results meant posting another—different words, same idea—or covert perusal of a site where he’d reactivated a profile. True, he could always drive to the park on the way home and throw the dice. All of it looked like work, though in separate guises.
    Getting laid without effort did happen, though rarely, and men were considerably easier to locate than women for obvious reasons. Women never parked their cars near highway rest stops and waited, pants unzipped, in search of lusting monosyllabic strangers in ball caps; nor did they wander in solitude within the shade of forests and loiter near public toilets.
    The persistent idea that they might circulated as fantasy fodder that men whispered to themselves and, in his dad’s time anyway, printed in magazines. In the actual world scenes like that wouldn’t be realized unless involving a hefty financial transaction, or else extensive pleading—“Please, honey, just this one time, please. You’re a hitchhiker and I pick you up and rape you at the side of the road, c’mon it’ll be fun.” Jake felt that even though he understood female reluctance, the whole situation was regrettable—he’d like porn fantasies to come to life, at least some of them. C’est la vie , he thought.
    When the wisdom of being fearful did cross his mind he snorted with relief to be a guy. He’d never expected violence despite hundreds of sexual contacts and shivered with nervous excitement in places his assistant or sister wouldn’t dare visit after sunset: the bungee jump thrill of danger related to engaging in illicit activity, not bodily harm.
    The adventuring rush was particularly acute to him with no name exchange—the drunken woman he chatted up at a lounge and eventually led to the toilet stall for a quick exchange—in order of frequency: tongue-deep kissing, handjob, blowjob, fuck, muff dive—or the wordless figure in the murky woods who’d drop to his knees or yank down grey sweats in proud exhibition of hard prick or ass. Striding full of secret knowledge, the return to the car or crowded room following the frantic rushed tussle—face flushed, greasy mouth wiped, hastily tucked clothing emanating faint earthy scents—elicited a singular pleasure. Jake never tired of it.
    Quests for high-rev experience were nothing new to Jake, the germ as old as memory. Childhood forecasts for distant adult vocations included digging up the bones of dinosaurs, becoming an Egyptologist, a cat burglar, an assassin, and a spy. Those goals took him through elementary school. He considered the practical high school years when publicizing dental school plans as an aberration resulting from daily pressures—“Think in the long term, Jakey” (Dad) and “Try to be realistic, Jakob” (Mom). As for the vision of residing in Paris while slaving to make his name as a fashion designer? The briefest of phases.
    3 .
    H ome-shot thumbnails of Jake’s towel-wrapped torso currently joined descriptive numbers and words on Mascskorpio and Muscgymdude, to-the-point generic names chosen for two commercial sex site profiles to point out relevant material—that his upper-echelon physique and disposition sought gratification with similar bodies that measured up. Why be coy or falsely democratic, Jake had thought when inventing these guises. Between the two profiles he expected to line up a few suitable options; he’d keep the programs running for an hour and comb through the mail then. Aware that the search might be fruitless, Jake’s gut said go. Failing that, he could try another site. The choices