An Essayby Lynn Ahrens
Dominic’s breath is soft in my ear, his accent a lilting roller coaster. He guides my hand, telling me exactly what he wants me to do. I’m moist with sweat, exhausted, but he’s patient, knowing it’s my first time. We’ve been at it for hours—his voice is coming from a million miles away.
“Now, please type in C as in California, O as in Oregon, N as in New York, and F as in Fronk-en-shty-een.”
“F as in Fronk-en-shty-een.”
“That is correct.”
I do as he says. A pause.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I’m shrieking in ecstasy.
Darling Dominic, or whatever your real name is, in Calcutta or New Delhi—thank you, thank you, my sweet love. After five grueling hours with you, I’m back online.