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mood swings would continue whether she tried to soothe her or not.
No New Voice Mail. The message flashed on the tiny screen of Saras phone. She flipped it closed and set it on the coffee table, then stretched her legs out and rested her head on the arm of the sofa. Shed left messages with several people, and was waiting impatiently for any one of her calls to be returned. God, Im horny. Why wont anyone call me back? Last night shed made a dozen or so calls, but everyone was going out to Surge, a new club that had just opened last weekend, and she wasnt in the mood to go out. Shed masturbated twice with Big Black, her favorite vibrator, a thick, black, twelve inch monstrosity. That might have counted towards her goal if it werent still Day One. She still marked it in her notebook, wanting to make sure all her sexual activity was logged for whatever end product this project created. It was eleven in the morning, and she lay on the couch in her sweat pants and a t-shirt. She was lazy, bored, and worried about Rebecca. She hadnt been home since she stormed out of the apartment last night. Sara had called her cell just to make sure everything was all right, but got no answer. She hadnt left a message. Well, when she wants to talk, shell let me know. She brought the notebook into her bedroom and sat at the desk, placing the notepad at a precise ninety degree angle next to her keyboard. The orderliness of her desk was a testament to her organization skills, a part of her personality that was incongruous with the haphazard way she arranged her personal affairs. Everything was placed in a pre-determined position, all of the items in exact locations, nothing out of place. Her entire room was conspicuously tidy; her attention to detail was enough to drive roommates crazy. She tried to accept that not everyone could be that organized, but it was still a point of contention between Rebecca and her. She had always been regulated, everything in her life categorized to an exacting standard few could emulate. Rebecca tried, but was as naturally disorganized as Sara was systematic. She logged into her PC and launched the database she had built last week. The database was populated with the names of all her potential partners, their contact information, including where she met them or what website they were from if she hadnt met them yet. There were separate tables for sexual positions, fetishes, scenarios, locations, toys, and more. It was far from exhaustive, but she had filled in as much data as she could think of off the top of her head, then populated additional fields with the results of a few quick Google searches. Though the thought of a sexual encounter database might have seemed obsessively logical to others, to Sara it was as natural as keeping phone numbers organized in her cell phone. She ran a


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report that spit out a list of the easiest marks, the ones she had flirted and joked with, those with whom she felt sexual tension, and the straight players that would put the moves on her every time she saw them, anyone who she could get in bed with little or no effort. She came up with a list of fifteen men and two women. These would be her backups, the people she would turn to if she were down to the last minute and in danger of missing her midnight deadline. She ran down the list with one finger on the screen and stopped at the last name, Trevor. Ah, Trevor. She had once thought he was the love of her life. They shared so much in common, talked for hours, enjoyed each others company regardless of their surroundings, and seemed to fit together perfectly. Shed loved him, or at least shed felt more for him than she ever had for any other man. They dated for six months, he proposed, she accepted, then he instantly cheated on her. She didnt mind an open relationship; shed had plenty of them. But to propose marriage, to swear undying love and fidelity, then turn around and fuck someone else within a week... that was intolerable. Shed told him as much, raging at him in a rare, furious outburst. She didnt answer the door when he came over to talk, refused his calls, deleted his messages instantly upon hearing his voice, returned his letters unopened, deleted his emails unread, everything to avoid further contact with him. But she knew with one phone call hed be back in her arms, in her life, in her bed. She didnt know how shed handle that. He was the last ditch effort. The phone rang, shattering her reverie. She ran to the living room, picked up her cell from the coffee table, and answered without looking at the name. "Hello?" "Sara?" She immediately recognized the voice. "Josh! Whats up?" "We still on for lunch?" Shit. Shed been so caught up in finding her mark for Day Two, shed forgotten her lunch plans with Josh. "Oh my God, Josh, I forgot. Gimme forty-five minutes." "No prob, Im running late myself." The line clicked, a brief burst of static interrupted his voice. "...at one fifteen instead, ok?" "One fifteen, see you then." Sara flipped the phone closed and ran to the shower. . . . Arriving later than planned, Sara checked herself in the rearview mirror before heading around the corner to meet Josh. She touched up her lipstick, and ran her fingers through her hair. Just before turning the corner where she would be within Joshs line of sight, she checked her reflection in the plate glass window of a tiny boutique. She had thrown on her Corey Lynn Calter skirt, a knee-length white number with a swirling pattern of subtle blues and black that was snug at her hips and flowed loosely around her legs, and an aqua blue ribbed tank top she called her "boy beater"