My name is Jordan West. I was 23, single, and living alone when the Valentine’s Day incident occurred.
A borderline introvert living in a city of possibilities, it took a lot of effort to spiff myself up, go out there, and try to connect. An effort that usually ended in vain. So, I gave up.
I do that easily. I unapologetically admit it doesn’t take much for me to throw in the towel. That’s just me, for better or worse. Probably worse.
Sure, I was lonely—horny—and craved hot, exciting sex. But to be honest, I had no “game,” and my introversion prevented me from trying too hard.
The few times I managed to coax myself into a club, it never seemed to end well.
I had my fair share of dates when I first came to the city—I’m good-looking enough to draw attention—but no real connections. I started going out less until I was practically a recluse.
No problem. I had toys—and a surplus of batteries.
