Page 6 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“What band?”

“U2.”

“Did you go to the concert or just have the shirt?”

I let out a huff before I can stop myself. Why on earth would I wear a concert T-shirt to a show I didn’t attend? I must sound indignant because there’s a giggle, followed by an honest belt of laughter from her end.

“You’re one of those hardcore fans who know Bono’s birth date and Edge’s real name, aren’t you?” she says, playful and teasing, and I can’t help but wonder what she looks like. “All I know is that names like Bono and the Edge are made up by dudes whose real names are boring like Paul or David.”

She says Paul with an odd throat-clearing sound and doesn’t wait for me to confirm Bono was born on the tenth of May.

“Anyway, you’re in bed.”

“Yes, and my bed is perfect. I have a white noise machine, a fan, a memory foam mattress, and the softest sheets I’ve ever touched—eight hundred thread count bamboo. Fluffy pillows made with hypoallergenic something. A baffle box featherbed mattress topper. A lofted down comforter covered in a white brushed-cotton duvet. All of the modern conveniences of sleep, right down to the room-darkening curtains and blackout shades, and yet…”

“You can’t fall asleep despite the amazing bed.”

“The problem is clearly me. I splurged because I hoped the perfect levels of firmness, softness, and white noise might help. It is supremely comfortable. I get under the sheets, and you can barely tell I’m in the bed for all of the fluff. It’s like being snuggled by linens, but here we are, still not sleeping.”

“It sounds wonderful. I like lots of blankets. I find the weight comforting. Have you tried a weighted blanket?”

“No, but I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

“Highly recommend.” She pauses again, then says, “Henry, I can small talk all night, but keeping you awake a second longer than absolutely necessary feels like some kind of cruel and unusual torture.”

“You’re right. I need to be up early for an important call.” Another jaw-cracking yawn. “And I have to be intelligent. The more I worry about how little time I have, the worse it gets.”

“I’d love to help, but we should get to it. The clock is ticking.”

Here we go. The phone sex is going to begin now. What should I say? Do I start… starting? “I like your voice, Kait. It’s soothing. Like I’m not alone in this huge bed.”

Having a girlfriend sleep over was not a magic pill, but I’ve always done better with someone else in the bed. Too bad I’ve sworn off relationships. It’s been more than a year, but I can’t say I regret it. Even on nights like this.

“You’re sleepy, and your eyes are closed.” It’s an instruction, not a question. “We can talk until you doze off.” Thanks to my earbuds, it’s like she’s right here, whispering to me.

“You’re going to fall asleep on me, and I’m all for that. Don’t worry about being rude; it’s the literal goal tonight. If you drift off, I’ll hang up. Would that be okay?”

“That would be fine.” What would the alternative be? Listening to me snore for three dollars and ninety-nine cents a minute?

“I’ll stick around for a bit after you fall asleep to be sure you’re out, but I’ll be able to tell when you’re fading.” She lets out a faint hum, as if she’s shifting further into work mode, then says, “Your breathing is slowing and getting deeper. You’re close to refreshing sleep, Henry. I can hear it.”

“Mmmm, yes.” Wishful thinking, but I’ll take it.

“Henry, you’re going to use your right hand for me.”

Wow. I didn’t expect her to dictate which hand I’d use or that I’d be doing it for her, but that’s hot in an unexpected way. Doing it for her. Like she wants it. I take a deep breath. Here we go, talk dirty to me. I’m supposed to masturbate now. It’s time to get started.

With a total stranger for an audience.

My heart starts beating harder as the anxiety blooms in defiance of all things restful. My hand doesn’t budge from its resting place on top of my comforter. We’re both a bit shy today.

“Slide your right hand to your chest for me, right above your heart,” she says. That is not where I expected to put my hand. “I want you to tap there with your index and middle finger. Match the cadence of your heartbeat.”

“Okay,” I mumble, confused and a little curious.

“Your eyelids might be too heavy to open, but don’t worry about that. Keep them softly closed, and tap a little gentler each time. Lighter until you’re brushing more than tapping.” Kait sighs, but unlike mine, hers is one of contentment. “It’s such a good night for sleep. The chill outside means I can use all the blankets I want. I can burrow.” She takes deep breaths and releases them longer each round. I follow her example. My heart dips into a slower rhythm, and for the first time in days, calm starts to move through me.

She exhales again. “That’s good. My hands are relaxing… my shoulders are relaxing.” She’s silent for a beat or two, then goes on. “My fingers are relaxing, my palms are soft. Your fingers are relaxing, your hands are soft.” Another deep breath and pause. “Your thumb is relaxed. Your pointer finger. Your middle finger is relaxed.” This time, I’m the one making the deep exhale sounds, matching her breath for breath. “Ring finger… left pinky, then right pinky. Wrists are almost floppy. Forearms are relaxing. Biceps. Triceps. Shoulders are loose. Tension is flowing out of your neck, your spine is supple.” Her voice gets a bit slower and lower with each body part slipping from her mouth.