Page 16 of Below the Shadow of the City

My breath quickens a bit. “No! Not in that way, oh my god, you probably think I’m a perv.”

“I mean,” he pauses, “I could give you something to do with your hands. If-if that’s where you want this conversation to go.” He stammers a bit, and laughs with a hint of apprehension. Surely he’s not proposing phone sex. And surely I’m not wanting it.

My cheeks grow incredibly hot. I’m blushing, hard, and he’s not even here. I don’t even know what he looks like and he’s making my body react like this. “Fuck, forget I said anything, this is so embarrassing. I swear I don’t think of you, I mean I don’t…ugh, I’m not the sort of person that does that kind of thing, you know?” I blurt out.

There’s some silence, I hear a crackle of static. “But do you want to be? Uh, with me?”

It’s a loaded question, but I’m literally sitting on my vibrator. And god damn, his voice.

Short of him being here so I can make him toss me onto the bed and completely wreck me, this is probably my best bet. There’s no harm in a little fantasy. We’ve talked for nearly two hours at this point. I’ve bared my soul to him, I’d bare everything, truthfully.

“Fuck it, yes. I really do.”

CHAPTER 6

“Ooh dirty girl!” He teases at my answer, lightness has crept back into his voice after his proposition.

I roll my eyes at the sarcasm, as if he could see me from wherever he is. “Do you care to participate as well or should I end this call?”

He laughs, “Oh no, no, I will most definitely be partaking,” his voice turns into a growl. “But you’re very trusting of strangers.” He hisses the ‘s’ and the sound curls up and settles directly between my thighs. I squirm slightly on top of my bed.

“Well, I know where I can find you if I need to kill you,” I retort as I lean back onto my pillows.

“Murder in the laundry room? Now that’s hot,” does he know that banter is the quickest way to get me to spread my legs?

“You’re making me regret agreeing to this,” I cover up any hint of interest.

“It’s called flirting, Sigrid. I’m promoting lighthearted dialogue between us to create an open, yet seductive atmosphere.”

“Oh my god, are you reading a WikiHow article on how to have phone sex?”

He completely ignores my question. “What are you wearing right now?” He lowers his voice. I’m fascinated by how quickly he can change his tone, and how it’s already working.

“Really? The most cliche phone sex question?” I feign ambivalence, but I’ve had such a long dry spell even the sentence he’s uttered is enough to make hot liquid swirl around in my core.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t—” It sounds like he’s throwing his hands up in faux annoyance. How can I beg him to do this for me, how can I coax him to come into my apartment and fuck me harder than I can even fathom?

“I’m wearing a ratty concert t-shirt and sweatpants, I didn’t think I’d be seducing someone today.”

“What band?” He asks with a deep curiosity, like mentioning whatever shoegaze indie band he’s into is going to turn him on.

I look down at the shirt I’m in, realizing my middle school sleep shirt is going to make him even less into it, “Britney Spears.”

“Now, that’s pretty hot,” he laughs. I touch my hand to my unwashed hair and greasy face. Nothing about me at the moment is hot, but right now he’s not the only one benefitting from anonymity.

“I mean, I’m not wearing a bra underneath,” I’d relegated today to a rot day and had done little more beyond some dishes and pacing around my apartment. His call is the most exciting thing that has happened in the last twenty four hours. Really, the last nine months. My nipples are already hard under the worn cotton fabric.

“Okay, we’re getting somewhere,” he coos.

“And what are you wearing?”

“Just sweatpants, of the gray variety.” Of course he is. Hot guy uniform. Wonder if these ones have the slit cut out in the back too like the ones in his laundry…for easy access? Or…something?

“Mmhmm,” I nod, squeezing my eyes shut to envision him standing before me, he’s still a ghostly figure, “you said you were tall, how tall are you?”

“Very,” the vowels linger on his tongue before curling up into me, “for reference, I can easily touch the ceiling of the laundry room.”

“Big hands?”