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Her laughter was contagious. “Tall, dark, athletic with a twelve inch cock... just like every other one of my callers.”
“Please tell me you’re joking? They don’t really come out with that twelve inch shit?”
“All the time. I’m practically a counselling service for guys too huge to get a girlfriend,” she giggled again. “So, in real life you’re a cuddly, blonde trucker?”
“With a tiny dick, yeah,” I laughed. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“You have sat nav?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll text you my postcode. It’s easier to drive here than get the tube, we’re right out on the edge of Blackfriars, in Bay Street, there are two flats above a sandwich shop, ours is the first, number ten. The shop has parking behind and it’ll be empty on a Sunday, you can come in the back way.”
“I like the back way,” I smirked.
I heard the trill of another phone. “Shit, I have to go, callers to jack off.”
The thought made me strangely jealous. “I’ll see you tomorrow, dirty girl.”
“More than I’ll see of you,” she said. “Goodnight, Jason.”
It would be now.
***
Gemma
Crazy, crazy, crazy. Not just crazy. Insane. Certifiable. Stark raving bloody mad.
Still I text him my postcode, still I wandered through my bedroom and browsed the contents of my wardrobe between calls, and still I brought myself off over and over again until I was a tired mess. Sleep didn’t find me easy, though — not even when the calls died down at four a.m.
Practicalities bashed around my head. Practicalities and nerves. What if he turned up with an axe and hacked me into tiny pieces in my own living room? What if he didn’t show up at all? What if he turned up, took one look at me and let himself out again?
Tessa took an age to get ready for work, sluggish from her double shift the day before. I followed her around, dithering on the edge of telling her I had a date. A blind date. A blind kinky date in our apartment. Just so she knew, just in case.
Finally, she called me out.
“What’s with the ants in your pants?”
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Is this about Chelsea? I definitely can’t go with her to that stupid club, I told her that already. If you aren’t up for it, she’ll just have to find some other mug to take along.”
“Haven’t even thought about it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Then you’d better start thinking about it, she’ll be on your case soon enough. I’ll see you later.”
Shit.I hoped so.
I showered and shaved, and tried to straighten my hair — which didn’t do an awful lot to tame the curls. I painted my toes and my fingers, like he’d even probably notice, and tidied the flat until it was presentable. I bundled my clothes back into my wardrobe and cleared my bedside table, using it as a display of every sex toy in my possession. Vibrators and dildos and lubes and lotions, condoms, too. I decided against the handcuffs, stuffing them back in a drawer, along with a couple of floggers I’d bought but never yet used. Maybe another day.
With trembling fingers and a thudding heart I fired off a couple of texts, and he was right off the bat in his responses.
I practice safe sex. Condoms please.
Of course.
Please help yourself to drinks and all that.
