"Jesus…"
"You're all shook up now… ain't you… Sure, I know you are… playing with yourself… jerking off… big man… going to fuck all those ladies… And here he is… talking to a young girl and jerking off…"
I heard a laugh in the background. An adolescent titter.
"Well," she said. "Take your hard-on and shove it up your own ass…"
The telephone exploded in a torrent of laughter, and I realized for the first time that there was more than one person on the line with her. I heard several voices, some of them boys. Taunting, laughing voices.
My hand trembled as I slammed the receiver down. But I still had my hard-on.
I stalked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, staring at the telephone. I cursed to myself and rubbed my erection up and down between my legs. The ad wasn't turning out the way I had planned, I could see. I knew I would receive my share of crank calls, but this was beginning to look like more than I bargained for.
I reached for a package of cigarettes from my night-stand top. I lit the cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply into my lungs, and continued to stroke my hard-on. It was standing out rigidly between my legs. The circumcised head was swollen fully, and it rested against the curve of my thigh. I reached down and squeezed it and cursed again. I imagined the girl in my mind – how she must look naked. I saw her with her thin, not quite developed thighs parted, and her sparsely haired cunt between. She was touching herself… her cunt… putting her finger into…
The telephone rang.
I stared at it and let it ring. Twice, three, four times. I was determined not to answer it. Let it ring all morning for all I care.
It rang twice more and then it stopped. I stared at it, feeling an emptiness growing in my stomach. I tried to drag on the cigarette, but the smoke was harsh and I coughed. I crushed the cigarette out in an ashtray.
The phone rang again and I leaped for it. I held it to my ear and listened.
A woman said hello. This time I was sure it was a woman.
"Yes," I answered.
"Are you… Allen?" she asked. Her voice was thin, perhaps uncertain.
"Yes."
"My name is Gail… Gail Bowman. I'm calling about… for your ad."
That was different. I thought. She gave me a name.
"You're interested in my ad?"
"Yes… I am." She still sounded uncertain.
"Interested in what respect?" I asked cautiously.
"What do you mean?" she asked back. A heaviness of sudden anger laced through her response.
"Why are you interested?" I asked her.
"Because I want a lover!" She sounded angry that I had forced her into saying the words. Perhaps it was the first time she had admitted it to herself or anyone else.
"Why do you want a lover?" I asked.
"That's none of your fucking business!" Her voice was trembling with anger.
I began to say something but she stopped me.
"Look, maybe I've made a mistake. I'm sorry I bothered you…"
"Hey! Hey!" I said, "Don't hang up!"
"Look… I… just…" her voice worked its way down to nothing. The anger was gone, and her voice sounded empty and hollow.
"I'm sorry," I found myself saying to her. "I was just asking because I was curious. I get so many crazy, crank callers…"
"Okay. I'm sorry that I yelled. I'm just nervous, I guess. I've never done this before. Never done anything like this."
For some reason, I thought of Patti. "I understand," I told her. "I won't ask any questions." She didn't say anything. "Are you still interested?" She didn't answer right away.
"Yes," she finally said. Her voice was small and quiet.
"All right," I agreed. "But before we can get together, I'm going to have to ask you some questions. I have to know something about you."
"You're right. Go ahead."
"First, let me tell you something about myself. Maybe that will make it easier."
I told her my name and address. Then I began to describe myself: "I'm five-ten, have black hair and brown eyes. I weigh about one-sixty-five. I'm a college grad, and I'm married."
"So am I," she confessed.
"Are you still living with your husband?" I asked. "Yes… yes." I was quiet for a moment.
"Tell me something about yourself?" I suggested. "I'm twenty-six years old. I've been married almost five years; I have a little girl…"
"Tell me what you look like," I suggested. I wanted to keep her from any personal detail. She seemed to be teetering, and I didn't want her to fall the wrong way.
"I have brown hair and hazel eyes. I'm almost five-six. I guess sort of thin: I weigh one-fifteen."
"Are you pretty?" I asked.
"I don't know…" she confessed. "I used to think I was. I don't know anymore…"
"You sound attractive," I helped.
"Thank you."
"What about me rest of you? Your shape? Your dimensions?"
"Well… I have a small waist, I guess… twenty-four. My hips are sort of slim… thirty-four…" She trailed off again.
"Your breasts?" I asked. "What about your breasts?"
"They're on the small size. Thirty-four."
"You said that as though you're ashamed of them."
"They are sort of small."
"Size has nothing to do with pleasure. I've found in women with small breasts that they usually are exquisitely sensitive. Are yours like that?"
I could almost hear her blush. "Yes."
"You like them played with. Sucked. Fondled."
"Yes, I do."
"I bet it drives you right out of your mind, doesn't it."
"How did you know?"
I smiled. "Experience."
She seemed to be relaxing; less tense and high strung. She was opening up more to me.
"What about the rest of sex?" I asked. "Do you enjoy it?"
"I used to. Before. When we were first married. Even before we were married…"
She halted, as though she had revealed some dark secret to me. She never picked the thread up again, so I asked her: "How do you feel about oral sex?"
"You mean sixty-nine? Going down on each other?"
"Yes."
"We tried it once or twice… but…"
"Wait and try it with me. Then decide."
I heard her breath suck in, and I knew my words were stimulating her. It was forbidden and sinful, but at the same time, exciting and fascinating.
"When can I meet you?" I asked.
She thought for a moment. "It will have to be a week-day. Bob – my husband works during the day."
"Fine with me. How about Monday morning about nine o'clock?"
She hesitated again. "All right."
She gave me her address and telephone number. I was just about to hang up, when she asked me one more question: "Are you… ah… big? Your organ… thing?"
"You mean my cock?" I was purposefully crude.
"Yes. Your…"
"Say it. Say the word."
"Your cock. Is your cock big?"
"Yes it is. Seven inches."
She was silent for another moment.
"Good," she finally said.
The word made my cock twitch. She had revealed a hell of a lot with that simple "good". A hell of a lot. I was looking forward to Monday. I said good-bye and hung up the telephone. I decided to take a shower. I really needed it. A cold shower.
I had the shower turned up to full force, when the telephone rang again. I was going to ignore it this time. It had made me horny enough for one morning, and even though it had only been the last call that had shown any promise, the cumulative effects of talking about sexual matters to total strangers was getting to me. I still had my hard-on, and I was contemplating whether to jerk off before or after my shower.
The telephone continued to ring, and the lure of the unknown, the attraction of what might be, was too strong for me to ignore. I picked up the receiver, held my cock in my hand and said hello.
"Hello," said a woman's voice. Her tone sounded deep; husky. She seemed to be panting or short of breath.
"What can I do for you?" I asked innocently.