So I remember when we met, in a chat room on a site where I went to talk about things I didn't have the nerve to talk about in real life. There were only a few people in the room, and they all seemed to be occupied with each other, so you and I got to talking about something ordinary, a book perhaps, or a movie. We ended up flashing messages back and forth for a couple of hours. Given where we had ended up, it wasn't surprising that we got to talking about sex, in an abstract way, more of a 'what-do-you-think-about-this?' sort of way. We didn`t talk about doing it to each other, though we flirted a little, but it was nothing heavy, nothing over-the-line.
You asked me about phone sex. Had I done it? What did I think about it? No, I hadn't, but yes, it sounded fun. Besides, it wasn't as if I wasn't used to getting myself off to all sorts of fantasies.
You suggested we talk on the phone.
You said you wanted to hear my voice. You said it was better than
sitting at the computer. I wasn't so sure about giving out my number to
a stranger. I guess you could tell I was a little nervous, so you gave
me your number instead. I wrote it down on the back of a magazine and
put the initial D. next to it, the first letter of your name. Ten
minutes, I said. I need to take care of a couple of things. Okay, you
replied. Ten minutes. You were counting.
I remember tearing around the house, looking for a spare phone to plug
into the jack in my bedroom. You'd have liked the symbolism of that! I
took a shower, wiping off the grime of the day. I tried to move
quickly; I slipping into a pair of pajama bottoms and an old shirt; it
was winter and my bedroom was chilly. Sitting on the edge of the bed,
staring at the numbers on the magazine and dialing, your phone rang
twice. You picked up on the third.
Your voice was different than I expected, lower, quieter, the accent
from a different part of the country. I tried to sound nonchalant, but
I stammered. You asked if I was nervous. I laughed and said I was.
Why? Because I haven't done this, I said. Done what? Fucked on the
phone? Yeah, that...fucked on the phone.
"So where are you now?" you said.
"In my bedroom."
"Are you in bed?"
I admitted I was. I felt like I'd just confessed to exposing myself in
the park. On the other hand, I was sitting on the edge of my bed,
elbows on knees, phone to my ear, with a huge erection so stiff it
ached, talking to a stranger. Embarrassed and getting off on it, too, I
decided to answer your questions with a few of my own, trying to steer
the conversation towards sex.
"You're in your bedroom?"
"No. I just let my dog back in." Oh. That was a letdown. But then I
heard a noise in the background, bedsprings creaking. "Now I'm in bed."
Better. I sat back, slipped my legs under the covers.
"So," you asked. "What do you sleep in?"
I looked down at my togs. It looked like I'd shoplifted from Goodwill.
"The usual. Shirt, pajama bottoms."
"So you always sleep wearing something?" Your voice was teasing.
"Well, not in summer, not when it's hot. It's winter, so, sure."
"You're wearing them now, then."
"...yes..."
"Don't you think they're going to get in the way?"
I tried to chuckle suavely, but ended up coughing. "I guess they will."
"So maybe you should take them off."
"I guess you're right. Hold on a moment." I put the phone down and
slipped out of my shirt, then pulled down the bottoms and kicked them
to the floor. I picked up the phone again: "Back."
"Isn't that better?" you said. I could hear your smile.
"And what about you?"
"I have on an old flannel shirt...some sweats."
"Maybe you should unbutton your shirt, tug on your nipple."
"Is that what you want me to do?"
I paused. "Yeah, that's what I want you to do."
There was a silence, and then your breathing changed, got a little
slower, thicker. "Mmm," you said. "Good idea."
"Is your nipple hard?"
"Mm, it is. Is your cock?"
I didn't need to touch it to know. I'd been hard since I picked up the
phone, and I could feel the pre-cum where it had leaked onto my
stomach. "Yeah," I said. "It is."
"Is what?"
"Hard."
"Tell me."
"My cock is hard. It's like iron, like rock."
"Goood," you purred. "Is it hard for me? Are you stroking it?"
"Yes," I told you. "...because I'm licking it...I'm running my tongue
up your thick shaft, tasting you...kissing the head, swirling my tongue
around it...my mouth is so hot and wet...baby, you taste so
gooooood..."
I licked my palm and stroked myself slowly, my eyes closing. Nothing
but your voice mattered.
It's so sweet, baby, I want to taste your cum, I want you to fill my
mouth with your hot cum, I'll suck down every drop and lick
you clean..."
It took real effort to pull my hand away...I jumped in, interrupted,
whispering...
"My hand is on your tit" I couldn`t believe I was talking to a stranger
about her tit! "Squeezing, tugging the nipple...sucking and biting it,
getting it hard, flicking it under my tongue, tasting your skin..."
I heard your breath changing, getting deeper. You said, "Mmmm...tell me
more..."
"Still wearing those sweats?"
You laughed. "They're down around my knees."
"Take them off." I heard the rustle of your covers as you shifted and
pulled them away. "I'm back," you said, and chuckled. "Where were you?"
"I was just licking your belly, tickling your belly button with my
tongue...moving down, now...my hands on your thighs, opening them,
chewing on the soft skin..." I heard your breath catch and then you
sighed. I was stroking my cock slowly, enjoying it. It wasn`t what I
was imagining that was getting me off, it was your responses, the heavy
breathing, the sounds. Did you know your moans are higher than your
speaking voice?
I described eating your pussy, running my tongue up and down the outer
labia, scooping at your clit with the tip of my tongue. I told you how
you tasted, like honey and salt and orange. I suggested you taste
yourself, and I heard you suck on your fingers. It got harder for me to
talk because it felt so good. I looked down and saw my hand moving up
and down under the covers, the lines of my legs in a vee pointing
toward the corners of the bed. I asked you if you legs were spread.
"Yes," you whispered, "and my finger is in my cunt and my thighs are
wet..." And you picked up the story. "...I'm pulling you up, my hand
around your cock, and I have it there, the head touching my pussy..."
"...and I'm rubbing your cunt, getting my cockhead wet..."
"...and I wrap my legs around you and pull you into me..."
"...my hands on your tits, pulling and squeezing..."
"...and I'm sucking on your neck, biting hard, and breathing in your
ear, "Fuck me..."
"...moving slowly at first, sinking deeper with every thrust..."
"...gripping you with my cunt, holding you in..."
"...our eyes lock as I fuck you harder and harder..."
Pretty soon we weren't saying anything, just breathing and making
noises, and I heard you begin to rise. I said, "Cum for me, D.," and
you took off, your cries breaking one into the next, and I know I heard
you say, "God! Fuck!" and that's when I came, too. Normally I'm pretty
quiet, but I was into the moment and made my own sounds, too, coming up
from my stomach and through my throat.
Then there was just heavy breathing as we came down. You spoke first.
"So, how was your first time?"
I couldn't say anything that wouldn't sound ridiculous. "Fucking
fantastic."
"Me, too."
It was another hour before we hung up. And we began to talk every week
or so, catching up on time past, and then the inevitable question: So,
are you in bed? We expanded our repertoire. You held the phone to your
pussy so I could hear how wet you were while you worked yourself with a
dildo. And I used honey, which you sent me in the mail, to lubricate my
cock while you sucked me off with your voice. And more, lots more.
Always fresh, always new.
Later you made plans to move overseas and eventually we quit talking.
But I still have your number at the back of my book, filed under D.,
and maybe tonight I'll try your number, just to see if you ever came
back.
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