The first sound I want is your breath changing.
Not a greeting. That little catch, like you already know this is a bad idea and your cock found out first. Somewhere in the house a TV is on. Water runs. A floorboard complains. You still press the phone to your ear and let a girl who doesn’t live there crawl into the dark with you.
That’s homewrecker phone sex. The affair that never has to leave the receiver.
Cheating Fantasy in a Quiet House
I talk low on purpose. Words that could be mistaken for nothing if the door opened until they aren’t. Until I’m describing my mouth and the way I’d use it if you had me in that bathroom with the fan drowning us out. Until I’m asking whether your hand is already on it, and you have to say yes without moving your hips too much.
The secret does half the work. Guilt sits warm against your stomach. Every filthy thing I say gets heavier because it doesn’t belong in that room. I can hear it when you swallow. I can hear it when you almost laugh and then don’t, because laughing would be too loud.
We keep the scene unfinished here. I want you hard and dishonest, not done. Done is for when you actually call and I get to ruin the quiet properly.
The Other Woman, Close Enough to Taste
I don’t arrive as a speech. I arrive as heat.
Picture me on the other end smiling at the fact that you chose this instead of sleep. I ask who you’re hiding from without needing the whole biography. Then I get specific: the wet sound of my fingers, the way I’d look at you if we were in a parked car and you were trying not to leave a mark on my throat. How I’d make you stay on the line after you came down from it, just to sit in the mess you made.
If you want the fantasy meaner, I enjoy being the problem. If you want it tender in a filthy way, I can sound like the girl you’d wreck a night for. Either way it still brushes taboo phone sex forbidden on purpose, shared only with me.
One Minute of Trouble
You’re on your back. Phone on your chest. I’m telling you to stroke once and stop. Then again. Then I describe sliding into your lap in that same bed, skirt already pushed up, kissing you like I have no intention of being careful. You have to answer me in a whisper. That’s the part that makes your thighs tense.
Enough. The rest needs my voice live.
Dial While You Still Can
If your pulse already jumped, don’t keep reading it off a screen.
Call me.
Say you want the homewrecker. I’ll keep you quiet, keep you dirty, and send you back into the house looking like you got away with something.
I’m the girl you shouldn’t call.
Call anyway.
