I twist my hair into a loose knot at the nape of my neck, let the ice melt against my skin, stiffening when it drips down my back.
I can’t believe how warm my apartment is right now.
I feel a pang of sympathy for every short-sighted, easily-swindled Disney princess when I remember how willingly I agreed to exchange the magic of air conditioning for tall ceilings and old world charm. On any other night the heat would be entirely bearable, but tonight it’s only amplifying my impatience. Because tonight, finally, I get to see you again.
Alright. You didn’t technically say you were coming home. In fact, you’re not supposed to be back in town for another week, but you called me today and told me to expect a surprise at my door tonight. To get ready. You wouldn’t explain what “get ready” meant, but I couldn’t imagine any other surprise which would require preparation. I didn’t take a long shower and shave (all of it, by the way) for the local florist, and I certainly didn’t take the time to carefully moisturize every inch of my body for the FedEx man. It had to be you. Right?
It’s a little after nine-thirty when you call again.
“It’s here,” you announce, before I can even work in a hello. “Open your door, but stay on the phone.”
“Ok.” I quickly check my hair in the mirror, try to smooth down where the humidity teased it, adjust the straps of my bra beneath the light summer dress.
I open the door, excitement and longing flood through my body as I imagine you on the other side, waiting for me.
But it isn’t you at all.
It’s your friend. The shy, slightly scruffy looking one. Brian? Ryan? The one I drunkenly admitted to finding attractive during an entirely typical game we dubbed ‘Which Of My Friends Would You Fuck If I Died In A Tragic Accident’.
“Oh my god,” I blurt out to you before I can help myself, “are you dead? Was it horrible?”
Brian-Ryan looks explicably confused. I ignore him.
“Yes,” you laugh. “Totally dead. 100% deceased. Great reception here though.”
I smile, but when I glance over at Brian-Ryan again I notice he’s looking at the wall, the floor, the ceiling, his shoes. It’s making me nervous. I turn my head away from the door. “Seriously though,” I lower my voice. “What’s going on?”
You tell me that your trip got extended by at least an extra week and my heart drops. I miss you, I can’t help it. I miss being touched by you. You apologize and promise to come back as soon as you can, and I can hear that you mean it. You say you know it’s been a long one. That you didn’t want me to be lonely. That you asked Brian (Brian!) to help.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper into the phone, “I don’t even know him.”
“Do you trust me?”
The question is rhetorical, you know that I do. It’s a part of my core, an immovable object. Something you built over the years, piece by tiny piece. You didn’t even realize you were making it.
You ask me to let Brian in and instruct me to hand him the phone. I shut and lock the door while he mumbles a few indecipherable agreements to you. He is handsome though, I was right about that. A little on the thin side but his snug grey shirt reveals surprisingly nice arms. He puts the phone on speaker, and I feel relief at having you in the room with us even in this small way.
“Alright.” You say my name. “I’m going to tell you what to do. If at any point you’re uncomfortable or scared you don’t have to, ok? We can stop whenever you want. But I think, no, I know that you’re going to like this. I promise.”
I nod, forgetting that you aren’t actually here. “Ok,” I tell you when I realize you’re still waiting for confirmation.
“Ok,” you repeat. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”
I describe my dress to you. It’s a white linen dress with straps that tie at the shoulder. The hem grazes mid-thigh. You remember which one it is.
“I want you to untie it,” you say.
My eyes widen. I expected this dress to be on the floor tonight but I thought you would be the one taking it off of me. Brian looks terrified, I almost feel badly for the poor guy. Friendship with you must be a trip.
“Is it off?”
I tell you I need a minute. You tell me to take my time. I ask Brian if he’s alright, if he knew what he was getting himself into. He says yes, that you asked him to trust you too, and that he does. It’s all I needed to hear.
I tell you that I’m taking off my dress, let you know as I untie each strap, my hands trembling. I let it fall to the ground.
Brian’s gaze travels my body from the floor upwards- bare feet, smooth legs, the curve of my hips. You ask him to tell you what I’m wearing now.
“Um, a bra. Underwear.”
You laugh. Ask if he could be a little more specific.
“They’re blue,” he answers, nervously rubbing his shoulder. “Light blue, lacy.” He moves a little, self-consciously, checking out my ass. “Not a thong but like, almost one?”
You say they must be new and you’re right, I bought them for you while you were gone. You ask him to take a picture to send you later. He looks at me to make sure it’s ok and I give him a sideways smile, shrug. I’m half naked with a man who is essentially a stranger and you want photos. I think you like making me nervous. Actually, I am sure that you like it.
When he’s finished, you instruct me to take off my bra. I unclasp the back, and hold it to myself a moment before dropping it to the floor.
You ask Brian if he can see my breasts. He tells you no, that I’m covering myself with my hands. At first you think it’s funny, I can hear it in your voice when you try to reassure me that everything’s ok, but your tone changes to one of genuine concern when you ask me if I want to stop. I hesitate a moment, then answer no. I’m embarrassed right now, but also turned on. Excited. You knew I would be. I lower my arms, hold my hands in front of my body then drop them to my sides again. I fidget. I’m not sure what to do with them. You tell me. You ask me to pull my hair back behind my shoulders if it wasn’t already, and to hold my hands behind me.
You want Brian to tell you what my body looks like. He’s reluctant at first, you have to coax him. You ask him if he likes it, but you can’t see how hard he’s pressing against his jeans right now. Eventually you get him to describe my tits to you while I stand there and listen, my skin on fire, unable to move when he tells you they’re nice, average size, I don’t know. Like a handful, maybe a little more? That my nipples are soft right now. Well, it’s pretty fucking warm in here. He tugs at his collar.
You tell him he should probably take his shirt off too then. And his pants. That way everyone will be more comfortable.
He undresses more gracefully than I’d have expected, long and lean and absolutely erect in his black boxer briefs. I try to pretend I don’t notice, but then you flat out ask him if I’m making him hard. This time he’s the one feeling self conscious, his hand briefly running along his dick over the material before realizing he just touched himself in front of me, but he doesn’t lie. He confesses to you that he is. You tell him that’s a good thing, you’re glad, and instruct him to sit on the bed against the pillows.
He reclines against the back of the bed, I can tell he wants to grope his cock again but he sets the phone on the nightstand beside him, keeps his hands to his sides. You call my name again.
“I want you to sit on Brian’s lap, facing him.”
I swallow. The proximity was inevitable but I still feel unprepared. Earlier today this man was no more than a vague memory of one of your many casual friends, some guy I’d met once at a party, and now I’m about to straddle him, feel his very tangible skin against mine. His erection…I blush. It’s been a while since I’ve been touched. You know that.
I climb onto the bed, kneel over his lap. I brace myself with his shoulders, lowering carefully because I’m too shy to adjust him with my hands. He adjusts himself, his chest rising and falling with each quick breath. He’s anxious too. I feel his dick between my legs, the pressure of his unrevealed parts straining against mine. You instruct him to tease my breasts.
He leans forward, brings a soft, pink nipple into his mouth, warmer still than the air around us. His tongue circles my flesh, flicks the center, sucking and teasing it into a hard nub. He bites gently, moving his hand to my other breast to do the same with his fingers, rolling and pinching until they’re as stiff as they can get, then he tugs a little harder. I run my hand through his hair, moan when he pulls them again. He kisses my sternum as he moves his lips to my other breast, his hand traveling up my shoulder to my neck, the length of his thumb pressed against it.
“She’s grinding against your dick right now, isn’t she?” You laugh.
Oh god. I am mortified. I didn’t even realize I was doing it, but I absolutely am. Brian looks at me and then at the phone, his eyes pleading for help. I bury my face in my hands for a brief moment, debate just staying like that forever, then drop them back to his shoulders.
“Yes,” I admit. “I was, I’m sorry.”
You’re obviously amused when you tell me not to apologize, that you knew I would be. That it was kind of the point. You ask if he’s making me feel good.
I tell you the truth again, that he is.
“That’s great,” you respond, and I know that you mean it. “That’s what he’s there for.” Then, after a moment, “How turned on are you right now? I want him to check your panties to see if they’re wet.”
I lock eyes with Brian, give him a small nod of consent. He moves his hand over the thin fabric, immediately feels how damp they are, and tells you so. I look at the small dark spot on his briefs, wonder if I should tell you that he’s soaked through a bit too.
“Tell me what her pussy feels like.”
He doesn’t look away as he slides his hand beneath the lace, feels how aroused I am, the warmth pulsing through me, my body aching. My absolute inability to disguise or tame it.
“Oh, wow.” He closes his eyes. “You weren’t kidding.” His hand is still rubbing against me, I shiver when his finger brushes against my clit.
“Right?” Your voice responds from beside the bed. “I told you.”
I realize that you’ve had this conversation with him already. That you warned a complete stranger (to me, anyways) just how wet I get. I’d scold you, give you crap about it, except right now I feel too fucking good to even care. If I’m truly honest, I’m not mad at all.
You tell us to switch places, ask me to lie back on the bed while he sits next to me. You tell me to open my legs for him. To let him see me. Actually, to let you both see me. You want him to turn on the camera. He grabs the phone off the nightstand, puts it in video. I try to look for your face but the screen is dark- you’re watching me, but I still can’t see the one thing I want to see most. I lean my head back, close my eyes, imagine your face anyways.
I spread my knees a little bit, his hands carefully but solidly parting them further, making sure you get a good view. “Christ,” he sighs, his fingers moving along the smooth shining skin, opening me wider, delicately probing. “You’re gorgeous.”
You don’t respond. I am hoping you feel the same. I know that you do when we’re together but this feels different. More vulnerable. You say nothing. I squeeze the blankets tightly as he inserts his fingers into me, first one, and then the other. You’re still silent. Are you upset? Are you enjoying it? Does it turn you on watching another man’s fingers slide slowly in and out of my cunt like that? He starts moving them faster and he’s curling them too much while he does it but I’m too nervous to say anything. Luckily, I don’t have to. You speak up at last, quieter, and I’m relieved as soon as I hear your voice.
“Use the pads of your fingers,” you say softly, “not the tips. Rub them against the front wall of her pussy the way your dick might. She likes that.”
He thanks you, sounding genuinely appreciative when he says it, then asks me “like this?” I tell him yes, that what he’s doing feels really good and I thank you silently. His fingers feel more like your fingers now that he has guidance, so much closer to the way that you touch me. I keep my eyes closed, pretend a little.
You tell him to use his mouth too. He switches off the camera and sets the phone aside, kisses the inside of my thighs and down around his fingers. He flicks his tongue against my clit, sucking lightly and then licking it, reaching his other hand up to play with my nipple again as he does it. He’s realized that I push back hard against him whenever he pulls it, my hips bucking slightly against his fingers and mouth, buried in my cunt. You can hear me when I get near to the climax, the sound of me catching my breath then trying to find the next, chasing them up a hill, each one getting faster. You tell me that you want me to cum for you, encourage me to. I’m so fucking close with him between my legs, listening to the sound of your voice, but for some reason I can’t quite get there yet so I tell you. You say maybe I need his dick to get me there.
As soon as he has permission to fuck me, Brian lifts his head from my legs, kissing me again between them before he does. He walks over to where he left his pants, grabs a condom from the pocket. He pulls off his briefs and gets back onto the bed. His dick is long, slightly thin like the rest of him. A little curved. He pulls the condom down over it, he’s been ready for this for a while. I move a pillow down beneath my hips, my eyes travel up his body as he pushes the tip of his dick against me, studying his face while he watches himself disappear inside of my pussy. The way he opens his mouth just slightly, exhaling with pleasure when my body learns to accept his. He’s still on his knees, holding my thighs as he begins thrusting into me, enjoying the sight of it, the way my breasts bounce just slightly whenever our bodies meet. He shifts his position, leans down so I can hold onto his back, wrapping my legs around him as he pumps in and out of me. “You feel so fucking incredible,” he whispers into my ear, his hand on my jaw, tilting my head back so he can bite my neck. I grab onto him tighter, the warm and toned flesh of his back, the most non-specific part of him. He could be anyone when I hold him like this. He could be you. For the first time I start truly screwing him back. I stop trying to be quiet, let myself moan, sweat, fuck him relentlessly. Shedding any sense of restraint. He tells me when he’s close, asks me if I came. I tell him that I’m about to and it’s all he needs. He pounds into me, his hand buried in my hair, the sound of his orgasm creating tiny vibrations against my throat. Travelling miles to reach your ear.
Afterwards, Brian and I lie next to each other for a moment, pulses slowing, newly lethargic in the thick humidity of this space, unsure what to do. Do we touch, kiss? Do I shake his hand and thank him? Give him a tip? Instead I just look up at him, and smile. I squeeze his arm, tell him that I needed that. He smiles back, “Apparently I did too.” He rises from the bed slowly, asks where the bathroom is. When he comes back he hands me my dress. I slip it over my naked body, watch as his small piles of clothing disappear from my floor, transforming him back into the handsome stranger I met once. I hug him briefly before he leaves, whisper thank you into his ear. He tells me to have a goodnight, that he definitely did.
After he leaves I toss the dress aside and pull myself back onto the bed, kicking away the blanket. I get under the sheet and press the phone against my ear. You ask if I had a fun night. I tell you I loved it, that I can’t believe you did this for me. How sexy it was. I hesitate.
“…but?” You notice the pause.
“I lied. I didn’t cum.” I cover my face with my hand.
“What??? No!” You’re laughing. “Why not? Was he bad?!”
“Agh! No, he was fine, it wasn’t that!” For some reason I’m embarrassed by this confession, although I’m also enjoying how funny you find it. “I was so close, I swear! I just, like…couldn’t for some reason.”
“Aww,” you say, your cadence changing. “Well, let’s fix that.”
You ask me to put you on speaker again and we move through it together. We fill the air with our need, sharing the way we’re touching ourselves, and in our heads, each other. We describe it until the words slowly fall away and all that is left is the sound of your breath and the sound of mine, finding that peak, easily, naturally, cumming together across an ocean.
I turn onto my side afterwards, curl up next to the phone. Peaceful. Content. I sleepily ask you what you had for dinner, and I can’t see you but I know that you’re smiling- I am always asking you about food. You recount it for me, share something funny that happened earlier, something that reminded you of me. You tell me about your day, your voice drifting to me from the phone, softly, slowly. Not stopping until you’re sure that I’ve finally fallen asleep, whispering goodnight.