"How very sensible of you," I say.
"I don't know if I'm sensible. I mean, I'm talking to a stranger on a booty-call app."
"Booty-call app? I thought this was for ordering pizza."
She giggles again, letting her nerves out, and something about it makes me smile.
"Sorry, this is my first time using this. Have you done this before?" she asks.
"What? Spoken to a woman with an incredibly cute laugh? Sure. Not that often, though."
"Haha! Very charming. But I meant used this app."
"A couple of times," I say, figuring the white lie will help increase her comfort level. "You? Any internet dating, or-?"
"Never. It's not really my … thing. I guess you'd say. This is pretty out of character for me."
"Oh yeah?" There's just something so undeniably appealing about breaking in an uninitiated new booty-caller, I'm happy to listen to her talk about her lack of experience.
"Yeah. I just saw something about it on TV and figured I'd give it a shot."
"People still watch TV?" I tease.
"Haha! Yeah … I dunno. It was kinda like … fate. The timing was just a little too … perfect." She sighs. There's clearly something upsetting her, and although normally I'd do a 180 at the first sign of baggage in a woman, right now it's nice to know I'm not the only one having a rough time.
"So signs are garbage, but fate is a thing?"
"Haha, I know. I'm a mess." She tries to laugh again, but I hear a tremor in her voice.
"Maybe. Aren't we all?"
"I don't know. You sound like you've got it all figured out."
"Believe me, I really don't." For some reason, being honest with her is coming to me easily. Partly it's the whiskey, but she's just shown me her vulnerability, too. Normally I'd put on my game face and flirt my way past anything heavy, but with the anonymity of this app I can actually just be … myself.
"Oh yeah?" Her voice is genuinely curious, coaxing more out of me. And I realize: I want to tell her more. Some part of me needs this.
"Yeah. Right now I'm all alone in a house that's bigger than the neighborhood I grew up in, I've drunk an entire bottle of whiskey since I got up this morning, and if this booty-call app thing doesn't work out, all that's left for me to do is hit the gym for the sixth time today."
"You still sound better off than me," she says. "My roommate just kicked me out and I had to move into a studio apartment that's about the size of my parents' bathroom, I'm drinking something that's supposed to be alcohol but which I'm sure is some kind of tractor fuel, and I don't even know if I'll have a job to go in to tomorrow. So … yeah." Her voice catches on this last line, and then I hear her sniffle and take a sip of something.
"Sounds rough," I say, meaning it. "But things could be worse."
"How?"
"You could have been connected with somebody else, for one. Rather than this charming drunk Irishman with an absolutely out-of-this-world six pack that you'll just have to take my word about, unless you'd care to see it for yourself."
She laughs, and I can hear a rustling as she adjusts herself. The nerves are gone.
"Confident, aren't you?" she says, a little sultriness entering her voice.
"You've got to be, in my line of work."
"And what is that?" she asks.
Shit. If I blow my cover, the fun is over. Sure, being a celebrity has its perks, but I want to keep my anonymity intact. I just want to be a regular guy talking to a regular girl – a girl who's turned on by the person I am, not the person she thinks I'm supposed to be.
"Um … animated chicken?" I blurt.
"Ha! Right. Don't ask, don't tell."
I relax and don't speak, letting the silence gather some weight. I listen to her breathing, until she breaks it.
"So you're Irish, you said?"
"Yeah."
"I thought this app was supposed to connect with local people?"
"Well, I'm in LA. They haven't banned us from America. Not yet, anyway."
She laughs again. "Sorry."
"I can do an American accent, if it makes you more comfortable."
"Ok. Sure."
I put on my worst Southern impression.
"Gurns. Jayzus. Cowbuwoys."
"Enough!" she says, laughing. "Now I'm the one who's offended."
"Welcome to my world."
This time she's the one who leaves the silence, and the tension that rises in it is starting to get me going. I've been trying to have a proper conversation with people all day and ended up feeling like a chump for it, but this girl has me feeling like I could spend the whole night just listening to her laugh. My mind races trying to put a face to that voice.
I don't even realize it, but my hand is on my cock, massaging the increasing stiffness that's responding to this girl's voice even faster than my brain.
"I … oh Christ … I probably shouldn't say this … " she says, after a while.
"Say it," I say, softly.
"I … just got out of a relationship. I don't know what I'm doing … "
"Why did you break up?"
She pauses, debating whether to reveal the reason. "He cheated on me."
"Ouch."
"With my roommate, my best friend – well, ex-best friend." Her breath hitches.
"Fucking hell," I say. "That's cold."
"Hence the lavish new apartment with a dripping sink you can probably hear in the background."
"I thought that was you."
She's silent.
"Sorry, crass joke." So much for trying to lighten the mood.
"No. I liked it. I'm smiling."
"Good, ‘cause if that offends you then we may as well end the conversation now. It only gets dirtier."
"Does it now?"
"It does if I have anything to do with it." I set my empty glass on the table and exhale, slow and deep.
The breathing on the phone gets louder.
"Tell me what you look like," I say, my voice low, as if I'm whispering into her ear.
"What do you want to know?" she says, her words getting drawn out by her fluttering exhalations.
I swallow. My hand goes to my crotch. I'm already way too hard to be wearing boxers still, but I wanna take this slow. And I don't want to scare her off either.
"What color are your eyes?"
A pause. "Blue. My turn."
"Green," I say. "And how tall are you?"
"Five six. You?"
"Six two."
I listen to her breathe for a moment more and then take the plunge, keeping my voice strong and steady to keep her in the game.
"Tell me what you're wearing." I'm not asking- this is a demand. But one that's as respectful as I can make it sound. Because right now she can either hang up on this call or stay on the line and see just how far we can take each other. I wait.
She's got the phone so close to her mouth I can hear the gentle wetness of her lips as they part, the soft smack of her tongue in her mouth. I can almost visualize her red lips, open and round as she struggles to control her breathing.
"I'm wearing … a pink tank top … "
"How's it fit?" I prompt her.
"Um. It's tight … "
"Anything underneath?"
"No bra."
"Good girl," I say, and I hear her hiss a little.
"Touch your tits, and tell me how they feel. Go easy."
"They're … " She shifts the phone, and my mind goes crazy imagining what she's doing to herself. "Big, but not too big. A little bigger than a handful … "
"Slowly … "
"The skin is real soft … smooth … just firm enough that they've got a good shape, just soft enough for you to have fun playing with them … " She stops to giggle nervously. "Am I doing this right?"
"Shh. Touch your nipples … roll your finger around them … squeeze them … " I hear her inhale sharply.
"Holy shit … " she murmurs. Her arousal is like a lightning bolt to my cock.
"What else are you wearing?" I go on.
"A pair of tight, black leggings."
"Good," I growl with approval. "You lying down?"
"Yeah." I hear a rustling sound. "I am now."
"Put your hand down there."
Her response is immediate, a small gasp. "Fuck … I'm so … "
"That's a good thing. Just go with it. Now close your eyes … "
"Ok … "
"Squeeze your hand between your thighs … "
"Yes … "
"That's where I wanna be. Smelling you. Tasting you. Devouring you," I whisper, with just enough authority in my voice to let her know how much I mean it. My hand's fully in my boxers now, releasing my cock, which is so stiff even the tightness of my designer underwear can't strangle it.
"Fuck … " she pants, and then I hear her gasping for air like she just ran a marathon. "Stop … stop. This is way too much, way too early for me."