For A Good Time, Call... (12 page)

I
sat in my kitchen nibbling on the cold, chewy spaghetti while me
worked. I was glad for the distance. I needed to think. I needed to
get my guards back up.

It
had been a long time since I had that dream. And even when I did have
it, it was usually as a third party. Like I was looking on at the
scene. But tonight I had been inside my little body, I heard all the
swirling thoughts, I felt the cold, I felt the pain, I felt the
screams bursting from my mouth. It had felt as real as it had
thirteen years ago. It was like reliving it.

Under
my breasts and under my panties, my scars felt raw and painful. They
felt fresh and burning. I half expected to see bright red, bloody
messes when I changed later instead of the pinky-white weirdly smooth
skin I knew was there.

The
clock on my stove told me it was just after one in the morning.
Though to be fair, I didn't think any worse damage could come of the
next three hours than had come in the past three. This was going to
be one of those nights that I flicked around the TV endlessly,
wincing whenever I moved my leg or something brushed across my cuts.
But it was only a few hours and then I could sleep. Then things could
go back to usual.

Or,
as usual as my life could be.

“Alright,”
Hunter said, walking back into the room, a little sweaty from
whatever he had been doing. “I put some boards up over the
split. It's not perfect, but it will hold until I can replace...”

“You
don't have to...”

“I
broke it,” he cut in. “I fix it.”

“Okay,”
I conceded because better sense told me that there was no use arguing
with him. “I'm... sorry I woke you up,” I said when the
silence stretched awkward.

“Hey
nothing like a little mild heart failure to keep you young,” he
said, giving me a smile that I could only describe as flirtatious.
“So... you alright?” he asked, watching my face. “I
could stay...”

“I'm
fine,” I said automatically. It was knee-jerk. I was always
fine. As if reading my thoughts, his brow lifted. “No
seriously,” I added, waving a hand. “I'm alright. I'm
gonna watch a movie, wait for the sun to rise, then get some rest.”

“Alright,”
he said, pushing off the doorway and moving toward me. His hands
cradled my face and pulled it slowly up toward him as his face
lowered. But his lips didn't press down on mine. They hovered above
mine for a long time before pressing down, a whisper of a touch that
lasted no longer than two seconds before pulling away. I felt myself
waver slightly, horrifyingly, on my feet when he stepped back.

“See
you around, Sixteen,” he said, giving me an odd look.

“See
ya, Fourteen,” I called as the door slammed.

Alone,
I curled up on my bed, wrapping my blankets tight around me like they
could keep all the bad away. I laid awake thinking about nothing and
everything. My father. My mother. My brother. My burning thigh. But
mostly, Hunter.

Because,
damn it all to hell, I think I was falling for him. Just a little.
And maybe it was just all the pent up sexual frustration. But a part
of me knew it was more than that. That it was deeper. That maybe my
frozen little heart was thawing a bit.

Thirteen

My
phone woke me up. My work phone with it's absurd seventies porn theme
song. Bow-chicka-wow-wooow. I fumbled blearily out of bed, looking
for it on my nightstand where I usually left it. But as the sleep
cleared from my brain, I realized it was coming from the living room.
I stumbled around, looking at my door with it's makeshift patching
and noticed my phone on the tiny table I kept my mail and keys and
wallet on. Which was weird. Because I would never put it there.

I
reached for it, noticing the time with a squint. Most of my callers
knew not to call before eleven. And it was barely after ten. I hit
the call button. “It's a little early, darlin',” I said,
sounding chipper if maybe a little tired. Every man was darlin' or
honey or love. Every man was a sweet, sweet nothing.

“I
thought you might make an exception for me,” a familiar voice
said.

You've
heard that knocking over with a feather expression. Well, you could
have knocked me the fuck over with a feather as I realized who was
calling on my work line. On my phone sex line. That's why my phone
was out of place. He had moved it last night. Probably after going in
it and figuring out my number.

I
brought a hand up to cover my eyes, not acknowledging the big, silly
grin that was on my face. Oh, Hunter.

“You
there, Sixteen?” he asked after a moment, sounding perfectly at
ease. Like it was totally a normal thing he was doing.

“Yep,”
I said, shaking my head.

“Why
don't you walk back to your bedroom,” he suggested and my feet
were moving.

“Okay,”
I said, looking at my bed like it was foreign.

“And
get into bed,” he suggested, his voice sounding almost amused.

“Okay,”
I said, settling my head back on my pillows. I swear I could feel his
presence behind me. Through the wall. But only six inches away.

“What
are you wearing?”

“You
know what I'm wearing,” I said, laughing.

“How
would I know that? I'm Dan... from... Vermont. I've never seen you
before in my life.”

I
snorted, smiling at my ceiling. “Right,” I said. “Well,
I have on huge baggy, ratty sweatpants and a housecoat.”

“Come
on, Sixteen,” he groaned.

“Fine.
I'm wearing pink panties and a black and white crop top.”

“That
doesn't match at all,” he teased.

“Well,
I wasn't expecting your call, honey. I didn't get a chance to dress
down for you,” I cooed in my usual tone I saved for callers.
“Thongs, isn't it?” I asked, knowing it was.

There
was a low, deep chuckle. “Yup. And I want a pair. I noticed
that was a new service. Green thong. To match those gorgeous eyes.”

Oh
like hell. No fucking way was he getting a pair of my panties. “You
don't seem like a panty sniffer,” I said.

“I'm
not,” he agreed. “I was just seeing if I could get a rise
out of you. You're very
professional,”
he said and it sounded like a compliment.

Little
did he know, I was a swirling mess of anxiety inside. Which was new
for me. I never felt nervous on a call. Not even my first call. I had
stood in front of a bathroom mirror for days before, saying dirty
words at my reflection. Getting used to them. Cock. Pussy. Cunt.
Balls. Clit. Snatch. Dick. I would lace the words together, trying to
come up with the filthiest thing I could say. Just trying to ease any
possible discomfort or shock at what might come from a caller. So I
was prepared for anything.

Except
my sexy as hell neighbor calling me from the other side of my wall.
There was no way to prepare for that.

“Sixteen?”
he asked.

“I'm
here,” I said, shaking my head. When was he going to give it
up? This had gone on for long enough.

“Take
off your shirt,” he said quietly.

What?
No. Oh, hell to the no. We were not actually going to have phone sex.
Through the wall. That was... that was crazy.

“Hunter...”
I said, my voice heavy with warning.

“Fee,”
he said, sounding reasonable. “Sex is an issue. I get it. I'm
not going to press it,” he said and there was a strange
fluttering in my chest that I was trying like hell to ignore. “But
phone sex isn't an issue. So let's give it a try, okay?”

No.
Nonono. “Okay,” I said, sounding shy and realizing that
was exactly how I felt. Shy.

“So
take off your shirt,” he said, his voice again dropping low.
Sensual. And I felt the desire settle deep in my belly, a heavy
pressure.

“Okay,”
I said, sitting up and pulling it over my head.

“Lay
back down, baby,” he said and I took a deep breath and followed
my instructions. “Run your hand up your stomach slowly, up and
over your breast, brushing it but not stopping. Then down the other
side.”

I
closed my eyes, thinking of his hand as I touched my skin which felt
alert, like it was at attention, like it was reaching out for the
contact.

“Now
put your hand around your breast, teasing the point with your
fingers.”

I
heard a whimper escape my tips and cringed. “What are you
doing?” I asked, trying to cover my unusual insecurity.

“I
am taking my pants off,” he said and, as if proving his point,
I heard him stumble back and hit the wall. I smiled at the ceiling.
At least I wasn't the only one who was slightly out of their comfort
zone. “Now I am taking my cock out of my boxers,” he
said.

Oh,
holy hell. I felt the desire shoot down between my legs. Electric.
That was what desire felt like, a hot bolt of something you couldn't
quite understand.

I
could picture him, sitting on the floor, his back against the wall
where my bed was, a hand reaching into his boxers and pulling out his
hard cock. Stroking it once before settling at the base. Patient.
Waiting to hear me writhing and crying out before he let himself
stroke it right.

“You
know how hard I get just thinking about you, Fee?” he asked,
his voice husky. “It doesn't matter how much I come, I cant get
the need for you out of my system.”

I
made a strange noise, something like a whine. I was needy as I worked
my fingers over my nipple. My breasts felt oddly heavy. My nipples
almost painful they were so hard.

“I
know you think about me,” he said. “When you're alone. I
know you think about my
fingers
in that tight pussy... my tongue playing at your clit. My cock buried
deep inside of you.” I pressed my thighs tighter together,
hoping to ease the ache. It was actually painful. “Tell me you
think about me.”

“I
think about you,” I admitted, my voice an airy whisper.

“The
other day... when you were touching yourself,” he said. “what
were you thinking of me doing?”

My
hand slipped from my breast, going to my eyes and covering them. “I
was thinking of you spanking me,” I admitted, barely audibly.

“That's
sexy baby,” he said, his tone reassuring, like he sensed my
discomfort. “And then?”

This
was how I was going to die. Laying on my bed on my phone sex line,
telling my neighbor about how I rubbed my clit while thinking about
him. That seemed like a fitting end to my strange life.

“And
then fucking me,” I finished, squeezing my eyes shut.

How
the hell did women do this with their boyfriends or husbands? How
could you get over the awkwardness? With strangers it was different.
It was all talk. I wasn't actually touching myself. It was one-sided.
Hot for them, empty for me. This was foreign territory and I didn't
speak the language and I was in desperate need of a map.

“I
would like to do that one day,” he admitted. Because it was
true. And I couldn't blame him for that. Of course he would want to
have sex with me one day. That was normal. But he didn't say he was
going to. He said he would like to. And that distinction made a world
of difference for me. “Move you hand down to your inner thighs,
baby,” he said and my hand moved as I let my legs fall open.
“Run your fingers up and down that soft skin, not far enough up
that you can brush your clit. Not yet,” he warned and I was
stroking. I was thinking of his big hands there instead of mine.

“I
like this,” I admitted, feeling silly.

“I
like it too, sweetheart,” he said, sounding breathless. “Now
move your fingers between your legs, over your panties. Let me hear
you touch yourself,” he cooed.

I
nearly shot up off the bed. I was too hot. Too beside myself with
need. The slightest touch felt overwhelming. I clamped my lips shut
to keep myself from crying out, a muffled noise escaping.

“Don't
fight it. I want to hear baby. You sound so sexy when you touch
yourself. Stroke your clit for me.”

I
was lost in that moment, working my fingers over my sensitive point.
Hearing Hunter's breath in my ear. Hours, days, weeks could have
passed. I was outside of the world. I was fully immersed in myself
and him.

“Slip
out of your panties, Fee,” he said, his voice sounding rough.
“then touch yourself again without the barrier. Are you wet for
me?”

“Yes.”
Oh, was I ever.

“Good.
Do you want to feel me inside baby?”

“Please,”
I groaned, biting into my lip to try to hold onto at least the
smallest thread of self control.

“My
fingers or my cock?” he asked, sounding about as turned on as I
was.

Both.
Either. Something. Everything. “Your cock,” I decided, my
thighs tensing for my next instruction.

“Thank
god,” he said at first.

“Are
you going to...”

“Yeah,
baby,” he said. “I am going to think about your tight,
wet pussy grabbing my cock and pulling it deep inside.” If I
didn't get to touch myself, I was going to explode. I was going to
turn into a ball of flames and burn out hard and fast. I was going to
be scorch marks and dust on my bed sheets. “Are you ready,
Fee?”