1: Calling for Candy
Mr. Luthor Thorne phoned me and demanded sex while I was having lunch. I was at a lovely cafe with my friend and business partner/boss Suzanne.
Suzanne pulled a slice of cucumber from her iced water with mint and cucumber then nibbled it while studying me. We were on the outdoor patio, next to the sidewalk, enjoying the late-summer sunshine.
I held the cell phone to my chest and hissed at her, “Don't you need to check messages on your own phone or something?”
“Nu-uh,” she said, then she put her elbows on the table, and, chin in hands, continued to study me. The lady was married, so my sex life was endlessly fascinating to her.
Up until my phone started vibrating, over and over, unrelentingly, we'd been having a great conversation about our favorite topic: sex. She wasn't taking her birth control pills, because they wreaked havoc on her skin and her moods, so she and her husband were using condoms, except for the fact that he didn't like condoms.
“Nobody likes condoms,” I'd said to her. Still, I used them most of the time, even though I'd been on the pill myself for about five years. “You don't want a baby yet, do you? Oh, Suze, be careful.”
“He mostly does me in the ass,” she said matter-of-factly.
I nearly choked on my tuna salad sandwich. “Since when did you start doing … you-know.”
She did that face where she squints one eye and rolls up the other one, looking like a cartoon version of herself, her dyed-to-match-her-hair red eyebrows exaggerating the expression. “Lexie Ross, if you can't even say anal sex, you'll never get to do it.”
“Duh.”
“There are so many nerve endings in your butt. Like, so many. Your butt's like your clit, but shaped like an O.”
“Bleh.” I finished chewing my mouthful of sandwich and said, “Not on my sensual tourism list.”
“Sensual tourism, what? Is this a real list? Like a bucket list? I'd like to see this sensual tourism list. I bet it's not very long, on account of all the things you won't do.” She counted off on her fingers and said, “You won't eat pu**y, and you won't take it in the back door, and what else? Oh, right, you won't say I love you to anyone but your parents.”
“That's not true,” I said. “I love you, Suzanne, you saucy little fake-redheaded lambchop.”
That was when my phone rang for the tenth time in a row. Rather than let it go to voicemail, again, I decided to answer the damn thing before all the vibrating ran down the battery. (Don't you hate it when your vibrating things are down on battery life?)
Despite the blocked number, I knew by the voice that the caller was Mr. Thorne, as expected.
As Suzanne watched me intently, her chin on her hands, I said, into the phone, “Sorry, sir, Candy's not available. She's at lunch with her gorgeous girlfriend. Candy does have a life you know.”
He laughed from his side, lightly, as though this was all part of the foreplay to the phone sex he wanted and was sure I'd give him.
“This sounds to me like Candy,” he said.
“Nope.”
“You sound sexy. I bet you have a tight ass. What's your name?”
“I'm the receptionist. My name is Helga and I have ...” I tried to think of something gross, but I didn't want to say something revolting, because even though I wanted to get him off the phone, I didn't want him to imagine me in a gross way. Finally, I said, “I'm Helga and I was born without a vagina.”
He'd already seen my vag—been inside it, in fact, so that was a pretty safe lie.
“Transitioning, huh?” he said. “That's cool. Tell me more about yourself, about your ideal lover.”
I snorted. “Do you have all day?”
“I have a few minutes, and if you don't have a vagina, I'd like you to tell me about putting my c**k into one of your other holes, whichever one's available.” He paused, and I imagined him licking his lips. “The mouth is always nice.”
I frowned at Suzanne, who was still watching and listening intently. She whispered, “You should do it. Give him the phone sex.”
I shook my head at her.
I'd given Mr. Luthor Thorne phone sex—oral phone sex, specifically—once before, and I'd vowed not to do it again. Technically, I'm not sure if it was phone sex or real sex, because I'd had my friend Jacob's c**k in my mouth for most of it. I was basically multi-tasking.
And now Mr. Thorne wanted me to give him cell phone oral, or something like it, again.
No.
I wasn't getting paid per minute, not like actual phone sex girls, and there was no way I'd be satisfying Mr. Thorne again, not without so much as a nice date beforehand. I'd been doing some really filthy (but fun) things recently, but I did have some standards.
“Put me in your hot, sticky hole, Helga. Though I really want Candy,” he purred into the phone, and in response, I felt the pink lips I was sitting on ballooning, swelling in size, excited for his big, throbbing sex, even if it was only over the phone.
I snapped, “Candy's busy.”
Suzanne waved her hand at me and snapped her fingers. “Suzie can take this one,” she said.
I hadn't told Suzanne who it was who'd been calling me for days trying to get phone sex, as Mr. Thorne was a client of our professional organizing services, and I didn't want her to know I'd been fraternizing, but she did know that someone had been calling.
She said, wiggling in her chair, “Let me suck him off. Oh, I really want to.”
Some people walked past us on the sidewalk, and I was sure they heard her.
I shook my head.
She pouted. “But phone sex with a stranger is on my sensual tourism list! What about my needs? Share, Lexie.”
I held the phone to my cle**age to mute my voice. I was wearing the backless and expensive red dress, the one a sexy silver fox had purchased for me the week before. It was a little dressy for day wear, but I felt like a million bucks in the expensive fabric and fine stitching, so I'd been wearing it every chance I got. I didn't think of myself as a materialistic person, but high-quality garments got my motor running in a way that nothing but the sight of a big, gorgeous, na**d man could.
“He's a sick one,” I said to Suzanne.
She shrugged. “I'm married. I could use a little thrill. This isn't technically adultery, is it?” She pulled her hand away momentarily, then answered her own question with, “Of course not! I'm just doing you a favor and giving myself a little sensual tourism thrill. Gimme the phone. Gimme, gimme.”
I held the phone to my ear. “Sir, Candy's not available, but would you like to speak to one of our other girls?”