6. Only the Lonely
CHAPTER 6
Only the Lonely
DUSTY
“N aughty girls are waiting to speak to you now. They’re excited to hear from you. So excited that we’re going to give you three free minutes on this call. Enter your credit card information now or at any time during this message.”
I pick at a hangnail while I hear the person on the other line enter their credit card information, then clear my throat at the sound of the ding .
“Hey, sweetheart, how are you doing?” I ask without much enthusiasm. It’s been a long night and it’s almost four in the morning.
“Better if you call me Baby again,” the caller says, and my stomach jolts. The gravelly, smooth cadence of his voice. It’s the same guy who called last week. He’s back.
“Baby! Oh, how I’ve missed you.” I perk up in my chair.
“Have you? I . . . this is going to sound really lame but—I kind of missed you too.”
“Now, now,” I tsk. “Why would that be a lame thing to say? Especially if it’s honest.”
He sighs. “You’re right. It’s . . . I guess it’s just something that’s hard to admit.”
“I can understand that,” I say. “So what prompted you to give me another call? Feeling lonely again?”
“I was out with my friends—couples—they’re so fucking happy . . .”
My eyebrow quirks. “You sound mad at them for being happy.”
He scoffs.
“Or maybe you’re jealous?”
A long pause stretches over the line. “I told my friend I don’t believe in love. That it’s not real. But I don’t really think that.”
“No? You don’t believe love is just some made up feeling by the Hallmark company?”
A breathy laugh comes through the phone. “No, I know it’s real. I had it once.”
My heart thuds extra hard. Ah, so here’s the real reason he calls me instead of running out to pick up any girl he wants. He loved someone and it didn’t work out and he can’t get over it. It’s all starting to make sense.
“Well, I’m here now,” I encourage. “And I’ve been ever so bored until you called.”
“Bored, huh?”
“Mm-hmm, I’ve been so bored I could almost fall asleep.”
“You won’t fall asleep on me , will you?”
I lean forward, placing my elbows on the desk. “I guess that depends.”
“On?”
“Will you entertain me, Baby?”
His voice rumbles through the speaker and it’s like adrenaline shoots down my spine. “No.”
I blink. Wait, what? “No?”
“No.”
I pull at a split end, trying to figure out what to say. Maybe that connection we shared a moment ago isn’t what I thought. Maybe it’s backfiring. They’ve never really covered this in the handbook. I’ve never had to pull it out of a guy before.
“Well, I . . . what do you plan to do with me, then?”
There’s a long pause where I hear him take a deep breath in and out. “You,” he begins, his voice dropping deeper. “ You are going to entertain me .”
Well, this is new. “Am I?”
“Do you want to please me?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Oh, so it’s like that. “Yes, Baby.”
He chuckles, and I can almost see a smile. An unidentified chiseled jaw, full lips hiding gleaming white teeth, a grin like a predator who caught me in his trap.
“Get on your knees,” he says.
While I’m under no obligation to actually play out the scenarios I voice, something throbs inside of me, wanting to obey. But I blink and shake my head. Don’t be stupid, Dusty. This is all pretend. Never forget that.
I lick my lips. “You like seeing me on my knees, Baby?”
“Such a gorgeous little slut you are.”
My mouth drops open and my breath hitches.
“But you’re so far away. I want to see those tits up close.”
“Baby?”
“Riddle me this,” he says, and I hear him moving, something like blankets rustling in the background. He must be lying in his bed. “How does a filthy whore get from one end of the room to the cock at the other?”
I swallow hard. “She crawls.”
Another chuckle, darker this time, with an edge to it. “Tell me.”
“I place my hands in front of me, my breasts are heavy as they hang. Then I crawl, one hand and knee moving at a time.”
He groans.
“My nipples are so sensitive. Every time my breasts swing, they tingle until they’re hard.”
“Is it painful?” he asks.
I shake my head even though he can’t see it. “Yes. But I’ll be your good little whore. I won’t complain. I don’t want to be punished.”
“Something else is getting hard and painful,” he says with a hitch to his voice.
My eyes close and I picture the faceless man standing over me, hand wrapped around his hard length.
“I can see you’re hard. Let me help you. I don’t want you to be in pain, Baby.”
He hums. “How does someone like you plan to take away my pain?”
My core throbs and my heart is pounding. “I—let me touch you. Please.”
“Look at you. Dripping wet already,” he says. “Do I have that much of an effect on you, or are you just so fucking needy for my cock that your pussy weeps to be filled?”
I gasp and my thighs clench. “I . . . I—” You’re at work, Dusty. Get a hold of yourself.
“Use your words,” he whispers.
“I need your cock, Baby. Please. Please, let me touch it. Please .”
He clicks his tongue and every hair on my body stands on end. “You sound so pathetic and weak when you beg.”
“Can I touch you now?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I sigh into the speaker but he continues.
“You can touch me, but not with your hands.”
“Not with—oh.”
His rasping chuckle vibrates my bones. “That’s it. Open that filthy mouth for me.”
Goddamn, who is this guy? “I can’t wait to taste you.”
I moan into the phone, my eyes closing and head falling back and I hear him groan as well, his heavy breathing mirroring my own.
“Fuck, your mouth feels so good. Such a good fucking slut.”
With a hum, I moan again. “You taste so sweet, Baby. I can’t get enough.”
“Don’t you dare fucking touch yourself. You’re here for me.”
“Oh god, yes . I just want you to use me.”
He laughs darkly. “I wish everyone could see you the way I do. Desperate and needy for what only I can give you.”
My pussy clenches and I gasp into the phone. “Fuck my mouth. Take what you want from me.”
“I’m going to paint your face with my cum.” He groans and something animalistic bursts out of my throat. “You don’t get to swallow. You haven’t earned that yet, but I’ll mark you so you never forget you’re mine.”
Shit, I’m so turned on that I’m sweating. My hair is damp at the temples and my shirt clings to my back. “I’m yours,” I whisper. A door slamming in the background startles me and I become acutely aware of where I am. The ringing of the phones in the attached cubicles. The sound of my coworkers acting out their roles. Acting, Dusty. Remember?
He groans loudly and my fingers clench in the phone cord as I listen to his climax. That sound pierces right through me like liquid heat. My teeth dig into my bottom lip and I’m panting like a dog in heat. What just came over me? This wasn’t acting. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a call before. There’s just something about his voice . . .
He clears his throat on the other end of the line and there’s some shuffling around that I try to distinguish while getting my bearings.
“You okay?” he asks.
I open my eyes and sink down into my chair as I’m overcome with embarrassment. “Yes, I . . . I?—”
“Seems I got you so worked up you lost your accent.”
My hand covers my mouth with a dull slap and my eyes widen. Shit!
He chuckles into the receiver, and shivers cover my body from the sound, as though his breath is on my skin. “Thanks, sweetheart. Until next time.”
The line goes dead and I’m left sitting here wondering what the hell just happened.
* * *
My apartment door clicks shut behind me, and I collapse against it. Stella emerges from around the corner, winding her way through my legs.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I say, squatting down to pet her. “How was your night?”
She meows again, then sticks her face into the plastic grocery bag searching for her breakfast. Sniffing the cat food, she purrs like a tiny motorbike before skipping off into the kitchen. I sigh then stand, pushing off my shoes, my toes cracking as I press them into the carpet.
I quickly put away the few groceries I picked up on my way home while I fight off yawn after yawn. Putting a scoop of dry cat kibble into Stella’s bowl, I grab the microwavable lasagna meal from the bag and pop it in the microwave. My eyes close and I roll my neck and shoulders as I wait for my dinner to heat up. I’m desperate to crawl into bed, but my stomach growls angrily and I just need to eat something before disappearing under the covers.
When it beeps, I grab a fork and the tray then sit on my bed with my back against the wall. The radio is still playing from earlier—I figure Stella might feel less alone with it on, so it’s become our new routine. But the soothing music I usually listen to has changed to rock.
“Were you trying to change the station?” I ask Stella around a mouthful, standing and walking over to the radio.
She meows from where she’s curled up on my bed waiting for me to return, and I pause with my fingers on the dial. The song that’s playing is hard and fast—aggressive. Not exactly something I want to fall asleep to. But there’s also something catchy about it. The beat is invigorating and the singer . . . His voice seems familiar. I shake my head. What is wrong with me and men’s voices lately? The song winds down with a dramatic crash of drums and screaming guitars.
“That was Carnal Sins with their latest single,” the radio announcer says, and I startle. The band’s name strikes a nerve—reminds me of countless awful days being dragged to church. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait for their next album if it sounds like more of this.” The radio announcer continues with an introduction of the next song, but I continue to stare at the radio, my fingers tapping along the top. I wonder if the men in that band also have a strange relationship with sin and church. I’ve never heard of them before; they must be new.
Stella meows loudly and I sigh. “Sorry, I’ll turn it back,” I say, adjusting the station until an Aretha Franklin song begins to play. I sit back down in bed to finish my lasagna. Stella nuzzles into my side, and I pet her head between bites.
“Did you enjoy the heavy metal, pretty girl?” I ask.
She blinks up at me as I take the last bite then set my plate on the dresser. I wonder if Carnal Sins is the kind of music Joel listens to. He’s obviously a metal music lover. He dresses like he’s a part of that scene. In fact, didn’t he joke that he was a famous rock star in Vegas? I bet that’s his biggest fantasy—to rock out on stage like Metallica or Iron Maiden.
A head of floppy brown curls and bright hazel eyes swim out of the depths of my memory. Key wanted that life. Wanted to sing for millions of people with his unbelievable talent. My fingers twist into the necklace at my throat as my eyes squeeze shut against the painful memory. I hope he made it. At least then, all this—the hurt—would be worth it.
I unhook my bra and shimmy out of my jeans before sliding under the covers. Stella fits herself into the crook of my stomach, her warmth radiating through the bedsheets.
“I could be in the mood for some heavy metal myself, if the right person persuaded me,” I mutter as I stroke her fur. “I think you’d like Joel,” I say, offhandedly. But then I remember what my reality is. How I behaved at work. How I felt.
I was turned on.
I made the right decision turning him down. How can I possibly date someone like Joel? He’ll never accept what I do for a living. No nice guy wants a woman who helps men get off over the phone for hours on end. And the way that one caller made me feel today? My own body betrayed me. After a year of being a fantasy phone girl I’ve never once gotten so worked up that I almost touched myself at work.
I want to hate him. Hate the way he made me feel. Hate the way he made me forget that it was just pretend. Hate that he might call me again.
“Being lonely sucks,” I mutter. Stella nips on my hand sharply and I let out a yelp before she takes off to her perch on the window. “Ow! Okay, okay, miss judgmental.”
I could quit my job. I think about it a lot. Usually on days when I feel lonely and especially unloved. But what would I do? I knew what I wanted all those years ago and look where that got me.
I roll over in bed and tuck my pillow under my chin. I shouldn’t be ungrateful . . . at least I have a job. Besides, men have never taken me seriously. They’ve only ever cared about my body or how I can get them off—that’s what’s always paid the bills. So why should I let myself be shamed?
Then there’s Joel.
I have to admit that for a few hours it felt nice to be desired by someone real. Not just a voice who pays for it over the phone, or someone from the club with money to burn. I haven’t felt that way since Key.
Not that any of it matters. Joel will never accept me—not really. Besides, the first impression he ever got of me is Cherry the stripper. That’s why he wants to date me. He thinks I’ll be this wild girl in bed and he’ll be able to cross fuck a stripper off his bucket list. We aren’t compatible. It’s the cold hard truth. And my cat can judge me all she wants, but I’m meant to be alone. The love I want will always be just out of my reach.
It’s such a shame, because my heart is so big it could love as wide as the whole sky.