5. Cas
Chapter five
Cas
S o, an eager PP doesn’t need much time. I set my timer and about seven minutes is all it took for him to get from the parking lot of his job to outside his house, and another minute at most before he was inside. That helps me significantly. He lives and works close to me. Which means even if I assume his drive bumps him outside my radius, there are only so many farms within ten to fifteen miles of me. The number shrinks even more once I eliminate the ones that don’t match what he’s told me. I’m not looking for a chicken farm or dairy farm, but something with goats and a store. May not sound distinct, but that could be enough to distinguish it from others in such a small area.
My phone dings and I close the current screen with the maps app. Someone’s up late.
Purple Puppy: I know I already said I’m going to bed, but I’m in bed and I can’t sleep.
Orchid Mantis: I’m in bed, too. But I’m not telling you the color of my underwear.
Purple Puppy: Oh no. Noooo. I didn’t mean it like that.
Sure, you didn’t.
Purple Puppy: I’m sorry. You probably have work in the morning.
Orchid Mantis: It’s okay. You can text me until one of us passes out.
Purple Puppy: Yeah?
Purple Puppy: Could I maybe… call you?
Orchid Mantis: Are you going to wish me goodnight?
Purple Puppy: Yes.
And a smile emoji. How could anyone resist?
Orchid Mantis: Okay.
I include another variation of the smile emoji. An article I once read said each smiley is supposed to mean something different. I’m not sure how we as a society managed to complicate this, but here we are. Emoji subtext is a thing I need to worry about now.
My phone rings less than ten seconds later, and I accept the audio call through the app, but I don’t say anything. Not yet.
“Hi.”
And I was right. He doesn’t have that youthful lilt, but he still sounds young—only more like my age and not a teenager.
“Hey,” I say back.
“I did… not put enough thought into this.” He laughs, very obviously from nerves.
“How so?”
“I… want to say goodnight to you, but I technically don’t know your name.”
I roll over in bed, and I make sure he can hear me moving while he waits for my response. “What do you normally call me?”
“Mantis.” He pauses. “What do you call me?”
“PP.”
“Like piss?” He’s laughing now, and it’s genuine.
“I was thinking more like slang for penis.”
“Oh, my god.”
“What?”
He’s trying and horribly failing to stifle his laughter. “When I tell you my name, you must remember this moment.”
“Oh, when?”
“Yes, when.” He takes a deep sigh. “You won’t have to tell me yours, though. Only if you want.”
“I like those terms.” Then I let out the most pleased sigh I can possibly muster. “And I like talking to you.”
“Me, too. And um… I think I would like to call you at night again.” He gets quiet, but when I don’t fill the silence for him, he carries on. “Just to say goodnight, like this.”
“Okay,” I agree. “Goodnight.”
“Night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
And the call ends. Well, this is going along at a nice pace. Me being me, I want to drag it out as long as possible, but that’s not very smart. Nothing good lasts forever. Too bad. After I close the app, I start another internet search. I don’t actually have to be up early. I can spend all night on this if I want. And I do. Figuring out who he is before he tells me adds a certain thrill. And he will tell me—sooner or later.
He winds up calling me every night that week, and he always asks first. So sweet. Also, probably horny. The whispery voice of a late-night phone call really seems to turn his crank, even if we only talk about our day and wish each other goodnight. Well, for now. I know that won’t last forever and I don’t want it to, but this is a game where most of my moves will be none at all. Pursuing the object of my desire offers limited satisfaction, since what I want most is to be pursued.
After he gets home from work, he messages to ask me if he can call later. Of course, I say yes. My phone rings while I’m in bed and I am so ready for this. Showtime.
“Hi.” He sounds a bit breathier than usual. Hmm.
“Hey.” Low, barely above a whisper. He likes the feigned intimacy, almost as if we’re lying in bed together. “What have you been doing?”
“Long day,” he sighs. “I have to be up early for work tomorrow, but I still wanted to get a chance to call.”
“I’m glad you did. I like our little routine.” Which is true. “I like thinking about…” And I purposely stop there.
“About?” He believes my hesitancy.
“About what it would be like to be there. Just to see you while you’re sleepy and in bed, all done with the day and relaxing. Makes my night better.”
“Do… you really want to? See me?”
“You could send me a picture of your hand and I’d be thinking about holding it.”
He chuckles but the sounds of him rustling around come across the phone. “Check your messages.”
The shift in his voice takes me off guard. He normally speaks with the same gentle tone: warm yet masculine and always casual. I’m not sure I’d call this authoritative but… a step in that direction. Well, then. I pull the phone away from my ear and… fucking jackpot. Tattoos. Not some random body that could belong to any guy anywhere. Better yet, not so many that the designs blend into each other, but enough to make him extremely distinctive. I save that to my phone so damn fast because I know I’m going to obsess over every pixel later in my search for an identifying feature.
After the initial burst of excitement, I spend another moment taking in the rest of the image. Shot from about the neck down. Decent body. Not that I really care either way. A toned chest, but with the slightest tummy pouch. Clearly in bed, with his dark sheets across his lap and… I see cock. Not full-on and out there. Only the tiniest bit peeking out from behind the sheet on him. Enough to know what I’m looking at while still appearing unintentional.
If it were me, I would’ve done it on purpose. With him, my gut says no. Yet, I’m still too busy processing the change in his demeanor to say for certain. Something that can still somehow manage to take me by surprise makes my cock twitch.
“Send me something back.” His voice has the same quality as before, but this time I hear the actual difference. He’s dropped the sweetness. An inflection I’ve heard so many times in so many good boys. Hell, I’ve done it too, depending on the guy I’m trying to pull.
“You don’t want to see me hard,” I softly chuckle. Not so much because I believe it, but because he wants to hear me thinking that way. He wants the rush he’ll get when I ask if we really should, and he’ll have himself believing he’s the one swaying me .
“Yes, I do.” His insistence leaves no room for doubt. “Show me.”
And even harder now. No. This never happens to me. Well, not never ever, more like not this way, not so easily, not so suddenly. Fuck. I may as well use this to my advantage. I take a breath and shove my tight black underwear down my hips. Not all the way. Enough for a peek, though this will very likely come across as intentional. But that’s exactly what I want this time.
He must be patiently awaiting a response because I don’t even have to say anything after snapping a quick shot and sending it over. The change in his breathing tells me exactly when he gets it. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
Now I have no doubt he’s jerking off. And right about this time, I’m usually doing something more interesting while making a show of breathing heavily and parroting whatever the other person is saying. Most people enjoy phone sex by imagining the other person: what they’re doing over there, or even better, that they’re here and doing it themselves. This also happens to be what I don’t like about phone sex. I tell myself I lack imagination, but really, so much of it doesn’t inherently appeal to me. Can’t get into phone sex. Until tonight, apparently.
“Touch your cock for me.” And he says this without even a “please” tacked on as an afterthought.
“For you, huh?” Maybe I sound annoyed, but I’m already whipping mine out.
“I’m not there to do it myself.” He sighs on his end. “You have to do it for me, so I can hear you.”
I don’t even have to exaggerate my gasping because I am so turned on right now. Maybe more than I’ve ever been. After a few slow strokes, I’m leaking and I take a minute to play with my balls while I listen to the pleasured breaths coming through the phone.
“Do you have anything to fuck yourself with?”
I’m about to tell him no when I realize I do. I’ll have to open multiple drawers, and I’ll definitely have to move, but I’ve got a few toys and lube stashed in my room. Still not why I’m ready to say no. Just… no.
“I’d be prepping your tight hole by now. Do it.”
My skin shivers and what the fuck, now I actually want it. And if I want it, I’m doing it. He must hear me scrambling and that should be sufficient evidence I’m on the move. As soon as I’m back in the middle of the bed, I rip my underwear all the way down my legs and roll onto my side. After spreading the lube with my fingers, I dip into myself ever so slightly. When I moan a little, he lets out a satisfied hum.
“Now, let me hear you taking my cock.”
Honestly, I’m not even sure I’ve ever used this toy. If I did, I can’t remember it. I pin the phone to the side of my face with my shoulder, since I’m not wasting a hand for that right now. Then I slide the dildo in without hesitation, mostly from being more desperate than I’ve ever been, but also because I feel certain that’s how he’d do it—line up and just start fucking. And does that ever feel amazing.
More pleased humming on his end. “You’re enjoying that as much as I hoped you would, baby.”
And maybe for the first time ever, I actually am. I’m not faking the moans and sighs. At this rate, he may even get me to come. I’m doing the work, but I’ll go ahead and give him the credit—he earned it.
When my breath quickens to panting, he starts to join me. He pauses only to say, “My name’s Will.”
And he doesn’t have to tell me the rest. If this man gets me to come, you better believe I’ll scream his name while I’m doing it, if that’s what he wants. As soon as I gasp and say his name, he’s moaning in my ear. My skin prickles while I listen, intensifying the pleasure while I’m coming. As much as I want him to return the favor, I have to remind myself not yet. Soon, but not yet. Slowly, our breathing returns to normal.
“Willy,” I snicker when it occurs to me.
“Yes, of all the nicknames you could’ve given me, you somehow managed to pick yet another euphemism for a penis.” He laughs, and he’s right back to sweet. “I’ll call you again soon.”
“You better.”
We wish each other goodnight, then I hang up the call.