I hit send so fast my computer scoots back on my knees. “Sent.”
“Okay. Me too.”
My computer notifies me that I have a new email, from [email protected]. I laugh, though even to me it sounds wound up.
“Wow,” Maya says.
I blink. “Was that a reaction to the picture?”
“Um, yeah?” Her tone is stretched tight, and I think she likes what she sees, which sends further waves of heat and desire rocketing through my body.
I should have zipped up, because when I open her email and look at the picture on my screen, the urge to touch myself becomes overwhelming. It’s just a crotch shot, of course, so if it did get stolen, she could maintain her anonymity. I hold my breath, trying not to make any noise as I look at her lips, at the folds of her. Her hair is dark and trimmed but not shaved, and this is, unquestionably, the best-lit vagina I have ever seen.
I close my eyes. All I want in the world is to be allowed to touch her.
“Nice,” Maya says. “Yeah, okay.That’s good to know.”
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing!” She’s definitely worked up, and the idea that I can do that to her, even if it’s just on a lark—I’m more wound up right now than I can remember being, and if I’m not supposed to touch myself and talk to her, I damn well need to get off the phone and get some relief.
“Are you going to give me an objective opinion?” I ask.
“You still haven’t given me yours!”
“Okay. Well, my objective opinion is that, on a scale of vaginas, yours is extremely attractive.”
“Yeah?” Her voice is husky, and I wonder if she might be wanting to do the same things I am, which turns me on even further.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I find your penis objectively attractive as well.”
I smile.That’s not a compliment I ever expected to need, but . . .
“So,” Maya says. “Now that we’ve done that, I think I’d better . . .”
She sounds like she’s trying to come up with a way to hang up the phone without telling me she needs to, well, relieve herself. I want so incredibly much for this to be the case, which is my only excuse for what I say next.
“It’s okay if you need to get off,” I say.
Maya makes a sputtering sound, during which I gather this is exactly what she was getting at. But I’m struck with a deep, desperate need not to hang up the phone.
I let my hand drift down, and stifle a groan. “You can stay on the phone, if you want,” I say.
I hear her sharp intake of breath. “Yeah?” she says. “Would I be the only one . . .”
Her voice is pitched higher than normal, and I think that, like me, maybe she’s already gotten started. “No,” I say. I summon all my courage, because despite all common sense, it seems like we’re actually doing this. God, I desperately want to be doing this, damn the consequences. “Are you touching yourself?”
“Yeah,” she says, a little breathlessly. “Are you?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “That okay?”
“That’s okay.” From how out of breath she’s getting, it sounds like it’s more than okay.
“Tell me what you’re doing.” I feel a little electric pulse of nerves as I say this.There goes the last, tiny bit of deniability that I’m not trying to have phone sex with my gorgeous, sexy best friend who I’ve been in love with for months.
“Rubbing with two fingers,” she says. “Just a little. Not too fast.”
