Page 5 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

She’s done her homework. “Initiation.” I want to ask questions about her—and not because I want to listen to her sultry voice. The meter in my head, ticking off the three dollars and ninety-nine cents per minute I’m paying for this pleasure, has gone quiet, which is surprising because it never does. I decided a year ago that my new goal is to retire by fifty—only twenty years to go—so now I’m more frugal and less indulgent with myself.

“I’ve never had an easy time falling asleep, but for the last few years, insomnia has been a defining part of my personality.” After a pause, I add, “You’d think I’d get used to it, but lately, it feels like it’s taking years off my life.”

“That sounds painful,” she says, empathy traveling across the map, as if she can see me, see the bags under my eyes, the furrow of my brow. “Henry, are you more tired than usual tonight?”

The way my name rolls off her tongue makes it an aphrodisiac, even with the clinical nature of the question. I settle back into my pillow and pull my comforter up to my chest, setting my phone aside and tugging the chain on the lamp to plunge the room into darkness. I have a new appreciation of why a man might want to be, ahem, tucked in. She is enticing, her words sprinkling goose bumps down my spine.

Focus, Henry. Focus.

“I slept last night, or maybe that was two nights ago?” I say, unable to remember what it even feels like. “It’s hard to keep track. I got about three hours, then I had meetings all day, and then one flight was delayed and another canceled.” I’ve lived a month in the last few days. “My trip home took twice as long as it should have, and I didn’t sleep a wink. I’m usually in Chicago, but I go to Ireland regularly for work.”

I stop and rub my eyes for a second, yawning.

“I’ve been too tired to sleep. I get that,” she says. “From where are you calling tonight?” And now proper English is a turn-on. Is this some sort of phone sex magic?

“Chicago.” My words are coming easier now, but I’m hyperaware of each one.

“Ahhhh. Nice and close. I’m in Columbus. You’re an hour behind us, right?” Her low murmur is soothing, but I can’t quite put my finger on why.

“Yes, it’s a little after one here. Trying not to think about it.” I can small talk, but I’m reserved when left to my own devices. Julian is the social butterfly, while I tend to sit in a corner and wait for people to approach me unless I’m at work. More accurately, I prefer to hide and hope they don’t. Kait feels different, calming instead of anxiety inducing. Warm too.

I like her. Before I can stop it, a deep sigh slips out, a quiet sound of dismay. I like women, I always have, but more importantly, I respect women. I have a sister and a mom. What the actual hell am I doing right now?

Oh, wait, I almost forgot. I’ve lost my mind and made the random and highly suspect life choice to start patronizing sex workers. That’s what I’m doing.

My existential crisis doesn’t stop me from continuing the conversation. Instead of blurting out what I’m thinking, I adjust my earbuds and ask, “What are you up to, Kait?” So help me God, if she says she’s touching herself, I’m hanging up.

She moans. Low and throaty, it doesn’t sound the least bit fake. As if it’s pouring out of her soul… and it’s accompanied by the sound of her nibbling and chewing. “I ordered two dozen cookies for the office. I’m inhaling a sea salt and caramel crisp chocolate chip cookie, thanks for asking.” After a pause, she adds, “Okay, fine, a second one. I deserve a treat.”

Against my will, I laugh, grab my phone, and politely listen while she finishes.

“What are you doing? Playing on your phone?”

“My sister is stressing about her upcoming finals. She’s a night owl, so cookies will be the perfect surprise,” I say before setting my phone down again. “I apologize. I’m being rude, on my phone while speaking with you.”

“Not at all. More like you get gold stars for being a thoughtful brother. I don’t mind waiting.”

I finish the order as fast as I can. “One happy sister coming right up,” I say. “Big brother points will be awarded to me posthaste.” A bolt of lightning flashes outside, bright enough that my room’s darkening shades can’t completely filter it, followed by a boom of thunder.

“Are you getting the same storm we are, Henry?”

“Yes, it’s pouring, blustery, lightning, the whole nine yards.” I yawn—a giant one that makes me worry my jaw will be stuck open—and try to stifle the accompanying sound but fail. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for yawning,” she says in that half-teasing, half-sincere way again. “You’re exhausted.”

“I can’t disagree,” I say, letting my scratchy eyes slip shut.

“I’m thankful you called so I can have a break from studying. Where are you now?”

“In bed,” I say.

“Did you set your alarm for the last possible minute?”

“I did.” I won’t think about how little time is left before that alarm goes off.

“Are you comfortable?” she asks.

I was waiting for her to ask what I’m wearing, but nothing about this conversation has met my expectations. “I’m in boxer briefs and a concert T-shirt.”