Tuesday, July 6th, 2010


Bobby Parker


There it was, after the TV guide in the newspaper: DIRTY CHAT WITH LIVE GIRLS, only 35p per minute. I dialled the number.

   To go straight to the first available girl, press one, said an automated voice…

- Hello, this is Michelle.
Her accent was strong, Newcastle.
- Hi, my name is Rob...erm... never done this kind of thing before, not quite sure what to say...
- Well, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I’m about five feet five inches tall with long blonde hair and thirty four double D boobs. My legs are muscular and my body is toned with a healthy tan. My eyes are green and I’m horny today.
- Really? Well, erm...  
- Why don’t you tell me what you look like. Are you wanking right now?
My penis lay half erect across my left leg like a sausage no one wants. I lifted it up and let it slap back onto my leg.
- No, well, a bit, just never called these things before and wondered what it would be like. Does it depress you, talking to wanking men all the time? Suppose the money must be good, and...
- Well... the... why don’t you tell me what you want me to do to myself?
- How about you beg me to fuck you?

She began to moan and talk about her pussy. My dick got hard and my free hand pulled at it until an unsatisfactory ejaculation erupted over my belly, and then I quickly hung up and felt disgusted with myself. There was a long black sock by the bed, perfect for wiping guilty cum off my belly.  
The newspaper was still open to the phone sex section beside me on the bed. It made me feel strange. The women in the pictures were terrifying, like the women in my dreams who suck my dick until it makes me dizzy, or emerge like vampires from the back of dark wardrobes, naked and full of rage. Not even women, really, but some kind of fallout from hardcore porn movies and magazines and the things you hear from your promiscuous friends that you can’t quite believe, maybe because it makes you jealous.

The light in my bedroom was orange because the curtains are thin and orange. They were closed against the sun. I pretended to be inside a huge orange, a dark pip, sorry for all my wrongs and every bad decision.

Michelle, I said. Michelle from Newcastle. And lay there for a while wondering whether to go to my parents’ house for dinner and save the cheap noodles in the cupboard for when things get really bad.  



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