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sex!
Hi, I'm Genevieve. I work at a phone sex chatline. I monitor for "quality" and kick off people who are too dirty. Because there is a line. I enforce it.

Dirty people call in. Some aren't as dirty as others. These are their stories...




My So-called Phone Sex Life:
I cannot pinpoint when I actually fell for him. Perhaps the first time he touched me, or our first embrace. Maybe it was when he kissed me, soft lips covering my mouth, the darkness surrounding us. Maybe when we met. Me, standing at his door with the landlady and current boyfriend in tow. Him, in his red robe, bedraggled and sleepy-eyed. Him hoping the boyfriend was a brother and me wondering why he was so sleepy at 2pm in the afternoon.

They made love once on his green velvet couch. She on his lap, legs wrapped around him. His hands were warm on her hips. He kept saying how beautiful she felt. That they should do it like this more often. On the chair. On the bus. She is wondering when he became this way. When they became lovers.


I guess it doesn't matter. When I fell, I mean. For I have now. Fallen. Bruised and disoriented. This love has spun me around and then left me staggering. He walks away without needing to watch his balance.

This is it. This is really over?

We sit eating dinner in front of the Untouchables. We haven't been looking at one another too much lately. Long gazing means, more tense sexually charged moments. I kiss him the cheek-he looks surprised but delighted. I leave to get ready to go out. I come back in to flirt, asking him how my outfit looks. He is not hiding the fact that he is staring at my ass. He is smiling.

Fuck you. I think to myself.

He pulls me onto his lap. He tells me I feel good in his arms. He tells me I am beautiful. Our faces are very close. And then, just as before, his lips are covering me. Kissing, sucking my mouth against his. His hands sliding down my back, under my bra, over my breast. My hand starts at his knee and moves up until it can't go any further. We are gripping each other. We are frenzied. Devouring each other as if we may never taste again. We do not open our eyes until, breathless we pull apart. He comments that my hair looks fine as I fuss with it. I know it's not fine, I know I look like I just made out with my ex-boyfriend on his green sofa.
Groping. Necking. In front of the Untouchables.


post #16
bio: genevieve
perma-link
1/2/2002
01:21

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