Phone
You are sitting cross-legged on my bedroom rug – the one by the fireplace. There is a fire. You are in your nighty. You are getting drunk on a bottle of Irish whisky.
It's cold outside – late November – and I flew to LA for a meeting. It's the first time I've been gone since we became lovers – since I took your cherry. You miss me so badly that you ache.
"I'll be gone for three days. I'll be back the day before Thanksgiving." I'd said. "We'll cook dinner together and have a feast. Sound good?"
"Yes, Daddy. But I'll miss you – can't you take me with you?"
I had paused and looked thoughtful. "What about your classes?"
"Oh – you're right – I only have one, but I have to be there – Tuesday."
"We'll plan for you to come with me soon – when you can afford to be away."
You had smiled, "Yes, Daddy."
But now, you're drinking whisky – you don't know it – but it's 15-year Jameson, very expensive – all you know is that it's delicious and it came from my cabinet and so, even though you've never seen me drink alcohol, it feels like it's part of me. It's warming your throat. The fragrance fills your head with each sip. You are getting very horny.
You found a collection of sex toys where you knew they were – in my dresser. You got out the nipple clamps, a large vibrating dildo, and the clitoris clamp you recently became acquainted with. They are next to you on the rug. You've never tried the nipple clamps or the dildo, but hey – a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do – or so you think to yourself – and you giggle.
You've been texting your friends. You are listening to recordings of me on your iPod.
The whisky had made you naughty and flirty. You are texting a girl-friend at school in the dorms a few blocks away.
"im horny" she texts.
You: "OMG me 2"
Her: "show me ur pussy"
You: "LOLs u 1st"
Her: "OK" and a picture comes through. It's of her pussy lips. You can see they're wet. "Now U"
You spread your legs and take a phone picture of your pussy.
Her: "OMG ur so sxy. Call me"
You turn off the iPod. You dial. "Where's your mystery boyfriend?" she asks.
"Away tonight."
"Lucky for me. Who is this boy?"
"I told you - no one special." You lie.
"So you like that place you live? You see much of your landlord? I've heard rumors - he used to be somebody or something, you know."
"Yeah – I guess – he's pretty great."
"So you see him?"
"Yeah, sometimes – well – a lot, really."
"Really? Cool."
"Yeah I sit and listen to him play. I had no idea about it when I moved in. But then I heard him playing at night and I began poking around. I mean – I found this hallway with pictures of him with famous people and then he's got these awards in there. It's kind of amazing, but he doesn't talk about it much. He's really nice but kind of – well – sad – kind of dark."
"Ooooh – you've got a lot to say about him."
"Yeah, I guess I do. Like I said – he's really nice."
"Is he there?"
"No – he's gone. Business in LA. Something about a soundtrack deal."
"Soundtrack?"
"Yeah. You know – movie music. I miss him so much."
Your friend is silent – "Wait – you miss him?"
"Oh – – yeah – I guess I do..."
"Wait a minute – Oh – My – God – your landlord... he's your mystery boyfriend. Oooooh - you're doing your landlord. You're so bad." She giggles.
"I didn't say that."
"You don't have to – Your mystery boyfriend's that – that – old guy. Didn't he used to make CDs or something?"
"He calls them records and he's not old; just older."
"Yeah, right. Whatever. Oh – My – God – so – like what's it like doing an older man?
"Oh, stop it."
"No really," she says. You can hear her voice take on a slightly sexy tone.