Cell Phone

I told myself it was just a cell phone after all and just for use in emergencies and for brief, urgent and business-like calls. And this was just one of those business-like occasions. I was running late for my staff meeting. I had no time to linger in the driveway. I needed to start my little Honda hatchback – I got a great deal on the lease - and get on the road. At that moment, in fact, I had no one I needed to call.

But my new cell felt so sleek and smooth in my hand. It felt made for other kinds of calls: the whispered kind in the evening, in the moonlight, on hidden streets and secluded beaches. I set the ring tone to a short, sharp gasp of Flamenco. The cell seemed to wink at me as it played, slyly intimating knowledge of desires I had never admitted having. A little nervously, I switched to vibrate, still holding the phone in my hand, feeling the tremors flowing up my arm, while my other hand wandered of its own will over the high aureole of my left breast, sensitive now even through my clothing.

But this was silly, thought. This had to stop. I reset the cell to what I thought was a neutral ring tone – both flamenco and the vibrate setting were obviously to be avoided. I snapped the cell shut and jammed it into my leather purse. I had no time for this. The staff meeting would start in minutes and it was all the way across town. I started the engine and swung into traffic.

The weather was breaking from the earlier rain to a brief burst of evening sunlight, as it often does on the coast. The setting sun swelled and spread under and through the low clouds and flooded the windshield with a few final rings of yellow light. The warmth of the light pulsed down my spine, opened the doorways of my body, one by one. Feeling a little flushed, I rolled the window down. Fingers of spring air flowed through and stretched the frame of each newly opened door. My grip on the steering wheel loosened. I heard myself moan, just audibly, as I felt the heat radiating out from between my legs, rolling on through my hips and thighs.

I was little shocked at my lack of self-control. I shook my head, tried to focus. The staff meeting would set the agenda for the New Year. We would parcel out the assignments and set priorities. I had to be there. I was one of the people everyone depended on for discipline and direction. But sometimes I felt just too directed, too disciplined. Or perhaps I craved some other kind of discipline. And why did the meeting have to be tonight, when the air was so delicate and fresh, and at just the hour when twilight was modulating to starlight? A crazy picture arose in my mind, of a procession of flaming torches in suggestive shapes passing hand-to-hand across the full white body of the moon. I gripped the steering wheel harder. I tried to drive these thoughts away.

But that only evoked the memory of another kind of gripping, of only a few nights before, when I gripped the back of the couch as my husband plunged, plunged into my wet, my burning core, exploding his fountain of seed. He'd surprised my as I bent over to stroke the cat in passing, tearing up my skirt, tearing down my panties, stroking the curves of my ass, my swelling nipples...

He was so undisciplined, such a distraction, to say the least, surprising me at the most awkward places, in the laundry room, in a neighbor's yard, in the washroom at Starbuck's... He had no ambition. He just wasn't serious. And with my position on the hospital board, with all the issues, the shape of healthcare, the unions, the budget, my own career... But it was other healthy shapes he was interested in, other kinds of unions, other blown budgets, and a more personal view of what makes a career... No, he wasn't serious. Or dependable. He made my so angry sometimes, so frustrated. But then...in that...area, he never let my down. And he brought out a whole other side of what he called my fey, primitive side, which my body betrayed despite the order and discipline I tried always to impose on myself. And now I kept coming back in my mind to the feel of his most recent thrusting, his clever reaching under with his soft fingertips, his stroking of that...

But this kind of wandering thought was dangerous, especially while driving. A horn sounded, violently plunging me back into the hard reality of the street. A stoplight. Frantically, I slammed on my brakes, just avoiding a crash.

My head dropped to the steering wheel. I panted for air, tried to gather my wits.

By the time the light changed I was more calm, if not altogether on task. Whatever happened later, now I needed to at least make this meeting. I needed at least to put in an appearance. What I meant to do there, what my interests and objectives were, was hard now to recall. But I would keep to my schedule. I started off again with both hands firmly on the wheel, slowly accelerating, as if I had just learned to drive. My mind floated in a hazy trajectory, mid way between duty and desire.

A sharp gasp of Flamenco sounded distantly, then sounded again and again before I realized it was the cell phone, buried deep in my leather purse. But hadn't I set it differently? To a more neutral tone? I pulled over to the side of the road. Struggling with the zipper of my purse, I plunged my hand down past the inner folds, probing to the bottom for the cell. The purse had been sitting next to the heater, and was warm inside, filled with objects of many textures, smooth, ridged, undulating. My gropings for the ringing cell became strangely languid. Gathering it finally in my hand, I fumbled with the unfamiliar buttons. I pressed the phone to my ear. I felt a soft stream of white noise.

With my voice dropped to a whisper, I answered:

-- Hello.

A man's voice responded. It was a resonant, familiar voice, but strange, like someone I knew set in another place.

-- Laura.

-- Yes? Who is this?

-- Take a deep breath. Tell me where you are.

-- I'm sorry?

-- Tell me where you are.

My first instinct was to lash out with impatience, irritation. I had no time for this, no time for games. But tonight...was different. Tonight...some odd compulsion overcame all my objections, made me, after some hesitation, answer.

-- On Fourth Avenue.

-- Are you heading west?

I had an intake of breath.

-- Yes.

-- You know how to find Spanish Banks, don't you?

-- Yes. But I have a meet...

-- You know how to find Spanish Banks.

The voice was gentle but insistent.

-- Yes.

-- Drive to Spanish Banks, past the concession. Park facing the beach. Wait for my call.

-- I can't do that.

-- Wait for my call.

The line went silent.

I waited. But there was nothing more.

However disoriented I felt, this was too much. I was certainly not going to do what he said. I was not going to stand up my colleagues, go to some empty beach and just park there. Not after nightfall. I turned off Fourth Avenue, drove directly to my meeting. I parked in front of the house. I straightened my cotton dress and my black car coat, gathered up my leather purse and reached for the door handle.

But there was the cell phone, on the passenger seat. I picked it up, intending to slip it into my pocket. Yet I hesitated. There was something odd about this new phone. I opened it up, brought it in close to my face.

It was the odor. Over the usual scents of electronics and plastic was a subtle musk. I breathed it in. It was feral and a little disturbing. Timidly, I pressed the smooth cell gently against my cheek.

Then with a great effort of will, remembering first to reset the phone to vibrate to avoid its eruption at the meeting, I snapped the cell phone shut and slipped it back inside the folds of my purse.

I went inside the house and there as expected was Alice and Maggie and Byron and Robert and May, and there was talk of the budget, professional development, expansion. And there was this joke and that story, and it all went off as scripted, except that it certainly was noticed that I didn't take on my usual assertive role. I wasn't pushing the agenda, demanding results, as I usually did. I only nodded in agreement, oiled the proceedings as needed. For on the couch next to me, buried in my leather purse was the cell, and I could still sense it, smell it, and I worried that it would ring out with Flamenco, or that it would insinuate its feral vibration. I couldn't remember how I had set it only minutes ago. I couldn't remember whether he said he would phone again. And still that musky odor was in my nostrils, and would the others...

-- Are you okay? You look a little flushed.

It was Robert. I looked up at him confused, unable for a moment to remember who he was. When I did recall his name, he appeared to my in a way he never had before: as a man. I found myself looking him over. He didn't have movie star looks, exactly, but he did have the kind of strong nose I liked. His body was solid, and there was that prominent bulge I noticed now for perhaps the first time. I wondered...but my thoughts were getting away from my.

-- Maybe I'm a little tired, I said, smiling faintly, barely resisting the impulse to reach out and cup that bulge in my hand.

But then Alice also noticed that I was not looking so well, and Byron too, and besides there was not much left to discuss, they said. And so they eased me out the door. Was it a plot? Were they seizing on the chance to drop my out of the loop altogether? Ordinarily, I'd be suspicious. Now, I didn't care. I just needed to get out into the night air and try to collect myself. I allowed myself to be led by escort out to my car. I endured their solicitous looks and gestures as I started the engine and drove away. I refused to imagine what they must be thinking.

I checked my watch. The whole hallucinatory episode had passed in the space of twenty-five minutes.

The cool air did little to dispel my confusion. As I approached Fourth Avenue I slowed to a crawl. Would the light be green or red? Would I turn east or west?

It was green. I turned west.

Then the cell phone vibrated. I could feel the vibration through the purse, through the seat. When had I set it to vibrate?

-- Hello, I answered. Against my will, some urgency had crept into my voice.

-- Where are you now?

-- On Fourth Avenue.

-- The beach is in moonlight. The moon is above the hill along Spanish Banks.

The line went silent.

The moon glided beside me along Fourth Avenue as I drove west toward Spanish Banks. Pale figures wandered among the trees in Jericho Park. Heavy limbs separated, curled down, twined and reconnected near the ground. The night air was still fresh and balmy. I turned toward the beach. The wind blew sand in swirls across the road beneath my car.

The concession was closed. One light shone on the wall. A mad woman in her electric wheel chair circled the building, humming softly.

There were no other cars in the parking lot. The light standard overhead was extinguished. I pulled in and stopped, cut the engine, cut the lights. As my eyes adjusted, the rolling beach appeared, luminous in the moonlight, with a scattering of trees, shrubs and driftwood, then the waters of the inlet, black with glimmers, and the dark North Shore Mountains beyond, with their sprinkling of lights signaling unseen streets and tramways.

I picked up the cell. I opened it. Again, the low musk. The wind was gentle in the trees and the new spring leaves were still too moist to make a sound. All voices were low and distant and disappeared like raindrops, never disturbing the calm of the breathing sand.

The cell phone vibrated.

I scarcely whispered:

-- Hello.

-- Are you ready to begin?

-- Begin?

-- Yes.

-- I don't know.

-- Turn on your inside light, switch your cell to speakerphone and place it on the dash.

I did so.

-- You must be warm in that heavy coat.

I struggled out of my black car coat. My dress was in plain and sensible cotton with square shoulders but in a soft yellow gold, and a little tight across the chest.

-- Have you touched your breasts today?

-- I'm sorry?

-- Have you touched your breasts today?

-- Yes, I breathed.

-- Show me.

I glanced around nervously, but with the interior light switched on everything outside the car, the beach, the water, the mountains were nearly obliterated. I peered out intently, but could see no one. Shyly, I reached for one nipple than the other, squeezing them through my thin cotton dress and undergarments, turning them between my fingers. To my surprise, my nipples responded almost immediately, and with some wonder I followed that response, and warmth began to spread throughout my loosening body.

I settled back in my seat, sighing deeply from time to time as my arousal grew. Outside was silence, though I imagined hearing an answering breathing in the sand, the nearly imperceptible roll of grains pushed by the breeze over the dunes. And from the cell phone on the dash, I was certain I heard some stifled moans, familiar in their inflection, riding on my sighs.

Then the voice returned, grown a little more hoarse.

-- Your dress...looks a little tight across your breasts, a little...constricting.

Trembling, I reached behind, unzipped the back of my dress, pulled down the front, uncovering my lacy white bra and my deep cleavage. I ran my hands around my breasts and over nipples now that much closer to my touch, and that much more responsive, and I moaned and strangely sighed almost with the same breath.

Without further prompting, I reached behind again and unclasped my bra, pulled it down, and my large breasts tumbled out, like two moons framed in clouds of yellow cotton. My pink nipples were already erect. I squeezed each nipple between my fingers, my head thrown back, a smile beginning at the corners of my red lips. I watched myself in the mirror.

I heard a muffled moan from the cell on the dash. That moan, too, was familiar.

I groaned in answer, intensified the fondling of my nipples and breasts. The interior light reflected the red highlights of my long dark hair, pulled back in a flowing ponytail.

From the cell came a voice grown yet more hoarse, struggling to speak:

-- In the glove...box. Look...in the glove...

Reluctantly removing one hand from a swelling breast, I reached down to open the glovebox. Nestled on top of the usual debris of sunglasses, lotions, pens and papers was a crystalline dildo in the shape of a dolphin, half rolled up in a pair of my husband's silk boxers.

Softly chuckling to myself, I settled back in the seat. I carefully unrolled the dildo from the silk. With one hand I rubbed the silk boxers over my breasts, then down over my belly, and below, where he couldn't see, I brought it up under my dress, along my thighs, trailing, lingering over my pussy. With my other hand I rolled the crystalline dildo down between my breasts, up to my lips, licked around its dolphin head, drew it into my mouth, turning it as I sucked. Then, holding the dildo to the side of my smiling face, looking into the mirror, I said:

-- You want a slut. You want me to be your slut, don't you?

His response was whispered:

-- Yes.

-- You really like that word, don't you? Slut...slut. Why do you like it so much?

I went back to rubbing my breasts with his boxers, rolling the dildo around my nipples.

-- The word...the word just slides off the tongue, he whispered. Just saying the word, hearing the word, feels hot and wet. And you're such a beautiful slut with that slutty smile, stroking your beautiful tits.

Moaning, I wet my fingers in my mouth, spread the moisture over the dildo, over my nipples, made them both glisten in the dim light.

-- I know you. I know what you want. You want to bend me over the hood of this car, don't you, and fuck me hard from behind. That's where you would like all this to go, isn't it?

-- Yes, he whispered.

-- Why should I let you? Will you beg for it?

-- I'll do anything. If I were there with you, in the car...

-- What would you do? Tell me.

-- I would spin each of your nipples between my lips like fire sticks, rake them with my hungry teeth, pull them this way and that, use them to churn your creamy breasts. I would stroke your breasts with fragrant oils, slide my hard cock between...

I groaned louder, squeezed my nipples yet harder. The dildo grew warm, than hot as I ran it more rapidly over my body. I struggled, pulled my dress farther down my body, exposing my smooth belly.

-- And then...

-- In the flooding moonlight I would tear your dress down the middle, tongue my way in bursts of wet fire from breast to breast, and down to your soft belly, and down to the edge of your glistening...

Suddenly lowering the seat, I lay back, ran my hands rapidly, caressingly down the length of my body, pulled up my dress and pulled down my silk panties. In the dim light, my thighs shone creamy and rich. Urgently, I reached down over my soft mound, began to stroke my moist lips. I stroked my pussy into pink fullness, but in the dark where he couldn't see. Pulses of desire flowed out from my stroking hands, joining circuits of pleasure from my breasts, through every door of my spine. Impatiently, with a little growl, I plunged two fingers inside, pulled them lingeringly out, stroking in hot circles my engorged and swelling clit as they passed. I plunged again, again, and then with a sly smile, I stopped, slowly brought my fingers to my mouth, licked and sucked away my own juices, hungrily. My wet mouth, like my pussy, was eager to be filled.

-- Tell me, I said. What would you do now, if you were here?

-- Ah, God... First tell me. How do your fingers taste?

-- Like your cock after fucking.

-- If I were there, slut, if I were there... I would stroke your pussy with special creams, with my firm, clever fingers, the inner, the outer, the secret hood, the secret nodes and pockets. I would use the butterfly, with all my fingers at once, inside, outside, on your pussy, in your cunt, in your ass. I would fuck you every place at once. I would pulse and play along your whole ecstatic field...

Restraining my rising excitement, stretching the moment, I brought the crystalline dildo again to my mouth. I had not let go of it once since I first unrolled it from its silk wrapper, and now it was heated to an almost fleshy softness in my hand. I stroked it tenderly with both hands, suckled its smooth head. Yet more slowly I rolled the dildo down between my breasts, over my belly, down over the swollen and manifold lips of my pussy. With little grunts of pleasure, I turned the dildo, worked it inside my hungry cunt.

The first plunge brought a gasp from the cell phone, a groan from me. I plunged in the dildo again, again, while with the other hand I stroked my clit in hot circles. I was at the edge of exploding, nearly sinking under the sensations, when I found the strength to lift my stroking hand briefly away from its work, grab the cell phone, click it off. With the dildo still enflaming my pussy, still buried in my cunt, I held the vibrating phone in my hand, waited an eternal moment.

At last it began to vibrate with his call.

I fumbled, groaned, pressed the vibrating phone to my clit, turned it, rubbed it with the circular motion I needed, still plunging the crystal dildo into my throbbing cunt. The molten crystal filled me, the vibrating phone powered new sensations, the man who lay in wait beyond the phone sweetened my imagination. From between my toes to the tips of my breasts, along every nadi and node, an insensate fire arose, exploding finally from the volcano of my pussy in quaking tsunamis, swirling around the smiling crystal dolphin.

Steps were approaching the car. There was nothing I wanted more now than to be pulled out of my seat, dragged around the front of the car, bent over the hood and fucked, fucked hard, and feel him explode as I had exploded, filling me with his seed. Yet as I listened to his steps, waited for his apparition in the darkness, on the still silent beach, the breathing of the sand again re-emerging, I reined in the trembling of my body, brought my urgent craving under control. Though still burning inside, I would try to present a placid face, perhaps ask him one more time what he really wanted, perhaps even make him beg, just a little.