Slender manicured fingers from her hand reach out and begin to
depress each of the hard buttons.
She knows what she wants.
It was 8:00 P.M. He is waiting.
Each long finger goes down on the keypad, craving it.
She knows he is waiting. The radio is on. The song they are playing
seems unusually sad to her.
She dials a little faster now. Anticipation makes her nipples hard.
Her breath is heavy and labored. Would he be waiting?
The last number quickly goes through.
His voice seems to shake when he says, "YES YOU MAY COME
FUCK ME NOW."
He hears only the sound of the receiver hitting the floor
~zecrets, October 2000
No comments:
Post a Comment