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        Daughters of the Dirt / Sarah Higdon

Phone Sex Master
by Diane Fleming

After my second son was born, I caught my husband, stark naked, whacking himself off (if only that was literally true) in the bedroom while talking on the phone. After he went to work, I hit redial. A sultry-voiced woman answered, "Hi, this is Catherine. Will that be Visa or MasterCard?"

"Will you accept some original phone sex scripts?"

"Oh yes. Send some soon."

I created an explosion of erotica, imagining my husband's fantasies.  I mailed the manuscripts. 

Catherine called, "These are magnificent. But I don't think simple phone sex services are adequate payment. Come meet me in person." 

At the sex palace, I asked for Catherine. The local Greek lesbians who ran the place said, 

"Oh, you must mean Tony."

Out walked a slumped-over man...Tony. His plaid shirt wasn't buttoned right. 

"I know you thought I was a woman. Everyone does. I have the sultry voice of a woman sex-slave. It's God's gift to me." 

He held loose pages smudged with tomato and mozzarella stains from his last lunch. 
"I tried to put it to good use-reading poetry in public, but people never stopped laughing. I read about fishing trips and hunting with the boys, but I could never bring my voice down to a manly octave. I was a failure." 

Tony grabbed my hand and pumped it for a second. The sweat in his palm (I hope it was sweat) allowed his hand to glide seductively over my own. 

"A man called me once, by accident. The conversation began innocently enough. But suddenly he was aroused. He kept saying 'tell me again how you would do that.' I said things like 'I'm peeling off my gym shorts now. I'm setting my pom-poms on the dresser. I'm untying my Keds.' He called me daily."

Tony was a master. This I could tell already. 

"He claimed I restored his manhood. He impregnated his wife thirteen times. It is a miraculous story. Finally, I saw how I could be of service in this hopeless world."

I looked at Tony longingly and asked him to save my life. I asked him to call my husband and read MY sex stories to him in his sultry Tony voice. He agreed. 

From that day forward, I pleasured my husband secretly by having a pudgy, high-voiced man read MY sex stories to him. Phone sex pays, I thought, as Tony and I ate pizza and dreamed erotica. Phone sex pays, I thought, as my husband ran up phone bills and I became rich. Phone sex pays, I thought, as my husband and I grew closer to our own truths, and finally, peacefully, farther and farther away from each other.
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Diane Fleming is an award-winning Austin writer and poet, and an AustinMama.com favorite.

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