Dirty Laundry

by Lauren Landish

  The caller stutters, obviously nervous, and in my mind I know I have to treat this one gently. Some of the callers just want to laugh, maybe have their fifteen seconds of fame or get their pound of proverbial flesh by exposing their partner’s misdeeds. But there are also callers like this, who I suspect really needs help. “This is Katrina . . . Kat.”

  Whoa, a first name. And from the sound of it, a real one. She’s not making a thing up. I need to lighten the mood a little, or else she’s gonna clam up and freak out on me. “Hello, Kitty Kat. What seems to be the problem today?”

  I hear her sigh, and it touches me for some reason. “Well . . . I can’t believe I actually got through, first of all. I worked up the nerve to dial the numbers but didn’t expect an answer. I’m just . . . I don’t even know what I am. I’m just a little lost and in need of some advice, I guess.” She huffs out a humorless laugh.

  I can hear the pain in her voice, mixed with nerves. “Advice? That I can do. That’s what I’m here for, in fact. What’s going on, Kat?”

  “It’s my boyfriend, or my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, I guess. I found out today that he slept with someone else.” She sounds like she’s found a bit of steel as she speaks this time, and it makes her previous vulnerability all the more touching.

  “Ouch,” I say, truly wincing at the fresh wound. A day of cheat call? I’m sure the advertisers are rubbing their hands in glee, but I’m feeling for this girl. “I’m so sorry. I know that hurts and it’s wrong no matter what. I heard something about compromising pics. Please tell me he didn’t send you pics of him screwing someone else?”

  She laughs but it’s not in humor. “No, I guess that would’ve been worse, but he had sex with someone kind of Internet famous and she posted faceless pics of them together. But I recognized his . . . uhm . . . his . . .”

  Let’s just get the schlong out in the open, why don’t we? “You recognized his penis? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Kat says, her voice cutting through the gap created by the phone line. “He has a mole, so I know it’s him.”

  There’s something about her voice, all sweet and breathy that stirs me inside like I rarely have happen. It’s not just her tone, either. She’s in pain, but she’s mad as fuck too, and I want to help her, protect her. She seems innocent, and something deep inside me wants to make her a little bit dirty.

  “Okay, first, repeat after me. Penis, dick, cock.” I wait, unsure if she’ll do it but holding my breath in the hopes that she will.

  “Uh, what?”

  I feel a small smile come to my lips, and it’s my turn to be a little playful. “Penis, dick, cock. Trust me, this is important for you. You can do it, Kitty Kat.”

  I hear her intake of breath, but she does what I demanded, more clearly than the shyness I expected. “Penis, dick, cock.”

  “Good girl,” I growl into the mic, and through the window connecting our booths, I can see Susannah giving me a raised eyebrow. “Now say . . . I recognized his cock fucking her.”

  I say a silent prayer of thanks that my radio show is on satellite. I can say whatever I want and the FCC doesn’t care.

  I can tell Kat is with me now, and her voice is stronger, still sexy as fuck but without the lost kitten loneliness to it. “I recognized his cock fucking her tits.”

  My own cock twitches a little, and I lean in, smirking. “Ah, so the plot thickens. So Kat, how does it feel to say that?”

  She sighs, pulling me back a little. “The words don’t bother me. I’m just not used to being on the radio. But saying that about my boyfriend pisses me off. I can’t believe he’d do that.”

  “So, what do you think you should do about it?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and pulling my mic toward me. “Is this a ‘talk it through and our relationship will be stronger on the other side of this’ type situation, or is this a ‘hit the road, motherfucker, and take Miss Slippy-Grippy Tits with you?’ Do you want my opinion or do you already know?”

  “You’re right,” Kat says, chuckling and sounding stronger again. “I already know I’m done. He’s been a wham-bam-doesn’t even say thank you, ma’am guy all along, and I’ve been hanging on because I didn’t think I deserved better. But I don’t deserve this. I’m better off alone.”

  Whoa, now, only half right there, Kat with the sexy voice. “You don’t deserve this. You should have someone who treats you so well you never question their love, their commitment to you. Everyone deserves that. Hey, Kitty Kat? One more thing. Can you say ‘cock’ for me one more time? Just for . . . entertainment.”

  I’m pushing the line here, both for her and for the show, but I ask her to do it anyway because I want, no need, to hear her say it.

  She laughs, her voice lighter even as I know the serious conversation had to hurt. “Of course, Love Whisperer. Anything for you. You ready? Cock.” She draws the word out, the k a bit harsher, and I can hear the sass, almost an invitation, as she speaks.

  “Ooh, thanks so much, Kitty Kat. Hold on the line just a second.” My cock is now fully hard in my pants, and I’m not sure if my upcoming bathroom break is going to be to piss or to take care of that.

  I click some buttons, sending the show to a song, Shaggy’s It Wasn’t Me coming over the airwaves to keep the cheating theme rolling. “Susannah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Handle the next call or so after the commercial break,” I tell her. “Pick something . . . funny after that one.”

  “Gotcha,” Susannah says, and I’m glad she’s able to handle things like that. It’s part of our system too that when I get a call that needs more than on-air can handle, she fills the gap. Usually with less serious questions or listener stories that always make for great laughs.

  Checking my board, I click the line back, glad that Susannah can’t hear me now. “Kat? You still there?”

  “Yes?” she says, and I feel another little thrill go down my cock just at her word. God, this woman’s got a sexy voice, soft and sweet with a little undercurrent of sassiness . . . or maybe I really, really need to get laid.

  “Hey, it’s Derrick. I just wanted to say thanks for being such a good sport with all of that.”

  “No problem,” she says as I make a picture in my head of her. I can’t fill in the details, but I definitely want to. “Thanks for helping me realize I need to walk away. I already knew it, but some inspiration never hurts.”

  “I really would like to hear the rest of the story if you don’t mind calling me back. I want to hear how he grovels when he finds out what he’s lost. Would you call me?”

  I don’t know what I’m doing. This is so not like me. I never talk to the callers after they’re on air unless I think they’re going to hurt themselves or others, and I certainly never invite them to call back. But something about her voice calls to me like a siren. I just hope she’s not pulling me into the rocky shore to crash.

  “You mean the show?” Kat asks, uncertain and confused. “Like . . . I dunno, like a guest or something?”

  “Well, probably not, to be honest,” I reply, crossing my fingers even as my cock says I need to take this risk. “We’ll be done with the cheating theme tonight and it probably won’t come back up for a couple of weeks. I meant . . . call me. I want to make sure you’re okay afterward and standing strong.”

  “Okay.”

  Before she can take it back, I rattle off my personal cell number to her, half of my brain telling me this is brilliant and the other half saying it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I might not have the FCC looking over my shoulder, but the satellite network is and my advertisers for damn sure are. Still . . . “Got it?”

  “I’ve got it,” Kat says. “I’ll get back to you after I break up with Kevin. It’s been a weird night and I guess it’s going to get even weirder. Guess I gotta go tell Kevin his dick busted him on the internet and he can get fucked elsewhere . . . permanently. I can do this.”

  “Damn right, you can,” I tell her. �
��You can do this, Kitty Kat. Remember, you deserve better. I’ll be waiting for your report.”

  Kat laughs and we hang up. I don’t know what just happened but my body feels light, bubbly inside as I take a big breath to get ready for the next segment of tonight’s show.

  Kat

  I knock on the door to Kevin’s apartment, the voice of Derrick the Love Whisperer still running around in my head. I deserve better than to be cheated on.

  “Hey, babe,” Kevin says when he opens his door. He’s still wearing his ‘work clothes,’ a black tank top with KH Nutrition emblazoned on it along with track pants that are just a little tight and normally worn just a little low on his hips when he works out. I’ve never really understood why he does it, but it’s part of his ‘thang.’ Every Instagram pic and video he does, he whips off the tank, adjusts his track pants in a way that highlights the Adonis belt V-cut of his abs, then flexes and sort of makes a hooting grunt before finishing the show with “KH, Bay-bay!”

  I used to think it was sexy, in a musclehead, caveman-ish sort of way. No longer. “Don’t ‘hey, babe’ me,” I growl, looking up into his eyes. I’m not in work clothes, so I’m missing the extra inches of height my heels normally give me. But I’m a legit five-two of fury right now, so I don’t care if he’s nearly a foot taller. “How long have you been fucking her behind my back?”

  “Huh?” Kevin asks, but in his eyes I can see he has a damn good idea what I’m talking about.

  “Don’t act stupid, you son of a bitch!” I hiss, poking him in the chest. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Titty Fuck Girl. Where’d you meet her, the gym? When you went out shopping for a new smartphone with the money I gave you because you swore you needed the better camera for your Instagram page? How long has it been going on, Kevin?”

  Kevin looks up and down the hallway. For a guy whose Internet presence makes him look like a big baller, he’s living in a cracker box POS apartment building, and I know he’s worried about his neighbors hearing me blab his private business. “Come on inside. We can talk—”

  “If you don’t tell me how long it’s been going on, I’m going to put my knee right in your nuts,” I growl. “This isn’t a negotiation, Kevin.” It really doesn’t matter at this point. It’s most likely just going to make me angrier, but I can’t stop myself.

  He looks like he’s about to run but sighs. “Fine. I met her a couple of months ago when she came into the gym. I was filming a squat.”

  “What? So she just walked up behind you to compliment your form and suddenly, you’re in bed?” I laugh, realizing just how short I sold myself. He’s fake—the tan, the persona, the entire image. Just to get more followers.

  Kevin looks sheepish but nods. “She said she’d promote my supps, do some spots on her Instagram feed, and let me shoot some selfies with her wearing a KH tank top.”

  “So you titty fucked her?” I hiss, shaking my head. Seriously, what the fuck? I can hardly take it as I stare at his chiseled face, wanting so badly to slap him. “Do you realize how ridiculous you sound right now? How stupid do you think I am?”

  Kevin looks pouty, the same look he used when he hit me up for four hundred bucks for his new smartphone. “You never believe in me, never think I can be successful even though I work so hard.”

  It’s in this moment that I see it. Though his face is schooled into a puppy dog look, his eyes are alight as he turns the blame back on me, thinking he’s pulled one over on me once again. And all the fire leaves me. I’m mad he cheated, but I don’t even really like him right now, and honestly, I haven’t for a long time but was too afraid to do anything about it.

  My voice takes a parental, lecturing tone. “You’re not working. You’re a lazy ass who spends hours at the gym bullshitting with the bros and thinking some scam is going to magically make you money without your having to actually do anything. But you know what? I looked the other way for too long even though everyone told me you were no good. None of that even matters now. You cheated on me. Done. Game over.”

  Kevin inhales, trying to stand at his tallest, most imposing. His forearms clench and his biceps start to strain as he puffs up. It strikes me that once upon a time, he’d stand over me like this and I’d find it so damn sexy I’d be instantly wet, but now, his attempt at intimidating me is just ridiculous. “You’ll be sorry. You’ll never find someone who treats you like I do, who satisfies you like I do.”

  God, how could I have been so blind? “Like you do? You know, I hope you’re right because you treat me like an afterthought, using me as an ATM when you’re a little short, screwing around, and blaming me for your lack of success when it’s your own fault,” I reply, keeping my voice calm but firm, not letting him get an inch on me. I’m not going to raise my voice, to yell or let him think that he’s gotten to me, because for some reason, honestly, he hasn’t. “And as for satisfied in bed, I have literally never had a single orgasm with you. Ever. I’m not gonna lie, your dick is nice to look at and photographs well, apparently, but you don’t even know what to do with it. Sticking it in and out for two minutes before blowing into a condom and then rolling over to gasp while staring at the ceiling doesn’t quite cut it, Kev. So yeah, I hope I never find someone who treats me like you do. I thought I could settle for content, just float along and not rock the boat, but I deserve so much more.”

  Before Kevin can reply, I turn and walk toward the stairs, not wanting to lose my nerve in front of him. It’s not until I’m halfway down that the shakes start as the adrenaline leaves me, but I keep it cool until I get to my car.

  One Week Later

  A week since the blow-up with Kevin and I’m surprisingly not upset. Disappointed, sure, but if you end a one-year relationship with someone, shouldn’t you feel sad? I’ve felt a lot of other emotions, anger mostly, but they’ve faded too. Instead, I’m just left with this . . . I guess more than anything, lack of things to do. I’ve got more free time on my hands, but I’m not sad or upset.

  I guess the lack of depression goes to show how far apart we’d drifted and how unattached I was from him without even realizing it. Really, the most annoying part of this whole thing has been that I’ve had to change my gym membership because I didn’t want drama or to limit myself to when I could or couldn’t go based on his haunting the place.

  Maybe I never really was in love with him. We’d met at the gym, and he’d been charming and admittedly hot, so when he asked me out, I said yes. Our dating just naturally progressed, and somewhere along the way, we started calling it a relationship, but who knows if he was ever really committed? I was faithful, but that was more out of habit and the fact that I would never cheat than any obvious commitment we had. It’s not like he ever put a ring on it.

  Even though it had been over a month since we’d been intimate, I’d gone to the doctor for a checkup just to be safe, and luckily, everything was clear. I can’t believe he’d put me at risk, but I guess I should’ve seen it coming considering guys always cheat.

  Taking the opportunity to do a purge on everything in my life, I’ve got the radio turned up and I’m cleaning my apartment like a mad woman when I hear the voice. His voice.

  It’s like velvet-covered gravel, and just a few words make me breathless and hot. “Good evening, listeners. Derrick King here, aka the ‘Love Whisperer’. What’s happening in your love life? Our focus tonight is on pushing boundaries in the bedroom. What’s encouraging and fun? What’s demanding and over the line? Call in if you’ve got something to discuss.”

  I’ve gone stock-still, my cleaning completely forgotten as his voice washes over me. I turn it up a little more as I finish sweeping, deciding everything else can wait as I listen.

  Over the next few hours, Derrick is surprisingly simple in his answers to callers, who want to try a variety of things sexually but for whatever reason haven’t discussed it with their partners. It’s almost comical how every call gets into a groove, and it sort of goes like this:

  I want to do
this crazy thing.

  Have you asked your partner?

  No.

  Talk to them. Maybe they’re into it.

  But I’m not sure they want to.

  How could you know if you don’t talk with them? If they are, great. If not, decide if it’s a deal breaker and move forward according to your answer. Chances are it’s not a deal-breaker if you’re not doing it now.

  It’s funny and spiced up with plenty of little anecdotes and witticisms that leave me grinning, while his voice turns me on even as I’m comforted. I listen to his no-nonsense approach as he advocates conversation and honesty at every turn, and I only wish I had a man like that who’d actually talk and be honest with me.

  As the show wraps up, I remember his request for me to call him back and tell him what happened with Kevin. He was probably just being nice and doesn’t actually expect me to call, but something about it felt real.

  I wait for a bit after the show ends to give him time to get out of the studio and wherever it is he goes after work, and then I call. I’m heading out anyway. I’ve got a late-night rumbling tummy that can only be satisfied by something cheesy and takeout.

  The phone rings several times and I’m about to hang up, mad at myself for being stupidly excited about talking to The Love Whisperer again, when he answers.

  “Talk to me.”

  It’s the same purring growl. That panty-melting voice of his isn’t an act.

  “Hey, Love Whisperer. It’s your Kitty Kat.”

  There’s a throaty chuckle on the other end, but there’s concern in it too, which helps me feel better. “My Kitty Kat now?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “After a week went by, I wasn’t sure if I was going to get that return call. I was starting to doubt whether I had an effect at all.”

  “You set me straight. Hold on. Let me put you on speaker. I’ve got this technogeek wonder phone that I love to use speaker on.”