Call Me

by Gillian Jones

  My knee even cooperated for the most part, but it will need a good icing.

  I fangirled pretty hard over our time spent together that night at home, lying in bed. And I might have fangirled pretty hard over Ace Ryan himself too.

  My professor.

  Chapter 19

  Ellie

  “Hey, Greta,” I say, as I walk into Breathless Whispers for my first solo shift. I’m nervous as hell, but seeing her warm, welcoming face settles me a bit.

  “Evening, dear. You all set for your shift? Nervous?”

  Huffing out a breath, I tell her I’m as set as I can be. “I’m super nervous, I’m not going to lie. I worry that I’m going to be a big flop. I hope I can pull off the sexy talk.”

  Waving her hand, she dismisses my stress. “Ah, don’t worry, Ellie. Everyone is nervous their first time. Erica was a bloody wreck, believe me. She came bawling her eyes out to me after her first call, claiming she couldn’t do it.” For some reason, hearing that settles me. I mean, Erica is a legend around here from what I’ve gathered. Greta continues: “By the end of your shift, you’ll be a bit schooled, I’m sure, but you’ll also be ready to do it again. It really is one of the safest and quickest ways to make good money and fast when you think about it, especially here at Breathless. I’ll be here until eleven tonight if you need anything. It’s month end, so I’m pulling a bit of overtime.”

  “That’s perfect. I might need a good cry, too,” I laugh. “How many others are here tonight?”

  “Let me check,” she says, rifling through some papers. “Looks like five of you are working the seven-to-eleven. I bet if you go to the kitchen, you’ll find them. They always chat a bit before they start, a little gossip and story swappin’.”

  “Okay, great. Maybe I’ll go take a peek and introduce myself. Thanks, Greta.”

  “Wait. Before you go, I meant to give you this the other day. It’s your discount code. The Conrads allow the girls to assign up to three regulars as their VIP’s if you want. When you see in the system it’s them calling, once you accept the call, type in this six-digit code in the comments section and I’ll apply the discount. It’s a little thing we do to keep the usual suspects wanting to call us and not the competitors.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty decent. Who would have thought couponing would transcend into the sex-line industry?” I laugh, but Greta looks like she isn’t so sure I’m funny.

  “Okay dear. You have a great shift,” she says, handing me a file with my discount code, a list of a few do’s and don’t’s, and a cheat sheet to help remind me how to work the computer and phone.

  Taking the file, I wave goodbye and mouth “wish me luck” as she answers her phone.

  Deciding to forego introductions tonight, I head down the hall past the noisy kitchen to find Sweet 22, my assigned room tonight. The butterflies that have been dancing around my stomach all evening before coming here begin to take flight, causing my anxiety level to rise along with them.

  “You can do this, Ellie. It’s no big deal. It’s easy money. A few hours. It’s a little sexual simulation. You’re the director and star. Tonight’s your debut.” I mutter this little mantra as I move down the corridor. Noticing how quiet it is helps to settle my nerves a titch. Thank goodness all the rooms are soundproof and private. There’s no way I could do this if people in the office could hear me. It will take me some time to find my groove, but as with everything else in my life, I know once I set my mind to it, I’m a natural overachiever. Can you overachieve at getting someone’s rocks off over the phone?

  Opening the white steel door, I move inside, taking the occupied sign off the inside of the door and placing it onto the outside handle before clicking the deadbolt into place behind me. Destiny had said it’s important to lock the door, in case you end up getting off with a caller and also for security reasons. Even though I have no intention of that happening, I lock the door regardless. I don’t want to worry about anyone coming in and hearing me make a fool of myself.

  Despite my denial that I will get myself off during a call, Destiny says what happens between you and your caller is no-one’s business and to never feel shame for getting turned on here, that it’s part and parcel of the gig. She also explained that the only time management would need to be involved is if a caller crossed the line, if they became threatening to me or disclosed something that was deemed to be of a concerning nature. If that happens, I’m to follow the security protocol in the manual. The protocol basically says to hang up, add notes in the comments section, flag the call in the system and leave it for Mrs. Conrad, as she’s the one who deals with those issues. If there’s a concern, she’ll alert the police and contact me if she needs more information.

  Sliding my finger across the trackpad, I quickly bring the computer to life. Typing in my ID number and password, I change my colour from red to green. Then, taking a deep breath, I empty my Phone Sex Superhero kit onto the desk. I laugh, looking over everything as I line it up along the desk. Courtney and I had way too much fun creating this little montage of sex-simulating paraphernalia. I don’t think I’ll ever look at elastics or my leather belt the same way again.

  I’m about to open my laptop and pull up my thesis notes, when there’s a beep signalling that it’s show time. Reading the description, the caller claims it’s a fetish call. Of course it is.

  Taking a deep breath, I steel my nerves before answering the call using the best breathless voice I have.

  “Good evening, Breathless Whispers.”

  “What colour are your panties?” the caller asks right away, catching me off guard. Doesn’t anyone introduce themselves around here?

  “Um…sorry?”

  “I said, what colour are your panties.” The panting voice in the line repeats, and I feel my cheeks heat immediately. Oh God, here we go.

  “Black. They’re black,” I repeat.

  And with that simple divulgence, I’m met with a long “ohhhh” sound, coupled with a guttural: “That’s my favourite colour. So fucking perfect. Black is sexy, black makes my cock so fucking hard. I love it when my slut is wearing…black.” He clucks out “black”, while I blanch at his use of the word “slut”.

  Shaking it off, I try to move on as best I can. I play along, hoping the call ends sooner rather than later. “Oh yeah? That’s funny, ‘cause it’s mine too. I feel so sexy and dirty wearing black. Naughty, even.” I roll my eyes at myself.

  “Tell me how they feel. Take your hand and run it over the material. Fuck.”

  I hear him take a deep breath, and some rustling noises.

  “They feel soft,” I say, the words somehow flowing off my tongue like this is my usual form of dialogue, “like silk. The smoothness tickles my fingers, the silkiness allowing my hand to slide across the material so easily it’s hard not to make myself wet.”

  “Yeah? Are you wet for me, slut? Are those sexy panties exciting you like they are me?”

  “Yes, so much. I can’t stop my hand from rubbing over my pussy. The combination of silk and slick is gonna make me come so hard. You gonna come with me too?”

  “Yeah, doll, stroke those panties. Feel me rubbing your panties over your clit. Fuck it, take them off. I need you to wrap them around my cock. I need you to finish me off. Tell me what you’ll do to me.”

  Fuck. With that I freeze. I blank. I have no idea what to say. It was sort of easy to talk about getting myself off, I could see it. But the vision of me using my underwear on a guy’s dick is leaving me speechless.

  “I, I, ahem, er…”

  “Well?” I hear an unhappy voice coming through the line. “I’m paying a fuck of a lot to get off here. I’m waiting. Slip those panties onto my cock, tell me what you see, how you’ll finish.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t think. I guess I’d slide them along your penis.”

  “My ‘penis’? For fuck sakes…now I’ve lost my motherfucking hard-on. I thought this line was the best of the best?”

  “I’m sorry. I fr
oze. It’s my first shift,” I say, maybe looking for some sympathy? Some understanding?

  “Well, you need to practice, sweetheart. You obviously only ever get yourself off. I suggest you ignore my calls in the future. Fucking lame ass bullshit…” With that, he hangs up, and tears immediately sting my eyes. But I will not cry over that asshole. No way. “Slut”. Who says that?

  Shit. Am I going to get in trouble for that?

  A bit shaken, I move the cursor, changing my colour to yellow. Reaching for my phone, I decide to text Destiny about what happened, asking if being on my first-time solo do they watch or listen to see that I’m actually ready to be on my own? Which, if you were to ask me right now, is a big farkin’ “no”.

  Thankfully, her reply is immediate.

  Destiny: relax no spying. Just in the system when you reject and call times. They might ask why a call is short but no ones listening in. Or video either. It’s your show. Relax you got this. Fuck him he was an asshole you’re fine Ellie.

  Me: thank goodness. Okay. A bad call isn’t the end of the world. I might need to practice some calls, maybe come sit with you again?

  Destiny: Yes, anytime come do a shift with me. I got your back. Girl you’ll have like ten fuck ups. It’s normal. Quit being hard on yourself. You can do this. Think of the $$$

  Me: thanks.

  I toss my cell back in my bag after turning my status back to green in the system. I’m about to go sit on the chaise and do some deep breathing when the telltale beep signalling a call comes. Slipping on the headset, I adjust it and turn the computer screen so it faces me, click accept, and sit back on the chaise.

  “Breathless Whispers. Let me leave you breathless.” I decide to add the little tag line.

  “Hi,” a low voice greets me.

  “Hello,” I greet back as low, not sure how it really sounds, seeing as I opted to use the voice adapter again tonight.

  “I was on Facebook,” he says. “I saw your profile picture. So pretty.”

  I tense at his words. Worrying he knows who I am, my heart pounds. Then it clicks, realizing that’s pretty much impossible. Shaking it off, I take a deep breath and play along, realizing this is his angle. He’s a creeper caller. Looking at the clock, I decide to try for a ten minute call.

  “Oh, you did?”

  “Yeah. You’re sexy, covered in sand, lying on the beach like that in your cover photo.”

  “Thank you. I…I love the beach, especially the feeling of sand covering my body. The grittiness of it feels so good. Do you like that feeling? The sensation of having things covering your body?” I ask, pausing.

  “I’m going to Aruba,” he states, ignoring my questions.

  “Ohhhh!” I squeal. “I love Aruba.”

  “Good. I want to take you with me.”

  “You do? Oh good. I’d love to go,” I reply, not really sure where this call is going. Maybe it’s simply a companion call. One where the caller needs someone to talk to.

  “Do you wanna come with me, angel?”

  “Yes, I’d love to. When would we go?” I enquire.

  “Well, you can’t come unless you tell me all the clothes you’d pack.”

  Ding ding ding and cue the freak talk.

  “Well, seeing as it’s the beach. I’d pack nothing. How’s that sound?” I ask, thinking I’ve nailed it.

  “No,” he yells. “What will you wear to the beach? Give me details.”

  “I’ll wear my skin. I’ll let the sun kiss me while we swim and play,” I try again, thinking he wanted more details.

  “Fuck. You’re not listening. Fine. What about on the plane? What will you wear?

  Tucking my hair behind my ears, I think for a minute. “Er, probably jeans and a shirt. Maybe yoga pants?”

  “No. That’s not acceptable.”

  “Okay. Well, how about I let you dress me? You pick what I should wear.”

  “That’s perfect. Because I’m actually standing inside the Stag Shop sex store, in the ladies section, and I’ve got the perfect outfit for you. I love sheer. It all needs to be sheer. I want to see your body through pantyhose. I wanna be able to rip a hole at your pussy entrance and finger fuck you. Whenever I want. I want to feel the sheerness of the material, hear it rip as I take you. Oh God, I’m gonna come thinking about tearing a hole in the material. All you need to wear are panty hose. Fuck, yes. The sound of the tearing, Christ, I love that sound,” he pants and I hear a car door slam. “So good. So…fucking…good,” I hear him say softly, before the call ends.

  “Holy shit,” I mutter, taking off my headset. Glancing at the clock, I see that call lasted seven minutes. Hmm. Not bad.

  Resting my head on the desk, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.

  Am I doing okay tonight?

  Do I have what it takes to get my superhero cape?

  Do I want to come back?

  Chapter 20

  Ace

  Ellie’s late.

  I’m sitting behind my desk in my stuffy office, the same office that happens to have a great view, mind you, and I’m agitated. The constant tap tap tapping of my pen only annoys me more, but I’m pissed. Right fucking pissy. She better have some Oscar-worthy performance once she gets here to go along with her excuse.

  It’s after six-thirty; the cinema department where my office is located is quiet. Everyone’s gone home except me. Again, Ellie is proving that she affects me, hence the bane of my pissed offness. Never have I ever extended my office hours for anyone. I need to get my dick in check here, it’s not my liege.

  This girl is changing me, and she doesn’t fucking know it. And I most certainly do not like it. I need to prioritize, remember my rules where student-teacher relations are concerned. The other day in the gym was the catalyst. I had fun with her, liked hearing her views on topics we discussed, fell a bit hard for her infectious smile and her personality, one I want to get to see all facets of.

  In our introduction session, I was clear with my expectations, reiterating that all preliminary meetings were mandatory. That the times were to be respected and upheld, and here I am, breaking my own fucking rules. I knew I shouldn’t have let my guard down with her like I did. It’s Thursday, my office hours ended at six, and here I sit, pretty much on pins and needles, waiting for the stunning distraction herself to come waltzing in.

  The ballsy little thing emailed me last night despite my warning, asking if I could make an exception and change her meeting time. Ellie said that she had something work-related come up. That she couldn’t risk losing the job, that she felt she was in a hard spot (I have a hard spot I’d like to put her on). She added that she hated to ask, but felt she had no other option. Ellie explained briefly that she’d just started this job, and that she needed the money after losing her sports scholarship due to an injury. Ellie shared how she was embarrassed to ask, apologized profusely, and in the end managed to come up with what I felt was a valid excuse. I can appreciate the struggle to pay your own way, I can relate to the life of the working class, so, of course, I agreed. After creeping her on the university’s Varsity Blues website, I know now why she has the athletic department’s gym privileges too. I had been planning on asking Mercer, but now I knew why. I replied, agreeing to reschedule, as long as she realized this was the only time I’d be accommodating.

  So here I sit.

  Waiting.

  I hate fucking waiting.

  I don’t wait for anyone.

  Groaning, I take my wallet from my desk drawer, deciding to go grab a cup of coffee before settling in on marking the first assignments from my Sexual Aesthetics class. Might as well stay now and be productive until I meet Mercer and Dylan at the pub in a couple of hours.

  Opening my office door, I’m met with a mass of deep-hued auburn hair as it falls into my chest. The scent is an instant dick whisperer—this whole girl is a goddamn dick whisperer—and if I’m not careful, I’m going to be begging her to show me her mad skills up close. I jump back.

  “Ch
rist, you smell good,” I whisper before I can stop myself, closing my eyes and praying she suddenly has issues with hearing loss.

  “Sorry, I know I’m late,” she rambles against my chest, before pausing. “Wait. What did you say?” A beautifully confused Ellie Hughes cocks her head, waiting for me to repeat myself.

  Fuck that.

  “You’re late. I’m pissed. I’m going to grab a coffee. Go sit down. I’ll be back in five. Be ready to impress me with your thesis topic and research, Ms. Hughes.” I don’t bother using her first name; she needs to realize I’m not here to be her buddy.

  “Okay, yes, sir. I’m sorry. I missed my bus.” She shuffles side-to-side on her feet.

  “I’m not happy, Ellie,” I bite out, before adding for effect, “at all.”

  With that, I move past her, hopefully leaving her to see that I’m in control here.

  Even if I know I’m not.

  Chapter 21

  Ellie

  Shit. Shit. I can’t believe I missed the bus.

  Why didn’t I email him? Oh right, because the universe hates me. Nothing like a dead cell phone to piggyback on top of missing the bus, on the day of the most important meeting of the school year. He probably thinks that I think I can take advantage of him now, after we spent some time talking the other night at the gym. This meeting is too important for me to blow, I need to think of a way to turn this around.

  Mandatory.

  No excuses.

  No exceptions.

  Except he made an exception for me.

  And now I’m late.

  “Fuck my life,” I mutter to myself as I make a beeline along the corridor of the cinema department searching for Professor Ryan’s office. I’m just about to knock, when the door falls away, and my face is introduced to a brick wall—or is it a sexy mother of a chest? That smell, his smell, the earthy vetiver, infiltrates my senses immediately, telling me I’m in exactly the place I want to be.