Night sexi chating
I went to the window, peered through the curtains—the parking lot was dark and still. Maybe so, but I was just that bored and lonely enough to play along."Well," I said. We made these shirts for our rec-league basketball team. Not that I was opposed to it—it was just one of those things that never came up. I'm pumping in and out of you, like, well…well, like an oil derrick! I'm the sword, baby, and you're the scabbard! We burned from one city to the next in a 1999 Dodge van we'd bought on e Bay."I've got on gray mesh basketball shorts with, let's see, three thin white stripes down each side, and a Bell's Pizza T-shirt." I was quiet for a second, then rushed to fill the silence. I guess it had always seemed sort of strange and silly to me. And in times when that was hard to come by, well, that's what the stack of Victoria's Secret catalogs crammed behind the books on my bookshelf was for, along with a 1988 Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition with Elle Macpherson on the cover and battered VHS copies of 9 ½ Weeks and Basic Instinct (my good stash had been lost in a move). "Finally, I grew less bashful and got into it for real, and in a few minutes there was a happy ending. The basketball game on the TV had ended long before, and I had no idea who'd won. Mostly, we crashed on sofas and floors at friends' houses or stayed with folks we'd met that night at our show, though sometimes we'd take turns driving through till dawn while the other slept in the backseat, which folded down into a bed. She said her roommates were sleeping in the next room. She called me randomly one night in a Texas hotel room, and she wanted to have phone sex. In retrospect, maybe not the best move Late one cold, wet November night a couple of years ago, maybe 3 a.m., I was sitting on my bed in a Motel 6 just south of Austin, Texas, brushing my teeth and watching the closing moments of a college basketball game on ESPN2 that had been played earlier that night but was being rebroadcast and whose outcome was still a mystery to me, when the phone on the night table besides me jangled to life. Nobody knew I was there; I'd arrived only an hour earlier.
I just wanted to call and make sure you were doing all right."That night, on the shoulder of I-94, big rigs howling past, I thought of Nicole. We should meet up." There was a long pause, the kind of silence you hear when the TV's showing footage of a plane crash or a natural disaster and the anchorman's at a loss for words. It's fucking freezing here, anyway."Ten days later, I was in Austin. This was the kind of girl I'd move to Texas for. I turned away and headed out of the restaurant, almost bumping into a guy on his way in.
We'd had kind of a nice connection, hadn't we? Nicole suggested we get together at an Applebee's off I-35 at the far-north end of town. I wondered if we'd be having sex in my hotel room tonight. He was black with a shaved head, about 30 years old. Then slowly, shyly, he raised his hand and gave a little wave. We went inside and sat in a booth far from everyone.
Nicole's dirty talk was both ridiculous and oddly arousing. It was actually so comfortable, a lot of nights I chose to sleep out in the van rather than on a stranger's sagging couch. We chatted for a few minutes, then got into the phone sex again. This time I went Shakespeare: "Oh baby, wherefore art thy labia? Now that we'd had sex a couple of times, I wanted to know what she was all about—I wanted to know where she worked; I wanted to know what she was into (besides having phone sex with strangers); I wanted to know what kind of person calls hotel rooms to have phone sex with strangers.
But I couldn't shake the thought that this was all being recorded, that in the parking lot, staked out in the back of an ice cream truck that had been pimped into a mobile surveillance unit, friends of mine were listening in, wide-eyed and gleeful, headphones clamped to their ears. Once a month or so, dusted from the road, we'd splurge on some sad-sack hotel, like that Motel 6 on the outskirts of Austin. " Afterward, she was about to hang up, but I said, "Nicole, that's so impersonal. She told me she'd studied psychology at the University of North Texas and that now she worked as a nurse at an old-age home in Waco; she'd just been down in Austin visiting friends.
Inevitably, one of their new beaus calls back to say, "Hey man, I got your message.
Emilie's down in Chile for two weeks, but you sounded really down…. Listen, this is gonna sound crazy, but okay, I've been doing some thinking, and what I think is, I think we should meet. I'll come down to Austin or Waco or wherever you live.
"Hey, Davy," she'd breathe, "how 'bout a quickie?
"In December the book tour ended, and I resumed a more regular kind of life—staying put in Michigan, playing basketball twice a week at the rec center, sleeping in my own bed.
Every few nights, I'd be out in the van after a show, making my bed in the backseat, when Nicole would call, and we'd get hot and heavy.
I was still wary that this was all some crazy prank by my friends and that our calls were being recorded, so during phone sex I kept things tongue-in-check, as though hamming it up for an audience.
For the most part, I stopped answering Nicole's calls.Tags: Adult Dating, affair dating, sex dating