“Fucking hell,” I say. “That’s cold.”

“Hence the lavish new apartment with a dripping sink you can probably hear in the background.”

“I thought that was you.”

She’s silent.

“Sorry, crass joke.” So much for trying to lighten the mood.

“No. I liked it. I’m smiling.”

“Good, ‘cause if that offends you then we may as well end the conversation now. It only gets dirtier.”

“Does it now?”

“It does if I have anything to do with it.” I set my empty glass on the table and exhale, slow and deep.

The breathing on the phone gets louder.

“Tell me what you look like,” I say, my voice low, as if I’m whispering into her ear.

“What do you want to know?” she says, her words getting drawn out by her fluttering exhalations.

I swallow. My hand goes to my crotch. I’m already way too hard to be wearing boxers still, but I wanna take this slow. And I don’t want to scare her off either.

“What color are your eyes?”

A pause. “Blue. My turn.”

“Green,” I say. “And how tall are you?”

“Five six. You?”

“Six two.”

I listen to her breathe for a moment more and then take the plunge, keeping my voice strong and steady to keep her in the game.

“Tell me what you’re wearing.” I’m not asking— this is a demand. But one that’s as respectful as I can make it sound. Because right now she can either hang up on this call or stay on the line and see just how far we can take each other. I wait.

She’s got the phone so close to her mouth I can hear the gentle wetness of her lips as they part, the soft smack of her tongue in her mouth. I can almost visualize her red lips, open and round as she struggles to control her breathing.

“I’m wearing…a pink tank top…”

“How’s it fit?” I prompt her.

“Um. It’s tight…”

“Anything underneath?”

“No bra.”

“Good girl,” I say, and I hear her hiss a little.

“Touch your tits, and tell me how they feel. Go easy.”

“They’re…” She shifts the phone, and my mind goes crazy imagining what she’s doing to herself. “Big, but not too big. A little bigger than a handful…”

“Slowly…”

“The skin is real soft…smooth…just firm enough that they’ve got a good shape, just soft enough for you to have fun playing with them…” She stops to giggle nervously. “Am I doing this right?”

“Shh. Touch your nipples…roll your finger around them…squeeze them…” I hear her inhale sharply.

“Holy shit…” she murmurs. Her arousal is like a lightning bolt to my cock.

“What else are you wearing?” I go on.

“A pair of tight, black leggings.”

“Good,” I growl with approval. “You lying down?”

“Yeah.” I hear a rustling sound. “I am now.”

“Put your hand down there.”

Her response is immediate, a small gasp. “Fuck…I’m so…”

“That’s a good thing. Just go with it. Now close your eyes…”

“Ok…”

“Squeeze your hand between your thighs…”

“Yes…”

“That’s where I wanna be. Smelling you. Tasting you. Devouring you,” I whisper, with just enough authority in my voice to let her know how much I mean it. My hand’s fully in my boxers now, releasing my cock, which is so stiff even the tightness of my designer underwear can’t strangle it.

“Fuck…” she pants, and then I hear her gasping for air like she just ran a marathon. “Stop…stop. This is way too much, way too early for me.”

Damn. Game over, and my dick is still hard enough to cut diamonds with. “Ok, yeah. We can take a break. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…nothing’s wrong. That’s kinda the problem.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that to me.”

“I don’t know anything about you. And here I am fucking…wet…just from the sound of your voice.”

I take a second to absorb her words, but they’re not adding up yet. “Ok? I still don’t see where the problem is.” I laugh, trying to put her at ease again.

“I literally just got out of a relationship – like yesterday.”

Though my hand’s still on my cock, even I can’t jerk it to relationship talk. She’s feeling guilty, that’s what it is. I can fix that.

“Exactly. Yesterday – not today. Not now. Right now you’re a single woman who’s looking for some intimacy, and I’m a single man looking for a night of distraction. That’s it.”

She pauses, and I hope she’s getting back in the zone. “Still, it’s…”

“You’re rationalizing this, but I know for a fact your body’s telling you something different,” I soothe. “We’re both consenting adults, right? Come out and meet me.”

I don’t want to push her too hard, but there’s something in her voice that’s practically begging me to take her out of her comfort zone and give her a night she’ll never forget.

I tuck my cock back in my pants and get up from the couch.

“I…” She hesitates, still breathing hard. “I want to, but I can’t…”

“Take a shower and come and meet me at my place. I live in the hills. Trust me, you’re gonna love it. If not, you can turn around and go home. No harm, no foul.”

She giggles a little, and I can still hear how her nerves are unsteady.

“This is…so unlike me.”

I start making my way around the den, picking up the empty bottles that I’ve left around there throughout the day. I’ve made up my mind: this is the girl I’m going to fuck tonight, even if I have to clean up to do it.

“It’s pretty out of character for me too, which is why it’ll be perfect.” It’s partially true, at least. I’ve never had one of these booty-callers come directly to my house before. But for some reason I trust this girl.

“This is crazy…”

“Come on. If I can make you wet with my voice, just imagine what I can do with my hands. I can be gentle, too.”

She laughs again. The anxiety falling away piece by piece. I know she’s not trying to play hard to get, but I have to admit I’m kind of enjoying the chase.

“And what happens, exactly? We fuck, and then, bye?”

“Put a little emphasis on the fucking part.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would work. I’ve never done the whole one night stand thing.”

I bring the bottles into the kitchen and make my way back to the den, where I settle on the couch again.

“Call it a ‘greasy pancake fuck,’ then.”

“A what?”

“A ‘greasy pancake fuck.’ You’ve never heard of a ‘greasy pancake fuck’? Don’t tell me I have to explain what a ‘greasy pancake fuck’ is.”

“Would you stop saying ‘greasy pancake fuck’?”

“Sorry.”

I let the silence hang in the air.

“Ok,” she says, giving up. “What’s a ‘greasy pancake fuck’?”

“I’m glad you asked,” I say, with a smile she can probably hear. “Well you’re single now, and soon enough you’ll be dating again; seeing what the world has to offer beyond that ex of yours – who sounds like a real scumbag by the way. You’ll be meeting guys, living life, and having sex. Well, if you come over tonight, it’ll be the ‘greasy pancake.’”

“The ‘greasy pancake,’” she repeats, unconvinced.

“Right. The first pancake you make of a batch, the one that’s just there to soak up all the grease. You’re probably angry at your ex right now. Maybe depressed. Maybe lost. You could spend weeks getting over him. Flicking through the photographs, reliving the arguments in your head, throwing out the fluffy stuffed animal he bought you for your birthday that you thought was cute but was actually just a last-minute purchase at the gas station.”

She laughs. “It was a keychain, actually. And some wilted flowers.”

“Or, you can come over here, and just fuck all of that shit away. A big blow-out. Just let yourself loose, and cut yourself off from the past. Mentally, emotionally.”

“Physically,” she adds.

“Exactly.”

She pauses, and I hear her inhaling deeply as she considers my argument.

“You make it sound pretty easy.”

“Because it is.”

“I barely know you though. We’ve spoken for – what, twenty minutes?”

I glance at my phone and realize, to my shock, it’s been almost forty. “What’s the difference if it’s twenty days? The only thing that happens when you wait too long is you miss out. You’re frustrated, I’m bored – the stars are aligned right now. And I like you.”