The Masturbatress

My friend's phone rang. The call was from Withheld.

She tossed the phone to me. "You talk to her."

For months now my friend's been getting calls from a woman who is masturbating. All times of the day and night. At first my friend thought it was a friend of hers. She's still not sure. That would be the weirdest part - someone you know - anther woman - masturbating while you talked.

My voice was husky from a late night drinking. I didn't have to work hard at sounding sexy.

I flipped open the phone.

"Hello," I said, breathy.

Soft breathing on the other end. The rustling of clothes. "Mmmm, who are you?"

"Your friend can't come to the phone right now. She's in bed."

"Will you talk to me?"

I did a little breathing into the phone. "Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

My friend is cracking up on the sofa.

"A man came to my house."

I exhaled a deep breath into the phone. "Ohhh?"

"Yes. I opened the door. He had his dick in his hand."

I closed the phone before I burst out laughing and threw the phone back at my friend. "Oh my God."

I relayed the conversation.

"She says stuff like that all the time. One day I was in Costco when she called and I told her I couldn't talk right now."

The phone rang again. Then again.

"Why don't you block her? Can you block a Withheld number?"

"I'll try." Some tip-tapping through the phone's menu. "Okay, she's blocked."

A couple hours later I was lying on my bed reading. My friend was on the couch. I put the book down, thinking about the night before - all these Hash House Harriers in nighties and other forms of lingerie hanging out at the Copper Queen before their pub crawl. Men with camisoles and fake boobs. Hot men. Men from Fort Huachuca with military hair cuts. I was thinking about all those bodies, the hugs, the condoms we were given from the guy in room 304. The cute fit woman about my height...

"I miss our masturbatress," I said to my friend in the other room.

She waited a beat then said...

"Me too. I already unblocked her."