I AM SO HARD RN!!!

The tape on her answering machine was full. 

She’d been gone two and a half days, taking care of her sister’s kids so that she and her husband could get some time off for the first time in a decade. She hadn’t even left Brooklyn, but it had been a long weekend of wiping noses and asses. All she wanted to do was drop her bag and soak in the tub, with some epsom salts and fancy soap to wash off the kid germs. But her tape was full, and she wouldn’t be able to relax fully until she listened and screened for emergencies.

The first message was from her sister on Friday, calling to make sure she was still coming over after work. The second was from her doctor’s office the same day. But the third one started with a long pause. She knew right away who it was.

“Hey, it’s Peter,” the voice finally said. “I’m on the road with the guys. In Detroit of all places. Seeing as it’s such a romantic city… I don’t know, something made me think about you. I’m gonna try back later, I want to talk.”

She let out a deep sigh and paused the machine to collect her thoughts. She hadn’t heard from him in the couple weeks before, and she was just barely regaining her focus on other things. More important things, she convinced herself, like work and magazines and making sure her tapes were returned in time. The way they had left things was unsatisfying, with no explosive argument that she could overthink until she was content and then file away neatly in the back of her head. It had been weeks of passion, both physically and emotionally, before he had gradually started seeming less interested, and calling less often. She could tell his mind was somewhere else, so she felt somewhat prepared when she stopped hearing from him altogether. She didn’t know what was worse, a clean break, or this lukewarm exit which had let the positives remain as her most potent memories.

She pressed play. 

“Hey, it’s Peter. I was hoping I’d catch you this morning, we’re in Pittsburgh today. Call me, I want to catch up… it would be nice to hear your voice.” He left a number and hung up. His next call started right away.

“Hey…” he began. She could hear him taking a deep breath behind the tinny compression of the answering machine speaker. 

“I know it’s been a minute since we last talked… I don’t know, you’ve been on my mind. And it’s not just the fact that the tour bus smells like shit and I’ve been surrounded by assholes 24/7. That doesn’t help, but really, it’s you. I like you, and we had some good times together, didn’t we? Maybe it took some distance for me to realize it…” He paused for a moment. 

“Have you been thinking about me too?” he asked. Something in his voice was both hesitant and smug, like he knew the answer but suspected that it was risky to ask. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but I hope you’ll call me.” He repeated the phone number and hung up.

He did know the answer, of course she was thinking about him, even without knowing he had called. It was a passing comment from her brother-in-law, saying he hoped that she “didn’t have to cancel any hot dates this weekend”. And she had turned that over in her head too many times, thinking about the last “hot date” she went on, and everything he did to her, and how she hadn’t so much as looked at a guy since. But was he really going to try to pick things back up now, pretending like no time had gone by? She’d called him too many times, sat by the phone like a pathetic teenager, and gone through all the stages of grief already. She wasn’t gonna let him rope her back in that easily.

She sat through a couple of other normal messages, painfully eager to hear what else he had left for her. His next message began with a burst of background noise, he had to have been calling from somewhere in public. 

“Hey, are you gonna call me?” He said, “Really, I’m leaving all these messages like an asshole. Just pick up, I just want to talk… I need to tell you something” he paused for a moment, and she could picture him clearly with one hand on the wall leaning down over the pay phone. His voice was low, heavy and pleading. “C’mon baby, it’s me. Please, just let me talk to you.”

She hit pause again as a chill ran through her. She dug in her bag to find her cigarettes and lit one. She hated how much her body reacted to his voice, how unsteady she felt on her feet just from the way he talked to her. It was like he had whispered the words directly against her neck, she could almost feel him there. And remembering that feeling only pissed her off more. She jabbed the play button again.

“Is this really what we’re doing? I know you’re there. Pick up,” Peter said. His words melted together, slick with alcohol and anger. “Are you trying to play hard to get? Cause that’s not gonna work on me,” he laughed under his breath,

“Or… I guess if you’re not there, you must be off fucking some other asshole… Did you move on that fast? Fuck… you better not be… God, that pisses me off.” 

“You wouldn’t do that to me, right?” his breathing was growing heavier, he was working himself up. “No… not after how I made you feel.” 

“In fact, I’d be willing to bet… no one has ever made you feel like I can. No one’s made you cum like I do, have they? No, actually, I know they haven’t… Because you said that to me, didn’t you? You told me that no one had ever made you cum that hard.” 

Blood rushed to her face so fast that she felt lightheaded. She steadied herself by taking a drag, and tried to ignore the way that her nipples had become stiff and sensitive against the fabric of her shirt.

“Do you remember that day, I took you to the museum… you went to the bathroom, and when you came back, you slipped something into my pocket… it was those lacy little red panties, fuuuck,” he groaned. Her thighs squeezed together involuntarily as she remembered that day, hot with embarrassment at how she had given herself to him.

“Did you like it? When I lifted up that little skirt and fucked you in my car, parked on some side street where anyone could see? You wanted them to see that you were mine… it turned you on, didn’t it?” 

It was like he was there, like each filthy word he said was his fingertips tracing her skin. He was working her up, playing her like an instrument, making her forget all of the anger she felt towards him.

“God, you turn me on so much, even now. I wish you could see how hard I am for you… In the middle of this bar in fucking Pennsylvania…” She couldn’t help but picture it, his cock straining against his pants, how lewd he was talking in public, where anyone could overhear. Just like that night in the car.

“No… what I really wish is that I could see how wet you are for me. I bet you are, baby. I bet you’re missing my hands on you, the way I made you feel…” He paused for a long few moments.

“Why don’t you touch yourself for me? C’mon, rub that pussy for me sweetheart.” His tone was dark and saccharine, and her body was possessed to move in response. Her free hand reached to unbutton her pants as she finished and snuffed her cigarette.

“Do it for me, because I’ve been going crazy thinking about you… jacking off in the shower because it’s the only place I can get any privacy… Fuck, yeah… Listen to the sound of my voice. You’re doing it, aren't you?” She closed her eyes as she circled her clit with a fingertip.

“I miss you too. God, I miss making you feel good. I miss the way you taste. I miss bending you in half and giving it to you so deep… your legs above your head. Just how you like it. Hearing you cry out my name.” Her fingers sped up as her body responded to the memory.

“It’s so wet for me, isn’t it, does that feel good baby?” Her pleasure was building, and he was right there with her, talking her through it. He was making her feel better now than anyone else ever could, and he wasn’t even in the same place or time.

“That sweet pussy, God, I miss it. I can’t wait til I can taste you again, til I can make you cum all over my face, all over my cock. Til I can come inside you again…” Fuck, yes, she wanted it. Her fingers plunged inside of herself to chase the feeling.

“You didn’t think that was gonna be the last time, did you? No, I’m not letting you go that easy. I’m gonna have you again, right? You’re gonna beg me for it, aren’t you?” pleading words were already forming on her lips, and no part of her body second-guessed it.

“C’mon, sweetheart, I’m gonna make you cum already… I know you’re close.” His smug words dripped with faux compassion. He was right, he had brought her to the edge embarrassingly quickly, and she was hanging on every word that he said. 

“That’s right, come on baby… Yeah, just like that. I wish I could see you.” He laughed under his breath. “I wish I could’ve watched you drop everything to fuck yourself to the sound of my voice. You’re so good for me… Fuck… keep going baby,” she cried out as her orgasm began to grasp her.

“Go ahead, cum for me. That's it, yeah… fuuuck,” the climax hit her harder as his words mirrored her body’s response. His name escaped her lips in a sigh as the last waves of pleasure overtook her. The message was silent for a few moments.

“Fuck. I need another drink now.” Peter chuckled. “Well, I’ll see you soon,” he hung up. Her heart was pounding. 

She regained her balance with both hands on her table. “What the fuck was that?” she said aloud to herself. 

As she soaked in the tub, she got more and more worked up. Who the fuck did he think he was? With all those things he was saying, about seeing her again? What a smug asshole. And more importantly, how the fuck did he do that to her? How did he know? So much for her relaxing bath, now he was all she could think about.

And he was all she could think about still, when she got in bed and half-guiltily played the message over again. 

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-he has your birthday marked down on EVERY calendar, person, work, DOESN’T MATTER! EVERYONE at VoxTech will know it’s your birthday

-He books off your birthday and the two of you spent the morning in bed until the sun comes up, something you never get to do since he’s normally ‘up and attam’ at 6am.

-He wouldn’t cook you breakfast – he’s a horrible cook, it’s one of the few things he hates to admit– so he hires a fancy ass chef to prepare you professional bacon and eggs, as per your request.

-He spends all day spoiling you. A dress you’ve been eyeing up? Yours. Fancy jewellery? He’s already sending someone out to buy it. It’s whatever YOU want.

-By the end of the day, he takes you to the finest restaurant in all of hell, paying –and harassing the staff– to get you a VIP table and a bottle of wine.