In the interest of developing my skills, I sometimes assign myself writing topics that I think will help me more fully explore my abilities.
It is my hope that these sorts of exercises will help me stretch and become a better writer.
(OK, people? I am so fucking with you. Hee hee!)
And so today? I have assigned myself the following topic:
Describe something at which you excelled the one and only time you did it.
Here we go . . .
I know I seem like a woman who would enjoy phone sex, but guess what?
Not so much.
It makes me giggle.
Hysterically.
Yeah, and that’s not good.
Or so I have heard.
Ahem.
Luckily, Mark doesn’t travel that often.
I have only really succeeded at phone sex one time. And that was a wrong number.
Pretty sure.
Seriously.
In my memory, here’s how it went . . .
The phone rings, and I pick it up, “Hello?”
“Yeah, is this Susan?”
“No, I think you have the wrong number.”
“Oh. OK . . . thanks.”
And then the phone rings again, “Hello?”
“Listen, Susan? If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, that’s OK. But pretending that I have the wrong number is cruel.”
“What? This is not Susan. You have the wrong number.”
“Seriously?”
I laugh, “Seriously. This is not Susan.”
“Well, damn. You sound just like Susan. Susan’s a bitch, though. You sound all sweet. Yeah, I can tell you’re not Susan.”
“OK, I’m hanging up now.”
And then the phone rings again, “Hello?”
“Would you just please do me a favor?”
“Yeah?”
“Just say my name one time so I can be sure that you are not Susan.”
“That is just so stupid.”
“Come on, just say my name and then I will be sure. Say my name. Matthew.”
“There is no way you think I am Susan, Matthew.”
“Oh my god, say it again. You are not Susan, but I love the way you say my name. Say it again.”
“Matthew, I am hanging up now.”
“No, wait!”
And then the phone rings again, “Hello?”
“You know you want to talk to me, girl who is not Susan. You know you want to say my name again. You picked up the phone again and you knew it was me. Say my name again.”
I am silent for a minute, and then I sink to the floor and whisper, “Matthew.”
“Oh my god, I am so glad I called you and not that other girl. What was her name again?”
“Susan.”
“Yeah, I am so glad I called you. I want to talk to you.”
There is silence for a long moment as I play with the frayed hem of my jeans. Pull my knees up against my chest. Tuck my face low. Pick at the carpet with considering fingers
And then, “Yes, let’s talk.”
And so we talk. He tells me that he works for an auto-supply store whose name I recognize. That he is 25. That he lives in Ocean Beach. He tells me of his friends and his car and the sandwich that he ate for dinner. He tells me of his dog and his love of surfing and the tickets he has to a baseball game.
I tell him I am a student. That I am 18. That I work at the university’s cafeteria. I tell him of my classes and my car and the pizza I had for dinner. I tell him of a movie I have seen and my fear of the ocean and my plans to visit an art museum over the weekend.
We talk for a half hour or so. We agree that we have much in common.
And then I am suddenly determined to end this thing. What the fuck am I doing?
“Matthew? I am hanging up. I am sure you are a nice guy, but this is ridiculous. I don’t even know who you are and you know nothing about me.”
He is all confident, “Oh, I know you.”
I am taken aback, “Oh yeah? Fine. Tell me one thing about myself that I did not just tell you. Tell me what you think you know about me.”
There is a silence.
And then he says, “I know that you are the loneliest woman I have ever known.”
Damn.
And so we talk some more.
I don’t really remember this part of the conversation that well. I am so caught up in the fact that he can hear my loneliness that I am not paying close attention to his words. Is my loneliness really that obvious? So obvious that a flirty conversation with a random stranger on the phone reveals me?
I am all vulnerable.
And somehow his pants are off.
Not sure how that happened, but that is definitely what he just said, “My pants are off.”
“Wait. Wait! Wait! What are you doing?”
“Come on, girl who is not Susan with the sexy sexy voice. Talk to me. Tell me what you want me to do to you. I can’t hurt you. I am way on the other end of this phone. I just want to talk to you. Pretend for a little while. Don’t you want to be a little less lonely? Just for a little while?”
I am silent.
“Come on,” he urges all soft and low, “You never told me your name. Tell me your name so we can know one another. I want to know you.”
I am going to hang up the phone.
I am going to, but I do not.
Instead, I simply say, “You can call me Susan.”
He liked that.
And remember that if you want to make me come?
I’m all fucking easy.
Ask Matthew.
Plus also?
I am all writerly today.
Snort!
You’re positively distracting when you’re coy!
And you are always all writerly.
Coy and distracting?
Snort.
Yes, I will take that.
Thank you.
I?
Am all giddy to be first.
And you’re welcome!
It’s Saturday morning, babe.
No one expects me to have posted on Saturday morning.
You can probably be comments 1-20 if you like.
I am trying a new thing . . . trying to post at the same time every day.
But I haven’t publicized this plan in case it doesn’t work out.
Today is Day 4.
Saturday morning where you are.
I’m already napping my small boy. I’ve been to the wholesale club, target, and two other retail establishments, and my Weight Watchers meeting.
Having some Pretty All True all to myself?
Yum.
Day 4 is good. As long as it works for you.
I am still adjusting to the new schedule, and my head is all annoyed with me.
But I was putting too much pressure on myself to write just before posting. When that works? It’s all fabulous. But when it does not? I get all tense.
So I need to push that pressure back by 24 hours . . . give myself some room to breathe.
We’ll see.
And you are all kinds of accomplished today!
I am all impressed.
you are so writerly i can’t stand it.
Hey, beautiful you!
I am so glad to have some more company!
Have you seen my “Make Me Come” link?
Get on that.
get on that? teehee. snort.
grow up, Andrea
Hee hee!
I am also giggling.
We are way immature.
High childish fives!
teehee
I’m sorry, but I think we need to stage an intervention for Mark so he can overcome his no-erotica disorder.
I think a group of writers, a phone-support line on speed dial and a rope oughtta do it.
PS – “In my memory, here’s how it went??”
Nice hedge there, missy.
Hee hee!
I did not actually write that conversation down as it occurred.
And I was slightly distracted in the midst of the conversation.
Ahem.
But yes . . . In my memory?
This is how it went.
Hee hee!
Mark read this last night and giggled.
But if I had gone farther?
He would have been all frowny.
Mark’s non-erotica disorder only extends to my writing here on Pretty All True, by the way.
Ahem.
And how much do I love that phrase?
Non-erotica disorder . . .
Snort!
wow. just wow.
if I’d have known how easy that was, I would’ve started randomly calling people for phone sex a long time ago. maybe I’ll start.
I know!
I wonder how often he was successful with his “wrong number” pitch?
He was awfully persuasive.
Swoony sighs at the memory.
Well, If giveaways can get someone else into the #4 Mommy Blog spot, I think erotica could get you bumped back up again.
So…everybody who loves the horny, dirty talking side of Kris, VOTE!!!!
Oh, and?
My pants are off.
Hee hee!
Your pants are off?
I am dying.
Plus also?
Hold your votes, people.
They are resetting those fucking counters early next week.
So I will be here bossing and begging for your votes again.
Sigh.
Hate that.
Not that you guys vote . . . love that.
Hate the asking.
Ack.
There is nothing wrong with sex on the phone.
Except for the way it sometimes digs into the small of your back when you’re rolling around.
I have found that the iPhone?
Is nice and flat beneath me.
Snort!
I cannot even believe you have not given me your phone number yet.
HA!
seriously, call me.
I am giggling too hard to call anyone, babe.
Look at me being all caught up on your blog! weeee!!!
and? I am not wearing pants!
BWHAHAHAHAHA
Yay!
We will all be pantless today!
As I always blog in the nude?
This does not represent a change for me.
But now I have company!
Yay!
I call Darling Girl the Pantless Wonder Baby. What should I call you two??? ;o)
Hilarious post. Cheered me up a ton!
But I still want to know what happened with the shampoo bathroom floor scrub?!?!?
I have been busy this weekend and have stayed away from Twitter.
Sorry you didn’t get an update.
But there is no update.
I’m not going anywhere near that bathroom.
Not fucking even.
Yum.
When you’re done with Marian, give me a shout, would ya?
People!
I am not a phone sex sort of girl.
It would just be me giggling.
And naked.
OK, wait.
That is all kinds of awesome to imagine.
Hmmmm.
It’s true, people, she’s not a phone sex sort of girl.
She’s all about the fax sex, though.
She’s old fashioned like that.
OK, the fax machine?
That would be cumbersome in bed.
And those faxes I sent you?
No way for you to prove that’s my ass.
No way at all.
OK, who’s going to make up the T-shirts?
What T-shirts, you ask?
The ones that read “Pretty All True Pants-Off Posse” of course.
You in?
I am so in!
Yay!
Let me check if Mark wants to order these tee-shirts for me.
Oh, he is going to love this pants-less plan!
Because we would not wear anything with the tee-shirts, right?
Duh.
Yay!
Oh, Varda, I’m so with you! The PAT-POP! I’m all over that!
Snicker!
PAT-POP????
I . . . am . . . dying.
Man, why can’t I ever get wrong numbers like that? I seem to have a tendency to attract girls who think they are calling boyfriends, but then get me.
Which NATURALLY means that their boyfriend is cheating on them, of course.
I kid you not, this has happened more than once.
This only happened once.
Sigh.
When we lived in Vallejo? Our phone number was one digit away from the local ToysRUs.
So many ridiculous conversations with people who were incredulous that I could not tell them whether we had a particular toy in stock.
And why are all of these men giving their girlfriends your number?
That is way weird, babe.
Hee hee!
Sheesh.
You got your finger on the pulse of the nation.
This is like the third phone sex conversation I’ve had this week.
You know, a conversation ABOUT phone sex.
What? I swear that’s what I meant!
Yes . . . that’s where my finger is . . . on the pulse of the nation.
There’s a pulse there, right?
What?
So, um yeah. Remember Kashmir? Only time I’ve ever tried phone sex. It’s so not me. I’m all giggly. And the PAT-POP? I am dying.
OK, from now on?
All you will have to do is say Kashmir . . .
And I will giggle.
Seriously.
Hee hee!
OMG. I so suck at phone sex. I’ve had two different guys try that with me…& I’m just so lame at it. Plus it just doesn’t do anything for me. Never had the wrong number gig tho.
One time, someone accidentally published my great grandmother’s phone number in one of those sleazy “special” newspapers that you can get. My 80-something great grandmother was getting all kinds of dirty calls. Not sure if she was into it or not…I was too young to pick up on that detail…hehehe
ps – sorry I’ve been absent the past couple days…I’ve been sick. I’ve been reading, just no energy for commenting.
You don’t need to explain yourself.
Not ever . . . Although I am sorry to hear that you have not been feeling well.
And in my real life?
I am way lame at phone sex . . . I just giggle hysterically.
Except for that one time.
Snort!
So long ago I can’t remember when….
Damn, you’re good at phone sex too?
I tried once, with an old boyfriend who was away. I got as far as “I’m not wearing anything”, started crying and he drove 4 hours to get home for the weekend.
I suck at phone sex. Unless, well…I did have actually have sex that night.
but you…you are all exotic like :)
You started crying and then he drove 4 hours to have sex with you?
That is way fucking successful phone sex, lady.
You are all awesome!