Sunday Scribblings: Telephone

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is phone. I got to thinking about loneliness and how the telephone allows us to be slightly disconnected from the risks of talking face-to-face. This is a retread, a reworking of an old post that needed refreshment.

Sorry, wrong number
The telephone calls go one-way, always one-way.
They are collect and filled with anguish. Humiliation.
He accepts the charges, always.
And they always come in the middle of the night.
“He’s a dom, so it is nice when I know he's hurting,” she said. “It’s the only time he lets me in, lets me in close, when I get to do things like choke him, you know, erotic asphyxiation.”
The bile rises in his throat. Tears well in his eyes. He bites his lip until it bleeds.
Yet he is excited. There is anticipation. Shameful eagerness.
Her next call.

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