MR. TELEPHONE MAN

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He spoke softly as his voice awakens my sleeping soul. Once a comatose state of weariness, I rejuvenated back into a colossal of sensuality. It’s been long overdue. His voice opened my pandora’s box of stalled desires, longing for that touch, and being kissed on places that lips don’t exist; only intensified of wanting the mystery behind the voice.

I was wondering who he is? Does he have the fineness of like Shemar Moore, or L.L’s body, or the calm demeanor like Denzel? For an hour we spoke, it was difficult to tell. And yet, my imagination took over; visualizing an image of dark loveliness that wasn't not too big or too small, but right enough to yearn for a tasty delight. Wishing he was a wrapper to a Hershey kiss, I could him open up and nibble gently at the tip—but not too hard, just enough for him to know this is our brief moment and I want to take it, deep and slow.

Those sweet nothings he uttered only made him sweeter than berries and delicious than any juice. I was curious. The sexy suffering I endured is a need to satisfy a quenchable thirst. I wanted to know more. This man without a name made his mystery intriguingly sexy.

We continued our conversation, and all I could picture in my mind was this man lying underneath a set of black satin sheets, covering only his dark nature. I can picture him holding his cell phone as he massaged his chiseled chest, treading slowly to his six-pack of abs, and then finger crawls beneath his sheet. I subtly exhale without him hearing the sound of my voice. My inner being was constricting with excitement, I wanted his ass! But how? We’re on our cell phones, communicating hundreds of miles apart. Something has to give, my lady loins were screaming to a fever pitch.

Then he asked, “What are you doing, Imani?”

“Just listening to you” I sighed.

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“What is it?” I whispered.

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Lying on my bed, I softly squirmed around the sweet sounds of his voice, following his direction to engage in his fascination. This strange experience intensified my sensation. I welcomed the feeling of being out of control. My eyes were closed, and allow this unknown man to take this imaginary hold—on me—you see, I couldn’t help myself. I’m usually the dominant one, but this was the night he shown me—who’s the boss. Damn, this man took me down a peg or two, I was all lost. (*Sigh*)

And then finally, he asked me to explore my river of ecstasy. I did what he asked, and it took slow; closed my eyes to imagine his hands swimming up my stream. The feeling made me understand what freedom really means. My legs shook with anticipation, rocking it smooth, all the way down to my final temptation. “You like it, baby?” he asked. I deeply exhaled as I bit my lip, and curled my toes. Uhmmm, this stranger over the phone wasn’t there, but knew where to go. And for that, he caused my ecstasy to hit its peak—and boy wasn’t it sweet. ( *long and deep sigh* )

Then it was over. I heard him on his end, breathing just as hard as me. Never thought it was possible for two distant streams—to meet—in the dead of the night causing a perfect imaginary storm.

“I gotta go” he softly panted.

“Okay”

“Mr. Telephone Man” went back to his life and I went back to mine. I don’t know if there will be another “phone escapade” or not. And yet, simplicity took the sexiest form, when two strangers struck a conversation and turned into something more. It’s not about romancing, just beautiful creativity of appetizing pleasures. There’s nothing wrong with little spontaneity…..

© Imani Wisdom, 2010


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