“So what are you offering?” I ask.
She laughs a little, and I can hear her tongue rolling around her lips as she does so. The combination of a husky voice and my imagination is pretty cock-pulling, and I’m pressing the cold whiskey glass against my boxers to keep my dick from bursting out like something in a monster movie.
“I’m offering a whole night of the dirtiest, nastiest stuff you could ever imagine,” she says, breathing into each word like her body’s so hot even she can’t handle it. My imagination is running wild. “We can do it slow…or we can do it fast…I’ll be like hot chocolate in your mouth…”
“How can I refuse…”
“…for only three grand.”
A cold shower could not have crippled my hard-on more. “What?! Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her voice is all innocence now. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“I thought this was a hook-up app, not a hooker app.” That’s one thing I don’t do.
She giggles. “It’s worth it, sugar. If I like you, I’ll even give you a discount.”
“Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Paying for sex kinda kills it for me, you know? Good luck.”
I cancel the call and let it show me the big ‘chat’ button again. I take a healthy swig of the whiskey in my glass and decide to give it one more go.
I push the big button, bringing the phone to my ear. Someone picks up on the other end, but for a few moments all I hear is silence.
“Hello?” I say. Another quiet beat. I’m about to hang up when—
“Um…hello?”
The voice sounds quiet, feminine, definitely over the age of consent, and too nervous to be a hooker. So far so good.
“Well hello there.” It’s not my best line, but her hesitation tells me she’s new at using the app, which means I’ll have to take it slow so she doesn’t hang up before the fun even gets started.
“Hi,” she finally replies back. There’s an awkward silence.
Wow, we’re off to a great start.
“So…” I say, trying to sound friendly. “What’s your sign?”
She laughs, and it sounds nice. Genuine, soft, real – the kind of laugh that you don’t get in Hollywood too often. I laugh a bit too.
“Truthfully?” she says. “I’m…a Scorpio.”
“Oh really,” I reply, drawing out the word, insinuating this actually means something.
“Why does everyone always say it like that? I don’t even know what it means! It’s the sign of revenge, right? And jealousy? But that’s not me at all.”
“It’s also the sign of sex, death, and reinvention,” I tell her. “You know, like rising from the ashes. Big emphasis on the sex part, as it were.”
“Oh.” She giggles nervously, and I can practically hear her blushing over the phone. “That explains a lot, I guess.”
“Does it, now?” I’m intrigued. “Explain it to me. I’m all ears.”
She huffs out a breath, exasperated. “That’s not what I meant! I meant, it explains why people assume things about me, not that I’m some kind of nympho or something. I mean, it’s garbage, right? Nobody really believes in this stuff.” She laughs again, and I can feel the warmth in it. Or maybe it’s the drink, because at this point I’ve lost track of how many in I am.
“How very sensible of you,” I say.
“I don’t know if I’m sensible. I mean, I’m talking to a stranger on a bootycall app.”
“Bootycall app? I thought this was for ordering pizza.”
She giggles again, letting her nerves out, and something about it makes me smile.
“Sorry, this is my first time using this. Have you done this before?” she asks.
“What? Spoken to a woman with an incredibly cute laugh? Sure. Not that often, though.”
“Haha! Very charming. But I meant used this app.”
“A couple of times,” I say, figuring the white lie will help increase her comfort level. “You? Any internet dating, or—?”
“Never. It’s not really my…thing. I guess you’d say. This is pretty out of character for me.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s just something so undeniably appealing about breaking in an uninitiated new bootycaller, I’m happy to listen to her talk about her lack of experience.
“Yeah. I just saw something about it on TV and figured I’d give it a shot.”
“People still watch TV?” I tease.
“Haha! Yeah…I dunno. It was kinda like…fate. The timing was just a little too…perfect.” She sighs. There’s clearly something upsetting her, and although normally I’d do a 180 at the first sign of baggage in a woman, right now it’s nice to know I’m not the only one having a rough time.
“So signs are garbage, but fate is a thing?”
“Haha, I know. I’m a mess.” She tries to laugh again, but I hear a tremor in her voice.
“Maybe. Aren’t we all?”