What are you wearing?

River is out of town visiting relatives so we don’t get to do it for a while. One of us calls the other every night. But she’s not really the phone sex type. She’s not the Skype sex type either. But at least she’ll flash me on Skype. I’ll have to remind her about that though. I want to see her muff. Or what's left of it.

So there we are. On the phone. The first night goes something like this: “What are you wearing?” “I haven’t even taken my bra off yet.” Why she even puts one on, I don’t know. That’s not true. I do know. But I wish she wouldn’t. Her small tits perking through her shirt are a sure thing for me. Always a treat. But having her bra between us is worse than having a phone between us. A phone and a bra? That's too much for even me to overcome. Unless she's ovulating.

The second night. “What are you wearing?” “A tank top.” Mmm, I like her in sleeveless. I picture her in it, and nothing else. She knows I like that. Her soft brown hair falling in tangled waves to her shoulders, the tanktop, a black one, coming barely down to her creamy ass, her cheeks swelling smoothly beneath it, her secret darkness waiting to be revealed. She turns, and I catch a glimpse of her freshly waxed landing strip, first from the side, then full frontal, cleaving her pubis vertically. My fingers push between her legs as we kiss, she spreads them for me, my thumb flicks across her nipple.

“He wants to know what I’m wearing.” “I was just leaving the room.” At least whoever she’s talking to there gets the hint. How could they possibly be related?

The third night. “What are you wearing?” Maybe she’s getting the hint by now. “Blue shorts and a top.” I guess not. She claims to be lousy at hints. She’s right. I like the subtle connection of a well-taken hint. But with River I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. Good thing I like her so much. Fortunately she doesn’t mind the direct approach, and it works pretty well. But for me, “let’s have some phone sex” doesn’t set things up quite as well as “let’s fuck.”

The fourth night. “What are you wearing?” “Well, let’s see. I looked under my cousin’s bed, and found a purple and gold teddy.” I know her cousin. She was probably a virgin when she got married. So when River says teddy, I think bear. Then I get it. She’s one step ahead of me. But only because I took a step back. Sadly, purple’s not really her color. Even though she looks good in anything. “And there were some straps, and . . .” “Handcuffs?” “Yes.” “Put them on.” “Ok.” “Your cousin is naughty. But you’re so much naughtier.” This is fun. “Look in her drawer.” “I’m opening it.” “What’s in it?” Probably a Bible. I’ve got some ideas for what she can do with that, but most of them involve her ass. “A feather tickler.” Cousin is somewhat naughty after all. In my mind it’s turned into a feather duster, and I’m working out which end to suggest using, seeing the spray of fluffy dark feathers emerging from between her legs as she works herself into a lather with the handle. “I’m sleepy.” I sigh. Unlike the real thing, I don’t think it would be much fun doing her over the phone while she falls asleep. “I love you." "Sweet dreams.”

The fifth night? That’s tomorrow. I'll call her during the day and ask her to be Skypable. Her muff will just be the beginning.

Addendum: A wave of panic floods me. I'm the one who's not getting the hint. After all, I know she's not the phone sex type. An embarrassed shame sweeps through me. Then I remember why that could never be. River doesn't get hints. And she doesn't give them, either. Sweet, calming relief. And contentment that she lets me be myself.