Pain. Ache. Longing. I couldn’t breathe. I could only stare at the ceiling of the limo, streetlights strobing through the windows, but otherwise I was enclosed in darkness. If I concentrated, it was almost like she was here, next to me, whispering in my ear.
“And I would sit behind you, with you between my legs,” she continued, making me glad I hadn’t interrupted. She sounded distracted by her own imagination and the last thing I wanted her to do was stop. “I would wash your hair, and your body, and give you a massage.”
“What kind of massage?” My voice had gone from sleepy and slurred to strained, and I was suddenly very much awake, hanging on her every word.
She was silent for a beat, and I worried she might not answer, but then she asked in a less dreamy, very Mona voice, “Are we going to have phone sex?”
Hopefully. “We don’t have to.”
“I’ve never had phone sex.”
I thought for a minute, realizing and saying at the same time, “Neither have I.”
“Oh! That’s exciting.”
My grin widened and I closed my eyes again. “It is.”
“Wait! I know a joke about it, though. Why should you always use protection when having phone sex?”
I pressed my lips into a flat line so I wouldn’t laugh before she got to the punchline. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Otherwise you might get hearing aids.”
A beat of silence.
I rolled my eyes. “That’s a terrible joke.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty bad. I was on a call once with the CDC and an immunologist told it. I think medical doctors have the most inappropriate jokes.” She laughed. “But you know, they still crack me up. Does that make me a bad person?”
“What? No. No, you are not a bad person.”
“I often worry.”
“Why would you worry about that? You’re one of the best people I know.”
“I think it’s good to worry about being a bad person. It’s good to question yourself, you know?” She asked this question like she was confessing something about herself, a secret, and I wished again that my brain didn’t feel so slow.
“You don’t need to question whether you’re a good person. Take my word for it, okay?”