867-5309 Meghan

I have had a healthy amount of phone sex. I have had it with girlfriends, people I've never met, and even a married woman. I do not count the time my aunt had an asthma attack while on the phone with me despite it sounding virtually the same as my previous telephonic encounters. This is story about the first time I participated in the act of the Phone Bone in one part.

At the tender age of 19 I had begun to spend more and more time swimming in the cesspool known as online chat rooms. Until this point, I had only used them as a source of mirth and merriment by way of insulting people until I got banned from AOL. Things started to take a much more mature and unfortunate turn for the worse when I began to use them for socializing. I found myself enjoying it far too much as a result of this pesky social anxiety problem I couldn't seem to shake. Conversations were had. Jokes were made. Girls were flirted with.

There was one broad in particular who enjoyed my textual stylings a great deal. Her name was Meghan. She was from New Jersey, but I didn't hold it against her because she talked about her boobs a lot and would send me winking smiley faces. ;) 

Meaghan and I had talked quite a bit for a few weeks when it was suggested, I don't remember by who, that we should maybe talk on the phone. Up until this point the depths to which our sexual chatting had gone was only at a level of half-joking genitalia mention that was usually followed by yet another lame ass emoticon. For example:

Megan: Oh it's so cold in here. I guess I have to put my pants on.

Me: :-O

Meggin:  hehe

Within minutes of getting on the phone however, she ratcheted  up the raunch a notch or eight. Her vocabulary became peppered with "F" words, "P" words, "C" words and even an "H" word. I feel uncomfortable even thinking about that one. She not so casually mentioned she was strumming her harp and suggested I start tuning my mandolin. Only in a much filthier and less musical manner. My brain quickly abetted my loins. 

Brain: "Well she definitely sounds like a girl, and that fake picture she sent us was pretty hot. Go for it, cowboy."

What followed this decision, aside from hellatious chaffing, was an awkward realization that I had zero clue what I was supposed to say. I mean I knew I wasn't supposed to ask her what she thought of the latest episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer no matter how much that would have aroused me, but at this point in my life I did not have the best friend-like familiarity with the language of filth that I do now. Mghan was well underway when I decided I need to pipe up before I lost her. Not having formulated a plan yet, I sent out an array of fail.

"I want to kiss your boobs," didn't sounds as bad as you think when I followed it up with, "I bet your vagina feels really good." Yes, I said "vagina."

Miraculously her enthusiasm didn't wane one bit. In the midst of my futility I came up with an ingenious strategy. Or maybe it was a tactic?  We all know how well a man thinks when he is full on masturbating. I brilliantly decided that since Meghan was clearly much better at this than I, taking what she said and using it in my response would be my best bet. This plan resulted in a series of exchanges that went something like this.

Meghan: Do you want to fuck me?

Me: Oh yeah I want to fuck you.

Meghan: Oh god I want you to fuck you now.

Me: I would fuck you now.

Meghan: Yes! Fuck me now!

Me: I am fucking you now!

I can't even get into how I tried to force some grunts and moans out in response to hers. Let's just say that for a week after this, neighbors were asking me to come over and play with the sea lion they heard me training. This all went on for a surprising 15 minutes due mostly to my confusion delaying the inevitable mess I failed to plan ahead for. 

Alas, no mess was to be had as suddenly I heard a door slam shut. Before I could realize what was happening,  I heard  my mother's voice say, "Ryan ! Come down and help me bring in groceries!" I froze in terror which only resulted in her yelling again. My lack of response caused her worry which led to the sound of footsteps on stairs.

Panicked, I stood up and tried to return to some state of dress as Meghan continued to frost her cupcake. What the? With my mother's presence looming on the other side of my bedroom door, I blurted out "GOTTA GO," and hung up. I stood there sweating and out of breath as I told my mom I was just getting off the phone with Johnny and didn't hear her come in. Smooth.

I actually told Meghan what had happened later on. She thought it was funny and for some reason wanted to have phone sex again. Crap, she was a dude wasn't she?